#murmurs in the august breeze

[sensitiveaangel]

sunset from the tgv

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 4

construction worker!rafe and shy!reader spending their day off together (as one does) but rafe simply can not keep his hands off her, can he? And maybe she just really needs him...

18+ mdni!

c/w: fluff, rafe being a tease, semi-public thigh riding

wc: 1.9k

part 1 part 2 part 3 & part 5

i have such a soft spot for him so hope u enjoy xx

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It’s a tranquil Tuesday; they’re strolling around town and soaking up the last lemony rays of the August sun before autumn drops all the marmalade leaves and brings a chilly breeze along with its visit.  

The balmy weather of the sunlit afternoon coaxes her to remove her cardigan; a featherlight fabric she brought in case the wind decided to pick up. However, she doesn’t need it, not when it’s so pleasantly mellow and thermal. Without a word, Rafe reaches an arm out and plucks the piece of clothing from her, nonchalantly throwing it over his shoulder and holding it for her.  

She mumbles out a soft thank you, and even if the thin material really doesn’t weigh a thing and it wouldn’t have been that much of a bother to hold onto it herself, she still feels all gooey inside from the attentive sentiment.  

They have lunch at her favorite place; a small picturesque restaurant with leafy vines and scarlet roses trickling down the brick wall as they sit outside on a little patio, enjoying their meals with cheery bluebirds chirping and the passing laughter of pedestrians on the lively streets as their background music.  

When their tummies are full of yummy food, they decide to get ice cream. But as they’re padding along the pavement and she’s licking her cone contently, some of the sweet treat drips down her chin without her noticing.  

“You’re so messy,” Rafe tuts and reaches out to grab her jaw in his hand, tilting her up to face him. 

“What would you do without me, hm?” he murmurs out as he swipes a thumb under her bottom lip; catching the cold dessert and tucking the digit into his mouth, humming when strawberry ice cream melts on his tongue. 

Her eyes round out at the nearly obscene sight.  

“Mm, that’s good. But mine’s better,” he thinks out loud, laving his tongue over his own mint chocolate chip flavor.  

He notices her gaze lingering, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “Want some?” 

“Um…no. It tastes like toothpaste,” she complains, trying to clear her suddenly foggy head.  

“Yeah, but in a good way,” he grins. 

“There’s no good way for ice cream to taste like toothpaste,” her brows crease. 

“There is, alright? Here, try it,” and instead of offering his cone to her like a normal person, he dips his thumb (the one that was just in his mouth) into the frozen delicacy and pushes it past her lips before she has the chance to refuse.  

A surprised noise escapes her throat when he presses down on her tongue, letting her get a proper taste of the minty sweetness. He lingers for a moment too long when there’s an itch in his lower abdomen from the sight of her sucking on his thumb; an urge to tuck another digit in and push in deeper, make her gag around his fingers.  

He clears his throat in order to shake the thoughts away, pulling his thumb out from her greedy little mouth, no complaints or grumbling about toothpaste following after. She solely blinks up at him with her doe eyes all dumb, seemingly having lost the ability to speak.  

“It’s good, right?” He asks, a mocking lilt to his tone. 

“Mhm,” she manages out, brain mushy and mind clouding over with a starry haze that seems to follow her for the rest of their walk, merely nodding and humming out responses to his questions. He finds all this entirely too amusing, unable to wipe the taunting smile off his face.  

When a group of people pass them by on the narrow sidewalk, Rafe settles a heavy palm on her waist, pulling her closer and preventing her from stumbling into them. However, instead of removing his hold on her altogether after they’ve successfully bypassed them, he opts to slip a warm hand in the back pocket of her jeans; tugging her to his side. And she really can’t withhold a stupid smile from pulling at her lips or the way her cheeks dust over with a plum tinge.  

He continues on with whatever story he was telling her (she stopped listening halfway through the moment she felt his touch on her) as if this is all completely mundane for him and they aren’t walking around like an enamored couple right now.  

Then, as if for good measure, he mindlessly squeezes her ass with the hand stuffed in her back pocket, making her look up him, but there’s merely a lazy grin hanging on the raspberry mouth she remembers all too well kissing just the other day on his couch.  

Her cerebrum short-circuits and she has half the mind to scold him. After all, they’re in public and he’s groping her rather immodestly. However, how is she meant to do that when he gazes down at her and his eyes mirror cerulean droplets of early morning dew underneath the amber glow of the waking sunbeams?  

“So, what do you think?” His question suddenly reaches her eardrums.  

“About…what?”  

An amused chuckle tumbles from his throat.  

“Said your boss wanted to renovate the cafe, right? Could help with that, give her a discount and shit?” 

“Oh. That’d be— great, yeah. I’ll make sure to…let her know,” she barely manages the words out because his palm resting on her ass is making her thighs press together and it’s getting more arduous to inhale and exhale like a regular human by every passing second.  

Once they’re back in the shelter of his truck, instead of starting the engine, he turns to look at her. She shifts ungracefully in the leather seat, trying to ignore the ache deep in her marrow that’s been bothering her their whole way back. He’s wearing shorts and her eyes zone in on his legs, heavy lids blinking sluggishly as she avoids his piercing stare. 

“You want something?” 

“Hm? Oh, no… what— what do you mean?” She stutters.  

“You don’t think I see the way you keep looking at me?” He rasps out, brows raising. “Been feeling a little needy after you sucked on my thumb, have you?”  

“I…um—” 

“Bet you’re so sticky right now. Shit, must be uncomfortable at this point, no?” His face creases in mock concern as a faint whine leaves her. 

“C’mere,” he encourages, patting his thigh.  

“O— okay,” she clumsily wobbles over the console, settling on his lap.  

“Didn’t tell you to sit there, did I?” He says before he’s lifting her up and then setting her back down until she’s properly straddling his thigh. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” 

“Rafe…someone could see us,” she suddenly remembers, turning her head around, peering through the car window at the busy parking lot, people striding along the pavement; girls in bikinis carrying towels, couples laughing and chatty families all thriving under the beaming sun.  

“Honestly don’t really give a shit. Why don’t we just…let them see how much of a dirty girl you are, yeah?” He grins at her; showcasing pearly white teeth and making her whine in response.  

With her eyes flitting to the window once more, she inspects the seas of people loitering about, but she doesn’t think anyone’s noticed them yet. However, she doesn’t have any more time to observe them before he’s yanking her back to face him, fingers digging into her jaw.  

“Look at me,” his brows furrow, seemingly upset that her attention isn’t on him. 

“Sorry, I just...” 

“Relax, alright? They can’t even see your face, just a horny slut humping my leg,” he reassures her, mushing her cheeks together and smudging a sloppy kiss on her puckered lips when she drags out his name, flushing in humiliation.  

“Why don’t we take these off, hm?” He mutters, not even bothering to wait for a response before he’s dragging down the zipper of her jeans. Then he’s tugging them down her legs, leaving her in just a flimsy pair of underwear.  

She gasps, eyes rounding out when she feels his firm thigh against her drippy cunt, relieving some of the tension in her limbs.  

“This shit gets you off, doesn’t it? The fact that anyone could just look through the window and see how fucking desperate you get for me?” He asks, something mean glinting in his gaze. 

“Go on then, if you want it, gotta work for it, yeah?” He’s lazily leaning back against the seat, long legs spread out and a smirk painted on his face as he simply gazes at her.  

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt more embarrassed, cheeks burning when she gives a tentative roll of her hips against him, whimpering out because the fabric between them is not only paper thin but also soaked through at this point.  

“There you go, Sweetheart. That feel good?”  

She mewls, nodding all frantic; rutting against his thigh some more. Then he’s plucking at her panties, pulling the sodden material to the side, allowing for her to really feel the sturdy muscles there; skin to skin.  

She’s becoming louder and louder as her swollen clit keeps occasionally bumping against him, making him smear his mouth on hers; muffling her whining in the process when her thighs begin to grow sore.  

“Rafe…I’m tired— can you…” she complains.   

“You’re tired? What if I’m tired too?” There’s something in his mocking question that tells her he’s anything but.  

 “Rafe, can you just— can you help?” 

“Where’d your manners go, hm? Why don’t you ask nicely?”  

“Rafe please, I need to…can you help me please I need you to— need you to help,” her distressed eyes are becoming watery and he chuckles, low from his chest. 

“You don’t even know what you’re saying, do you? Get so dumb every time we do this. Couldn’t even fuck you properly before you passed out on me that night in your bed, remember?” 

“Hey, that’s not fair. I was so sleepy—” 

“What’s not fair is me constantly having to do all the work while you just whine like a helpless baby,” his voice is condescending, making wet droplets stain her cheeks.   

“I’m sorry, don’t mean to...”  

“I know, Sweetheart. I know,” he says while gripping at her hips, supporting her weight and dragging her over his solid thigh, making her moan out loud.  

“Can’t do anything yourself, can you? Need my help with everything, yeah?” His rugged paws roll her hips against him, hard, again and again.  

“Mhm. Need you—” a loud noise leaves her throat when he pushes his leg up against her; forcing her puffy clit to harshly rub against the skin that her weepy cunt has made so wet, to the point where he can feel it whenever she glides against it. “Rafe, I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah? Gonna come? Soak my thigh more for me?”  

She whimpers when he presses her down firmer. 

“Shit, Sweetheart. Look so fucking pretty like this,” he mutters out, blue gemstones fixated on her trembling form before the knot in her stomach begins to loosen, the piece of yarn snapping as she begins to unspool in his arms, crying out because she feels so delighted she doesn’t know what to do.  

“There you go, just do anything I ask, don’t you?” He murmurs when her head drops against his steady chest as he rakes his fingertips through the strands of her hair; blunt nails scratching at her scalp.  

There are stars in her eyesight, nearly a full-blown galaxy and she thinks she could die happy right now; his strong grip steadying her and making her feel like nothing else matters. There’s only this moment. Him and her.  

She wants to stay in the safety of his hold for evermore because she’s positive the only reason her poor heart is beating in her ribcage these days is because of him.  

As an afterthought, she wonders if maybe she’s just in love.  

[realmsturkishdelight]

summertime sadness.

pairings ; jj maybank x female reader

warnings ; angst , cursing , i don't know exact dates of his death so i made it up , mentions of using weed , dying.

[ 07/06/20 ]

"can you not press the camera to my face, please?" jj mumbled, a lazy smile on his face even though he was trying to be serious. you only chuckled, capturing his sweet, relaxed and handsome features in your retro camera.

"you're makin' me regret that i got you that, sweetheart." he added, but you only pushed his blonde hair away, smiling. "get up sleepyhead." you murmured.

"no." he turned his head away from the camera. you shaked your head at his antics, sitting on his back and recording his face from the other side. "jesus," he chuckled.

you laughed softly, laying on his back and turning the camera so that it can film both of you, your cheek pressed to jj's head. he looked like he was smashed under you, altough your weight bringed nothing but comfort to him.

"you're gonna be a pain in my ass with that thing, i get it." he joked.

[ 15/07/21 ]

"you guys see that stupid blonde over there? yeah, that's my man." you mumbled to camera with a grin, filming jj doing stupid stuff on his surfboard, laughing and being the annoying yet fun self he is.

your boyfriend had this effect where all of the pogues acted like they were annoyed by his antics, but couldn't live without him anyways. especially you, you were his favorite person, he annoyed you more than anyone, yet you wouldn't be able to live if he didn't do it one day.

"y/n!" he yelled, making the whole beach hear. you didn't mind, dating jj meant you slowly lose the feeling of being shy. you zoomed camera, watching his smiling face more close now, waving at you.

you waved back behind the camera. "this is for you!" he yelled, doing a backflip on the surfboard, getting in the water.

"yeah, that's mine." you whispered, giggling.

[ 01/08/21 ]

"not that again," he groaned softly, smiling as you pulled out the camera to record the sweet moment you both had.

it was a lazy august morning, where jj crashed over at your place because he couldn't stay away from you too long, and you both woke up together. he was all cuddled up on you, the fan in your room creating a small breeze so that you guys could at least get some air in the boring warmth.

"you got this cam for me to film us, j." you giggled, playing with his hair as you recorded both of you from up, showing your smile and his body layed on you.

"yeah but i didn't thought you'd do this often." he chuckled, looking at the camera and squinting his face in mock disgust. you pinched his cheek, smiling.

"well, you often make me wanna remember our moments forever." you murmured, and he melted.

[ 13/08/21 ]

"we're high as fuck," jj chuckled when you opened your camera to record you guys getting wasted in twinkie, just the two of you, in the quiet night.

"i can't even open my eyes properly," you laughed and he joined you, resting his head on your shoulder. "you managed to open the record, that's good." he said.

"hi guys," you murmured with a slight groggy voice like you just woke up, showing the joint in your hands that jj rolled skillfully. "another day, another weed, but this time it's kiara's stuff."

"she makes the best weed, i swear." jj mumbled, taking the joint from you after you got a drag, taking one himself. you giggled when he blowed to camera.

"you guys should get high with us." he joked.

"what if we show this to our kids?" you murmured, and it was just a thought you had with your high mind. yet, it warmed jj's heart.

"y'think our kids will be saints? all sober n' shit?" he said softly with a cheeky grin. "nah baby, that's not my gene."

[ 05/06/22 ]

it was a bonfire night at the chateau, everyone drinking, smoking and having fun. the star of the night was of course, your boyfriend jj.

you opened the camera and began recording him singing songs, with his whole heart, pointing you at the romantic lyrics.

"who even showed you taylor swift?" sarah laughed next to you, drinking her beer under john b's arm.

"you ask?" you giggled, and it made everyone laugh.

"what? i'll be a swiftie for my girl," jj grinned, blowing you, and the camera, a kiss.

[ 15/08/24 ]

"hello folks, this is jj recording to my amazing girlfriend's camera." jj grinned and waved, recording himself from a low angle, yet he still looked pretty.

he was in your room, in your bed while you worked in the shop today, probably helping kiara organize things. his elbows were on his knees, his signature hat on his head.

"there's been a lotta shit goin' on, so she couldn't record for a while." he explained. "we stayed in an island, john b and sarah lost their dads, i found out that my father wasn't my blood father, and i had kook origins." he raised his brows and laughed at the irony of it.

"and now, m'gonna search some gold with my biological dad, which is ironic, i guess." he grinned.

"but, i jus' wanted to record this for my lovely kids in the future, and for my sweet girl to watch if somethin' happens to me." he smiled, yet it was a weak one.

"baby," he murmured. "you live a life you don't deserve in sake of me, and m'sorry that lovin' me has brought you many problems, and we couldn't be a normal teenage couple." he scratched the bridge of his nose.

"n'that we fought with guys who had guns instead of goin' surfing and punching kooks." he chuckled. "but.. i wouldn't wanna do this with other people y'know? you're my favorite person in the world, and m'selfishly happy that we've been through a lot at least together."

"wow m'bein' too sentimental, and it would be really awkward for you to watch this if some dramatic shit didn't happened to me," he chuckled, clearing his throat.

he looked at the camera like he was looking at you, all puppy eyed, his baby blue's shining and his smile so wide and geniune. "m'about to head off to help groff, and i don't have much time to talk more about my undying feelings for you, but jus' know that you're the best thing happened to me. and even if we can't become a kook, i'll happily die as a pogue as long as i got you."

he kissed the camera, grinning. "love from papa j." he winked, closing the record.

[ 18.34 ]

your tears dropped to the screen, and your fingertips caressed his smiling face. you guys made it alive from morocco, expect the guy you loved more than anything.

it was like they took a part from you, his own fathers betrayal turning your life in a living hell in minutes. jj was the dead one, yet you didn't felt like you were living. in the end, which one was the hard one anyway? leaving, or staying?

you opened the camera for one last time, your puffy and red lips, red eyes from crying reflecting in the screen, showing how much of a mess you were.

it was the last time you'd use this, because you lost the one person that made you feel alive, and so happy that you wanted all of your memories to stay forever.

[ 20/08/24 ]

you sniffled, and your tears falled to screen, your voice being a weak whisper. "i love you jj."

༝༚༝༚

[sailoryooons]

BOONGI REQUEST THE SEQUEL !!! honeymooning with yoongi and your trip is a little too richly scheduled considering how horny you both are.... leads to fucking in some interesting places 🙈

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Your tropical honeymoon is planned down to the very minute to get the most out of your trip but it seems that Yoongi has plans of throwing off your itinerary every time his hands touch you. 

❀ Word Count: 4,355

❀ Genre: Established relationship, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Absolutely self-indulgent and gratuitous smut, literally this is the most porn without plot I have ever done, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, fucking from behind, semi-public fucking, light degredation, oral (m. and f. receiving), riding Yoongi, fucking from behind, face sitting, throat fucking, a lot of cum and spit and holes, Yoongi and reader fuck in public spaces where they cannot be seen a lot, temperature place, use of ice (please do not ever take ice from a random ice bucket and put it in your partners vagina, this is fiction and it was handy but do not do that lmao), cum swallowing and cum eating when you squint. 

❀ Published: August 9, 2023

❀ A/N: This is sort of a part two? You do not have to read the first request to read this one, they are easily read separately. Thanks for giving me an excuse to just write porn. There literally is nothing here but porn, I don’t even know if they have chemistry, but they fucking. Honestly I had to cut scenes out of this because I also imagined the infinity pool moment and so many other moments because M and I are fucking insane and ruminate on this shit, but at one point it was just… getting longer and I was RUNNING OUT OF WORDS FOR DICK AND COCK AND I HATE THE WORD DICK IN SMUT IF FEELS NOT VERY SEXY. Okay. Here is my ode to the love of my life, M. This somehow made me more insane.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Part One | Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Listen Along |

“Come on,” You murmur, lips pressed against Yoongi’s warm forehead. “We have a breakfast reservation at that place we talked about.” 

A deep groan rumbles through Yoongi’s chest. It’s dark in the bedroom of your resort, the lights still off and the sliding glass door window still shuttered. Your newly wed is tangled in white sheets, face pressed against the pillow and swollen with sleep. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

It’s tropical warm in the room, your skin still heated from the sun the day before. Yoongi’s cheeks are sun-kissed blossom, bottom lip jutted out as he pouts. You think about the night before, biting that bottom lip hard as you came around him in the shower, cold water pebbling on hot skin. 

Sighing, you climb onto him, knees on either side of his waist as you sit. His chest is flushed and warm as you lean down, dress riding up your thighs as you press your forehead to the side of his head. His hair is messy, an inky halo around him as he lets out a sound again, very close to whining. 

Yoongi smells like coconut shampoo and palm breeze. It makes your stomach flip having him this close to you, flashes of the night before making your already sore thighs twitch. Ignoring your more carnal urges, you nudge him with your nose, huffing. Sliding your hands around to the back of his neck, you thread your fingers through his silky hair, holding him there. 

“Don’t you want breakfast?” you ask, hoping the promise of food will lure him from bed.

Yoongi is fully awake now. “Mhmm.” 

Yoongi frees his hands from the sheets and places them on your thighs, squeezing. His hands are warm and callused, sparking a curl of pleasure in you as he rubs them up and down your legs. It’s an innocent touch, but your thoughts turn devious. 

When Yoongi’s hands trace to the round curve of your ass to grab a handful of flesh, you let out a breathy sound and tighten your grip on his hair. He hisses in appreciation, hips twitching off the bed as you growl, “What are you doing?”

Yoongi turns his head to face you, your foreheads pressed together as he bumps your nose with his. “I don’t need to leave for breakfast,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips as he talks. His right hand gives you a playful crack on the ass, making you squeak as the sweet sting riles you up, your knees squeezing his waist. “I can eat right here.”

His hands are firm, fingers dimpling your rear end as he pulls you against his stomach and rolls your hips. Your eyes flutter shut at the barely-there friction, Yoongi lifting himself up a little to help you grind against him. 

“Yoongi.” 

The chastisement is nothing more than half of a breath, already feeling arousal curl in your stomach. Your thighs stretch painfully from the night before, a feel-good burn that makes you spread your legs a little wider to feel the pleasurable strain. 

“Come on,” Yoongi grunts. “Girl breakfast.”

“That’s not what that meme means.”

“Who gives a fuck. Sit on my face.”

Ignoring him is impossible. Yoongi’s hands palm your ass, pulling you forward. On unsteady knees, you shuffle up from his waist to his face, lifting the hem of your dress as you go. Yoongi hums appreciatively, slipping a hand between your legs to press his fingers against your clothed pussy. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, the stimulation jolting. “We have an itinerary.”

“Fuck the itinerary. You were going to go to breakfast like this?” he asks, slipping a finger under your underwear, swiping through your dripping folds. “All wet and sticky?” 

You whine, fists tightening in the fabric of your dress. He drags a curled knuckle up and down your pussy, pressing into your clit purposefully as he does, making your hips swivel a little. Yoongi laughs underneath you, mouth hot on your thighs as he leaves sloppy kisses, air cooling his spit on your skin as he goes.

There’s no escaping this. Any desire you had to go to breakfast with a view of the beach is gone as Yoongi nips at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, your legs trembling in anticipation. Yoongi is so good at this, making you bend to his will with just a few words and guiding hands. 

Yoongi’s breath is hot on your center as he peels your underwear to the side. You look down at him, pressing your dress flat to give you the perfect view. His dark eyes are focused on your cunt, his lips bubble gum pink, tongue darting out to wet them. His hair is fanned out around him, some pressed to his forehead. 

Smirking, Yoongi uses one hand to pull you forward, lowering you to his mouth. You hold your breath as he drags his tongue slowly from your leaking entrance to just below your clit before rolling licking back down, ignoring your bundle of nerves entirely. Your toes curl, immediately going white hot at the slow feeling of his tongue dragging through your folds. 

“Oh,” you sigh, eyes shutting as Yoongi hums and repeats the motion, determined to take his time. 

With one hand wrapped in your dress, you lean forward, pressing the other hand against the wall to keep you upright. You hang your head down, heady-heavy, eyes falling shut as you heave shuddering breaths.

Yoongi’s tongue is wicked, laving up and down experimentally as you shake on top of him. He hums appreciatively, pulling you down to his mouth further by your ass. A sharp moan escapes you when he fastens his mouth to you, sucking your clit gently. The suction makes your head spin, your skin over warm and tingling, feeling faint in the dark room.

“Shit,” you pant, listening to him make a mess of you, all wet smacks and happy hums. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees. “Girl breakfast. Or is it wife breakfast?”

You’re too busy rolling your hips gently against Yoongi’s face to shoot something smart back, lost in the rough drag of his tongue against your cunt, the buzz of his mouth when he hums. You feel the way your stomach tightens, the way that pressure in your core builds, the tensing thighs. 

The sweet, saturated sound of Yoongi’s mouth backtracks your whines, your fist pressed against the wall, knuckles popping with the force. Sweat slicks down the back of your neck and your thighs tremble as you fuck his mouth in earnest, hips flexing.

It feels hot in the room, your dress sticking to your skin, panties stretched to the side as Yoongi has his way with you. The strap of your dress falls down, abandoned as you quiver, your shoes and purse long forgotten by the door as you start to come undone.

“Come on,” Yoongi pants against your pussy, tongue prodding your throbbing hole. You squirm at the feeling, wanting more. “Breakfast is supposed to have juice too.”

Your laugh sounds hysteric, closer to a high-pitched cry than anything. Yoongi is vicious, pressing his nose to your clit as his tongue fucks your entrance, drinking you in. You’re dizzy, ears ringing as your orgasm mounts. You start to tense up, teeth clenched, fingers pressed numb against the wall.

Eyes shut, head back, balmy skin, you come hard in his mouth, Yoongi’s tongue pressed against you, not missing a drop. You feel fuzzy drunk, letting Yoongi control your hips. He moves you against his mouth, bobbing his lead as he slurps, dropping staccato mhmms as he goes. 

When you’re falling into his lap, skin sweaty and panting, Yoongi sits up, the lower half of his face shining with your slick. He licks his lips, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Thanks for the meal,” he teases. “I want more.”

-

A high-pitched zing whines through the air, drawing your attention to look at the fishing rod on the back of the boat. The reel spins out of control as the line runs wild, handle circling as the fish on the hooked fish runs wild with the line. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, turning back to him. 

“Fuck the reel,” he growls, fingertips pressing into your hips hard enough throb.

The vinyl cover of the boat seat is slippery with sunscreen, sweat and a little cum. Sun heats your bare back. The burn on your shoulders is nothing to the fiery arousal spooling in your stomach as Yoongi pulls you up by the hips, dragging you along his slick cock.

It’s a calm day on the water, the only motion coming from the way you roll your hips, fucking Yoongi in earnest on the bow of the boat. Blue water glitters around you, reflecting the sun back up toward a cloudless, azure sky.

Salty wind cools the back of your neck as you throw your head back, gasping when Yoongi presses a thumb to your clit, circling slowly. The gentle lapping of the water against the hull is drowned out by the wet slap of your ass on Yoongi’s pelvis, already soaked from your first orgasm.

Your second high blazes through you hotter than the beaming sun. Yoongi growls between gritted teeth, his grip savage as he helps you fuck him. Up down, up down, up down. His chest is flushed and raked with angry red nail marks.

Fishing plans long forgotten, you continue to ride him, the feel of Yoongi’s cock stomach-deep, your walls gripping him tight as you race toward another orgasm. It feels so good, your knees slipping as the boat bobs under you, the up and down motion aiding the way you glide on his dick. 

“Just like that,” Yoongi moans, head tossed back, hair damp and sweaty. He’s worked up, a beat of sweat dripping down his tan neck, jaw flexing as he tries to stop himself from coming. “Use me just like that, baby.” 

And you do, the tip of his dick brushing your g-spot every time you slide down, working your closer and closer until you’re seated in his lap, cock pushed to the deepest parts of you while you come hard around him.

Yoongi waits for you to come down for your high, post-orgasm twitching and panting before he pins you to his chest and holds you while fucking up into you a few more times before he clenches his teeth and comes.

Hot and spent, you both melt into one another, skin sliding against skin as you lay on his chest. He softens inside of you and you become hyper aware of the slide of your mixed juices dripping from your folds and running down your leg. You don’t care, closing your eyes as you inhale deeply.

Eventually, Yoongi lifts his head to peer over your shoulder. You turn around to see that the line has broken on the road and Yoongi laughs, sounding exhausted.

“Fuck it,” he sighs, laying his head back down and tightening his hold on you. “I don’t care.”

-

“My wife is such a little slut,” Yoongi grins, leaning against the sink as you take him further into your mouth. “You love having a mouthful of cock, don’t you?”

Looking up at Yoongi with wide, teary eyes, you hum the affirmative. Dark blush creeps up his neck, his skin visible where the top button of his white shirt is undone. He looks to die for tonight, with his long, dark hair slicked back and just touching his shoulders, a white short-sleeved button up, and dark pants. 

And you? You looked nice earlier, but now your dress is messy with sand from the bathroom floor, mascara running down you face as you swallow around your husbands cock, feeling your throat tighten as you force yourself to the limits. 

You’d at least manage to pay the bill before dragging him into the palm-textured bathroom and dropping to your knees, ignoring the way stray grains of sand from the beachside restaurant burn your knees in favor of taking him into your mouth.

Yoongi slouches against the sink, his shoulders pressed into the mirror as he closes his eyes and angles his head back. You take him further into your mouth, letting spit escape the sides and run down your chin, working what you can’t fit with your hand. Your wedding ring flashes in the low light and drives you mad, loving the way the diamond looks on your hand while it’s wrapped around him. 

You’re ravenous tonight, staring up at him with clenching thighs, watching the way Yoongi unravels. Pulling back, you pop off of him, strings of spit and precum connecting the brown tip of his cock to your lips. You break it, leaning forward to run your tongue along the frenulum of his cock, earning a whine from him.

Grinning, you continue your assault, dragging your tongue down the thick vein on the underside of his cock until you reach his balls, giving a teasing lick that makes his hips cant off the sink.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he warns. “I fucked you the way you asked for three times today, baby. Don’t I deserve to cum in that pretty little mouth?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pumping him with your hand as you come back up. “Want to come in my mouth?”

Yoongi’s hand shoots to the back of your head, fingers squeezing your skull. It’s not painful, but it’s firm, making you grin up at him, delighted. “Okay then,” you agree, tightening your fist on him a little more, pumping him a little fast. “Fuck my throat.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Yoongi’s grip on the back of your head stays solid, a comforting feeling as you get a little dizzy from the way he looks down at you, eyes fathomless. Starving. He uses his other hand to prop himself against the sink before he drives his cock into your mouth.

The slide is rough and messy. You flatten your tongue and open up the back of your throat, the sound of you choking wetly around him drowning out the hiss of air between his teeth. You breathe through your nose, your hands gripping his thighs and digging your nails in hard into his flexing thighs.

Absently, you wonder if anyone walking by can hear the gurgle of your mouth, the stilted grunts as he flexes his hips.

Throat burning, eyes stinging and dripping tears, you let Yoongi go wild until he’s coming deep down your throat, a hot and thick mess. He pulls out gently, letting you gasp for air, mouth swollen and sticky as you pant.

Yoongi pulls you up from your knees, holding you tight as you lose your balance. His grip is crushing and he smashes his lips to yours, licking into your mouth to taste the mix of cum and spit, hungry for it.

When he pulls away, his lips are pink and slick and his chest is heaving.

“We’re going to miss that concert I bought tickets for,” you complain, giving him a pout.

“Fuck that concert, we’re going back to the hotel room and I’m going to fuck you for the next three hours, baby.”

-

Admittedly, hiking wasn’t the best event on your itinerary. When you’d planned the adventure originally, you hadn’t accounted for the fact that your legs would be near unusable from days of Yoongi folding you in half to drill into you, or the fact that the jungle is, in fact, hot and humid.

Yoongi walks next to you, his thumbs tucked into the straps of his backpack as he goes. His hair is pulled up into a bun, a few loose strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. He hasn’t complained once since starting the uphill trek through the trees and sifting sand, though you can tell he’s also spent from his inability to stop touching you this entire trip.

But you really want to attempt to get to a single thing on your itinerary for this trip, and the ruins will be out of the question tomorrow when it rains. So, you persist, legs wobbling as you high up the path, shirt sticking to you and scent of sunscreen following you like a coconut cloud.

“You’re sure we’re going the right way?” Yoongi askes, looking up at the gleaming sun filtering between branches. “We haven’t seen a single person.”

“There’s steps, aren’t there?” you ask, gesturing to the path. “There’s ruins that aren’t as much of a climb that everyone prefers. Plus, it’s hot as shit. I wanted to see the good ones though.”

“Anything for you.” 

A few more minutes pass before Yoongi sees you lagging a little. The burn in your thighs is real, remembering acutely the way Yoongi had pressed them to your chest last night as he fucked you slow and deep. The memory makes you shiver, a post-orgasm twitch still haunting you an entire day later.

“Come on,” Yoongi urges. “It’s flat up here, we can step off the path and take a break.”

Yoongi finds some broken trees that have fallen sideways to sit on. You’re grateful, taking deep gulps of water. It immediately cools you down and you close your eyes, rolling your shoulders. Yoongi guzzles down water next to you, his arm pressed up against your.

After a few minutes sitting, you get up and turn to face the fallen tree, bending over at the waist to lean against it in a deep lunge, stretching your hamstrings. It’s a soothing sort of pain, the extension of muscle a relief. 

Yoongi looks at maps on his phone behind you, waiting as you you switch legs and arch your spine, feeling a few joints pop in release. It feels good and you sigh, letting the tension bleed out of you.

Hands find your ass, gentle and curious. You look over your shoulder to find Yoongi looking at you with his brows raised and head tilted. A question. You know he’ll back off immediately if you shoo him away. Instead, You burst into laughter and shake your head, “Seriously?”

“What?” 

You stare at him. He looks delicious, sweat dripping down his Adam’s apple, hair pulled back. He’s dressed simply and yet, looking at him looking at you, wanting you the way that he does makes you vibrate. It doesn’t matter how many times you have him, you always want him more. And again.

You married Yoongi for a myriad of reasons. Because he is gentle and kind, because you like the way he takes his coffee and reads the paper in the morning, because you like that he uses mint shampoo, because you like that he has to line his shoes up perfectly next to the door. 

Everything about him enchants you, and you’re over the moon to have someone who doesn’t shame you for your carnal desires, that you have someone who matches the energy, who can take it and give it to you anywhere you want. 

Yoongi is the perfect balance, always knowing when to initiate, always knowing when it's a good time.

“I know that look,” he smiles. “Now you’re thinking about it.”

“Can you be quick? I don’t want someone to stumble on us.”

“Fuck yeah I can,” he promises, dropping his backpack and popping the zipper on his pants. You let out a pathetic sound at the sight, earning a smug look from Yoongi. 

Yoongi peels your legs and underwear down to your knees, just enough to get access to you but also safe enough to pull them up quickly if you need. His clothed chest presses against your back as he leans forward, wrapping his arms around your middle in what seems like an innocent hug.

You gasp as the tip of his cock breaches your entrance, the stretch a little painful with no prep. It doesn’t matter, though. He pushes in slowly, letting you get used to it until he’s pressed in to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around him. 

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers, pressing butterfly soft kisses to your cheek and temple. He starts thrusting shallowly, stealing your breath away. “You are my perfect, beautiful, wonderful wife.”

“Fuuuck,” you whisper. Yoongi isn’t fucking around, making his thrust precision perfect, pressing that soft spot inside of you. Your thighs are pressed together, making the fit even tighter, feeling him even more. “You’re just saying that cause I’m letting you fuck me against a tree.”

“Untrue, I say this all the time.”

That’s fair. Yoongi does tell you that he loves you. More often now than he used to, more verbal than his little utterances of love by readying your coffee long before you were awake in the morning or picking up the things you were missing from your pantry on the way home. 

“You’re right,” you pant, head lolling to the side as his mouth seeks the heat of your throat. “I love you too”

The tree bark bites into your hand as you take him fully. With the way your legs are pressed together and the angle that you’re standing, it feels like Yoongi is punching to the very core of you, making the world spin. You think you might collapse over the tree if he weren’t holding you up. 

“You’re just saying that cause I’m fucking you against a tree.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the fact that Yoongi picks up the pace, fucking you hard and with purpose. His hand slips between your legs, finding your clit and pinching it lightly, making you squeal and twitch. He laughs, choosing to circle it instead, working you faster toward an orgasm as he pounds into you, punching the breath from your lungs. 

Sex with him is different every time. You don’t know how you manage to never get tired of it, but it never feels the same. Not with him. Every time feels like you’re discovering something new, 

When you do come, you suddenly feel like you can run the rest of the way up to the ruins, energized on the endorphins alone. 

“I’ve heard of post nut clarity,” Yoongi jokes, tucking his cock back into his pants. “But never post nut energy.”

“It’s like a second wind.”

“Dickened wind.” 

You glare at him, tossing his backpack to him. “Stick to writing songs, not jokes.”

-

“You’re so fucking swollen,” Yoongi groans, thumbs peeling apart your folds. “Cute.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your face pressed down into the pillows of the daybed, ass up in the air with Yoongi behind you. The sound of the pool and anyone beyond the closed curtains of the banana are muted by the tropical music of the DJ. All the better to drown out the sound of your husband spitting onto your exposed heat. 

“Cause you’ve been fucking me insane all week,” you protest, body vibrating. Yoongi hums thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything, letting his spin trail slowly down your slit. You’re already wet from the way his greedy mouth sucked at your chest. “Baby, please. I want your mouth.”

“Yeah? You all hot and bothered?”

“Yes.”

“Let me cool you off.” 

Yoongi’s hands leave your ass for a moment. You’re too overheated from days in the sun and the rising tropical temperature to look at what he’s doing. You’re in a slow daze, a little buzzed from sweet drinks and Yoongi’s mouth, from sloppy kisses that taste like strawberry and Yoongi’s cute little sunburn on his ass from falling asleep after letting you drive him insane with your mouth on the private balcony the day before. 

Now, you hear the clicking of something moving around the ice bucket. Your brows furrow and you’re about to turn your head to look at what Yoongi is doing when you feel ice cold water slow drip onto your ass. 

“Shit,” you hiss, grabbing the edge of the daybed and arching your spin. The water is a cool burn, a relief that drives you mad as he makes a pleased sound. “Ohhh fuck, again.”

“More?”

“Fuck yeah.”

There’s the sound of more ice and Yoongi is dripping the cold water on your ass again, making your lower spine tingle and toes curl. The cold drips move closer to your cunt until he’s directly over your clenching hole. The shock of cold against hot sends you into a frenzy. You wiggle your ass back and forth, asking for more, eager for it. 

Yoongi has never been one to deny you. This time, you feel his lips around an ice cube, dragging his cold kiss over the swells of your ass, letting the ice melt on his tongue before lapping at your pussy, tongue cold against your dripping heat. 

It drives you mad. Your fingers ache with the way you clutch the pillows, pressing your face hard into the daybed as Yoongi does this a few times, bringing his cold lips to mouth hungrily at you until it’s all he’s focused on, forgetting the ice in favor of sucking greedily at your clit. 

Your spine feels like it might crack, bowed dangerously as you press back into his face. He moans at your eagerness, tongue twisting between your folds as eats you out in earnest. If it weren’t for the privacy curtains and the DJ booth, you’d never get away with this. Yoongi is not quiet, smacking his lips like a glutton. 

Air escapes you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an orgasm bears down on you. Your face is pressed so far in the cushions that you don’t think you can breathe, your lungs contracting and your chest squeezing as you come on his tongue without warning, a silent scream raging through you.

Stars burst behind your eyes. Yoongi takes it in stride, licking you long and slow as you remain rigid for the duration of your high. When it finally begins to subside, you fall to the side, sprawling boneless and feeling drunk.

“Holy shit,” you croak, voice gone. “You were right. Fuck the itinerary. This is so much better.”

[ladykailitha]

The Magic of Christmas Part 4/8

Hello! How are you guys enjoying so far?

In this Steve realizes his feelings, Dustin and Robin decide Steve needs to live forever, and Steve gets roped into something he swore he'd never do.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

***

August was fucking miserable. Like the worst month of the year. After February. And January. And September...

That’s besides the point. The point was that AC had kicked the bucket in the middle of the biggest heatwave.

He was going to cry. The wizard piece turned out really well. Steve had loved all the little details that he had put in it.

But the rogue was giving him trouble. It was horrific. Because rogues were silent and mysterious, but the way Steve talked about Will, he was quiet kid, a bitchy teen, and a wild adult. Trying to figure his place in the world he kinda went punk. Dyed his hair bright green. Piercings and tattoos. Ripped clothes and combat boots.

Eddie slowly sat up. Well that’s a thought. He blinked for a moment. That could actually work.

Suddenly his phone rang. He frowned at the device. No one called anymore. It was all texts and DMs and Face Time. The name that came up because there was one, another surprising thing, was Steve.

He dived for the phone and managed to answer it before it went to voicemail.

“‘Ello?” he breathed.

“Hi, Eds,” Steve greeted cheerfully.

Eds.

Fuck.

The things that little nickname did to the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey, Stevie!” he said back. “What can I do you for?”

“That article Nancy did is making some serious headway,” Steve explained. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet me for lunch to go over the details.”

Eddie laughed. “I was about to text you, darlin’. I have an idea for the rogue I wanted to float by you. So where to, my liege?”

“Monte Cruz, the Mexican place on 7th?” Steve asked.

It was a bit pricey, but it had the best fajitas Eddie had ever had. “Sure thing. 1pm okay?”

“Let me check,” Steve replied.

Eddie could hear him call Robin and while he couldn’t hear her response, Steve’s warm ‘thank you’ meant he was free.

“That’s perfect,” Steve said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

They hung up and Eddie laid on the floor staring up at the ceiling, holding his phone over his chest.

Fuck!

He got up and dashed to the bathroom to shower. He felt like he was covered in slime.

*

Steve was waiting for him on the terrace, a nice cool breeze rustling his hair. And Eddie couldn’t help but fall a little bit more.

Eddie waved and was far too pleased to get Steve’s little finger wave in return.

He sat down and grinned at Steve. “How is it cooler outside then in my loft?”

“Heat rises?” Steve suggested. cocking his head to the side.

Eddie laughed. “Well it’s the only thing that rising at this point. It’s so fucking hot.”

“I thought you’re loft had air conditioning,” Steve said with a frown.

“Apparently we worked it to extinction,” Eddie said mournfully.

Steve pulled out his phone. “Are you renting or paying a mortgage? I don’t remember what all we’re paying for.”

“Sadly, we own it,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh. “Otherwise I would have harassed a landlord to get it fixed.”

Steve hummed. “All right, I’ve messaged Robin. She’ll call around and get a technician come over tomorrow. It’ll go on my card if can be fixed or if it needs to be replaced.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair. “You don’t have to do that, man.”

Steve smiled at him. “Will the excess heat hurt your paintings?”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he threw his arms in the air. “Yes! Of course it will.”

“Then it’s a business expense and I’ll cover it.”

“I hate you,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You really, really don’t,” Steve murmured. “Now show me your idea for Will’s rogue.”

Eddie pulled out his drawing pad and flipped to the right page. He slid it over to Steve for him to see.

“Oh Eds,” Steve breathed. “It’s beautiful. He’ll love it.”

Eddie tried not to preen, but he couldn’t help it. “So I can go ahead and start painting?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Though maybe wait until after your cooler is fixed.”

Eddie threw his head back laughed. “I think you’re probably right.” He gently took the pad from Steve’s grip. “So what’s going on with the charity?”

Steve lit up. He started explaining about all the people interested opening would basically be franchises but that Eddie would still have full control of each branch.

“This is amazing, Stevie,” Eddie breathed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m happy to help,” Steve said with a grin. “It means that I get drive Dustin absolutely nuts with this whole charity thing. He’s been begging me forever to meet you.”

“I mean, you can invite him to one of our reeducation of Steve Harrington movie nights,” Eddie said, shoving his hair in his face bashfully. “If you wanted to.”

Steve smiled fondly. “That’s sweet of you. But I was thinking something that would absolutely flip their collective shit even more than a movie night. A Halloween one-shot.”

Eddie’s lips formed an O. His eyes sparkled and he grinned. “I know just the thing. It’s something my friends and I used to do in high school. You have these little half–not even half character sheets that have just the most basic of stats. The point is to die in the most epic way possible. There are rewards for stupidest death, most epic death, TPK. It’s lots of fun.”

“That sounds amazing!” Steve said. “Would you be willing to do it?”

Eddie leaned forward on the table. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“You join us,” he said with a grin. “You read the stats, you roll the dice, you die like a bitch, just like everyone else. You’d be on equal footing with the rest of the Party.”

“Can I think about it?” Steve asked shyly, ducking his head.

“Sure thing, big boy,” Eddie replied. “But let’s order lunch. I’m starving!”

Steve laughed. “Of course.”

*

Robin poked her head into his office and held up a leather folio. “Do you want to tell me what the hell this is?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, “I’m not Spider-man. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“That’s Superman,” Robin replied with a huff, “and you’re dodging the question. You know full well what I’m talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I really, really don’t. I haven’t done any even remotely outrageous in months.”

She walked up to his desk and slammed the folio on the desk. “Steven Kevin Harrington...”

“Not my middle name,” he sneered. “You know what it is. You have seen my birth certificate way more times than I have.”

Robin laughed. “But it’s so lame, so I make up ones that sound better.”

“Whatever, Robs,” he said with a huff of his own. “What has got you so twisted this time?”

She opened the folio and turned it around to face him. “You booked the Newfield for New Year’s eve.”

Steve smiled widely at her. “I told you I was going to. It’s hardly my fault you were making goo-goo eyes at Eddie’s agent at the time.”

Robin gasped. “I was not!” He raised a single eyebrow and she folded. “Yeah, all right, maybe.”

Steve sat up in his chair and scooted closer to her. “Look, before you start throwing accusations around about feelings and thinking with my dick, it’s for the charity. You know, the one we’re working on right now.”

Robin glared at him. “So it has nothing to do with him making goo-goo eyes at you?”

“He’s not!” he protested. “There’s no way. He can have anyone he wants, he’s not going to go for a stuffed shirt like me.”

Robin raised both her eyebrows. “You can’t actually believe that.”

“You saw his most recent video right?” Steve snapped. “The one where he ranted about how greedy businessmen destroying the environment?”

“Uh...” she said, “you mean the one where he especially called out billionaire businessmen and how smaller companies can change the face of the industry and then went on to list ten things that CEOs can do to change the world and all of them were things you did with Starcourt Ltd. That one?”

Steve blushed. “I guess I didn’t realize.”

“Look,” Robin said sitting down in one of the chairs, “I was wrong about a lot of things when you first hired Eddie for this job. About him, about you and your motives. So I get why you can’t take my advice on this, but he likes you. And more than just a friend.”

He ducked his head as the blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears down the column of the throat. “Don’t go there, please.”

Robin held her hands up in surrender. “I won’t if you don’t want me to. All I’m saying is that if you think you’re falling for him, too…just know he probably feels the same.”

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah, okay.” Then he suddenly buried his head in his hands. “Fuck, I have to make a phone call.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He lifted his head and sighed heavily. “Looks like I’m going to be playing D&D after all.”

She laughed and laughed as Steve buried his head again.

The kids were never going to let him live this down.

*

“You’re sending my off for my last year as undergrad,” Dustin whined, “and you’re making me come back for fall break? Why?”

Steve was getting tired of this question. The only people who knew about Eddie DMing for them was Steve, Robin, and Eddie. And probably Chrissy. Oh and Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom. Which meant that all the other moms knew too.

All right, the conspiracy was bigger than Steve thought.

“Because it is your last year,” he said with a sigh. “You’ll be heading off to MIT next year and it’ll be harder for you to come home for the holidays.”

Dustin deflated. “Yeah, okay. So everyone will be home for Halloween?”

Steve brightened up. “Yep! I’m throwing a costume party with pizza and if you guys aren’t shitheads about it, I might even front for a wet bar.”

Dustin frowned. “What the fuck is a wet bar?”

Robin who had just come home, smacked him on the back of his head, knocking off his hat. “It means there will be booze, doofus.”

Dustin who had been about to yell at her for knocking off his hat, turned to Steve instead. “Seriously?”

“Yup! I’ve okay’ed it with all the parental units,” he said, “and I keep an eye on your intake to make sure you don’t get sick, they’re fine with it.”

Dustin launched himself at him and hugged him tight. “You’re the best, Steve!”

“There won’t be beer,” Steve warned. “It’s not the best drink to get started drinking on and bottles tend to hide how much you’ve been drinking.”

“Are they going to be spooky themed drinks?” Dustin asked.

Steve laughed. “Hell yeah, they are.” He ruffled Dustin’s hair. “Now go finish packing. I’m not going to let your mom do it for you this year. You’re an adult. Act like it.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “God, you’re more mom like then my actual mom.”

Steve laughed. “If I got insulted every time one of you called me mom, I would’ve died of a heart attack years ago.”

Dustin hit him on the arm. “No talks of dying. You aren’t allowed. You have to live forever.”

Robin laughed. “Sure, just got to find that elixir of life somewhere.”

“Or the fountain of youth,” Dustin helpfully supplied.

“You could always invent something,” Steve suggested.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!” He dashed off excitedly.

“Pack first!”

Robin laughed.

***

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @carlprocastinator1000 @mogami13 @samsoble

[melancholicmelanin]

Compress/Repress | Chapter 3: Guess Who’s Watching

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Black!OC x Patrick Zweig, Tashi Duncan x Black!OC (Platonic)

Summary: The 2006 Junior US Open winner has been crowned, but Tashi and Maya are on a covert mission—sneaking into the Adidas party, dodging their shared father, and keeping their bond as secret sisters under wraps. What they didn’t expect was to catch the attention of the dynamic duo known as Fire and Ice.

Wordcount: 6.1k

Warning(s): Challengers spoilers, mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK - AUGUST 30, 2006

“Are we seriously sneaking into your own party?” Maya whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore nearby. Her gaze caught between Tashi and the impending scene unfolding before them. The whole setup—the lavish house, the gourmet food, Tashi’s face plastered across banners and posters beside the iconic Adidas logo. Maya’s heart thudded in her, her nerves prickling, but mixed with that unease was a thrill she hadn’t anticipated feeling tonight.

Tashi’s lips curled into a grin, one that was both endearing and maddeningly confident. She reached forward, gently brushing a wayward leaf out of Maya’s wild curls, her fingers lingering as she tried to tame the unruly strands. “It’s technically not my party,” she corrected, her voice full of playful defiance. “Adidas threw it for me, so really, it’s all the more reason for you to be here.”

Maya groaned softly, tugging at her curls, which had frizzed up in the humid, salty air. “I just wish it didn’t have to be a secret,” she murmured, her voice soft but heavy with the weight of everything they were hiding. The words lingered between them, a reminder of the complicated reality they both faced.

Tashi stilled for a moment, her playful expression dimming as she felt the sadness beneath Maya’s words. She’d noticed the anxious energy radiating from her half-sister since the idea of this trip was first discussed. Yet here they were, crouched in a secret hideaway by the dunes, the ocean breeze tangling through their hair as Tashi’s fingers gently combed through Maya’s curls. In that moment, Tashi felt an ache for the relationship they never had—a childhood full of shared memories, secrets, and adventures, the way sisters were supposed to have. Now, on the cusp of one of the biggest moments in her life, she couldn’t help but wish it didn’t have to be hidden from everyone who mattered.

But even with the shadows of their circumstances hanging over them, Tashi couldn’t imagine celebrating any other way. Not without Maya.

“Alright,” Tashi declared, shaking off the sombreness and flashing Maya a determined grin. “Here’s the plan.” Her voice had taken on that confident, upbeat tone that Maya both admired and envied. “We’re here to have fun. No nervous jitters, and definitely no acting like you’re worried about my dad or Tabby and Winston finding out.”

Maya swallowed hard, her hands twisting together. “Who said I’m nervous?” she protested, but her voice wavered, betraying her.

Tashi raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Girl…” she teased, her tone filled with sisterly affection.

Maya rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. The tension in her shoulders loosened, just a little, as Tashi’s humour worked its magic.

“Now, hold on,” Tashi said, her grin turning conspiratorial. She rummaged in her small crossbody bag and pulled out a miniature champagne bottle. The gold foil glinted in the moonlight, and she waggled it in front of Maya. “I’ve got just the thing to loosen you up.”

Maya’s eyes widened. “Wait… we’re actually doing this?” she said, feeling the giddy thrill build up in her chest. “Like, we’re really about to pre-game an Adidas party?”

Tashi threw her head back and laughed, a wild, free sound that seemed to dance on the breeze. “Yes, we’re fucking doing this!” She popped the champagne bottle open with a soft hiss, and bubbles spilled out over her hand.

Maya accepted the small, hastily poured plastic cup of champagne, her hands trembling in the process. “What if we get caught drunk?” she whispered, her voice a frantic rush. “And they call my grandparents? They’d ground me for life if they found out.”

Tashi’s eyes softened, but she gave a small, confident shake of her head. “They won’t find out,” she reassured her. “I promise.” She raised her cup, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “Besides, I wanted you here. You’re not just some outsider tonight—you’re my sister.”

Maya’s throat tightened with emotion, the word sister settling deep into her chest, warm and heavy. She hadn’t expected to feel this way. The joy, the love, the bond she’d craved for so long—it was all here, wrapped up in Tashi’s laughter and the unspoken promise that they would always have each other’s backs.

“To us,” Tashi said, holding up her cup with a twinkle in her eye.

Maya took a deep breath, her nerves still fluttering but her heart a little steadier. She clinked her cup against Tashi’s, a genuine smile breaking through. “To… us.”

And with that, they took a swig of champagne, the fizzy sweetness tickling Maya’s nose and making her giggle. The anticipation buzzed in the air as Tashi grabbed her hand, and together, they stepped out of the shadows, ready to embrace whatever the night held.

The music thumped louder and louder as Tashi and Maya stepped further into the heart of the party. A dreamscape of celebration sprawled across the Long Island's coastline, where every inch of the beach house’s backyard had been transformed into an oasis of glitz and glamour. The checkerboard vinyl dance floor gleamed under the glow of twinkling string lights suspended in a zigzag pattern across the venue. Outdoor furniture, chic and white, framed the dance floor, and lush potted plants lined the perimeter, swaying gently in the salty sea breeze. The sound of waves lapping the shore played as an undertone to the infectious rhythm blasting from the DJ booth.

Maya felt her pulse quicken. Tashi was already in her element, the vibrant blue strapless mini dress provided by the Adidas team hugging her figure perfectly as she sashayed through the partygoers. She exuded a confidence that made her untouchable, like she belonged in this glittering world of tennis champions and luxury. Maya, on the other hand, tugged at the hem of her own dress, a delicate, soft pink dress that embodied a balance of romantic and playful charm (or that’s what Tabitha said at the Bulmarine sample sale). Blend in, she reminded herself. She was supposed to be invisible, just another guest in a sea of faces.

“Just breathe, Maya,” Tashi murmured, squeezing her sister’s hand. Her voice was calm and steady, like an anchor in the swirling storm of sensations. “Remember, you belong here as much as anyone.”

They made their way toward the bustling center of the party, past clusters of people dressed in designer cocktail attire. Tashi moved like a force of nature, greeting people with quick waves and dazzling smiles, but never lingering long enough for anyone to ask questions about her plus-one. It was clear she had only one goal tonight: making sure Maya felt safe and included.

After a moment, Tashi leaned close. “Come on, let’s find my brothers. You have to meet Demitrius and Kenan.”

Maya’s heart skipped a beat. Her brothers—half-brothers, technically, but it didn’t matter. The idea of meeting them was nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Ahead of them, at a sleek outdoor bar adorned with miniature potted succulents and lit by Edison bulbs, two familiar figures were laughing over bottles of soda. Demetrius, with his lanky fourteen-year-old frame and mischievous grin, was nudging his younger brother, Kenan, who still carried that last hint of childhood roundness in his face. Kenan, in his middle school glory, had a mouthful of braces that gleamed as he tried and failed at his turn at cornhole.

“Kenan! Demetrius!” Tashi called, her voice bright and full of warmth.

The boys turned, Demetrius with his signature, slightly older-brother smirk, and Kenan with wide eyes full of youthful energy. “Shy-Shy!” Demetrius exclaimed, his sister’s nickname familiar on his lips and immediately setting down his soda to greet her. He had an air of teenage coolness about him, but his voice still held the excitement of a kid.

“The lady from Adidas said the soda here is unlimited! Can you believe it?” Kenan exclaimed excitedly, his braces catching the light as he grinned at Tashi. His eyes then shifted to Maya, his expression morphing into one of curiosity. “Oh, hello!”

“And who’s this?” Demitrius asked further, his tone cautious yet open to the stranger stood next to his sister.

Tashi draped an arm around Maya’s shoulders, her grin never faltering. “This,” she announced, “is Maya. She’s a really good friend from tennis camp.”

Maya’s heart thumped in her chest; her palms clammy. She felt Demetrius’s gaze appraising her, though not unkindly, and Kenan’s childlike wonder at meeting someone new. She forced herself to speak, her voice steadier than she’d expected. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Demetrius gave her a nod, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Cool to meet you,” he said, and Maya could tell he was trying to be mature, the way a fourteen-year-old boy does when he wants to impress. “Any friend of Tashi’s is a friend of ours.”

Kenan, however, had no filter. He looked between Maya and Tashi, his brow furrowed. “Tashi never lets us meet her tennis friends. Are you, like… super important or something?”

Maya flushed, her cheeks heating up under Kenan’s scrutiny. I mean, yeah, Kenan. I’m your sister for god’s sake. She was saved by Tashi’s laugh, a bright, musical sound that cut through the tension. “Yes, she’s incredibly important,” Tashi said, her eyes twinkling with affection as she nudged Kenan. “And it’s not like every person I’ve met through tennis was worth keeping in touch with, anyways.”

Kenan beamed, looking satisfied with that answer, and Demetrius rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he drawled. “So, you’re here to party or what?” Demetrius asked, his arms rose into the air in an awkward swagger.

“Yeah!” Tashi replied excitedly, pushing the shadow of worry away. “We’re here to party. Forget the speeches about “how thankful I am to be a pillar of the community”. Just music, dancing, and maybe a little mischief.”

Demetrius’s lips curled into a smirk. “Mischief? You? Never.”

Kenan perked up. “Mischief? Can I be part of it?”

Tashi pulled both her brothers into a loose huddle, including Maya in the circle. “Only if you guys promise not to rat me out to Dad if we get caught.”

Kenan’s eyes widened with excitement. “Deal!”

Maya leaned closer to Tashi, whispering, “You really have them wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

Tashi’s smile softened, a touch of melancholy there. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “They’re my boys. Always have been. Always will be.”

As they made their way to the checkerboard dance floor, Tashi’s father, Kevin, was deep in conversation with his wife, Crystal, and an Adidas recruiter. The recruiter’s voice was animated, hands gesturing wildly as he pitched ideas for Tashi’s future, and for a moment, Tashi’s smile wavered. Maya saw it—the flicker of apprehension, the shadow of pressure that came with being a rising star under the ever-watchful eye of a parent. But then Tashi shook it off, her determination steely, and pulled Maya into the crowd.

The music swelled, transitioning into Venus by Bananarama, and the dance floor erupted in cheers. Maya found herself caught in the rhythm, Tashi’s laughter like a shield that protected them both from the world beyond. They danced with abandon, spinning and swaying, the worries of their lives melting away under the glow of the string lights.

Maya’s head buzzed with a mixture of adrenaline and the lingering taste of champagne, and she felt, for a fleeting moment, free. This was what she had come for—this wild, exhilarating night, where nothing else mattered but the beat of the music and the warmth of her sister by her side.

“Look at you!” Tashi shouted over the music, her eyes bright with pride. “Told you this would be fun!”

Maya threw her head back and laughed, the sound coming from deep within her chest. “Okay, okay! You were right!”

The night air wrapped around them like a velvet blanket, and the dance floor felt electric beneath Maya’s feet. Tashi glanced over at her sister, a grin stretching across her lips as she saw how utterly transformed Maya seemed. The girl who was usually burdened with nerves had let herself go, laughter bubbling from her in a way that felt both wild and free. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of the dance, and her hair caught the light, a cascade of movement as she spun to the beat. Maya’s eyes sparkled with an excitement that made her seem almost airborne, like she could lift off into the sky at any moment.

Tashi couldn’t help but marvel. This was a side of Maya she rarely got to see—radiant, unrestrained, and completely alive.

Meanwhile, across the checkerboard vinyl dance floor, Art and Patrick sat transfixed, barely blinking as they watched the scene unfold. Maya moved with a kind of natural grace, her carefree energy impossible to ignore. She was magnetic, drawing eyes with an almost hypnotic allure, and the boys couldn’t help but be pulled into her orbit. Art shifted in his position, his breath catching slightly, while Patrick’s heart pounded with something he couldn’t quite name.

Maya, catching the feeling of being observed, turned with a playful twirl, her gaze landing on the two spellbound boys. They looked stunned, like they’d forgotten the concept of subtlety entirely. Her laughter faltered just a fraction, unable to decipher their intense stares fixed on her from across the dance floor. Her chest tightened, a familiar twinge of self-consciousness surfacing as if a cold breeze had swept through the warm, electric night. She dropped her arms a little, her body’s natural rhythm interrupted, and she shifted closer to Tashi, her smile dimming ever so slightly.

Tashi, ever attuned to her sister’s moods, caught the hesitation instantly. She turned to see what had made Maya nervous and rolled her eyes as she spotted Art and Patricks’ slack-jawed admiration. With a mischievous glint, she grabbed Maya’s hand and leaned in close, her voice a playful whisper. “Hey, don’t let a couple of boys steal your light,” she said. “If they want a show, let’s give them something to remember.”

Maya bit her lip, her nerves dancing alongside the beat of the music. “I don’t know…” she murmured, her gaze darting between Tashi and the boys. The idea of being the center of attention made her stomach flip, but there was something about Tashi’s energy—unwavering, unapologetic—that was infectious.

Tashi squeezed Maya’s hand and stepped back with a grin that radiated confidence. “Come on, we’ve got this,” she urged. She lifted her arms above her head, rolling her hips to the beat, her movements bold and full of flair. “Besides,” Tashi added with a wicked grin, “we look amazing. Let’s make sure everyone knows it.”

Maya hesitated for a beat, but then a rush of courage sparked within her. With a deep breath, she pushed the nerves aside and lifted her chin. If Tashi could be fearless, so could she. Slowly, Maya let herself melt back into the rhythm, matching her sister’s confident movements. The music pulsed through her veins, and she began to sway with purpose, her steps more deliberate, her energy more vibrant. Together, they became a mesmerizing force on the dance floor, radiating an electric kind of joy.

The boys’ attention only seemed to fuel them further. Tashi spun gracefully, her laughter ringing out like music, while Maya followed suit, a blush dusting her cheeks but her smile growing wider, bolder. They danced for themselves but couldn’t help embracing the thrill of being watched, of turning what had been awkward nerves into a moment of power and playfulness.

“See?” Tashi called over the music, her eyes gleaming with pride as she watched Maya’s confidence blossom. “You’re unstoppable.”

Maya beamed, her heart no longer pounding with fear but with exhilaration. “Okay,” she said, her voice light and free, “let’s show them what we’re made of.”

And they did—dancing with a newfound radiance, letting the energy of the night carry them, savoring every bit of the attention they once feared, transforming it into their own kind of magic.

Patrick's gaze lingered, captivated by the way the slinky blush-pink dress clung to Maya’s body, the delicate material riding up slightly as she moved, each motion accentuating her curves. Her skin glistened with a subtle sheen of sweat, catching the golden glow of the string lights strung up around the backyard. Her wild curls whipped around in the breeze, framing her flushed, exhilarated face. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her, the way she seemed both graceful and free, as if she belonged in that moment, like the world had been crafted just for her dance.

Art exhaled sharply beside him, the awe in his voice evident. “Oh my God,” he whispered, eyes wide with admiration, a hint of disbelief that someone could be so effortlessly captivating.

“Fuck,” Patrick echoed, but his was more a low, hungry murmur, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight before him. His heart thudded in his chest as he watched Tashi slide her hands around Maya’s waist, pulling her close with an ease that spoke of years of familiarity and trust. The two girls moved together in perfect rhythm, bodies swaying to the beat, their laughter mingling with the music, the joy in their shared dance lighting up the space around them.

Patrick’s smirk deepened. He had watched Tashi command the tennis court with a kind of fierce determination, but seeing her here, away from the competition and pressure, so carefree and happy, was a different kind of spellbinding. And then there was Maya, who had quietly snuck into his consciousness, her presence growing more magnetic by the second. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was captivating in a way he hadn’t expected. A challenge, perhaps, and he loved a good challenge.

Art nudged Patrick with his elbow, finally pulling his gaze away from the girls. “Man, you look like you’re about to float over there,” Art teased, his voice tinged with envy and a hint of something else—admiration, maybe. “What’s gotten into you?”

Patrick’s grin only widened as he shook his head, eyes flicking back to Maya, who had now broken into a wide, uninhibited laugh. “Just…appreciating the view,” he replied, his voice light but laced with intent. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Art glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and then back at the dance floor where Maya and Tashi spun and twirled like they owned the night. “You mean they’re something else,” Art corrected, though his eyes kept drifting to Maya. There was a palpable pull, a magnetic tension that neither boy could deny.

Patrick's gaze softened for a moment as he watched Tashi’s protective hold on Maya, the way she shielded her sister from the world even while drawing her into the centre of it. He admired Tashi’s fierceness, but he was also intrigued by the vulnerability he sensed between the two girls—the way they seemed to be each other’s universe in this small, wild moment of freedom.

“Yeah,” Patrick finally said, his voice a little more serious. “They definitely are.”

For a heartbeat, he thought about pushing his luck, making his way onto the dance floor to introduce himself. But something held him back—maybe it was the realization that either of the girls were out of his league. That he was wasting not only his time, but also theirs by even speaking to them for 5 minutes. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning, that somehow, this night had tied all of them together, and he was desperate to see how the story would unfold.

Seeing Kevin and Crystal approach the dance floor, Tashi grabbed Maya’s hand in a flash, her eyes wide with a playful panic. “We’re busted,” she whispered, a laugh bubbling up as she tugged Maya away from the crowd. The two sisters weaved through the swaying dancers, the vinyl checkerboard floor beneath them slick from spilled champagne and salty air.

Maya’s heart raced, but it wasn’t just from the sprint or the thrill of sneaking around. It was the prospect of being caught, of her secret presence at Tashi’s celebratory night being exposed to her disapproving father. “Tash, wait!” she whispered, nearly tripping over her own feet as her sister pulled her along. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here!” Tashi shot back, her grin mischievous. Her strands glided in the air with every hurried step, her dress glittering under the string lights like a constellation come to life.

Just as they were about to round a corner and slip behind a decorative hedge, they almost collided with someone—a tall boy with tousled dark brown hair and a confident smirk: Patrick. Art stood just behind him, hands shoved into his pockets, his dark eyes gleaming with interest.

“Whoa, running from the law?” Patrick teased, stepping into their path. His eyes flicked between the sisters, his smile a blend of curiosity and amusement. “Or is it Daddy dearest?”

Tashi paused for the briefest moment, but her energy never wavered. “You could say that,” she said, breathless from the escape. She leaned into the chaos of the moment, her confidence unwavering, while Maya tried to collect herself, the tension knotting in her stomach.

Patrick’s grin widened, and he gestured over his shoulder. “I know a spot,” he offered. “Quiet, away from prying eyes. Perfect for a getaway.”

Maya’s eyes darted to Tashi, silently pleading for her to reconsider. Being alone with two boys she barely knew in an unfamiliar place? Her heart thumped in protest, and a thousand reasons to say no flashed through her mind. But Tashi was already nodding, her eagerness for adventure propelling her forward.

“Lead the way,” Tashi said, leaving no room for debate. She tugged Maya closer, her grip firm and full of determination.

Maya opened her mouth to protest, but Tashi’s bright, carefree energy was overpowering. Her sister’s eyes sparkled with the thrill of something dangerous, something memorable. Despite herself, Maya found her resolve crumbling.

Patrick and Art led the way, guiding them off the dance floor and down a narrow stone pathway that wound through the outdoor garden. The music from the party grew muffled, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the rhythmic crash of waves in the distance. The beach house’s elegant decor faded away, giving way to nature’s raw beauty.

Patrick took the lead, his stride confident, while Art walked a step behind, silent but attentive. The moonlit path they took wove between dunes and tufts of tall grass, the string lights of the party fading into soft, distant glows. Maya’s feet sank slightly into the cool sand, and she shivered, feeling exposed yet exhilarated by the cool ocean breeze brushing her skin.

When they reached a secluded spot on the beach—a little cove marked by large rocks and a pair of beach chairs that looked out over the glittering sea—Tashi let out an excited breath, dropping Maya’s hand and spinning in a circle. She was radiant, wild, and so alive that it made Maya’s chest ache with admiration and worry.

Patrick, ever the charmer, wasted no time diving into introductions. “Patrick Zweig,” he said, flashing a grin that seemed to demand applause. His hand gestured loosely toward himself, the motion so casual it bordered on cocky. Art, perched on one of the beach chairs with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets, offered a quieter addition. “And I’m Art Donaldson,” he said, his tone calm but watchful, lips curving just slightly.

Tashi tilted her head, her expression one of playful disinterest. “Oh, I know exactly who you two are,” she said, dragging out her words as if delivering a punchline. Her gaze swept over them, lingering just long enough to set both boys on edge. “Fire and Ice, right?”

Art blinked, visibly startled. “Oh my god,” he muttered, his composure cracking just enough to show surprise.

Patrick’s grin only grew wider, his confidence unshaken. “In the flesh,” he replied smoothly, tossing a glance at Art that was equal parts teasing and triumphant.

Tashi smirked. “Yeah, I heard you’re playing for Stanford next year,” she said, shifting her focus to Art.

“How’d you…?” Art asked, genuinely curious, though his tone hinted at suspicion at the possibility of thee Tashi Duncan pursuing information on him.

“I just accepted my offer,” Tashi replied breezily, nonchalantly tossing her pin straight hair behind her shoulders. “Your name came up.”

“Wait, are you going to Stanford too?” Patrick asked, turning to Maya, his curiosity now piqued by the quieter sister.

Before Maya could answer, Tashi jumped in, her grin turning wicked. “Maya? No, she’s just a baby!” she cooed in an exaggerated voice, the same one she used when teasing her younger brothers.

Maya groaned, her cheeks flushing. “What she means is I’m still in high school,” she corrected, her voice sharp with embarrassment. “I’m starting my senior year next semester.”

Patrick chuckled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “A baby, huh? Guess I’ll have to call you ‘Kiddo’ from now on.”

Maya, desperate to shift the conversation away from her age, latched onto their nickname. “Fire and Ice?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “What is that—some kind of boy band?”

Patrick laughed, his confidence undiminished. “You could say that” he said, shooting a pointed look at Art. “So, who’s who?”

Maya pretended to study them, letting her gaze flick between the two. Patrick’s bright, easy energy contrasted starkly with Art’s quieter, more reserved demeanour. “You’re Fire,” she declared, pointing at Patrick. “And you’re Ice,” she added, nodding toward Art.

Patrick clutched his chest in mock offense. “Fire? Me? I thought I was the chill one!”

Art’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “I’ve been called worse,” he said, his voice low and dry, but his eyes carried a flicker of amusement.

Art leaned forward in his beach chair, curiosity sparking in his dark eyes. “So, how do you two know each other?” he asked, his voice soft but probing. There was something almost innocent in the way he asked, yet Maya and Tashi exchanged a quick, loaded glance that spoke volumes. They had to think on their feet.

Maya hesitated for a fraction of a second, her mind scrambling, but Tashi was already smiling, that mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. “Oh, it’s a long story,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she shielded herself from the cold breeze. “We met in, uh… Paris,” Tashi began, drawing out the word as though she were savouring the memory.

Maya picked up on the fib, her heart pounding, but a smile began to curl at her lips. “Yeah, that’s right,” she added, the lie shaping itself as she spoke. “I was studying at this tiny art school. You know, the type of place that barely exists on a map.”

Tashi nodded sagely. “And I was there for tennis camp,” she continued, her voice dripping with the dramatic flair she was known for. “We ran into each other at this café near the Seine, didn’t we?” She nudged Maya, who nodded, trying not to laugh. “It was raining. Maya had forgotten her umbrella, and I offered to share mine.”

Maya’s eyes twinkled with mirth as she added, “It was fate. One cup of hot chocolate later, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.” There was a teasing, unspoken implication in their exchange, and it lingered in the air between them, charged and intriguing. The way Tashi kept Maya close, the way their gazes danced around each other—it was all deliberate, adding an extra layer of mystery.

Patrick chuckled, clearly entertained. “Let me guess,” he said, his grin widening. “Love at first sight?”

Tashi gave Maya a mock-swooning look, placing her hand over her heart. “Absolutely. I couldn’t resist her charm,” she teased. Maya rolled her eyes but laughed, her nerves easing with the flow of their banter.

Art seemed to buy it, looking between them with genuine interest, while Patrick tilted his head, smirking. “So, Paris, huh?” He let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s something.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed playfully as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Maya. “So, are you a tennis player too?” he asked, his tone casual, but the way his eyes lingered on her made it clear he meant something more. “You’ve got the body for it.”

Maya’s cheeks flushed, the tension in the air suddenly sharp. Before she could respond, Tashi jumped in, her voice cutting through the moment like a lifeline. “Oh, please,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Coming from Maya’s kind of background, you’d think she’d be amazing at tennis. But no—she sucks at sports.”

Maya exhaled a small laugh, grateful for Tashi’s intervention. “Yeah, hand-eye coordination isn’t really my thing,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I make up for it in other ways.”

Patrick flicked his lighter open, lighting the cigarette perched between his fingers before turning to Tashi, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “So, about the Stanford thing,” he said, his tone casual but pointed.

Tashi arched a brow, clearly caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “What about it?” she asked, leaning back slightly, her tone cool but wary.

Patrick took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifted lazily in the night air. He passed the lighter to Art, who took it without a word. “What’s the deal?” Patrick asked, his words deliberately vague but weighted with insinuation.

Tashi tilted her head, the sharpness in her gaze cutting through the haze of smoke. “What do you mean, what’s the deal?” she said, her tone edging on defensive.

Patrick shrugged, flicking ash from his cigarette. “I mean, what’s your angle?” he clarified, his voice laced with curiosity but tinged with provocation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her composure. “I wanna get better, obviously,” she replied, her words clipped but steady.

“By crushing a bunch of girls who were the best players in their high schools?” Patrick shot back, his smirk growing as he leaned into the challenge.

Tashi’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t waver. “You know, they offer classes at college,” she countered, her tone turning dry. “I’d rather not have hitting a ball with a racket be my only marketable skill.”

Patrick’s brows lifted slightly, a spark of understanding flickering in his expression. “Oh, I get it now,” he said, leaning forward slightly as if the realization had just clicked into place.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed further, her interest piqued despite her irritation. “Get what?” she asked cautiously.

Patrick’s grin turned sly. “It’s smart. You’re making them wait for you. You want all these girls you’ve been annihilating in juniors to go pro, have their little moment in the sun, and then—bam—you swoop in like, ‘Remember me?’” He gestured with his cigarette for emphasis, his voice carrying a note of admiration despite its teasing edge.

Tashi rolled her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“And trust me,” Patrick continued, his smirk widening. “They will remember you. You’re the fucking Duncanator.”

Tashi scoffed, finally breaking her silence. “Is this why you came to my party?” she asked, her tone flat and unimpressed. “To interview me like you’re working for ESPN?”

Patrick chuckled, unbothered by her irritation. “It’s brilliant,” he said, his voice almost genuine. “Seriously. I can already see the Adidas campaign now.”

Tashi crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed but with the faintest glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Glad I could help with your creative brainstorming,” she said dryly, her tone signaling the end of the conversation.

“And when are you going pro?” Tashi asked, her tone casual but her gaze sharp as she shifted her attention to Patrick, clearly ready to dissect him next.

Patrick leaned back, exhaling a lazy laugh. “Next season,” he replied confidently. “It’s a young person’s game. No point in waiting around.”

Tashi scoffed, her eyebrow arching as she crossed her arms. “Hitting a ball with a racket—great way to avoid having a real job. And an even better excuse to dodge college.” Her words were light, but the edge in her tone was impossible to miss.

Patrick’s smirk deepened, his amusement only growing. “Oh, I see. You’ve got me all figured out?”

“Not exactly hard,” Tashi shot back, her head tilting slightly. “Your coach’s been calling you a genius since you were what, thirteen? Letting you do whatever you want, hyping you up like you’re the second coming of Agassi. That’s your problem.”

Patrick’s grin faltered, just a flicker, before he masked it with mock surprise. “Wow, I didn’t know you’d been watching me,” he quipped, the teasing lilt in his voice refusing to waver.

“I haven’t. I watched you once at the Junior Australian Open, and that was all I needed. You’re talented, sure, but no one’s actually taught you anything,” she said, her words cutting with precision. “Especially not how to fix that god-awful serve.”

“It works,” Patrick countered, his tone firm but defensive.

“For now,” Tashi retorted. “But that’s just junior tennis. What happens when you’re up against the pros? Someone’s going to pick apart that messy game of yours.”

Before Patrick could fire back, Tashi’s gaze darted to Art, her target shifting with ease. “Meanwhile, Art couldn’t get your coach’s attention if he lit himself on fire.”

Art stiffened, clearly caught off guard by the jab. He glanced at Patrick, as if looking for an escape, but Patrick only shrugged, clearly amused.

Maya, sensing the weight of Tashi’s words and the awkwardness they created, spoke up. “I think Art has real potential,” she said, her voice gentle but sure. “With time and the right support, he could be a great player.”

Her words seemed to land softly, Art’s blue eyes meeting hers. His ears turned pink, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment blooming across his face.

Tashi, ever the provocateur, leaned back and shrugged. “I was being generous. The point still stands: you can build something solid out of ice. Fire? It just burns everything down.”

Her gaze drifted to the waves, her words hanging in the salty night air like a challenge.

Tashi glanced down at her Garmin watch, the glow from the moon light bouncing of the glass panel. “We should get back before my dad notices I’m gone,” she said abruptly, slipping off the rock she’d been perched on. She scooped up her wedges, the cool sand pressing against her bare feet. “Maya, let’s go.”

Maya hesitated, her gaze lingering on Art. She stood slowly, brushing the sand from her dress, and offered him a small smile. “Goodnight,” she said softly, before giving Patrick a brief wave.

“Wait!” Patrick called, half-standing from his chair, his tone a mix of urgency and playful insistence.

“Are you on Facebook?” he asked, grinning as though the question itself was a clever move.

Tashi and Maya exchanged a quick glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. “No idea what that is,” Tashi said smoothly, her tone flat but her expression teasing, omitting the fact that her account had been forcibly deactivated by her mom months ago.

“He’s asking for your numbers,” Art clarified, his voice low and casual, his smirk lingering as he watched the two sisters. “And, yeah, so am I.”

Tashi laughed, shaking her head. “You both want our numbers?” she asked, her disbelief evident.

“Absolutely,” Art said, his gaze steady.

“Right?” Tashi shot back, turning to Maya with mock astonishment. “Unreal. What do we look like to you—a pair of homewrecking lesbians?”

“We don’t live together,” Art said dryly, his lips quirking.

Patrick leaned in, quick to follow up with a smirk. “It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend,” Art added, his tone light but pointed, earning a glare from Patrick.

“I do not,” Patrick protested. “Hey, why don’t you come hang out with us later?” His grin widened as he added, “I’m guessing they put you up at the same hotel in Flushing?”

Tashi rolled her eyes. “Maya’s too fancy for that. She’s at the Hampton Inn. Last-minute booking, naturally.”

“Oh, come on, Tee,” Maya shot back, exasperated. “It was the closest place to your hotel, and everything else was booked.”

“Alright, alright,” Tashi said, waving them off as she turned to leave. “I think it is time you get your beauty sleep. Goodnight boys.”

Patrick’s voice followed them, lilting and mischievous. “We have beer!”

Tashi laughed over her shoulder, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, in that case!”

As they walked back toward the glow of the party, Tashi nudged Maya, her grin wicked. “God, they want you so bad. What are you going to tell Jake when he finds out you’ve got two suitors fighting over you?”

“Jack is not my boyfriend. He’s just my debutante escort... maybe, I don’t know yet,” Maya groaned, exasperated.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Tashi teased, her laughter soft as the crashing waves swallowed their voices.

[baronmpontmercy]

To Pretend (Enjolras/Combeferre, 978 words)

Happy @logic-and-philosophy week 2024

On an autumn evening, Combeferre dreams of a homecoming.

____

The leaves were turning in the Jardin du Luxembourg, the vibrant greens of summer shimmering into golds and auburns. The oppressive thick heat of July and August had lessened now in mid-September, blown away by a cooler, crisper breeze and chased by orange-streaked evening skies. Combeferre, who hailed from the Alps, had always felt he was more suited to the cooler climes of autumn, would enjoy in his boyhood the colours and smells of the changing of the seasons; the tang of woodsmoke, the crunch of freshly fallen leaves underfoot, the rush of cold air from the mountaintops. Paris did quite pale in comparison, it had unique sights and smells for sure, but they were certainly not as quaint or picturesque. 

Still, sat in a quiet corner of the Luxembourg, hidden by a canopy of yellows, reds, browns, and greens, one might pretend. The soft autumnal sunlight filtered through the trees, though as it hit Enjolras’ hair, Combeferre could only think of spring. 

“...and will you?” he was drawn from reverie at Enjolras’ question, sat beside him on this secluded little bench. His cheeks and nose had the charming beginnings of chillkissed blush on them. 

“Will I what?” Combeferre asked a little sheepishly, “Forgive me, my mind wandered.”

“Return home over Reveillon and the new year,” Enjolras prompted, 

“Ah, yes. I suppose I will, Céline wouldn’t be amused if I didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, “and you?”

Enjolras was silent in reply, his gaze trained firmly forward, though Combeferre could see a line of displeasure twist at the corner of his mouth, barely perceptible lest you knew where to look. Combeferre knew where to look. He pressed Enjolras’ hand,

“I see,”

Enjolras pressed back and lingered, fingers brushing through the supple leather of their gloves. The twist at his lips dissipated, not quite giving way to a smile, but he was grateful at Combeferre’s immediate understanding; Enjolras had little need for dour attempts at frivolity anyway, when there were more important things to be done elsewhere. 

Still, Combeferre thought as he caught the warm musty scent of smoke in the air, maybe it would do Enjolras some good to get out of Paris at some point. Maybe not over the winter, maybe…

“I would that you could come with me to Saint-Antoine,” Combeferre said softly, “one day, perhaps, on a day like today.”

Enjolras tilted his head, indulging Combeferre’s sentimentality, “Oh?”

“Yes. I can picture us there. There is a park I used to frequent with my siblings, not so unlike this one, but with the Alps framing the background. And it’s quieter, as any small mountain town would be. But the leaves turn the same, the sky at dusk has the same smoky clouds crossing it. If I close my eyes and let myself focus, it’s as if we are there already. In fact… humour me, I know this may sound frivolous and fanciful.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed slightly as he considered this, but it passed quickly as he took in Combeferre’s expression, the embarrassed bloom of pink that was gathering on his cheekbones, “Shall I close my eyes then?”

Combeferre’s delighted smile was answer enough. Eyelids firmly shut, Combeferre pressed Enjolras’ hand again, and Enjolras squeezed in return. 

“The streets are narrow, and old, not unlike the Latin Quarter. The cobbles are bumpy underfoot, but worn. There’s a bookshop and printshop on the Rue Saint-Charles, where I got a set of tomes on biology as a young boy. There’s the abbey church, with a towering steeple that as a boy I thought was the biggest in the world, with a belfry that’s open to allow the remnant arms of the Mistral to pass through on the occasions it did.”

“I know the Mistral,” Enjolras murmured, contentedly, contemplatively, “I would hear it rush past my bedroom window, see it beat against the trees.”

“Cold and sharp. Breathtaking,” Combeferre agreed, “we could walk past the belfry, to that park. It’s just around the corner, and when the days get colder and the nights longer, it is less crowded. We’d have it to ourselves, nearly.”

“I will admit to not seeing what you see in your mind’s eye,” Enjolras said, eyes falling open, turning his head to Combeferre, “as lovely an image as it is.” “No, I know you are not in the habit of daydreaming,” Combeferre sighed, his eyelids flickering behind the lens of his spectacles yet staying shut, “forgive my maudliness.” “No,” Enjolras’ voice was soft, brushing across Combeferre’s ear like a gentle caress, “continue.”

Combeferre felt his shoulders relax, and filled his lungs with the crisp autumn air. The pictures were vivid in his memory, and sparked on the tip of his tongue as he spoke the images into the space before them, anchored all the while by the gentle, constant warmth of Enjolras’ hand. Him and Enjolras, traversing the old weathered cobbles, past the bookshop, past the church. The breeze would rattle past them, causing them to huddle close together, Enjolras’ nose would be the same charming pink it was now. The distant warm glow of a setting sun would light Enjolras’ golden hair on brilliant fire, a beacon in coming darkness. And Combeferre, in this little world he saw, would draw him closer still. 

“I love my hometown. I would love it all the more for you being in it. I love the patch of grass on which we stand, because we stand on it together.”

Combeferre opened his eyes,

“That is true for here too, François.”

“No need for pretense.”

“None at all,”

In the quiet of that secluded spot, when Combeferre leant to press his lips to Enjolras’ forehead, there were no witnesses save those trees, emblazoned with the colour of fire. No witnesses, when Enjolras bent to capture Combeferre’s lips with his own, but the pinkening sky above them.

The same as over Saint-Antoine.

[wilsons-three-legged-siamese]

another fic of mine woah 😩

fandom; house md

can be interpreted as non slah or slah between house/wilson

summery; wilson is dying, being taken care of a person. but wilson cant remember who they are.

word count; 1.3k

tw; major character death.

a/n: i dont have ao3 so it shall not be put up on there. if it is notify me, ill say if i have given permission as if someone asks i probably will say yes.

this was based on the song "rises the moon - liana flores"

rises the moon.

days seem sometimes as if they'll never end.

its august. the 20th if we're being exact. coming to the close of summer and the opening of autumn, usually being my favourite time of the year. cozy sweaters, warm socks and scarfs, the perfect weather. usually sunny with a nice breeze. well, i wish i could enjoy it. instead, im stuck in bed, my breathing laboured and my body shaking. though, this year, summer was my favourite.. june. i really enjoyed that, when i could walk without aid and just, enjoy life. ever since mid july, ive been deteriorating quicker than an abandoned building, which has been agonising. i want the pain to go away, please. it hurts..

but i dont want to die.

from the bedroom, i hear the singing voice again, a soothing melody. their voice smooth and deep. i sigh softly, it being a sort of comfort for me, knowing at least someone was there and i wasn't alone. their humming and muffled singing drowns out the continuous beeping of the heart monitor besides me. they had stolen the machine after faking being ill in a walk-in clinic, once the doctor had done to complain to the dean about them being an ass, they smuggled the monitor and brought it back. the good ol' days hm? that day was probably the most ive complained and laughed for a long, long time.

a mass than sat on the bed, the weight shifting slightly on the mattress. i ket out an involuntary groan, my back being slightly unsupported.

"hey, i made some broth for you.. its 1, and i think you should at least try and drink it for me," they murmured.

the bowl, of what i assume was broth, was set down on the small table besides me. soon enough, long, lanky arms were wrapped around my middle, gently pulling me up to sit up. wait.. what time did they say again.. 1 was it? only.. 1?

the sun digs its heels to taunt you.

the rim of the bowl was scarcely pressed to my lips, the bowl being slightly hot. i signal them to tip it a little so i can take a sip. and so i do. and holy shit..

thats fucking amazing.

the warm, soupy liquid runs down my throat, a sort of feeling i dont get that often, especially being warm. the way he flavours mix together is phenomenal, the spices and the subtle beef. its flavourful, but not enough to freak my taste buds out, which happens all too often now.

"is it okay?" they ask, their voice soft and gentle.

i hum with a slight nod.

but after sunlit days, one thing stays the same:

rises the moon.

days fade into a watercolour blur.

its been.. maybe a week? my sense of time is so off, it could be a week for a few days.. lets say its been a few days - to make me feel better. im now slipping in and out of consciousness, which is concerning in itself. i dont know how long im out for at a time. theyve been becoming more and more worried about me. i mean, there was always an elephant in the room, hell even when i was first diagnosed. but, the elephant has been growing larger and larger than before, making it hard to ignore. we have to adress it sometime.

but its hard to breathe.

then im awoken by a coughing fit.

it shakes my whole body, racking everything as i shut my eyes tight, desperately trying not to wake them up behind me. but, of course they woke up, they always do. i tried to savour the two, lanky but muscular arms around my abdomen, as they were warm and comforting, but soon, all i could feel was pain.

"are you okay?" they ask, their voice still a bit groggy from sleep.

i hum, my voice still hoarse even though i barely made a sound.

this just reminds me of them, i swear something to do with an infarction to the leg. but i cant quite remember.. or remember them.. their face is slightly recognisable, but not by a lot at all. my memorys been wracked up.. pisses me off, i wanna know whos caring for me. i wanna thank them, using their name, recogising their face.

memories swim up and haunt me.

"hmm.. mm!" i hum, trying to catch their attention.

they run over, quickly turning me on my side and holding the bucket to my mouth. i start to cry as i retch, vomiting harshly into the bucket, they rub my back gently, mumbling words of encouragement and reassurance softly to me. finally, i stop. glancing down at the small puddle of bile and saliva, i frown slightly.

look into the lake, shimmering like smoke.

i look into their eyes. my, coffee like brown into their, ocean like blue. scared and helpless meet concerned and determined. they run their skinny, pianist fingers through my frail hair. they always wanted to care for me, secretly.

rises the moon.

"close your weary eyes, i promise you that soon the autumn comes to darken faded summer skys." they pause for a moment. "breathe, breathe, breathe."

almost immediately after hearing that, i start to cry, just a full on breakdown. they quickly embrace me, wrapping their arms around my middle. i dig my face into theit shoulder, tears still rolling down my pastey cheeks. its nice.

oh to be hugged like this again.

days pull you down just like a sinking ship.

its been a day? maybe.. i dunno anymore. it might've been 2, 3, 4 a week, who knows - not me thats fot sure. it might be september now, i last remember it was august, that seems like yesterday. them, my carer, whatever, i dont know their name anymore. i dont know who they are, i cant see.. its all blurry and fuzzy, so is my memory. i cant remember the last time i ate..

floating is getting harder.

"im sorry.." they mumble, their voice snapping me out of my thoughts - though it was barely above a whisper.

their thin fingers run through my hair again, gently letting it fall between the gaps and repeating.

oh, i forgot to mention, i also cant speak.. or breathe for that matter. i think the tumor - or tumors more like - have begun to press against my trachea and esophagus, making his hard to both eat and breathe. wheezing has become a normal, daily routine.

considering my condition,

i have tonight,

and thats it.

because of my fate, i keep repeating a phrase i once said to a child as they went through chemo. they had no parents, i was the best thing they had..

but thread the water, child, and know that meanwhile: rises the moon.

days pull you up just like a daffodil.

its the next day, i think. its really hard to just think. the weezings gotten worse, i feel awful, like horrendous. its awful... maybe i am ready to die. i can just subtly feek them holding my fraile hand, stroking their thumb over my knuckles. only barely. im scared, terrified more like. i dont even know who they are, but im scared for them.. they'll miss me definitely. what will they do when im gone? i dont know..

uprooted from its garden.

once again, i feel consciousness slip from underneath me. which is normal, very. but this wasn't normal.. i could still hear.

"they'll tell you what you owe," they mumble. "but know even so, rises the moon."

i try to smile, a small twinge of my lips. but nothing happens. i try to tell them i love them, but again, nothing happens.

"you'll be visited by sleep. i promise that the autumn comes to steal away each dream you keep." they choke back a sob.

"breathe, breathe, breathe." houses voice sobs.

they're house.

but its too late to tell him i love him.

[ravennaortiz]

August 10th features Half-Sack with the prompt "Is it to late for a birthday kiss?" requested by the lovely @hatersaremymotivators .As always my stories are 18+

“Dude. Just go ask her out already” stated Juice as he sighed as Half-Sack missed his shot. His friend to busy watching you make your way through the crowd at the clubhouse. The two of you had gotten close over the last couple years. The last few weeks since Opie had pulled his stunt had you two closer than ever. Half-Sack wanted nothing more than to call you his but his nerves always got the best of him. Why ruin a good thing? He told himself every time the perfect moment arose to tell you how he felt.

“Didn’t Piney give you the go ahead last week? Now that you’re a full patch and shit?” questioned Ratboy as he brought more beers over to the pool table. “Besides we all know she likes you too” he added as Juice nodded his head in agreement. Half-Sack couldn’t argue that your dad had in fact pulled him aside and inquired about his intentions with you. The more you hung out with him the more your fathers watchful eye had been on him.

“I don’t know…… she’s out of my league” stated Half-Sack as he shook his head and took a long sip of his beer.

“True but won’t hurt to ask. So you can stop this pining thing” joked Juice making Ratboy snicker as he leaned against the pool table.

“Just go follow her and tell her you have a gift for her and then lay it on her” stated Tig joining in on the conversation from where he sat at a nearby table with a crow eater on his lap.

You had snuck outside to enjoy the crisp, cool night air. Escaping the stale, stuffy clubhouse with your tequila sunrise you perched on a picnic table far from the door. Closing your eyes you sipped your drink as a gentle breeze caressed your heated cheeks. Losing yourself in thought you didn’t hear anyone approach until you heard a voice making you jump slightly.

“Mind if I join ya?” asked Half-Sack as he tapped his beer bottle on the table as he got close to you. “Sorry for scaring you” he offered when you jumped.

“No worries. What brings you out here?” you inquired as you smiled at him as he sat next too you. Heat pooling in your belly as his knee touched yours. Too say you had a crush was an understatement. The alcohol had you wishing he would take you right here and now.

“Just saw the time…. Almost midnight” stated Half-Sack trailing off as he looked over at you his eyes falling to your lips at the end as he swallowed hard.  “Was uhh wondering….if it ….if it was too late for a Birthday kiss?” he stammered as he looked back u at your eyes.

You lean forward without answering and press your lips onto his quickly before pulling back some. “Not to late” you murmur as you caress his cheek with your hand.

Return to Masterlist

[sensitiveaangel]

polypore candelabra by me.

a tree trunk with candle-supporting mushrooms growing out of it.

made of borosilicate glass at the torch. 2024.

[thychesters]

#wipwednesday! it's been a minute and i've been staring at this doc for too long. i'm at the stages where i'm trying to string some scenes together, so would you believe i went back to check and i think i started this scene last august? good for these two. back to the zolu grind, champs. / text below the cut:

“Zoro,” Luffy murmurs, voice rough against his dry throat, and Zoro almost shivers even though there’s no breeze. “Yeah, Luffy?” He wastes little time in climbing on top of him, shoving into his personal space as if he hasn’t belonged there since day one, hasn’t carved a home for himself at his side, once under the guise of keeping warm on the open sea and then because he wanted to. Zoro spreads his legs to accommodate his weight, one hand falling to curl under his thigh and the other snaking its way through the opening in his shirt to skim along his side before falling to his hip. Luffy pulls himself closer, knees digging into the smooth wood beneath them and pushes at him like there’s still too much space between them, as if they aren’t already sharing the same breath. He cradles the sides of his throat, could probably crush his windpipe with a flex of his fingers, and bends to trace the tip of his nose along his jawline and then follows the contour of his cheek into his temple. He tilts his head, making to follow, and cracks an eye open when Luffy makes him chase after him. “What’s Zoro thinking about?” he asks as he pulls away again, and his fingers worm their way under his blouse and spread against the warm expanse of skin there. “Nothing,” he says, pressing his mouth to the corner of his jaw and then, as Luffy tilts his head, to the fleshy underbelly of it, grazing his teeth along the soft, delicate skin and nips a “shut it” into it. Luffy doesn’t bruise easily, a fact that both pleases and pisses him off, and he leans and presses his neck into his chin. He makes a soft sound—a sigh, a hum—that rumbles down into his bones, and he shuts his eye. “Zoro.”

[simping-for-kamski]

Save The World - Chapter 18

The suburban area where Leo lived wasn’t the prettiest part of Detroit. It was a lot of concrete, repurposed factory buildings, tags, falling-apart houses and the scorching sun of late August. Grass and weeds were baked yellow. The two friends sought the solace of a park, in the shadow of trees whose canopy murmured at the event of a breeze rustling through the leaves. People had sowed empty soda cans and beer bottles along the alleys, and glass shards spread like confetti glimmered in the sunlight. Connor and Leo walked along the bend of a path, talking about nothing. They came to a halt by a railing overlooking a small stream below, like a brown snake with flecks of gold and swathes of green water lentils and nymphaea. “So….” Leo said expectantly when the electricity had reached a higher voltage between them, tension building up for every second Connor avoided to say what he had to say. They weren’t looking directly at one another, only stealing glances. “There are several things,” Connor said like a disclaimer. “It’s not gonna look good and it’s probably going to make you ill at ease about me, but I’ve got to be true and let you know.” “I’m ready.” Yeah, Connor thought. Was he, really? Were they? But he had no choice. He had to tell.

Read it on Ao3!

[elliember]

August 12th - "Yours."

(Kaistrae x Elliott. Art by @/Minko_Draws on Twitter.)

"Perfectly imperfect." 

Two creatures made of strife, sin and vice. Years of tenuous back and forth and tenebrous passing. Words unspoken. Feelings unrequited. A game of cat and mouse that was so laden with insecurity and a narrative that neither knew how to navigate that it almost seemed to knock the very wind out of her lungs when he had uttered those words in Orgrimmar. 

A heavy sentiment and a fanciful admission that she’d ached to hear for years and had never felt that she would ever earn. She had desperately wanted to be -that- person to him but she had never wanted to cage him. It had always been made clear that he was not the one to settle in one place and she very boldly proclaimed the same.

Hearts are a funny thing, though. They beat fiercely for the right people and he had always set her heart racing in her chest with every fleeting reunion. Stole her breath away with the collar of a strong hand wrapped around her throat. Sins of the flesh and marks worn for weeks after they would separate again. And the hollow emptiness that followed as she sat alone in her home and found ways to pass her time.

It always hurt. But it was a familiar kind of feeling and she had to tell herself that she would need to accept the scraps of indulgence and attention when it was permitted. She had to pretend to care about others when she loved -him- so deeply, never truly giving her time or attention to anyone that tried. Not in any way that was ever fair to the ones that did. 

They weren’t him.

Elliott laid quietly with her partner. The soft ambience of a fall morning breeze drifted in where the heavy, dark curtains were split open ever so slightly. It was early enough that the sun didn’t shine through and it was late enough that the two had yet to find sleep. It was the quiet times that she savored the most. His intimacy. His tenderness.

It was hers. She was his.

Her body draped over his, laid idly between his legs with her head rested against his chest with the warmth of his skin as a comfort. Pressed together and tangled in the sheets, the vibrant fel-tinged gaze peered down at the girl. A half-lidded glance as possessive hands roamed over the skin that he could touch. She was silent and still, her eyes closed as calloused fingers traced over her shoulders, one hand moving gently up to favor her scalp with gentle attention.

Elliott stirred slightly, a soft but still audible sound that denoted her satisfaction when he doted upon her. Pointed ears wiggled as she turned her face down to press her lips against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against them as she followed with her forehead rested there. The man’s touch traipsed along the nape of her neck and squeezed reassuringly and her arms tightened around him in bed.

There were a few more moments of quiet before she shifted and pushed herself up. Careful as she climbed up the expanse of his body in a sinuous way and the tiny elf wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders to bury her face against the side of his neck. The sheet slipped free of her form as she did so, pale skin on display in the waning light of the solitary lamp whose flame flickered low. Elliott mounted Kaistrae and the girl tugged roughly, offsetting her weight to shift their position and pull him over and on top of her with a weary and affectionate smile.

Her fingertips pressed into his back where scars formed the map of his physique, taut muscle and a powerful frame. She peered up into his eyes with an impish expression, lying beneath the man and toying with the strands of blonde hair that fell forward, loose and wild. She pulled him down and breathed in deep, holding him tightly as though she might wake up from a dream. 

It was a raspy growl. A possessive murmuring of a single word with his lips against her skin and his teeth following to mark the spot. 

“Mine.”

And Elliott grinned with the sting of his bite, eyes fluttering closed with the welcome weight of her partner atop her. 

“Yours.” She whispered confidently in response.

@daily-writing-challenge

[aylen-san]

One day in Rome

Morning in Rome, during the August Kalends. The sun, like burning gold, was slowly rising over the horizon, bathing the city in a soft light that reflected off the marble columns and golden domes of temples. Celeborn stood on the terrace of his domus on Palatine Hill, framed by marble railings and iron vases with laurel. A gentle breeze played with his silver hair, glinting in the sunlight. He wore a tunic of the finest white linen, shimmering subtly in the light, and his belt, fastened with a bronze buckle, was adorned with the symbols of Lórien, barely visible to the human eye.

His gaze drifted over the bustling city, where life was already in full swing. On the Forum, Romans were discussing the latest news, merchants were setting up their stalls, and the city was slowly coming to life. Feeling the pulse of this ancient world beneath his feet, Celeborn listened to the hum of the city—so foreign to him, used to the silence of elven forests, but there was something strangely captivating about it. He leaned against the railing, feeling the smooth coolness of the marble under his hands, and pondered the fleetingness of human life and the endlessness of his own.

Today, he was expected in the Senate, where a discussion about the northern borders, threatened by barbarian raids, was to take place. He knew the Roman patricians viewed him as a mysterious advisor, bringing not only wisdom but also a certain enigmatic power. His past, veiled in legend, commanded respect, though Celeborn himself never sought power over men.

Descending the marble steps into the atrium, decorated with mosaics depicting sea monsters, he glanced at the fountains adorned with statues, from which thin streams of cool water flowed. The servants respectfully opened the doors before him, and he stepped out into the streets of Rome. The crowd, heading towards the Forums, was noisy and bustling, but upon seeing Celeborn's tall and graceful figure, they greeted him with deference. Though his slender, almost ethereal build was more elegant and taller than most Romans, he did not stand out but rather seemed an inseparable part of this city.

His path led past numerous temples and monumental arches, where Roman legionaries marched in formation, and philosophers gathered at the Basilica Ulpia for their endless debates. In the Senate, Tiberius Claudius, an experienced general eager to hear the wisdom of the mysterious elf, awaited him. Celeborn entered the hall where the patricians in their purple togas lounged on marble seats, discussing how best to protect Roman civilization from the barbarians.

Celeborn suggested using the strategies of ancient elven wars but spoke cautiously—too much wisdom might not be well received. He spoke of a system of watchtowers and signal fires that had guarded the elven realms for centuries. The Romans listened with fascination, though some eyed him with suspicion—not everyone was comfortable with the idea of a foreigner, no matter how respected, suggesting changes to their age-old strategies.

When the meeting came to an end and the Senate filled with murmurs of discussion, Celeborn left the building, his steps light and soundless, like those of a hunter in the forest. He headed towards the market, surrounded by colonnades. The chaos here was palpable—the cries of merchants, the smell of exotic spices, leather, and oil filled the air. Celeborn passed by a jeweler’s stall selling ornaments with obsidian and gold inlays. Their gleam reminded him briefly of the precious stones of Tirion and those who once wore such treasures. For a moment, he felt a desire to touch them, but he restrained himself, knowing that this was a world where material wealth was merely a shadow of true values.

Celeborn then made his way to the Basilica Ulpia, where philosophers engaged in discussions about time and existence. The Roman scholars always admired his worldview, which he expressed with subtlety and restraint. He spoke of time as a river, flowing continuously, though each person could only see a small part of its course. His words astonished the listeners, who tried to grasp their meaning, but for them, he remained a mystery—a wise figure from a world where reality seemed like a dream.

In the evening, Celeborn went to the Gardens of Lucullus. The lush trees, entwined with grapevines, cast shadows through which the last rays of the setting sun filtered. A calming silence filled the garden, broken only by the soft murmur of fountains surrounded by blooming roses. This garden was his retreat, a reminder of the distant forests of Lórien and the shadowy groves of Eregion. He sat on a marble bench beneath a towering plane tree and closed his eyes, feeling the presence of nature around him, hearing the music of the wind in the branches.

His gaze rested on a statue of Mercury standing by the fountain, as if reminding him that time flows and changes everything. In that moment, Celeborn pondered his place in this fleeting world. To the people, he was but a momentary enigma, passing along with their generation, but for him, each day was merely a blink in the endless flow of time.

Night fell over Rome. The city lit up with thousands of oil lamps, illuminating the streets and squares. Celeborn rose from the bench, casting one last glance at the garden, now sinking into darkness. He knew that this day, like all others, would become just a drop in the vast sea of time through which he continued his journey—always observing, always learning, but never truly becoming part of this world.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Autumn Flush

Second Flush | Masterlist

Pairing: Old Western Retired!Christopher Pike x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only (Minors interacting with the work will be blocked)

Notes: *The term ‘flush’ in the chapter titles has nothing to do with skin tone. It’s in relation to the phrase ‘the first flush of spring’; ‘second flush’; ‘autumn flush’.

Sorry this took me 800 years. Here's the last bit!

Warnings: Cursing; fluff; Reader is a virgin; period-typical attitudes toward sex; explicit sexual content - fingering; vaginal sex; unsafe sex; creampie

Summary: Christopher has been looking at you much more frequently these days. He watches you in a  way that sets the hair on the back of your neck prickling. You don’t find the looks intimidating by any means, but when he regards you with interest in that way, you…Well, you just don’t know what to do with it. 

GIF by dearemma

It’s difficult, altering your established routine with Christopher. He goes out of his way to come and visit you on Sundays, rather than your trekking up to his cabin to spend time alone with him. Dr. M’Benga kindly agrees to act as chaperone, allowing the two of you to spend time together ‘properly’. You sit in M'Benga's parlor, sharing conversation and coffee with Christopher and the doctor. But M'Benga always finds a way to excuse himself and Rukiya for at least a few minutes, allowing yourself and Christopher to have some proper alone time. 

When this begins, you start by shyly inching closer to one another and taking hold of each other’ hands. But as your courtship goes on, you’re already moving toward one another before the doors to the parlor can close entirely. 

Now, Christopher sits on the settee beside you, taking hold of your hand in his. You lean into him happily, resting your head on his shoulder as you intertwine your fingers. There’s a warm August breeze pushing through the window, ruffling the curtains. You tip your head up, brushing a kiss to his jaw. Christopher hums happily, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“I miss coming to see you,” You admit softly. “I liked the walk.” 

“Just the walk?” 

“Not just the walk...I miss the horses, too.” 

“The horses.”

“Well you’re here,” You point out, batting your eyelashes at Christopher. “So I can’t miss ya, can I?” 

“Then I will see you in two weeks.” 

You couch a giggle in a groan, resting your head back against the settee. 

“Don’t do that,” You pout. “I’ll be lonely.” 

“You have friends in town,” Christopher points out, “Una and Joseph, Jim, Spock, Christine.” 

It’s true. You’ve found a community beyond Christopher in Enterprise. The whispers haven’t stopped or disappeared, but they’ve grown more quiet under the pleasant conversation of your friends. 

“Still,” You mumble, peering down at your joined hands. “I don’t like missing you. I did that long enough when I was in Baxter’s Crossing.” 

Christopher is quiet for a moment before he untangles his fingers from yours. You frown a touch at shift, but he wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. 

“I missed you, too,” He admits in a murmur. You smile, curling your arm around his middle and nuzzling into his neck. 

“I didn’t think you would,” You mumble.

“Why do you say that?”

You can hear his frown, and you reach down to pick to a piece of lint on your dress, distracting yourself from the painful memory.

“You didn’t turn to look at me when you left.” 

“I figured you’d gone inside.” 

“I watched you until I couldn’t see you anymore. I wanted you to look at me.” 

Christopher sighs softly, breath brushing across your forehead. 

“I couldn’t have left if I’d turned to look at you,” He admits. You snuggle closer, despite the warmth of the room. 

“I’ll have to save these moments up, too,” You sigh.

“Why do you say that?” 

“Well—I know it’s a long ways off, but come winter, it’ll be harder for you to come into town.” 

Christopher grunts thoughtfully, rubbing your hand gently with his. 

“I’ve been thinking about that.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm…Cabin’s an awful lot of space for one person.” 

It doesn’t take long for the implication to sink into you, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it at first. 

“You came up to Enterprise for space, Christopher," Your voice shakes as you remind him.

“There’ll be plenty of space, even with two…Maybe three, some day.” 

-- 

The celebration is a small one, but you’re certain it couldn’t be lovelier. The town’s judge officiates; half of Enterprise turns up to see the two of you married. You can’t shield or mask your joy, and you don’t want to. Tears spring up in your eyes as you exchange vows; you have to stop yourself from leaning into his chest and clinging to him in front of the others. 

-- 

“Would you stop that?” Christopher laughs as you stroke your fingers over his bare cheek. 

“Absolutely not,” You shake your head. “I’ve never seen all of my husband’s face before. This’ll be quite the adjustment for me.” 

Christopher’s smile spreads brightly across his lips. He turns his head, brushing his lips across the band on your ring finger. 

“Do you think you’ll manage it?” He murmurs. 

“I’ll have to find a way, I suppose. Of course that may include touching your cheek.” 

“I see.” 

“Can you stand it?” 

“I’ll find a way.” 

-- 

The sun is beginning to rise hazily in the September sky as you and Christopher finally get ready for bed. You’d made short work of the morning chores while you were still in your wedding clothes: he’d fed and watered the horses while you’d fed the chickens and fetched the eggs. You tiredly kick your shoes off, nudging them aside. You’re exhausted; your feet ache form dancing; your cheeks hurt from smiling. 

“Could you help me with this?” You yawn, waving at the lacing on the back of your dress. Christopher hums, fingers carefully working at the fastening. You sigh softly as you feel the bodice loosen. 

“Thank you,” You sigh as you wriggle out of the dress and skirts. You’re left in your shift as you climb onto the bed. You turn to watch Christopher undo the buttons on his waistcoat. You move up on your knees, crawling across the bed to him. As Christopher shrugs off his waistcoat, you raise your hands, making short work of the buttons on his shirt. Your face heats at the feeling of Christopher watching you so closely. 

You suddenly feel terribly shy. Maybe it’s silly to feel that way; you’ve only been married for twelve hours. You were warned by your employer that Christopher may be a touch pushy—may demand that you complete your wifely chore. When you’d asked which she meant, the horses or chickens, she’d just given you a pitiful smile. Her true meaning had become apparent far too late. Now, you can’t get it out of your mind. You’re certain that Christopher would never demand that of you, but the prospect makes you nervous. 

When Christopher cups your cheeks, your eyelids flutter. You feel yourself swaying into his chest, tipping your chin up for a kiss. Christopher gives it to you without hesitation or teasing. He slides his hands down over your bare shoulders, smoothing over the goosebumps blossoming on your skin. He leans back, eyes skimming your face—but before he can lean in for another kiss, you yawn widely. You raise your hand to cover your mouth, ducking your head in embarrassment as Christopher chuckles. 

“Why don’t we get some sleep?” Christopher urges. You slide back in the bed, pushing your legs beneath the sheets. You mean to watch Christopher undress the rest of the way—you want to watch him, but your head is so heavy with fatigue. You feel the bed dip beside you, and you snuggle close on instinct. You rest your hand on his chest, and find it bare. Your eyes do open, then, a touch stunned. Christopher just eyes you with a patient, fond smile as he raises his hand, stroking his knuckles along your jaw. 

“Rest, my darling girl.” 

--  

Perhaps living with a man should be more of an adjustment. Perhaps it would be more stilted of a change if you didn’t already know him so well. It is a little strange, but living with Christopher is enjoyable. You love waking up to the sight of him; you love finding yourself curled in his arms. You find that you really don’t mind getting up early to tend to the horses and the chickens. Christopher takes care of the more physical odds and ends around the cabin—cording wood, exercising the horses. You handle most of the duties in the home—managing the cabin’s inventory, cooking meals, washing your clothes. The two of you take trips into town every week, to visit with others, and to pick up supplies. 

Your life has an ease and a feeling of normalcy that was unimaginable when you were ferrying the baby to her grandparents. 

--

“Y’alright?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, hardly looking away from the dough that you’re forming in neat rolls. As you tuck the last of them into the dutch oven, Christopher rounds the counter, plucking it up and heading for the fire. 

“Thank you,” You chuckle. Christopher waves it off as he sets it on the hook. When he turns back, he finds you wiping the excess flour from the counter with a wet rag, a fond smile pointed at him. He smiles, too, and your heart lifts into your throat as he takes slow, steady steps toward you. You hurry to duck your head, scrubbing with renewed purpose. 

Christopher has been looking at you much more frequently these days. He watches you in a  way that sets the hair on the back of your neck prickling. You don’t find the looks intimidating by any means, but when he regards you with interest in that way, you…Well, you just don’t know what to do with it. It’s been months, but you think about it now and again—your former employer’s warning that Christopher would expect you to attend to his more physical wants. 

He hasn’t neglected you, or shied away from touching you. You’ve had a few bouts of more amorous kissing—often before you’ve fallen asleep. Your encounters nearly moved beyond kissing and fondling twice, but both times, you were interrupted. The first time, Mary Lou had gotten out of the stable. The second time, Una had arrived to collect a dress and waistcoat that you’d mended for her. 

“So, um,” You pipe up nervously as Christopher rounds the counter, “I’ve been thinking.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“We should start stocking some things for the winter. Just the staples,” You hurry to add as you lean heavily against the counter. 

“Been thinkin’ about this long?” 

“Just since this morning.” 

“Mm.” Christopher’s hands land on your hips, holding you steady as you wobble just a touch. You bite your lip in concentration, bending over the counter to swipe at specks of flour on the far end of the countertop. Your hand goes still as Christopher cuddles close, burying his face in your neck. You let your eyes close for a long moment at the nuzzling, at the feeling of him pressed flush against you. You’ve woken up like this more than once, but it feels very different to be pressed close in the light of day.

“You make up a list?” Christopher asks after a stretch of quiet and stillness, his stubble brushing pleasantly against your skin.

“Oh—Not yet—I mean, not really. Well—” You stumble over your words as his arms curl around your middle, his hand splaying over your belly, “That is—It’s only in my head. I haven’t written anything down.” 

“Well what’ve you got in your head so far?” 

“Erm...Beans, rice—” 

“Mhm.” 

“Flour, sugar, honey—” 

“More honey?” Christopher teases. “I swear I’ve bought more honey in the last two months than I have in my entire life.” 

“I bake with it!” 

“I know.” 

“And I don’t hear you complaining about what I’ve made.”

“I’m not.” He gives your hip a little squeeze, then a tug, urging you to turn. You blink up at him expectantly, arching a brow. 

“Good, because if you are, I’m not baking you anything else.” 

“Not ever again?” 

“Not at all.” 

“Okay,” Christopher chuckles. He dips his head, brushing a kiss to your jaw. You tug your lower lip between your teeth as you let your eyes slip shut. You slide your hands up into his hair, gently twining the silky strands around your fingers.

“So we can, um…” You mumble, “We can, um…We can worry about this later.” 

It’s all that you get out before Christopher catches your lips with his. You moan softly, lips parting as he teases his tongue against them. Christopher leans back just a touch, murmuring, “Up,” and patting your thighs. You plant your hands on the counter, pushing yourself back onto it. He darts in for another kiss, his hands pushing up the fabric of your skirt. You spread your legs, giving him plenty of space to slot between them. You raise your hands, smoothing them over his roughening cheeks (it’s surely only a couple of weeks before his beard is in full bloom again).  

You tip your head back, shivering as Christopher’s kisses drift from your lips, trailing along your jaw, and down to your neck. You suck in a stunned, shaky breath as his hand raises, gripping at the front lacing on your dress and giving it a yank, undoing the tidy bow. You tip your chin down, watching as he slips his fingers between your corset and your low cut chemise. You’d been remiss in tightening it that morning, wary of running behind and not getting the bread finished in time for breakfast. You wriggle a little, nerves fluttering in your belly as he works it down, revealing your chest to him. 

Christopher doesn’t hesitate in his ministrations. He sucks a kiss to the top of one breast as he palms the other, his rough fingers giving it a tender squeeze. You reach back, fumbling with the strings of the corset and hastily undoing them. You toss the corset aside, then suck in a sharp breath as he tugs the neckline further down. 

“Christopher,” You sigh, tipping your head back. He hums as he circles your pebbling nipple with his tongue. He sucks it between his lips, groaning softly against your tender skin. He draws back with a greedy, slick sound, grasping your hand. 

“Come with me,” He urges.

“What? Where are we going?” 

“You’re too good to be taken on a counter, sweet girl.” 

--  

You’ve seen how strong he is, but you still marvel at the sight of Christopher drawing his shirt off. You kneel up on the bed, hesitantly reaching out before you slide your hands over his tanned, muscled skin. You begin to shy as he reaches you in kind, but Christopher grasps your jaw, drawing you in for a soft, warm kiss. You can’t help but melt against him, shivering as his rough fingertips dip beneath your slip and draw it over your head. It’s only a moment before he tosses it toward the small pile of your clothing that’s been discarded. 

Your body goes hot as his gaze sweeps across your bare flesh. You press your face into his neck, laying gentle kisses into his skin as you nervously straddle his thigh. Christopher hums softly, sliding his hands down over your back and flexing his fingers in your skin. You gasp, hips hitching against his thigh. You whimper as pleasure that ripples through you, a throbbing pulse between your legs.  

“Go on,” Christopher urges, smoothing his hand further down. You hesitate before you press down against his thigh a little more harshly, a stunned moan slipping from your lips as your breasts brush his chest. Your embarrassment swells as you feel his hardening length against your thigh. He doesn’t tease or chide your sounds or actions. Christopher just gives you a lusty grin, pressing his thigh more insistently against your core. Your hips jolt against him as you chase the sensation. You burble, unable to stop the sounds falling from your lips as Christopher grasps your hips, urging your pace on for a moment, then nudging you to lay back. 

Your eyes widen as you watch Christopher raise two fingers, sucking them into his mouth. He slides his thigh back, teasing the slick digits against your tender clit. You let your eyes slide shut, pushing your head back into the pillow as he slips them further down. 

“Is this alright?” 

“Yes—oh!” Your breath catches in your throat as he eases a thick finger into your throbbing pussy. He curls and twists it, his rough palm brushing against your clit.

“Can you take another?” 

“Mhm!” 

He grins at your eagerness, gently pressing another finger into you. You can feel his heavy, heated gaze as you tip your hips down into his touch. Christopher slides down your body, tracing his tongue teasingly around one of your nipples before lapping hotly across the pebbling mound. You sigh, sliding your hand into his hair and arching up into the slick heat of his mouth. His fingers scissor and thrust slowly, his palm grinding firmly against your clit with every stroke. You shift your thigh, body heating as you feel his thick, hardened length against you. You peer down between the two of you, chest fluttering with nerves as you spot the flushed head. 

“Is—” You swallow thickly, “Is it going to…Fit?” 

Christopher lifts his head, a warm chuckle dropping from his lips. 

“We’ll make it fit.” 

--  

Your thighs are still been shaking and tense from the first swell of pleasure; your movements are a little stilted as Christopher settles on his back, urging you to straddle his thighs. 

“But,” Your brows furrow as you adjust, “I thought I would be laying down.” 

Christopher just tuts softly, smoothing his hands over your sides.

“I did promise I would teach you to ride.” 

You bite your lip, looking down as the head of his cock slots against your slick opening. Christopher’s hands rest on your hips, squeezing them to focus you. 

“We take this at your pace,” He reassures. “Take what you can. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.” 

You rest your hands on his chest, easing down just a little. You tense at the stretch of him slipping inside, but Christopher strokes his thumb soothingly over your sides. You bear down a bit more, eyes slipping shut as he fills you. 

“That’s it—Oh, sweetheart,” Christopher sighs, his grip tightening. You slide your hands to his shoulders, wincing as you move just a little too quickly. 

“Y’alright?” 

“Mhm,” You nod, adjusting to press your hands on either side of his head. You lower your head, pressing your lips to his, distracting yourself from the slight pulse of pain as you adjust to him. Christopher’s hands slip up, nails brushing small circles in your skin as his tongue flickers against yours. You swallow thickly, nervous as you shift your hips. When it doesn’t incite the same discomfort, you do it again. You break your kiss, resting your forehead against Christopher’s as you begin to roll your hips, panting softly against his lips. Once your tentative movements become more steady, you feel Christopher gently push up beneath you, thrusting in a bit deeper. Your mouth opens with a shaky moan as you speed your roll to a slight bounce. 

You open your eyes, taking in Christopher’s darkened eyes, and the rising flush in his cheeks. He raises his hands, cupping your cheeks and holding your gaze. You want to close your eyes, to surrender to the rising tide of your pleasure, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your breath and moans mingle as you grind and thrust against one another. Christopher’s fingers slide between your thighs again, toying with your tingling clit. You gasp his name, hips grinding down against his cock and his fingers. 

“That’s it,” Christopher presses his face against your neck. “Just like that—God—” 

His broken off curse is drowned by your crying out as your pleasure swells and crests. Your hips move as if of their own volition as you feel his cock spill into you. Your shaking arms give out, and you settle into his chest, panting heavily as your pussy twitches around him. He rests his hand on the crown of your head, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together. You hear Christopher draw in a deep breath, then grunt softly. 

“I think the bread is burning.” 

Tag list:   @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​​​ ; @amneris21​​​ ; @milf-trinity​​​ ; @thembosapphicclown​​​ ; @brandyllyn​​​ ; @wildmoonflower​​​ ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink​​​ ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @nominalnebula

[soranihimawari]

midnight caller

word count: tbd

rating: (platonic) kita x reader x (yokai inspired) osamu

notes: a wip for a few days. thought i should just publish it.

there is something lurking in your neighborhood. you can't quite put a finger on it & you, a skeptic, in a town known for mysteries & yokai legends, choose to be oblivious every august through september. the lurking feeling, the fact a potential demon or arch-demon might have caught your scent is quite alarming. although, as you entertain the idea in the your head as you sweep the floors of a candy shop, you smile to yourself. you think of the honey gatherers in the bee hives. the ones attractive to sweet smelling humans--like the one time your sister changed her shampoo to cherry blossom scented one and two bees landed on her shoulder. you mentioned they were here thinking she might be a tree.

regardless, it is now the end of another proper autumnal night. the stars in the hemisphere have finally shifted as you pull the chord gently to shut off the "open" neon sign hanging at the front window. the feeling of someone's third eye on you is one which made you feel dreadful once now makes you want to embrace the being who is too shy to show their face. your only clue? a grain of rice. in your candy shop. that you bought from an old classmate.

"i know you're out there, somewhere," you murmur. "i'm here, looking for you."

a small vobo-chan, worn and wrinkled through the years sits next to a fox keychain from new year's day when you were still a child of 17. the person who gifted them to you as a sign of friendship (only now you realize it was a part of their love language they showed you), is gone. gone where? well, when you arrive to the kita farm household donning deep purple like the wisteria he coughed up two days ago, you hear him breathe a sigh of pretentious relief.

"yn-san," kita shinsuke's voice revels in the surprise visit while the quiet breeze when he opens his door.

"found you," you show him the small grain in the setting sun, a smile on your lips.

"...won't you come in for a while? the kitsune are about to wake."

and beyond your peer's shoulder, the eyes of a gray fox shine with a sinister knowledgeable smile. the human who runs the candy shop is gifted in seeing her love transform into the yokai of old follows his keeper.

"welcome home, 'samu."

you raise your hand to cup the face of the man who can only touch your flesh once in every decade.