#pulse rp has me in a grip i swear

[powpowchaos]

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Ive been obsessed with this idea for about a week?

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

The Sweet Stuff

Authors: @yeet-me-dad-dy​ and @littlegreypistol​

Characters: Anti x Chase (AntiAverage)

Warnings: Oral sex, anal sex, tentacle dick, excessive cum.

Words: 2,435

Summary: Cuddling in bed turns to smut.

Note: I adopted this from a rp we did and tried to keep it as word for word as I could, so it might not be... super well put together. I haven’t done a fic from a rp before, but something tells me I‘m about to start.

Chase flops down next to Anti on the demon’s big round bed, a chocolate Poptart between his lips. Anti looks at him with a raised brow.

“What are you doin’?”

“Brought snacks,” Chase replies around the treat as he takes a bite.

He hands Anti a piece, but before he can even pull the treat into his mouth, Chase’s lips are on his, stealing the Poptart. Instinctively, Anti’s tongue goes with it, forcing itself into the other man’s mouth, where tongues entangle together.

Anti lets out a soft moan and Chase’s eyelids flutter closed as he brings a hand up to caress the demon’s cheek. This wasn’t entirely unexpected, - Chase and Anti are tangled up in each other whenever they can be - so Anti wastes no time in wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and pulling him close. One of Chase’s legs drapes itself over Anti’s, and with a grin, the demon falls to his back, pulling his partner with him.

Chase chuckles into his mouth before he dips in, deepening the kiss that’s easily reciprocated as Anti locks his legs around the other man’s waist. Suddenly, lips are beneath his jaw, pressing upward to angle Anti’s head so that Chase can get at his pulse point, where he presses soft, open-mouthed kisses that morphs into gentle sucking.

Anti lets out a whine as he claws at Chase’s back, his shirt bunching up beneath the demon’s fingers.

“Fuck, Chase...” He moans as his mind begins to swim. Chase has an effect on him that no one else ever has. He’s intoxicating, and Anti will gladly admit that he’s addicted to the man. Everything about him is inviting, appealing... desirable.

Chase rocks his hips against Anti as his tongue joins the dance on his neck, licking along the spot he’s claimed. The demon, in turn, can’t help the involuntary buck of his hips that rises in search of more friction. Chase’s fingers dance downward along Anti’s side to play at the hem of his shirt. He nudges it up to reveal the demon’s v-line, which has Anti hissing in want.

“Chase, s-stop teasin’ me... Just... fuckin’ touch me...” he tries to growl, but it comes out as a whine

Anti can feel the grin against his neck as Chase pulls away to smirk down at his partner.

“You’re so impatient,” he chuckles.

The bed dips around his legs as Chase pulls down to lick along the outline of Anti’s v-line. His tongue is warm and wet against the demon’s skin, and it has him squirming. His breath picks up and a light blush paints his cheeks. He allows his eyes to flutter closed and mouth to fall open ever so slightly.

Chase moves slowly, pressing kisses all along Anti’s v-line. The demon sucks in a breath when he feels Chase’s lips on his crotch. He groans and bucks again, skin on fire with desire. One of his partner’s hands sneaks up his shirt, tracing teasing circles over his abdomen. He smiles into the skin just above the waistband of Anti’s jeans as sparkling blue eyes peer up at the sight before him.

“Cha-a-ase...” Anti’s chest heaves with unrestrained desire. His hands come up to rest on the bed beside his head, and it’s all he can do to not claw at his own hair in an attempt to release some pent up energy.

“Well, if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes,” Chase murmurs. He pushes himself to his knees and stares down at his partner with a predatory gaze as his fingers find Anti’s zipper. The demon lifts his lips just enough to allow Chase to pull his pants downward, the tentacle-like appendage beneath springing free. Chase glides soft fingers over the ribbed member, teasing.

Anti grits his teeth and growls, frustrated at the lack of friction. “F-fuck.. off...”

Chase’s hand stills and Anti swears silently at himself.

“Poor choice of words,” his partner growls and pulls away.

Anti panics, eyes flying open, and he grabs desperately for Chase.

“No, wait! Please, don’t go... Please...”

This is a side of Anti that Chase hasn’t seen, but the demon can’t help himself. He wants Chase. He needs Chase. With a grin, his partner shimmies Anti’s pants down farther, revealing the thick bulge at the base of his cock and the soft sack beneath. A moan breaks free from Anti’s lips as Chase wraps his hand around his member and begins to pump slowly, then faster and harder, yet still agonizingly slow, enough to make Anti writhe beneath him.

Another lewd moan and Anti is bucking up into Chase’s hand, though only momentarily. He whines when that firm, warm grip disappears, and gasps when it’s replaced by Chase’s even warmer mouth. His partner licks a slow stripe up the underside of Anti’s length, his tongue stud pressing firmly into the soft flesh there.

“Oh, fuck, Chase... Chase...” he moans again, longer and louder.

Chase presses his lips to the pointed tip of Anti’s member, giving it a soft kiss before he sinks down, taking all of the demon’s cock down his throat. He hums, sending vibrations along the appendage and straight into Anti’s core, and he can’t help it when his hips begin to thrust upward, fucking Chase’s mouth.

The other man groans around Anti’s growing hardness and hollows his cheeks to take in more and more as he keeps to a faster and steadier pace.

“Chase...” Anti breathes. “Chase, please...”

Chase rests both hands on Anti’s hips, using it as leverage to quicken his pace. Anti can feel his cock knocking against the back of Chase’s throat and sliding downward. He can feel Chase swallow back his gag reflex, wincing every time those warm, wet walls tighten around him.

“Fuck, Chase. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

His hands finally tangle in the bedding beside him, back arching and legs writhing. His chest heaves as his knot begins to swell and he so desperately wants to bury it inside of Chase.

Anti is on the verge of tears when Chase pulls back.

“Christ...” he mumbles before licking the tip of Anti’s cock. The demon squirms when he presses his tongue to the swollen slit there and it slides in, just barely, but enough to give Anti a good fucking with his tongue before he dips in and indulges in the demon’s entire length once more.

Anti writhes and bucks beneath him, a mess of moans and whines as fire in his stomach becomes unbearable.

“P-please, Chase... More... please...”

Chase’s hands are on Anti’s hips again, nails digging in to steady himself as he draws back and forth along the ribbed cock in his throat. Anti watches his back muscles arch as he presses all the tension to keep his lips tight and his head moving up and down rapidly, delivering complete friction to the demon’s throbbing member.

At this rate, Anti knows he can’t keep up. He’s on the very edge, and only a few seconds later, he’s pushed over.

“Chase, I’m... I’m gonna...”

He spills over with a cry. All of his muscles tense and he forces himself as deep down Chase’s throat as he can, pressing the bulging knot to the other man’s lips. His cock twitches as it sends thick, hot seed straight into Chase’s stomach, filling him full.

He can feel Chase swallowing around him, taking every drop that he has to give, even as tears swell in the corners of his eyes. He hums as he swallows, the vibrations milking Anti’s cock, drawing out his high. He’s only vaguely aware of the pain in his hips as Chase’s nails dig in, splitting the skin.

After what seems like an eternity and he nearly passes out from the intensity of the orgasm, Anti begins to come down. He relaxes back against the mattress, panting. Bursts of light twinkle behind his eyelids like stars in a night sky and he’s forced to try and blink them away.

Chase collapses beside him, pulling in ragged breaths from the rush that pulsed down his throat. His mouth is stained with what little seed was able to escape.

Anti tangles his a hand in his partner’s hair and scratches his scalp gently with sharp claws.

“Fuck, Chase...” he breathes. He’s still not satisfied, and he knows Chase isn’t either.

Chase leans into his touch and Anti chuckles, bringing a knee up to nudge at the other man’s crotch, confirming what he already knew. Despite the look of irritation sent his way, Anti grins.

“C’mon, Chase. I know you’re not satisfied. Put that cock of yours where I know we both want it.”

He groans. “Jesus Christ, you really are impatient...” With a chuckle, he rolls back over. “Flip over,” he commands.

Anti does as he’s told, flipping over onto his stomach. He moan escapes at the sudden pressure on his bulging cock. It’s hard and thick against his abdomen, warm and still very, very erect.

The bed dips as Chase lays down behind him. Hands are on his hips again and Anti gasps as a warm tongue swipes over and prods at his entrance.

“Oh, FUCK. Fuck, Chase...” He buries his face in his arms as toes curl and uncurl.

The other man’s tongue circles around his asshole before it retreats, and then only a second later, it’s forcing itself inside, breaching his entrance. Chase swirls his tongue around Anti’s walls, massaging and using his spit to lube him up.

Anti moans low as his walls clench around the wet muscle within, then relax as he grows used to the sensation. Chase groans in return, pressing vibrations to Anti’s rim, and a hand falls away from his hips so that the other man can fumble with his own jeans.

A low rumble in his chest is all Anti can do to not tell Chase to hurry the fuck up. He groans into Anti as he strokes himself a few times, then gives him a tap on the back, his way of telling Anti to raise his hips.

The demon does what he’s told. The bed shakes as Chase pushes himself to his knees, then there’s a hand around his cock as the other man scoops up the lube that naturally drips from the member. Anti waits as Chase coats his own cock in the slick. He does his breath to keep his breathing even as his partner presses the head of his cock to Anti’s entrance, and then he’s driving deep, burying himself up to the hilt inside of the demon.

“Ohhhhh fuck...” Chase moans as Anti bites down hard on his own arm.

Both hands find the demon’s hips again, and Chase starts to thrust. Moans slip freely from both men with no intent of holding back.

“Harder... Fuck me hard, Chase...”

His partner thrusts with more determination, and Anti’s eyes roll back in his head as his prostate is struck over and over and over again. Each hit sends pleasure exploding through him, enough so that he’s seeing stars.

Chase never falters, pace accelerating, and he leans forward to rest on Anti’s back as he moves.

“Fuck, Anti... Fucking hell-”

The demon can only moan in reply. He can’t think. Can’t form any words. Can’t form any thoughts besides “more more more more more”.

Chase’s hips drive deeper, pushing him to the very base. The slapping of skin echoes around the two, along the song of promiscuity. He surges forward, deeper and deeper, and Anti can feel his legs trembling behind him as Chase gets closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck you’re so tight...” the man breathes, and Anti clenches around him, squeezing him tighter, pulling him deeper.

His cock is throbbing, knot so large that the skin around it is pulled painfully tight, and more and more blood is rushing to engorge his already thick member.

“H-hurts...” he whines. His knot is usually inside of Chase when it’s swollen. The pressure helps to relieve the pain, but without that, Anti is in agony.

Chase wraps a hand around Anti’s member, stroking firmly as his pace behind grows sloppy. A moan breaks through his partner’s throat. 

“I’m close, Anti...” he whines.

The demon bucks forward, fucking into Chase’s hand and back onto his cock. Anti is so so sensitive, almost to the point of overstimulation.

“Kn-knot... Chase... P-please, just... Hand around... my knot...”

Chase presses his face down and bites Anti’s shoulder. With the beckon, he brings both hands to Anti’s knot, gripping him hard as he thrusts harder until he can’t stomach it any longer. He squeezes tightly as he tenses into his climax. The bite on Anti’s shoulder strengthens and blood floods his mouth as he groans.

The demon growls as the flood of cum in his intestines pushes him over the edge. He nearly collapses from his second climax. Thick white seed flows freely from his twitching cock, held in place only by Chase’s hands, and soaks the bed. It leaves a deep puddle, as if someone had poured half a gallon of milk onto the mattress.

When they finally come down, Chase is left to pant heavily from where he rests on Anti’s back. With what little strength he has left, he releases his partner and collapses to the side, pulling out roughly. The demon does his best to crawl over Chase and onto the other side of the bed, away from the pool of cum, before he collapses on his stomach with a moan.

Chase gingerly scoops him up and brings him close, holding him tight despite the fact that there’s hot seed on the demon’s stomach.

“Fuck, dude...” he breathes.

Anti nuzzles into the crook of his neck. He squirms slightly, angling himself so that his still-swollen knot isn’t pressed between their bodies to cause discomfort to either of them. Once comfortable, he hums and gives Chase a soft kiss on the neck. His partner murmurs in response and presses close. fingers glide to play with the hairs along the demon’s neck, tracing simple circles before they move to card through the thicker strands.

“‘M gonna fall asleep...” Anti mumbles, exhausted.

The other man chuckles and draws him impossibly closer, offering his shoulder as cushioning.

You do that. I’ll watch over you,” he promises as fingers twirl through Anti’s soft curls. He presses a kiss to Anti’s forehead and regards the demon through half-lidded eyes. “Sleep well, Anti.”

The demon hums one last time before his breathing grows deep and steady and he’s fast asleep. Chase joins shortly, drifting off soon enough to rest beside him.

[ranger-kellyn]

11 Favorite Excerpts

In honor if it being the 11 year anniversary of the first fic I ever posted, Platinum Bound, I thought I’d list out 10 of my favorite excerpts from everything I’ve posted so far, 1 from something I haven’t posted yet, and then kind of just. Talk about it~

As always, feel free to talk to me about any of my fics, no matter how old or new~ I’m very vain~<3

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1 - Come With Me - Prologue - 03/02/2015 - Completed

A day that was supposed to be filled with sorrow and mourning had turned out to be very lovely. The cold that had long persisted since November had decided to lighten its icy grip on this one day in particular. It was almost a tragedy in itself that the weather failed to match the mood by pouring a relentless downpour. Rain was fit for a funeral. Not sunshine.

The opening to Come With Me has always had a special place in my heart, and while I know my writing has gotten better since then, I always hold up this opening as like...my premium brand, I suppose.  I love the mood the prologue sets up for Siebold’s side of the story.  Mismatched weather.  His parents having the same death date.  A sense of odd relationship dynamics with them.  Clear indication that there’s going to be a lot of conflict with Jean as shown by Diantha, Siebold’d childhood friend, who has a clear disdain towards him.  CWM may not be my BEST WORK, but it’s probably one of my favorites.  ALSO....come on...the restaurant’s name is Apple of The Earth, which is a direct translation of pomme de terre, which is French for potato.  And like???? i just get a little kick out of it every time

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2 - It Takes Two - 12/16/2014 - Oneshot

Siebold chuckled.  “A water dark type?  My, my.  You’ve already put yourself at a disadvantage. Cress shook his head.  “Don’t give away your secret ingredient just yet, Siebold.  Leave something to the imagination, please,” he teased.

If there is ONE THING I LOVE it’s writing flirty banter for these two, and this fic if full of it.  My first fic for Cress/Siebold, staking my claim on the pool noodle that is this ship.  I AM the captain of this pool noodle

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3 - Second Chances - Chapter 7 - 06/14/2017 - Ongoing

“It was supposed to be me!” . . . Shaking, she stopped herself in the front hallway.  Looking over the large, glass-famed map, she felt as though she was leaving her own body as she slammed herself against it in a last ditch effort to feel something other than emotional pain.  In an effort to put a physical wound to her emotional one. 

There’s plenty of happier lines from this fic I could choose.  Ch 10 had a section I was considering instead, but I think this emotionally charged section has always stood out for me. I like to generally characterize Cynthia as someone who is in control of her emotions, or at the very least, is very good at compartmentalizing things, but here, she absolutely loses it.  No rationality.  No seeking help.  Just raw pain.  It was supposed to be me. Because it was!  It absolutely was!  In the previous chapter you learn that Diantha had fully intended to propose to her!  But was instead manipulated by her mother and manager into leaving Cynthia.  While Cynthia didn’t know that, we do, and that makes that line so much more painful to me.  I swear.  ONE DAY.  I’ll actually finish this fic.

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4 - Fortune and Fame - Chapter 1 - 03/23/2016 - Completed

“The best part of that outfit would be taking it off.” Her mouth turns into a smile. “I should think so,” she tells you.

Second person POV is a HUGE pain in the ass, but I still love this silly little fic, and I love this silly little moment EVEN MORE.  What can I say.  I love flirty banter. This whole fic was an absolute experiment, and while it certainly could be better, considering 2POV is not something I regularly work with, I’ve never been too upset with it.

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5 - Stockholm - Chapter 4 - 06/20/2016 - Ongoing

“You’re my mission and my mission alone.  I don’t need outside help,” he tells me. I catch myself about to laugh.  “Figured you would welcome it seeing as whatever you think you’re doing to me clearly isn’t working.” He moves closer, enough for me to feel the warmth of his body, but it’s only when I think he’s looking at my lips do I come to my senses, pulling my legs up to my person, and pushing back up against the wall. “I would say it’s working just fine.”

i like to think of this fic as me playing in a sandbox.  i don’t REALLY know what i’m doing, but i’m having fun, and that’s all that matters. This is a fic I had been thinking about for the longest time.  I abandoned it back in 2016.  I don’t really remember why, but I posted the first update early this year, and I just.  I’ve been loving it since.  I haven’t played in first person in SUCH a long time, it’s just nice to play in the space, and explore a darker emotion I guess.  Game verse Commander Saturn/Dawn is always a weakness of mine

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6 - Shadows of My Heart - Chapter 4 - 02/22/2011 - Completed

Looking at Kellyn, I notice that he has taken his jacket off and is now offering it to me. Shaking my head, I tell him that I can't take it, even though I would love nothing more than to take him up on his offer. He walks closer, smiling as he places his jacket over me. Now, the only thing I hear is the sound of the rain bouncing off of Kellyn's jacket, and the sound my own heartbeat. I'd have to be crazy or dead to not be blushing right now, and obviously my pulse is still going…

if you’ve followed me for a few years, you might think this is a weird pick for me.  i complain about it a lot.  i experience a lot of visceral cringe whenever i reread it (Like i did just now searching for a section i liked) But that’s why I like it.  I love having this visible benchmark of where I’ve come from, and where my ideals have shifted to.  I’ve always written Kellyn as my Ideal Man™© and in this fic he is suCH A “NICE GUY” AND IT’S JUST. SO BAD. I’M SO GLAD I’M NOT WITH THE KIND OF PERSON I USED TO WISH I WAS WITH. This fic is, at best, clumsy.  Younger me was venting a LOT of stuff. Everything I put Rhythmi through in the fic, I was dealing with irl, and NOT handling them well.  I never recommend this for reading, but I list it here because it’s like looking in a time capsule.  

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7 - Washington Blues - Chapter 2 - 04/30/2012 - Abandoned Work

Looking back up at me, the afternoon sun shines on her face.  As if I needed to be reminded that she is very pretty.  “I believe that it is too soon to be giving a definite answer, but,” she pauses to brush some hair behind her ear, “I do believe I am going to like it here.” I nod, liking the answer she has provided.  I put my pink bag over my shoulder, and step down the stairs.  “That’s good to hear.  I do hope you come to love our little band,” I say, putting a little emphasis on “our”.  Hopefully she will start using that term as well.

This fic has been abandoned since 2012, but as I was rereading it just now, I...felt a weird urge to give it a second chance?  Marching band was my EVERYTHING in high school.  It was basically my personality.  It and Homestuck.  If nothing else, I think I might give this fic a redo, because it’s something my younger self would have loved.  I had so many ideas I wanted to explore and I think it would be a fun space to explore. Just reading it I got the most tactile memories of band camp, from the sounds, all the way down to the god awful smells.  One day I’ll give this fic another go, but probably in 3rd person lmao.  Also, it’s kind of funny.  I remember holding this fic up as like.  My Magnum Opus.  I considered chapter 1 to be the BEST thing I had written up to that point. Now? It’s so fucking D RY......and no real person talks like they all do l m a o I love being able to see how far I’ve come. 

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8 - Hindsight - Sometime Feb 2014?  - Oneshot for an old RP group

This question led him to placing both of his hands in his lap.  “I would never describe her as winter.  It’s the season she hates the most.  From what I’ve gathered during our travels together, understandably so,” he answered, not meeting her eyes. 

While this fic is OLD it holds a very special place in my heart.  I had stopped writing for a while.  For about 2 years nothing I wrote ever really panned out, and joining that RP group was literally the best thing I could have done for my creativity.  It was so much fun, and I met some truly incredible people thanks to it.  Literally, everything I’ve written since I attribute to that group.  <3 I may not talk to most of them anymore, but I have some of the best memories of that time, and I just.  Genuinely don’t think I would have HALF of what I have written now if it hadn’t been for their support.  <3

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9 - Ours For The Taking - Chapter 2 - 01/28/2012 - Abandoned Work

Killing is in the nature of almost every Pokémon, but we humans have inhibited that out for the most part. It doesn't take much to trigger the instinct though. A couple kills and then they thirst for blood.

Now i know this looks like a WACK ASS PICK.  It’s been abandoned since 2012.  It’s bad.  It’s gore.  It’s bad.  But that’s exactly why I picked it.  That, and I know it would chap Farla’s ass bc she told me years ago how awful this fic was. The whole reason my writing confidence took a blow.  I can look back and know that this fic wasn’t great, but I hate for my younger self that they were knocked down like that.  You can’t learn the boundaries of your writing until you try to push them.  Maybe I could have turned into a great gore/horror writer if I hadn’t been knocked down?  Who knows?  But because of that negative experience, I now approach all comments I leave on fics with “unconditional positive regard”.  I firmly believe if someone wants con-crit they’ll ask for it, and even then, I’m not someone who is going to offer up that criticism.  That’s not my jam.  I’m just here for a good time.  This fic may be bad, but that’s why I love it.  I love how over the top, 2Edgy4me the two chapters are. 

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10 - Getaway Car - Chapter 5 - 01/01/2019 - Ongoing

Pulling away just enough to make them look at one another, Cynthia looked her over.  She was getting more drunk admissions than she ever thought she would, and she was in no frame of mind to worry about pushing her luck.  “How did that make you feel?” she asked. She let her hand trail down her arm as she spoke.  “Grounded.  Like nothing else in the world mattered except us in that moment.  I wasn’t worried about filming, deadlines, what people might say or think, or– anything, really.  All that mattered was the calm you brought me, and how without meaning to you’ve made me feel like the most important person in the room.”

It’s no secret that Getaway Car is like.  MY BABY.  This is MY FIC.  MY BABY.  I CHERISH THIS FIC FOR SO MANY REASONS. I like venting through characters, and this fic is no exception.  But I loved writing this moment specifically, because it just...I think it encapsulates everything Diantha has been looking for.  She lives a charmed, chaotic life.  Up to that point in the fic, she’s with a man who can’t really be bothered to give her the time of day, but also can’t handle the idea of letting her go.  Without meaning to, without necessarily trying to, Cynthia makes her feel like the most important person in the room.  She grounds her, and someone who lives a star-studded life needs that.  This fic is my baby.  My everything.  It’s probably what I’m known for at this point, and I’m A-OK with that because these two are my everything.  (ALSO, I specifically posted this fic when I did to get Farla to leave me a review, and had a good laugh about it when she did.  My “bat shit crazy” plot device has ended up being my most popular fic~)

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11 - Namtaflu - Chapter _ - Draft from NaNoWriMo 2019

The sound of something rising to the surface of the water attracted everyone’s attention.  Turning their eyes towards the water, one by one, countless Starmie and Staryu began to surface, floating atop the water, their bright gem center’s shining in the moonlight.  “Oh, wow,” Bianca said, holding the Audino closer to herself.  "What are they doing?” Hilbert asked, turning himself so he wasn’t having to strain to look at them.  Cheren shrugged.  “They’ve always done this.” "They’re looking at the stars,” Hilda added.  “It’s what Nona would always tell me.  She said she read it in a book somewhere.  They surface at night to look at the stars, and they’ll even start blinking here soon.”  As she said it, from out in the distance, quick flashes of red began to move along the waves, reminding both her and Cheren of fireflies from further south.  Soon enough, the entire shoreline was filled with the water pokémon blinking away at the stars, almost as if they were communicating with each other, or even something else.  A few Audino continued to sit with them, everyone moved to silence by the display, afraid to make a single noise, not wanting to scare them at all and make them stop.  The display moved in waves, like a heartbeat, ebbing and flowing.  At times they were bright enough to cast a glow onto the shore, and at others it seemed like they had collectively stopped for the night. Once Broadway and Manhattan had decided to retire for the night, the group came to an agreement that it was time they retired for the night as well.  They had stayed up long past sundown, but it had been worth every second.   

I won’t be posting this fic WELL until my three current ongoing fics are completed, but this fic is pretty much everything to me.  I first got the idea for this fic back in 2013, my senior year of high school.  I wrote the first draft my first NaNoWriMo in 2014, and did a second draft of it last year.  This fic has evolved SO MUCH, but this last draft is where I’m REALLY happy with it.  I firmly believe there’s never a “right time” to write a fic, but I also believe this fic absolutely benefited from me not posting it after that first draft.  They’re almost two entirely different stories.  The original had a lot of unhealthy relationship dynamics, and this time, i decided, FUCK THAT, and now it’s a hilda/hilbert/cheren/bianca poly fic ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ I can’t wait for the day when I actually get to share this fic with the world. 

[cyrelia-j]

[Fic] The Hunter and the Fairy King (original m/m)

So what was I fucking around with when I should've been finishing the Lizards edit for submission? Glad you asked! I found myself sidetracked by a delicious porn-y short short story that @dayoldhakarl inspired <3 I'm debating writing it into a long short story version so anyone wanta to see that feedbacl is much appreciated!

Rated E for sex but no other warnings except a tag for playing fast and loose with mythical lore and prose as purple as a Vorta's...

...eyes perverts :P

Summary: The hunter, gifted by the gods with the ability to charm the very stars from the heavens challenges for Fairy King to spend a night with him.

Note: Not nearly as high minded as the description would imply really just porn lol. Also the visuals for the characters were loosely based of Tim and Sid (if anyone was curious) but this is in no way intended to be any kind of rps.

The fairy lights cast the room in a silver glow, and though it’s dim, the hunter’s sharp eyes can see as clearly as day. But even if he couldn’t see, he can still feel. His hands can still blindly map the smooth golden skin of the fairy king’s slim hips, can still squeeze hard as the fae creature moves on top of him. The king is like warm quicksilver on his lap, drawing gasps and moans from the depths of his soul as he rides him slow, undulating like the gentle waves of the lake above. The hunter has never felt such bliss, has never felt so melted into as the king’s breaths catch his ears like the sweet wind which blows through the forests.

“One night, that’s all I need to put you in my thrall”, the hunter had declared loudly for the entire hall to hear as he pretended to consider and stroke his goatee thoughtfully. The king had laughed, a bell tinkle of laughter as he had regarded the human who would dare to venture into the underhill to make such a bold proclamation.

“And why I should I believe such a claim from a mere mortal, comely though he may be?” the kind had purred, a long leg slung over the arm of the branch twined throne. His elegant fingers danced around his throat, bare, the dark green spun cloth cut low to reveal alluring skin.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, your highness. I’m not just a ‘mere mortal’. I’ve enchanted far more dangerous creatures than you and dare I say you wouldn’t even prove a challenge.” He fingered the silver chain around his neck with the tooth of the manticore, a fearsome creature who’d easily fallen to the hunter’s gods gifted charm and allowed him close, where the beast was slain with a single pierce of his dagger. It was said that a manticore’s tooth could enhance a god’s gift and the hunter decided that the famed fairy king was his only next true challenge.

“I’ve heard tell of the fairy king’s magic.” The hunter took a stride forward, a swing of his hip as he did. “But I too possess magic, if you dare pit your trickster powers against mine.”

“Trickster powers?” came a hiss, and a cold wind blew through the cave, the fairy lights flickering. “If that is all the magic you believe I possess, human, then come.” He rose from the throne, drawn up to his full height, tall, slender like a reed, bathed in magic, bathed in the Earth’s glow, a spectacular vision. The hunter wet his lips as the fairy king descended, a glide of bare feet on the dirt and cocked his head with a smile. He was certain that his magic had already held him.

“Then we have an agreement?” the hunter asked, smelling the blooming earth, ivy, and the sweetest honeysuckle fill his nostrils. They flared to life, the tooth glowing as he called upon the magic. He dared raise a hand to stroke the side of that ageless face finding the skin warm beneath his touch. “The treasures of your kingdom should you call out my name three times in ecstasy.” A gasp drawn deep, the earth shaking again.

“And should it be you, who begs me to bring him to completion, your life is forfeit to me, arrogant human.”

“I accept, your majesty,” he said mocking, a thumb brushing those soft soft lips as the fairy king let his tongue wet warm the tip, already making the hunter shiver with anticipation.

“Then tell me your name, hunter, so that we may sing songs to honor the fool who’s to fall before me tonight.

“You last wish is my command, your highness. My name is-“

“Gods... gods... mercy,” the hunter breathes as he watches the king’s head go back, sees the green glistening glow of those eyes at half mast a moment before, another rock of his hips, a sink further down as he rides him. The king moans and pulls him in deeper, that body a warm blessed vice, every rock making the earth move beneath them both. The motions are slow, deep, pulling pulling, so hard, thighs seated on his own, slender and trembling, knees squeezing hips as the lights flicker. Good, gods so good but... surely he thinks the king must be similarly affected as the warm wind rushes again and the hunter thrusts up into him so deep that it finally rips a cry from that delicate throat.

The dark dark curls of the fairy king’s head are begging to be fisted, pulled back, and the hunter takes a greedy handful drawing another soft cry.

“Is it too much for you?” the king whispers with another blissful clench and the hunter’s grip tightens, feeling a madness surge upon him.

“Your knees, I would have you on your knees,” ragged, far less steady than he would’ve imagined.

“Are you begging me?” the king asks, slipping through his grasp, trickster that he is, head coming back, face a vision, those soft lips wet, swollen, so inviting as the hunter nips them again, feeling the sweat of his own auburn locks plastered to his face.

“I do not beg, I command. I tell the basilisk to turn away and it does, and when I tell even the fairy king to get on his knees for me he does.”

The hunter feels that magic surge through him once again, that light in the king’s eyes burning back as they kiss hard, wet, tongues parrying a dance around each other as the king draws his knees up and all at once moves off, the leaves beneath them [softer than the finest mattress] a cushion as he turns with a smirk over his shoulder, those long eyelashes fluttering just a moment before the king makes his own command of “then comes hunter, and give me all you have for as you have not begged me, neither have I cried your name once.”

“You will,” the hunter growls, the magic surging wild, uncontrolled as the sight of the king on his knees, small tight ass in the air inflames him. He pulls the king back onto his length in one rough thrust ringing a true cry, the lights flaring bright.

The fairy king drops his head, fingers digging, clutching at the leaves, at the earth as the hunter drives the breath from his body. The hunter covers him, thrusting in deep pulse, clutching a shoulder as he breathes against the back of the king’s neck “please...” from between gritted teeth as he feels himself close, closer than he’s ever been without climax. Surely this is more of the king’s magic but he’s powerless before it as he crests so high, so high...

The king whispers his name as the fairy lights continue to burn bright and he knows were it not for that hold on him he’d have released right then.

The hunter gasps “please” again, needing to spill his seed into the fae creature trembling beneath him.

The king bites his lip as the human’s name is wrenched from his throat with another hard rock of his hips.

His name, his name pleaded from the fairy king makes him want to come, fills him so badly with the need to peak that he finally begs-

“Please... please... your majesty... allow me to release into you...”

just as the fairy king cries his name a third time and-

“Yes... yes by the gods yes, I’m yours...”

The hunter thinks that he’ll free fall forever as he does at last biting the back of that beautiful neck, the sweet warm blood of the king like nectar slipping past his lips, a surge of magic so primal and raw that he thinks he’ll burst from the power of it. And yet he feels the fairy king too grow stronger with the passing of the hunter’s seed into his body, the ancient magics mingling hot, so hot, they might sunder the very heavens themselves.

“Taste my lips once more hunter, to seal this pact then for you have won as have I, and all my treasure is yours, just as you must now remain here for an eternity.”

“Yes,” he rushes with a long press of lips, and another as the King laps the blood from his mouth. “Yes, please tell me that I may have you like this every night for this is surely the greatest treasure of the . fae.”

“Every night, and I you, as well,” the king whispers, the declaration inflaming him once more, to imagine the king inside him like this.

“Yes, yes my liege,” he swears, the hunter, now the king’s partner and most devoted retainer.

“Then so be it.”

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Desecrated Host

Case: 0113005-B

Name: Father Edwin Burroughs Subject: His claimed demonic possession Date: May 30th, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

It was the first time I had experienced anything like that. By this point I was starting to suspect that I may have been having hallucinations of some sort, but I had never before felt a... a presence within myself, inside my being. It was a feeling so utterly awful it’s hard to put it into words. Like a reflex reaction, your muscles moving without any instruction from your mind, but rather than a quick twitch of the leg, it’s a slow movement of your jaw, your lips, forming your mouth into words. Worse things were to come, of course, but I don’t think any of them were so profoundly unsettling as that feeling.

I only got a few streets away from Hill Top Road before I was no longer able to maintain my equilibrium and fell to the floor, violently throwing up. I could not deny then that there was something inside me, and I believed that whatever it was had entered me from Bethany O’Connor. I tried to pray, tried to cast my mind to G– I couldn’t. As I tried, my throat closed and I struggled to breathe. I lay on the side of the pavement, and I wept. Wiping my eyes, I took out my Bible, and looked desperately within it for comfort but when I opened it, though the page was within the Gospel of Luke, the words were from Genesis: “Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.”

Around that passage the writing morphed and swam before my eyes. And wherever there were words that might give me comfort, I found them obscured by dark stains. The bile began to rise within my throat again, and I desperately wanted to hurl the book away from me. I held it, though, for just a moment before I placed the small volume once again in my jacket. It took more willpower than I could have believed, but I kept it. I stood up shakily, and staggered back to the presbytery.

I slept for a long time, and missed morning Mass, saying I was feeling unwell. It wasn’t a lie, of course; I just lay there for hours. There seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm. It was the first good decision I had made, and there isn’t day goes by I don’t curse myself for ever rising from that bed. Nobody bothered me – I think word had gotten round that I was having a difficult time and they were almost certainly trying to decide who would be best to talk to me, or even whether to ask the Bishop to intervene.

I decided that I needed to talk to Father Singh. I didn’t think that he would be able to help me, but he was at least familiar with Bethany O’Connor’s case. Perhaps he might have some insight into what was happening. I tried to find him quickly – the faces on each crucifix and painting I passed seemed to twist and sneer at me as I walked and my head was throbbing. The painted blood glistened as though still wet. I’m glad I didn’t encounter anyone, for I was staggering so much they would likely have thought I was drunk.

Finally I found Father Singh in the small chapel. He seemed surprised to see me and as I approached, his face fell and he backed away ever so slightly. I can’t imagine how bad I must have looked to get such a reaction from him, but I sat next to him anyway. I began to talk, to tell him everything that had happened. He remained silent as I spoke, until I began to talk about the exorcism I had tried to perform on Bethany. He held up his hand, and asked if I’d prefer to speak about it in confession. I was momentarily confused, and asked him what sin he felt I had committed. He looked at me, and I swear there was almost a smile on his face when he spoke. “Spiritual pride,” he said, “that has led to quite a fall.”

Unsettled though I was at his attitude, I could not deny that he was right. I agreed, and we left the chapel. Soon I was giving my account as a full confession, and I could not keep from crying as I described what happened when I attempted to lay a blessing upon that house on Hill Top Road. I finished my account, and waited for Father Singh to speak of my penance or absolution. Instead, he paused for a few moments, then said, “No, your sins are deeper than that.” And he began to list them.

Every transgression I had made since I was six years old. The disabled child I had bullied in primary school, the time I stole money from my mother’s purse to buy cigarettes, the indiscretions I had had at the seminary. All of them. I had confessed them each before and been absolved, but not to Father Singh, and to hear them thrown back in my face as such a stark list of wickedness rattled me deeply. I noticed something else as he spoke: Father Singh only emigrated from Jaipur a decade or so before I met him, and he had always had quite a strong accent but the voice that spoke now to read my litany of wrongdoing had no trace of it. It was a clipped and crisp RP accent, though in tone it seemed to match that of my friend.

I leapt to my feet and ran from the room, and towards the front door. I needed to get out, to get somewhere I could breathe. In the hallway I ran past two other priests, who looked more worried than ever. One of them was Father Singh.

It was dark when I left the presbytery. I had no idea where I was going or why; I just had the desperate need to be somewhere else. The streets of Oxford should have been full of drunken students at that time on a Sunday night, at least, I thought it was Sunday, but they were almost deserted. Occasionally, I would see figures standing or walking at the end of the narrow streets, but they were shadowy, silhouetted against what little light there was, and were always gone when I approached. I tried once again to pray but the words died on my tongue. I have never felt despair on the sheer scale I did at that moment.

The streets of Oxford are winding, and speak to the age of the place, but I had lived there for no small amount of time and knew them well. That night, though, it was as though I had never walked them before. I saw roads that I had travelled a hundred times, but they seemed different, my eyes focusing on details I had never before marked, and at each turn I found I did not know where I was going or what place it would take me to. The world I knew had become alien to me, and I simply didn’t know what to do.

Finally, I found myself in front of The Oratory on Woodstock Road. The church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me. The door was open and from within, a warm light spilled out. Even in the depths of my – I suppose you could call it mania – there was something comforting about that light. A man appeared at the door. He was tall and pale, and dressed as an altar server.

I walked up to him. My vision was blurred, though I could not tell you whether it was my state of mind at the time or simply that I was crying. I should have known that something was wrong. I did know that something was wrong, but it didn’t matter. I had no fight left within me, so when he told me that it was time for Mass, I simply nodded and followed.

He led me through the church. It was bright, so bright. Candles covered every surface, each glowing so powerfully that I could barely look directly at them. The layout was how I remembered, but the pews were all empty, and I could see none of the statues or crosses that I expected. The man led me unresisting into the vestry, where I found my cassock and stole laid out in front of me. The stole was not green as I would have expected for a normal Sunday mass, nor was it violet or red or any other liturgical colour. Instead it was a pale, sickly yellow. I felt the eyes of the altar server upon my back, and dressed quickly.

At that moment the bell rang to mark the start of the mass. It was a single, jarring tone that cut through the air and made me almost double over in pain, so badly did it pierce into my pounding skull. I regained myself, gripping the thin, bony arm of the altar server, and walked out into the church. The pews were full now. Row upon row of people, far more than had ever before attended a mass that I had said. Each was dressed in black from head to toe, and their skin was fevered, jaundiced yellow. The eyes of every man, woman and child stared blankly forward, and their mouths hung open, wide and smiling, like their jaws had locked in silent rictus.

I could have left. I know that now. I know that my will and my actions were my own, and even at the time I knew that what I was seeing was so wrong. So very wrong but... it didn’t feel like at the time I could have made any other choice. Even in that strange place, stared at by hellish parishioners I must have known weren’t really there. G–... Forgive me, even then, I thought to find some comfort in the liturgy. The odd smelling incense swirled about me from the altar server’s brazier and my head swam with a scent that felt so familiar, yet so foreign.

Finally, I stood before the altar and began the mass. I was surprised as I spoke, and the holy names slipped from my mouth without hesitation, but the congregation I addressed were quiet, and each pause for a response was met with only that oppressive, wide-mouthed silence, a jarring void that tightened the fear I felt gripping my soul. When the Liturgy of the Word began, I watched in silent dread as the altar server stepped to the pulpit to deliver the first reading. He stood there, dark eyes scanning the open bible, before he raised his head and looked up as though to speak, but all that came from his throat was the single tolling sound of that bell, and my head pulsed in pain. The same thing happened for the second reading, that long, drawn out chime.

Then came the reading of the Gospel. I walked to the pulpit myself, and saw the passage indicated was Mark, chapter 9, verses 14-19. I began to try and read it, but my voice was gone and from my own mouth came the sound of that bell. I fell to the floor, but no-one moved to help me.

Eventually I was able to stand again, and a dull panic began to rise within me as I realised that next came the Liturgy of the Eucharist. The thought of these people, these things, taking the body of J– taking the sacrament of Holy Communion felt like the direst of blasphemies. I didn’t stop, though. I didn’t know what else to do, and my mind was swimming with the sound of the bell and the collective horror of all the things that I had seen and felt.

The altar server brought me the communion wafers and the wine, and I took them. My hands felt strange and clammy as I held them, but I brought them to the altar and began to speak. This time my words came out crisp and clear, and as I said them I noticed fewer and fewer of the parishioners seemed to be in the pews. Hope began to rise within me as it seemed the words would work to banish these jaundiced watchers and I pressed on. Finally, the pews were empty, and my heart soared as I turned towards the tabernacle to retrieve the rest of the Host.

It was strange, the rich cloth curtain that covered that ornate metal box seemed stuck, so I pulled and pulled and eventually it came free. I opened the door and retrieved the Host, returning it to the altar. Then I... I lifted it to my mouth, and I ate. It did not taste as I expected.

I’m sure you’ve guessed the reality of what it was I was eating. I don’t even know where I was, some dingy basement from what it seemed when the light fell from my eyes and I returned to reality. At least, I assume this is reality. I dream, sometimes, that perhaps this is the illusion – my arrest and imprisonment merely a hallucination. That I’m not a murdering cannibal.

It doesn’t matter. At that moment, seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again. I will not commit the further sin of ending my life, but I sat there until the police came. I pled guilty to all the charges they laid before me, and now here I am, doubting everything I see and hear. I do worry about the state of my soul, of course, but there is little to be done. My old colleagues have come by on occasion, and even the Bishop once, but it doesn’t help. Whatever they may be actually be saying, all I can hear is the sound of the bell.

Thank you for your time.

Archivist Notes:

As it turns out the second part of this statement was simply misfiled in the next folder, which was useful, although it does beg the question of who was reading it last? Martin is still absent, but Tim and Sasha both swear they haven’t seen it before. Was my predecessor reading it at some point? That seems unlikely given the state of the place; I find it hard to credit the idea that Gertrude Robinson actually read any of these files. Still, it’s hardly our biggest concern.

It’s difficult to know where to begin with a statement like this. If the person giving their testimony is unable to distinguish the real and the unreal, that doesn’t usually bode well for anyone trying to find evidence. Let us begin with Bethany O’Connor. From what Sasha could find in the records of St. Hugh’s College, she was indeed a student with them, studying archaeology, matriculating in 2008. Everything Father Burroughs says about her faith, her hospitalisation and her death appears to match up with official records. However, college records appear to list her as one of the students living in halls during her second year, rather than in an off-campus house, and it was a porter who she attacked with a kitchen knife, rather than a housemate. In fact, according to the letting agent, there was no-one living at 89 Bullingdon Road that year, so whatever Bethany was doing in that house, it wasn’t living there legally. 

Father Burroughs’ old colleagues from the Church certainly remember his falling apart following the failed exorcism. They were apparently in the process of talking to the Bishop to get him some help when the ‘culminating incident’ occurred that led to his incarceration. Prior to meeting Bethany O’Connor, none of them had anything but the highest praise for the man. 

As for the incident itself, Father Burroughs was found in one of the back rooms of 89 Bullingdon Road. He was wearing a butcher’s apron and sat in front of two students, Christopher Bilham and James Mann. They were both tied to chairs and quite dead. Cause of death was listed as blood loss from multiple lacerations all over their legs and torso, as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel. The face of James Mann was found to have been partially eaten by Father Burroughs. He pled guilty to all charges brought before him and is currently serving two life sentences at Wakefield Prison, though HMPS refused our request for a follow-up interview. 

What interests me is the paralleling of Father Burroughs’ climactic hallucination with reality, and the fact that at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous with the binding and actual murder of the students. Also, it strikes me that the altar server he described seems out of place with most of his other delusions, in that he appeared to have active agency, which is uncharacteristic for these visions the priest describes. Finally, there is the small detail mentioned in the police report that none of the tools used to kill or mutilate the victims were found at the scene. This all leads me to believe that there may have been a second person there that night, although from talking with the police, I get the impression that there is little appetite for re-opening the case, considering how successful the initial prosecution was. 

There’s one other detail Tim uncovered that sticks out to me. It’s a name I recognise, though I have no idea what it could mean. The Oratory was obviously not the actual scene of Father Burroughs’ crimes, but there was one strange thing that happened a few days prior. They received delivery of a pale yellow stole, which apparently vanished less than a day after they signed for it. This would be unusual, but not necessarily noteworthy, if it wasn’t for fact that one of the deacons recalled the package was handed to them by a company called Breekon and Hope Deliveries.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 20 Desecrated Host)

[hotcocosharing]

Glory Days Part 24 (IM RP AU- Shun & Midi)

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

Toshiaki’s POV There’s no doubt in my mind at all I want to do is comfort Eri like she deserves - but I’m hesitant in being unsure of how to showcase my true intentions. Do I like this girl? I think so. Do I regret the kiss we shared? No. Can we at least be friends? I wouldn’t want to lose her. Do I care at the fact her makeup is ruined? Not at all but I’m hoping to respect her wishes. The gentle sounds of sobbing and tears falling cause my heart to clench. My stomach starts to twist and churn uncomfortably. I can tell that everything she’s spilt out has been harder than she expected which makes me bite my tongue at the fact I want to be sure that any word which comes from me is thought about - proper - caring. “Look… I..”, I manage to pathetically get out after scratching the back of my neck; my hand slowly finding it’s way to her back where I rub gently between Eri’s shoulders; afraid that the touch may break her. “Friends I can do - I mean… you’re, you’re a special girl from what I’ve learnt about you so far and it would be a shame to lose you.” Just as  I exhale about to further explain, or better still trip over my own words and fall into a web of awkwardness that I’ll strangle myself with, Eriko’s name is called out by an unfamiliar voice which follows a knock at her door. “Should I—-”, I enquire yet Eri seems to have already bet me to what I was about to say, pushing herself up onto her feet to rush straight over and half hide behind the door as she opens it; allowing me to catch a glimpse of someone I haven’t seen before standing on the other side. Rikiya’s POV On my way over; the simple thought of Eri I just couldn’t shake - was she ignoring me because she didn’t want to see me? Was what Shinichi mentioned true? Her father wasn’t fond of me? Kicking at the ground during my walk after I was able to weasel an address out of my friend who just didn’t seem to even want to give in to the slight begging I was prepared to lower myself down to - frustration pulsed through my every nerve unsure of what would happen; what could happen - what I should think or do. Stopping a few times across the college campus I wasn’t entirely familiar with, I snapped and broke  a few flowers, mostly roses and lavender which formed a bright red and purple pretty bouquet. It wasn’t much, but even the thought of giving flowers to a girl made me blush. Arriving at the address I was given, it’s a swift knock at the door which comes out a little more overconfident than expected as I call out the name of the girl who’s been consuming my thoughts for the last few days. “Eri!” Within seconds the door is answered and I can sense the animosity of which I’m about to step into. There’s another guy in her apartment already - my back straightens a little at the idea of another man consuming her attention but I try not to let it get to me. He’s possibly just a friend. He’s possibly more. Maybe someone she’s known for a lifetime. I don’t know and I don’t plan on jumping to conclusions like most people do. “I’ll give you two some space but, Eri - text me the details for this charity ball you mentioned earlier.” The words and not so subtle way of fleeing without a goodbye from the other guy causes my face to contort with a half scowl and half eyebrow raise as he slips his way out past me. Everything seems to have overwhelmed the younger girl and caused her to spill her emotions out in silent sobs which instantly kick in some kind of protective instinct I have; dropping the flowers I collected onto the small table by the front door, and as hesitant as Eri seems to want to play and be, eventually pulling her into my chest. “You ok?” Unintentionally what I saw seems to make her sob a little and my hold around her tightens as she buries her face into my chest. “Why are you crying babe? You’re going to ruin that beautiful face of yours.” Stepping back to create some space between us; I crouch down a little to look at her face to face and wipe her eyes dry. No tears will be falling on my watch - unless of course they’re tears of joy. “Babe - what happened? Am I hurting someone? Was it the guy who just left? I swear - if he hurt you.” Eri’s reaction is further fueled by sobs and whimpers and eventually the smallest chuckle that she tries to hide. Rubbing his back and playing with the ends of her hair, I whisper that I’m here for her and that she doesn’t have to talk until she’s ready. Whether it took 15 minutes, 15 hours of 15 days I’d be more than willing to wait.

Shunichiro'a POV

After being in my arms for more or less half an hour, Midori and I eventually head back to her dorm where Eriko and Toshiaki are nowhere to be found. Midi has ordered me to wait on the couch while she goes change, a quiet tune hangs in the air as she hums quietly. She’s excited and this makes me excited too and a bit nervous. Wiggling in the couch, the scent of flowers drifts past my nose and I smile when she stands shyly in front of me with a mini yellow dress.

“I hope this is okay,” she says quietly.

“Fits you perfectly.” The feel of her nervous breath against my skin makes me grins, next we’re out the door and everything else happens in a flurry.

Her mess of dark hair being played with, fingers hesitating and trembling as they gently brush across her smooth cheeks and shoulder. I keep fidgeting in my seat, closing the gap between us and pushing myself onto Midori’s sweet tasting lips. I never realize how much I longed for this simple contact that’s filled with such innocence, one not yet stained by lust or desire.

Midori has been blushing this whole time, I could feel her cheeks burn up and it only results me to scoot closer with more kisses till our food eventually arrive and interrupt our inseparable bond.

It’s a little after seven, and on a Thursday night no less, the place is still packed. Mostly patrons surrounding the bar and few couples by the window seats. It never ceases to amaze me how passionate Midi is when it comes to food, dessert, pizza and beer that’s all it takes to crack a smile from my girl. “I’m so glad you two drop by the library,” I chuckle as Midi takes a big bite on her pizza, sighing dreamily (over a pizza!)

“Oh me too.” She replies with her mouth full and quickly covers her lips, “I hope things work out in their end too.”

I nod, knowing that’s easier said than done. Eriko may want to change but changing the fundamental is almost impossible or else life lesson itself wouldn’t be that valuable. Most important of all, Toshiaki has experience enough pain for a life time, once was quite enough.

“I can’t believe we almost blow this over.”

And that’s when Midi pauses, almost hesitantly puts her food down and cups my cheeks in her shaky palms. Now, my heart literally fly to the moon and back, and swell up so much in my chest like it would burst any second.

Losing myself completely in Midori’s grip, everything replay in slow motion- how we met; the awkward double date; her overly drunken (but very sexy) state; our first fight and now here we are.

There is no rush. It feels natural, like she and I are meant to be.

“So Midori, would you be my girlfriend?”

Eriko’s POV

It’s definitely taken more than 15 minutes for me to calm down, I take a deep breath as the last of my tears dried up. Rikiya has been a sweetheart, listening to my hysterical crying and sobbing over another guy. I couldn’t quite recall my exact words but they surely wouldn’t be nice for him to hear with something along the lines of:

“He doesn’t want me.”

“He hates me, he must hate me more now.”

“He kissed me, I poured my heart out and he didn’t even tell me how he feels. Friends, he could do friends?”

“I’m soooo stupid!!! I’m just some dirty slut ..”

“STOP! ERI!”

A warm gentle touch on my cheeks is seriously dangerous, Rikiya’s caring tone and intoxicating scent is far too tempting for me to handle. He deserves better, so does Toshiaki, they all do. People like me don’t get appreciated, we are disposable, replaceable and easily forgotten.

“Eri, don’t cry over a guy who doesn’t see the real you. You are perfect the way you are. It’s his lost, not yours.”

It would be so much easier to let go, to fall into a set of strong arms or being melted into sweet kisses and irresistible touches. Lust doesn’t solve it all but it could numb my pain, it would be so much easier and familiar yet I find myself stepping back, keeping distance and choose a hot bath over intimacy.

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re lovely.”

The distant calling of my name and not so gentle slaps on my cheeks bring me back to my senses, lying on the bathroom floor, looking at an extremely worried and breathless Rikiya, wait why am I naked again?

“Babe! Thank God, you’re okay! You scared the shit out of me! Eri, who fell asleep in the bath! That’s it princess, you are not leaving my sight!!”

In one swift motion, I’m lifted up and allowing myself to be lost in Rikiya’s arms. I’m tired, exhausted from crying. I hardly cry and I certainly don’t like wasting tears on men, draining my energy and pride over one guy is enough. It’s easier this way, to be cared, appreciated, spoiled and loved by Rikiya- the bad boy in everyone’s eyes but the knight in shining armour in mine.

For once, I’m sharing my bed with a guy who lays next to me all night long with only his arms wrapping around me, simply being here for me like he has promised.