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rollingsins · 1 year ago

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all hers, part xxi

summary: Richie's gone. Sam and Tara rush to the police station, and R gets a visit from someone she hoped to never see again.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Mention of sex, violence.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: it's here! GF final reveal. as mentioned previously, I'm going to try keep the blog spoiler free for the next 48 hours, so won't be posting spoilery asks, but please still feel free to send them through! I'll post them a little later :))))) hope you all enjoy, and I hope your theory was correct!

Nobody says anything for a good twenty seconds.

The Sheriff’s face is stony. Serious.

You feel as if your heart has just dropped down into your stomach.

Tara’s hand grips tight on your hip.

Sam blinks, mouth open like a fish out of water.

And then it’s her who breaks the silence.

“He’s gone?”

She blinks once more. Her words turn into a splutter.

“But he’s dead.”

The Sheriff swallows. You almost feel bad for her, the way she wrings her hat in her hands like she’s standing in front of a courthouse of jurors.

“He was admitted to the morgue,” She explains, voice soft, “There was a fifteen minute window where the Coroner was off shift. We think it happened then.”

“You think what happened?” You ask, heartbeat hammering loudly in your ears, “You think he got up and walked out?”

“No,” Says the Sheriff, a little impatient, “He was dead. He’s definitely dead-”

“And you lost him?” Tara asks, her voice rising, “You lost a dead guy?”

The Sheriff looks at Sam.

“Perhaps we should do this somewhere more private?”

“Absolutely not,” Sneers Tara, “You don’t exactly have a track record of asking the right questions, Sheriff.”

Except she does. And you know it. You touch Tara’s arm, try to quiet her.

Let’s not piss off the person who can haul you right back to jail, the look in your eyes says.

But Sam crosses her arms.

“Tara stays. She’s right, Sheriff. First you try to pin six murders on her, then you lose the actual culprit. The dead culprit.”

The Sheriff purses her lips.

“I’m not here to argue,” She says, directing a pointed look at your girlfriend, “But I am here to find out what happened. Whoever Richie was working with likely took his body. Why? I don’t know. But I need answers. And fast.”

Sam furrows her brow.

“I don’t know who he was working with,” She says, “I didn’t even know what he was doing in his spare time. Hell, I had no idea who he truly was.”

She sounds a little agonized. Like it’s her fault her boyfriend almost had her sister killed.

“But you knew him.” Says the Sheriff, “You knew his patterns, his friends, his routine. If we can pin down some names, we might be able to find the culprit.”

She stands a little taller.

“And I’d like you to come down to the station and help me figure it out. Please.”

Sam looks at Tara, a little torn.

“I need to be here with my sister.” She says.

“Your sister will be fine,” Says the Sheriff, “I can arrange for a squad car. Two, if you need it. She’ll be safe, Sam. They won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Fuck that,” Says Tara, “We’re coming. Down to the station. Sam, I’m not letting you talk to them alone.”

There’s fire in her voice. Fire that usually only sparks when it comes to you. You blink, a little surprised. Sam seems to be surprised by it too, going off the look on her face.

“That really isn’t necessary.” Cuts in the Sheriff, hurriedly, “Tara, it’s really better if I talk to Sam alone-”

“You’re not talking to Sam without me,” Growls Tara.

The Sheriff blinks, her shoulders drawn tight like she’s gearing for a fight. And then she slumps them.

“Alright,” She says, voice even, “What matters is finding Richie and his partner. Tara can be with you.”

Sam swallows. She nods, only slightly.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

You’re halfway into climbing into the Sheriff’s squad car when a familiar Ford Focus pulls into the driveway.

It’s your Mom’s car. You spot her behind the wheel, looking a little forlorn as she hurries to step out.

And then you see your Dad. Face pinched. Annoyed. Like this is the last place he wants to be.

“One second,” You tell the Sheriff, and before she can protest, you’re climbing out of the backseat and stepping out onto the drive.

“YN,” Says your Mom, a little out of breath as she approaches.

Your Dad hovers by the car, scowl on his face as he surveys Tara in the backseat of the squad car. Your Mom’s eyes widen.

“She’s not been arrested again?”

“No, Mom,” You huff, “The Sheriff just needs Sam’s help on something, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Says your Mom. Then her voice softens, “Darling, please. Come home with us. We all need to talk.”

“I don’t think so, Mom.” You begin, “Not when Dad’s acting- crazy, like this.”

You look over at him. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Tara. Glaring, eyes frosted over. Like he hates her more than anyone else in the world.

“Dad has agreed to listen,” Your Mom begs, “Please, sweetheart. He knows he overreacted about the- sex,” Her voice drops, like she’s just said something scandalous, “But the other things - the arrest. The manslaughter?”

“Self-defense,” You say immediately.

Your Mom swallows.

“The self-defense. We need to talk about it. You’re still our daughter. Our only daughter. And we’re worried about you.”

You shoot a look over to the squad car.

The Sheriff is watching, her eyes pinched. Sam’s watching your Dad, but Tara is looking at you.

“Babe?” She says from the car, voice soft, “What is it?”

It isn’t the worst idea in the world. They’re still your parents, after all. You don’t want this - your Dad angry at you. Angry at Tara. You don’t want to ruin your relationship with them if it can be salvaged.

Your Mom blinks, desperation in her eyes. You soften, pursing your lips.

“I’m going to go with my parents,” You tell Tara, “My Mom is right. We should talk.”

Tara sits up. She pries off her seatbelt immediately.

“I’ll come.” Tara says, climbing out of the car.

“No.” Your Dad growls from the car. You ignore him. Rub your hands over Tara’s forearms.

“Babe, it’s fine. You need to go with Sam,” You remind her. You lower your voice, “You need to be in there, make sure she’s okay. Like you said."

Tara looks at you, conflicted.

“But, babe-”

“I’ll be fine,” You assure, “I’ll be with my parents. You and Sam can come and pick me up from the house when you’re done.”

“But Ghostface-”

“Isn’t going to attack me in broad daylight,” You say, “Besides. My Dad’s arsenal is almost as big as Sam’s. Remember?”

Tara looks at your Dad, a little doubtful.

“She’ll be fine, Tara, I’ll send in a squad car.” Says The Sheriff, looking over the rim of her sunglasses at you, “But if you want to go, I don’t mind talking to Sam alone-”

Her tone of voice suggests she very much wants Tara to stay with you. Tara picks it up the same moment you do. Her eyes narrow. Sam's an easy target - Richie's girlfriend, perhaps she could even be sold as his partner in crime.

“You’re not talking to Sam without me,” She says, voice a growl. She shimmies out of the backseat and presses a kiss to your lips, “Keep your phone on,” She says, “Text me every five minutes, okay?”

You nod.

“Okay, babe.” You assure, offering her a small smile.

She kisses you once more.

“And be careful.”

The drive back to your parents house is in silence.

You sit in the back seat, twiddling your thumbs. Your Mom drives, your Dad stewing in silence.

When you arrive at the house, it isn’t much better.

“I’ll make tea,” Says your Mom, hurrying off to the kitchen as you and your Dad settle down on the sofa. His lip twitches, like he has something he wants to say, but you get in first.

“You owe Tara an apology,” You say, eyes narrowed, “She has a bruise on her arm the size of Iowa-”

“She’s lucky that’s all she got,” Says your Dad.

You stare at him for a moment. Then stand.

“I’m not talking to you if you’re going to be like this,” You say, voice hot.

Your Dad hesitates. Then puts his arm out to draw you back down.

“I’m sorry,” He says, and although it’s through gritted teeth, he does sound like he means it, “I shouldn’t have grabbed her. I’ll apologize to her.”

You blink.

“Thank you.”

Your Mom reemerges, cups of hot tea in hand.

“Darling,” She says, “Please. Sit down.”

You settle back into your seat, phone buzzing in your hand. It’s Tara.

In Sheriff’s office with Sam, waiting for her to come back, it reads.

Then. It buzzes again.

You ok baby?

Fine, you message back, Dad said he’s sorry for grabbing u.

I’ll believe it when I hear it, Tara sends back.

Your Mom clears her throat.

“YN,” She says, “Can you put the phone down please? We need to talk.”

And talk you do.

Your Dad stays quiet while your Mom outlines her concerns. The plan, the manslaughter. Tara’s arrest. Her concerns are valid.

Yes, Tara had been arrested for murder. Murders that she had committed.

Yes, you’d set up a foolhardy plan with Tara’s friends to capture Ghostface.

And yes, you’d gone into that school knowing you were about to take someone’s life. And done exactly that.

You watch as your Mother tries to understand. And know there’s nothing you can say to quell her fears.

“I think we need to get you into therapy.” Says your Mom, chewing her lip, “We should have done it earlier. I’m sorry we didn’t do it earlier.”

You blink.

“I don’t want to talk to a shrink,” You argue.

You don’t want to talk to anyone about this. Talking led to answers, answers that you very much need to keep buried. For your sake, just as much as Tara’s.

“Please, honey,” Begs your Mom, “You haven’t been coping, that much is obvious.”

“I’m fine,” You say, leaning forward, “As fine as I can be. I know you’re upset about the plan, but Mom- it was the only way. I mean, look what he was doing to us. Dad carries around a shotgun like it’s his wallet, Tara was going out of her mind, and poor Sam is one more attack away from a nervous breakdown-”

“Exactly why you should talk to someone,” Says your Dad, quietly, “This isn’t normal, YN. Normal eighteen year olds are worried about which colleges they’re going to get into. Not about if they’re going to be attacked in their homes in the middle of the night.”

He pauses.

“And it wouldn’t hurt Tara to go, either.”

Annoyance flares up in your chest.

“Can you stop going after Tara?” You say, suddenly on edge, “She’s done nothing to you, Dad. All she’s done is protect me, and you’re acting like she’s been abusing me or something-”

“There’s something not right about her,” Your Dad says. His brows furrow, like there’s something he just can’t quite work out, “YN, she treats you like you belong to her.”

“I do belong to her,” You say immediately, and then regret it almost instantly. Your Dad’s face contorts in anger. Hurriedly, you walk it back, “I mean, she belongs to me too. I’m her girlfriend. And she’s mine.”

“Honey.” Your Mom is looking at your Dad, a serious look in her eye. Like she’s trying to warn him off saying the wrong thing.

You watch his fists ball.

“Nobody belongs to anyone,” Your Dad says, “You’re not a piece of property. See, this is exactly what I mean. Any shrink worth his weight will tell you the same.”

“I’m not talking to a shrink,” You say, voice raising, “You can’t make me.”

Your Dad stands. His voice is like thunder.

“You’re my child and you’ll do what I say,” He says, familiar vein popping out of his forehead.

You sink back into your seat, crossing your arms, “I thought I didn’t belong to anyone?” You say, voice flat.

Your Dad takes a deep breath. The way he usually does before he’s about to launch into a tirade.

His hand raises, and he points a finger at you.

And then his face freezes.

It’s unmistakable. A loud shattering, like a glass has been dropped. Your Mom’s face falls. You blink, head turning to see where it had come from.

“What was that?” Your Dad says, turning from you, suddenly on guard.

It had sounded from the kitchen. Butterflies soar within your stomach, but not the good kind. The kind that feel like you’re being eaten from the inside out.

The back of your neck prickles. And then your heart almost leaps out of your chest as you feel your phone buzzing in your hands.

It’s Tara. Her pretty smile flashes across the screen. You gulp, silencing your phone with a click of your button.

“The gun,” Hisses your Mom, “Get the gun.”

Your Dad fumbles around behind the sofa. He pulls out his shotgun, posies it against his chest.

“Who’s there?” He calls out, but his voice shakes, “I’m armed. I have a weapon.”

Silence.

Your Mom grabs you by the arm, pulls you back against the wall.

“Stay here,” Your Dad says, cocking the shotgun.

“Dad, don’t-” You hiss, as you grab your phone. It’s buzzing again, Tara’s name flashing across the screen, “I’m going to call the police.”

But he doesn’t listen.

He draws closer to the kitchen, step by step. Your Mom’s eyes are wide, fearful, as she clings onto your arm for dear life.

You press your phone to your ear, answer Tara’s call.

“Babe-” She says, voice urgent, “Stay where you are, I know who Ghostface is.”

But you barely hear her. Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears, fire flooding through your veins.

“He’s in the house,” You say, breath caught in the back of your throat, “Tara, he’s here-”

The crunch of your Dad’s boots against the kitchen tile. You watch as he disappears out of sight. Tears spill wet down your cheeks. Your Mom’s grip on your hand is so hard you feel as if she might pull it clean off.

“Baby, I’m coming,” Tara says. She’s out of breath, like she’s running, “Sam- drive.”

“Call the police, Tara, please,” You whisper, voice a beg, “Call the police right now.”

“Stay on the line, babe,” Tara says. You hear the click of the car door, and Sam’s voice. Urgent. Desperate, “We’re coming right now. We figured it out - Ghostface is-”

But you don’t hear what she says.

Your Dad disappears into the kitchen for less than a second. Another loud crash sounds, then your Dad cries out.

The shotgun blasts.

Your Mom screams.

Your ears ring as you drop your phone to the floor, the screen smashing instantly.

“Dad?” You call out, hands shaking as you move your Mom behind you, “Dad, say something. Are you okay?”

But he doesn’t say a thing.

Blood pounds through your body. Your mother starts to cry. Adrenaline floods through you.

And suddenly you know exactly what you need to do.

“Run.” You tell your Mom.

Your legs feel like jelly as you sprint through the living room, your Mom close behind. You make it to the foyer, looking behind you wildly in an attempt to see if anyone’s behind you. You press your hand against the handle and attempt to draw it open.

But it stays firm, locked.

“It’s the alarm system,” Says your Mother, face thick with tears, “The house is on lockdown, Daddy set it up to go through our phones.”

“So get your phone out.” You hiss.

She fumbles around in her pockets and draws out her phone. You watch the hallway. It’s quiet. Eerie. No sign of your Dad, and no sign of anyone else. You eye the living room window, thinking.

“It won’t unlock,” Your mother says, voice frantic.

You seize the phone from her hands, fiddle around in the app. UNLOCK is near the center, a bright green button. You press it once. Then twice, but nothing happens.

As if it’s been overridden.

“Window,” You mumble, “Mom, get to the window. I’ll break it.”

It happens in a flash.

One moment you’re dropping her phone to the floor, in an effort to grab her hand and run.

And the next, you see him.

Black cloak. Mask pulled over his face.

Your Dad’s shotgun in his hands. Blood coated over his gloves, gleaming in the daylight.

“Run!” You scream out.

Your Mother sprints. Ghostface raises the weapon, lets out a single shot that rings out heavy into the air. It misses, flies off into the wall behind you.

“Don’t move.” Says Ghostface, voice contorted, “Move and you die.”

But you don’t listen. The gun isn’t reloaded - you don’t know much about weapons, but you’ve seen your Dad shoot it before. You tear off, ignoring his angry cry out as you follow your Mom into the living room.

Your Mom grabs a nearby lamp, flings it wildly at the window. It shatters, almost as loudly as the shotgun. Pieces of broken glass litter the carpet, but it's the least of your worries.

You leap over the couch, take your Mother’s hand and lead her to the window.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him again.

He’s loading pellets into the shotgun, and then, with a quiet click, he raises it once more.

But he doesn’t point it at you.

“Mom!” You scream.

Another blast sounds out. You grip either side of your head, ears ringing painfully at the sound. Your mother screams, and then falls to the floor.

Blood spills thick and fast onto the carpet.

You drop down, watch in horror as you catch sight of the wound. It’s gory, bloody, half of her leg blasted clean off. She wails, eyes wide in agony, clutching at her leg as if it will fall off if she lets go.

“Mom.” You sob. You grip her shoulders, in a feeble attempt to drag her to the window.

You should run. You should leave her and run.

But you can’t.

She’s your Mother.

And it’s just the distraction Ghostface needs.

Your Mom looks up at you, mouth open in horror as sees him, looming behind you.

“YN!” She cries out.

But you don’t turn in time.

You feel the hard press as the back of the shotgun slams against your head.

And then everything turns black.

You feel like you’re floating.

Over the earth, mind dizzy, like you’ve been launched into space without an oxygen mask.

There are stars behind your eyes. The back of your head aches, unpleasantly. You can feel something wet against the back of your neck, trickling down underneath your shirt. You groan, move your hand to wipe it away.

And then you realize your hands are bound behind your back.

Panic surges through you as you remember your last moments of consciousness.

Your Dad, walking into the kitchen with a shotgun. The bang of the bullet.

Your Mom, screaming, writhing in pain on the living room floor, shotgun pellet in her leg.

Ghostface.

You open your eyes, chest heaving.

Everything’s fuzzy, blurred. It hurts to look. The room is dark, save for a single ceiling lamp, flickering as if it’s down to its last few minutes of light. You squint, trying to make out your surroundings.

You’re in a basement, maybe. It’s dirty, dusty. Unused. Somewhere completely unfamiliar.

A wave of nausea floods through you.

Your head pounds. The wetness seeping down onto the back of your neck is blood, you realize all at once.

Your phone is broken, gone.

And Ghostface stands in front of you, shimmering dagger in his hands.

You tug at your restraints, hysteria surging through you.

Ghostface has taken you somewhere. To his house, maybe. To somewhere the police, and Tara won’t be able to find you. There’s no sign of your mother, or your father.

It’s quiet.

The only sounds are the desperate fidgeting of your hands and the heavy noise of his breathing.

But it’s hopeless.

Your hands are bound too tight. You have no weapon, and you feel light. Dizzy. Like even if you managed to stand you’d pass out instantly.

It’s the end, you realize all at once.

He has you. And this is how you’re going to die.

You swallow, squint a little harder, ignoring the waves of sickness that flood through you.

And suddenly you only want to know one thing.

“Who are you?” You mumble, “Please. Tell me what you want.”

“Who am I?” Ghostface says. He tilts his head, and you can hear the sneer in his voice. He drops his dagger, then curls his fingers around the edge of the mask.

It pulls off in one clean swipe.

Gone is the mystery. The unfamiliarity.

Your heart drops.

You’ve seen this face before. Not once or twice.

You’ve seen this face so many times in the last twenty-four hours. You remember never wanting to see it again.

But she’s here.

She has you here.

Blood streaming down your neck, hands bound so tight your fingertips are starting to lose feeling.

She stands a little taller, drops her robes and tosses the mask to the floor.

Blonde hair, wide blue eyes.

The spitting image of him.

Sheriff’s badge pressed to her chest.

And suddenly it all falls into place.

She leans in, until she’s so close you can see the untamed lunacy in her eyes. She looks wild, deranged as she tilts the blade against your cheek.

There’s nothing in her eyes but pure, unadulterated hatred.

And then her lips curls as she spits out: “I’m the mother of the boy you murdered.”

#all hers #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #fanfic #mine

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novantinuum · 5 months ago

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[Updated 11/06/24]

I've written a kinda ridiculous amount of content for this fandom at this point, so this post is intended as a fun way to organize all that content on this blog. I'll update this post periodically as I share more works.

Most of my works are gen fic- with a heavy focus on character study and "bridging the gaps" of canon with lil bonus scenes of what I feel certain characters might've been up to in between episodes. However, I do on occasion enjoy exploring the Connverse relationship dynamic... and actual ratings for my stories vary.

Ratings and pairings will be listed on this masterpost, as well as any particularly vital content warnings. For more thorough content warnings, please reference the tags on the linked AO3 listings.

~~~

Multichapter AUs:

Crack The Paragon Series

Series Summary:

In the wake of an ill-fated discovery, Steven vies to pick up all the pieces. The Gems are in turmoil: Pearl can’t speak the truth, Garnet chose to separate, and Amethyst's confidence has hit rock bottom. Somehow, his mom is Pink Diamond. But what exactly does that mean for him? Why did his mom really choose to fake-shatter herself and obscure her identity? With the very foundation of his home life shifting around him, can Steven ever hope to find answers on his own? Or will his growing obsession with seeking this truth ultimately crack his world all over again? Canon divergent as of season 3 episode 20, Bismuth.

Stories:

Crack the Paragon- 70,705 words, 14/41 chapters. Rated T. Light Steven/Connie.

In another world, he doesn't have his mother's sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops. Steven falls apart.

Content warning: Major character injury.

Everything Is Different Now- 1,014 words. Rated G.

After her unfortunate exile, Bismuth returns to her forge to work, and to reflect on her mistakes.

Seeing Pink- 2,475 words. Rated G.

Following a video call with Connie, Steven reacts to the discovery that... his eyes aren’t always human anymore.

Misalignment- 16,680 words, 20/? chapters. Rated T.

His family’s not present the third time he runs away... They never see the creature he becomes. Early corruption AU.

Content warning: Minor body horror.

Hollowed Moon- 8,046 words, 14/? chapters. Rated T.

Stevonnie doesn't crash the Star Skipper onto that jungle moon. Instead, they crash on a craggy fragment of rock suspended thousands of miles away from its associated colony, long forgotten. On that lonely hunk of rock is a domed garden. And standing in that garden, just as lifeless seeming as the rest of it, is a pink Gem.

~~~

Other AU/Non-Canon Works:

For the purpose of organization, this section contains two fics that have since had elements of it debunked by Steven Universe: Future. However, said fics were written to be "canon compliant" at the time of posting... thus, on AO3, they still are listed within my "canon compliant" series.

Shattering Atlas- 4,274 words. Rated T.

A boy can only carry an entire galaxy upon his back for so long before the weight of it all finally becomes too much. (Written about the Corrupted Steven Theory, long before SUF's airing.)

Content warning: Depression, body horror.

The Price of Freedom- 791 words. Rated T.

Even while sightless, even when she only exists as thin fingers of light rapidly spreading outwards from her gem, Rose can sense that something is deeply, dreadfully wrong. Written for Whumptober 2020, Day 1: Waking up restrained.

Bi the Way...- 2,886 words. Rated T. Steven/Connie.

Connie has a question, and also something to say.

(Originally written to be canon compliant after the movie, debunked by Steven and Connie not officially getting together until the end of Steven Universe: Future.)

Errands- 3,034 words. Rated T.

Steven has an endless stream of items on his to-do list, so many that he often forgets to properly take care of himself in between. Sneaking off into the woods on the daily to vent out his repressed emotions is merely one of them.

(Originally written to fit between Snow Day and Little Graduation, but the back half of Steven Universe: Future strongly suggested that Steven did not visit Jasper in between the events of Little Homeschool and Fragments, thus I consider it debunked.)

~~~

Canon Compliant Works:

This part of the list contains almost everything within my "Brandishing the Star: A Crystal Gem's Guide to the Universe" fic series on AO3. Fics are listed chronologically.

Tipping Point- 1,104 words. Rated G.

Garnet helps remind Rose of what she's fighting for.

New Star- 1,321 words. Rated G.

Organic life is a fragile, fickle thing. This much is true. What's also true is how the death and resurrection of a humble lion was enough to make Rose Quartz re-conceptualize everything.

On the Origin of Hybrids- 1,684 words. Rated G.

The question— incomplete, and yet bursting with long-held curiosity— emerges from thin air while he’s about to tuck Steven into bed in the back of the van one night. In retrospect, no parenting book could’ve ever prepared him for this one.

His Shield- 334 words. Rated G.

Greg attempts to comfort his son during a thunderstorm.

Donut Debrief- 1,578 words. Rated G.

And like a burst of sunshine emerging from between the murky grey clouds, the young boy swings the door open wide, face alight with a level of enthusiasm that before, she didn’t even think was humanly possible on an overcast Monday morning. Two days after their disastrous island adventure, Sadie and Steven talk about regrets, making amends, and discover something they have in common with each other.

Autumn Bliss- 546 words. Rated G. Light Steven/Connie.

Is there any better way to spend a crisp autumn day than playing around in piles of leaves? Written for Connvember, day 1.

Alienation- 1,151 words. Rated G.

“But... I’m human,” he whispers to himself, the words tasting more like a desperate plea for belief on his tongue. “Or at least, part human. Right?” - An awkward interaction with his dad and Connie leads Steven to realize that he's now too Gem to all the humans in his life.

Ramen Soup For the Soul- 263 words. Rated G.

Steven and Connie noisily slurp some soup at the dinner table.

Creative Outlet- 837 words. Rated G.

“Log date, 7 14 9. “Today, the hybrid creature Steven attempted to further secure my loyalty by introducing me to a concept he calls... ‘music.’

Taste of Ordinary- 12,756 words. 2/3 chapters. Rated G. Light Steven/Connie.

"Connie, can we talk?" When a much needed moonlight conversation with his best friend turns into an attempted (and failed) "spring break" from all his responsibilities as a half-Gem, Steven must finally come to terms with the full truth of his heritage and all six thousand years of its consequences. Takes place between The Question and Made of Honor.

Outer Strife- 4,282 words. Rated T.

Connie clenches her fists at her sides, envisioning a world where she still feels the safe, comforting weight of Rose’s sword strapped upon her back. But instead, it’s the Crystal Gems’ darkest, most forlorn hour... and she’s absolutely useless to them. Is there anything she can do to aid them in this struggle, anything at all? (Or: the beach fight in Reunited, but from Connie's POV.)

Content warning: Panic attacks

Ballroom Etiquette- 2,809 words. Rated G.

As much as it pains him to admit it amidst all the boring protocol, Pearl is absolutely right. There’s no room for imperfection at a Homeworld Ball. In which Steven is publicly introduced to the Gems of Homeworld as Pink Diamond, and he experiences the first true stage fright of his life.

Finally Free- 1,653 words. Rated G.

Lapis genuinely doesn’t know how many hours (Days? Months? Years?) have passed when light finally graces her eyes once again.

Vulnerable- 730 words. Rated G.

Three words. Three little words, and the intergalactic conflict he‘d been training his whole childhood to defend against was over. But the hurt... he's not sure the hurt will ever go away.

Fifteen- 1,607 words. Rated G.

Every year, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, Pearl runs away.

Cycles- 1,216 words. Rated G.

Amidst their danger-fraught mission to retrieve Pyrope and Demantoid's prisms, Pearl and Steven take a much needed break.

Freedom to Dance- 382 words. Rated G.

Stevonnie celebrates the first anniversary of Era 3 with their friends and reflects on how Homeworld has already changed.

Stardust- 618 words. Rated G.

White Diamond is testing out new terms of endearment. But no matter White’s intention with this little nickname, Steven doesn’t want it.

Contact- 16,002 words. 4/4 chapters. Rated T.

The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

Content warning: Major character injury.

Disconnected- 993 words. Rated T.

“What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system. He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means.

The Shatter Wish- 1,045 words. Rated T.

You’re 16 years and 2 months old (give or take a few days) when you finally realize you want to die. - (Steven's POV, second person)

Content warning: Depression, suicidal ideation.

Second Skin- 9,272 words. 12/12 chapters. Rated T.

Steven can’t help but dread the undefined cocktail of emotions that trigger this newest power... 12 shorts, each delving into Steven’s developing opinions and feelings about his “pink mode” in SUF.

Content warning: Light self harm, panic attacks

The Brother on the Other Side- 2,978 words. Rated T.

Lars has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him in the middle of the night to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

White Noise- 1,766 words. Rated T.

In which Steven opens up to Peridot a little about his anxieties surrounding his recent “pink episodes.” Peridot thinks she can help him determine the root cause of this problem, but Steven— marooned amidst age-old insecurities and his fears of hurting those he loves— still isn’t convinced he wants anyone’s help.

Content warning: Panic attacks

Like Clockwork- 509 words. Rated T.

Connie's got mountains of studying to do. (It's not just an excuse to avoid reminders of old traumas, of course it's not! Everything's fine.)

Fight the Future- 3,604 words. Rated T.

She’s poofed, he repeats to himself like a dying man’s mantra. She’s poofed. She’s stuck in the rubble, but she’s only poofed. She’s fine, and I’m fine, a-and— Above the scars of Steven's wreckage, thunder claps like mighty titans colliding in the heavens. (Or: what happens in the moments after Steven and Jasper's rematch.)

Oceans- 5,358 words. 6/6 chapters. Rated T.

Her fingers clutch onto the folds of his blanket with a protective fervor, but they’re still trembling. Stars, they’re trembling. Wordlessly, he understands. His are too. - A series of shorts detailing what might've happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Memoir of the Marks Unseen- 6,786 words. Rated T. Light Steven/Connie.

Steven’s messy self-corruption has scarred him in a manner that transcends the mere physical. Battling through suffocating waves of self-loathing and relapse, the path towards healing and acceptance is set to be his most challenging venture yet… but in a unexpected twist of fate, he eventually comes to find a cathartic solace in the tangible marks left behind.

Content warning: Depression, light body horror.

Intake- 6,427 words. 2/2 chapters. Rated T.

Steven fills out an important form.

Content warning: Depression, suicidal ideation.

Fear of Falling Apart- 1,961 words. Rated T.

Maybe it’s a bit selfish to wish for conflict in a time of relative peace, but right now Connie would give anything to face an opponent she could physically fight. A battle she could win. Because the fact of the matter is, no matter how stubbornly she might try, there’s no way she can fight off Steven’s inner demons for him. - In which Connie receives a panicked midnight phone call, and rushes to Beach City with Lion to try and help.

Content warning: Light body horror.

Ticklish- 2,675 words. Rated T. Steven/Connie.

In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be.

No Escape From the Weather- 5,756 words. Rated T.

Amidst an unusually stormy late summer’s day, Steven finally amasses the courage to confide in his dad about one of his greatest traumas.

Content warning: Panic attacks

Just a Little Something- 1,486 words. Rated T. Steven/Connie.

Steven surprises Connie with a handmade gift. Written for Glow Week 2024, for the prompt "Casual or Surprise."

(Our) Shadows Before the Dawn- 957 words. Rated T. Steven/Connie.

It's their nights that are the most difficult.

Content warning: Panic attacks

Advocate- 5,472 words. Rated T.

There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Content warning: Depression, mentioned suicide attempt, panic attacks.

Tides of Renewal- 2,559 words. Rated T.

Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Nightlight- 1,364 words. Rated T. Steven/Connie.

“So, wait— what you’re saying is that you want me… to glow for you—?” - In which a drowsy, throwaway comment inspires Steven to— fueled by Connie’s implicit trust and encouragement— test the very limits of his self-restraint.

~~~

OC Works:

This subsection is the home for any fics I post in my post-canon OC-centric series, "Echoes of Chalcedony." It follows the story of a young half-Gem named Jean Maverick and their journey towards learning about the Gem side of their heritage.

First Impressions- 11,026 words. 3/4 chapters. Rated T.

A young human-Gem hybrid- a soul yet unknown to the rest of the Crystal Gems- takes their first brave steps towards greeting their heritage firsthand.

~~~

NSFW Works:

Fics in this section will be posted on my NSFW AO3 alt, Astraliies. I personally consider some of them "canon" to my own extended fic universe, but they will not be sorted as official entries in my "Brandishing the Star" series due to rating.

It Takes Two- 2,865 words. Rated M. Steven/Connie.

It’s possible. The timing lines up. What Connie fears is one hundred percent possible. The problem is, a potential pregnancy this early into their relationship was absolutely not in their plans.

Content warning: Contains frank discussion of underage sex. Connie is 17.

knowing, loving, being- 21,450 words. 3/4 chapters. Rated E. Stevencest, Steven/Connie.

A uniquely charged encounter in Rose’s Room forces Steven to contend with matters of attraction and desire he never could have predicted for himself. To what extreme is he willing to journey in fulfilling these burgeoning fantasies? And in what ways will such an experience forever transform him? (One thing’s for sure, though… once Connie’s brought into the loop, the most intimate dynamics of their marriage will never be the same.)

Content warning: Selfcest, explicit sexual content

Love Handles- 7,178 words. Rated E. Steven/Connie.

In which a stray, innocuous comment from Connie pushes Steven to dedicate the bulk of his free time to ‘getting into shape.’ But when new stressors rise to challenge him, he begins to struggle to maintain this leaner, more muscular form for her. Not only that, but is this even the kind of body he desires for himself in the first place?

Content warning: Explicit sexual content, feeding kink

#su #steven universe #su fanfic #su fanfiction #nova rambles

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gremlin-girly · 19 days ago

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Flufftober 23

Prompt: comfort Food

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Warnings/tags: FLUFF, very bad jokes, very, very bad cooking on reader's part, gagging, pet name/term of endearment (Honey)

Summary: Wanda is feeling homesick and you make an attempt to cheer her up. Word count: 1k

A/N: sorry sorry - I had a job interview Thursday morning so I've been prepping for it. And then i realised i skipped an ENTIRE prompt by accident 💀😭 Anywho - enjoy ! - Love, Grem x

Prev | Next | Masterlist

If anyone had asked you why you were attempting to cook paprikash at 2am in the compound kitchen, you didn't know how you'd respond.

If the kitchen survived your cooking, that is.

You'd only managed to set one dish rag on fire so far (and begged FRIDAY not to sound the fire alarm) as well as burning your peppers. Because making your own paprika was 'so easy' according to Sokovia4eva29 on Reddit. It was not.

However, you knew it'd be worth it to see Wanda smile.

That's what kept you going past midnight. You wanted to surprise her with a taste of home. She'd been sullen and homesick all week and you could no longer stand to see her so sad and withdrawn. You'd browsed Pinterest, blogs and Reddit until finding a recipe you deemed worthy of following.

However, 3 hours into cooking, you realised you must have gone wrong somewhere because the paprikash you had made was foul. There was too much salt and you didn't know how to fix it. Three hours of work and prep wasted.

You didn't want to even think about the waste of money or food.

You could cry. You really could. You try it again just to make sure it's as disgusting as you think it is, and it turns out you were correct on you first assumption and gag into the sink. You run the cold water and watch it swirl in the drain. How could you have messed it up so colossally?

"Y/N?"

You jump ten feet in the air at the voice behind you and you're about to call for FRIDAY until you realise it's Wanda. She's stood in her pyjamas, weary-eyed and an empty glass in her hand.

"Oh, hey Wands," You say, trying to be nonchalant at her sudden appearance. "Coming to look for microchips for Vis?"

She gives you a wry smile but doesn't laugh, she only wiggles her glass. "Just water."

You kick yourself internally and move aside to let her fill her glass. "Sorry," You grumble. "That was a stupid joke."

"It was. But don't worry about it." She waves a hand dismissively, turning the faucet off and sipping at her cold water. Then her nose scrunches and her brows furrow as she tries to place the aroma of whatever abomination you had cooked. "What's that smell?"

"Ah," You say, trying to hide your embarrassment. "That would be my..." your brain falters. You definitely would not call what you made food. You don't think it would count as edible. "Biohazard."

"Your biohazard?" Wanda cracks a smile. "What do you mean?"

You can feel your cheeks grow warm at her smile and you smile back, awkwardly shifting on your feet. "Well, I tried cooking."

"Cooking?"

"Yeah."

"Cooking what?"

"...paprikash." You say quietly with a small shrug.

Wanda's face brightens immediately and your heart flips. But your stomach drops when she asks to try it.

"That's not a good idea, Wands." Your voice is slightly pleading, your eyes silently begging her not to try it. You're terrified she'll keel over, not even considering the fact she'd never speak to you again for committing such an atrocity that is supposed to be her national dish.

"Please? I'm sure it'll be fine." She bats her eyelashes at you, and you know you can't win. You sigh and grab a spoonful of the poor paprikash imitation and hand it to her.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." You say, watching as she blows on the spoon gently before popping it into her mouth.

"It's... mm.." You can tell by the look on her face she's trying to find something good about the dubious food you've summoned in the saucepan. Nothing about what you have made is remotely natural. Or delicious. "It's good."

"Don't humour me." You immediately retort, grinning madly. "It's disgusting."

"It's not - ugh-" Wanda gags and gives you an apologetic look. "Sorry. Yes. Yes it is. How did you manage to make it so bad?"

"I don't know!" You throw your hands to your head looking distraught. "I followed the recipe to the t."

"Can I see it?"

You nod, handing her your phone with the recipe open on the browser. Wanda takes a moment to scan the recipe, nodding along in approval before frowning.

"How much salt did you use?" Her lips twitch and you very shrewdly say you followed the recipe instructions.

"And how much was that?" She probes again, smiling a little more. The dawning realisation that you may have measured the unit of salt wrong is finally sinking in, and you look at her wide eyed, biting your lip.

"A... a tablespoon." You murmur quietly. Wanda bursts into a fit of giggles.

"A tablespoon?" She guffaws. "Honey, no - it says teaspoon." She turns the phone towards you, her finger pointing at three little letters that clearly say tsp. In your tired haze you must have misread it but that doesn't halt your embarrassment.

"Teaspoon..." You say airily and nod at her. "That... makes a lot more sense than tablespoon."

Wanda grins at you, not even trying to hide her amusement. "It does. Why were you making paprikash at 2am anyway? You could have asked me to help you at a reasonable hour tomorrow?"

Wanda tilts her head at you curiously, watching you fidget under her gaze.

"I - uh - well," You clear your throat. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"Yeah. For you," You give her a sheepish smile and she looks surprised for a moment before breaking into another sweet smile. "I know you've been feeling homesick recently and I wanted to cheer you up." You cast a glance at the saucepan and grimace. "I'm sorry it's... well, just plain awful."

Wanda chuckles again and her eyes are a little brighter than they've been all week. "It was still a nice surprise so thank you anyway."

"You think so?" You say, your heart leaping to attention.

Wanda nods. "I do. Even if it's the worst paprikash ever made." She grins over at you again, and you swear you could melt on the spot. "I can probably fix it. How about we do that tomorrow?"

"Really? I'd love that." You beam excitedly at her. "And I promise not to ruin paprikash ever again."

"I'll hold you to that." Wanda's eyes twinkle from behind her glass as she takes one final sip. "Goodnight Y/N. See you tomorrow."

"Night, Wands." You give her a small wave goodbye, practically buzzing with excitement for tomorrow. Maybe cooking isn't as bad as you thought after all.

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 month ago

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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 28 - Future Perfect

Snippet:

Love inhabits the air like the motes of red sunlight ebbing at the windows. It's there in the cozy geometry of the bathroom tiles. In the patterned wallpaper of purple peonies Caitlyn picked out. It's in the wafts of Caitlyn's shampoo in Vi's hair, and her lacy bra hanging in the corner next to Vi's sports binder. It's in their room: the bed, freshly fitted with Vi's favorite sunflower-print sheets. The wardrobe, with their mismatch of clothes lovingly crammed together in a shared geography. The bowl of peaches on the kitchen table, the tasseled lampshade in the livingroom, the vase of pink roses in the foyer.

All the ways the apartment is theirs. All the ways they've made it home.

Home is what Caitlyn wants. Home is what Vi wants. They've built this dream, and kept building it, and the dream keeps growing. The love grows with it. Every morning, Caitlyn sits across from Vi with her mussed hair and the sleep-crumbs in her eyes and a dreamy little smile that says, Good morning, love. Every evening, Caitlyn returns from her shift with her hat perfectly pinned and her arms laden with paper bags full of fragrant, steaming bread, and her grin sets a fuse crackling down the center of Vi's body. Every night, they make love, slow and sweet, with hitching breaths and crooning sighs, and Vi feels her brain melting and her heart shooting sparks, because it's as if their bodies were built to slide together. To fit the way nothing else ever has.

Everything fits. It fits perfectly. The most perfect thing Vi's ever had. And she will die for it. Kill for it. Anything, everything, no matter the cost, no matter the—

No matter the truth.

It's isn't enough.

It's never been enough.

Because I'm not enough.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

More Fanfic + Tidbits

Tip Jar

@the-blue-quetzalcoatl @frostybearpaws @klorophile @kothelina @lilyreira @hannibalcatharsis @tiredblueann @typewriteringalaxy @theillestofomens @erikadarleyensis @testsubject24601 @elviriel @inconspicuouspotatosack @heroinejinx @aliaa-j @zaunite-leo @silcodependent @karnaca78 @aeolid-funkt @me-and-my-hyperfixations @yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy @medic-simp @cthezaunite @evren-d @flower-of-zaun @villainsidechick @spoczkotszcz @realitycanbewhateveridesire @opheliawillowbrook @nogurlstoy @mj678 @revelisms @shahs1221 @gingersforeverbox @inkshine @silcosmoke @ravenkinnie @letters-to-rosie @lbulldesigns @slavicbeastie @constantfragmentation @danally20 @thatlonelyweeb @callmeanifan-blog @thekelpiekid @not-yet-the-wolf @beardedladyqueen @littledollll @gritzzlybear @catgoblinchelly @ohmygoodnesslesbians @aldana-brillantina

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3rdvoice · 2 months ago

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New letter column

--- Question about visual design... I believe that making stuff that’s fun and exciting to you, the author, is hugely important to staying engaged in a project. That said, there are times when the direction that most benefits the work isn’t the one that you’re most interested in. 1. How do you approach finding that balance self indulgent design/writing/whatever (things that you find personally appealing or enjoyable to draw) and design that’s less "fun" but serves a purpose. 2. When are "sacrifices"-- exchanging fun for variety or cohesion or flow-- worth it? How much do you think about "fun" when designing? --- Question about "secrets"... The story may not really be *about* the world’s secrets, but given your considerable, cross-platform efforts to avoid spoilers, them nonetheless seems important to what you’re trying to accomplish. 1. How important do you think "secrets" are to this kind of story. Would it be the same if you had a lore blog where you answered everyone’s burning questions? 2. How do you cultivate the self-discipline to avoid blabbing about your ideas. Maybe you don’t struggle with this, but I definitely do. C * September 9, 2024

I’m struggling a little with this framing around self-indulgence! I maybe don’t think of it in a parallel way to you. The whole thing is kind of self-indulgent to me… like cohesion, everything feeling of a piece and moving forward to build a big structure, this is self-indulgent, this is my aesthetic, basically. In terms of vis dev at least, I definitely HAVE built my approach around things I like to draw. I made this setting with room to mess around in ways I can’t predict… A lot of “staying engaged” for me, I have discovered after some thousands of pages of comics, is about planning in ways that don’t lock me in too tightly, and allowing the whole process to have some room for exploration throughout.

The avoiding revealing setting-details thing is firstly just a big central philosophical principle I have about this stuff, which maybe isn’t as widely-held as it used to be. Any story is about sequential information revelation… I am designing the story in every moment to reveal information in a particular order, and I don’t want to undercut the integrity and cohesion of the story by revealing things elsewhere out-of-order. This feels like a basic principle people making stories have kind of always had to abide by! You can’t rely on a reader knowing stuff about your story that’s outside of the text in question (I am interested in how habits of writers and readers seem to be shifting around this lately however). So it’s not ABOUT the secrets maybe, or calling them “secrets” puts too fine a point on it, but I am intentional with how things are laid out!

This info-revelation thing is maybe a little complicated by the literary device of the “INVENTED SETTING” that figures so loudly in my comics. The way we do invented settings lately depends on a shared illusion of an objective PLACE, with its own existence outside of the story. The TRICK, as a writer, is I think to see this illusion itself as something that serves the story. The thing LOOKS bigger than the story in order to lend gravity and evocativeness to the story, but it ISN’T bigger than the story. Or if it IS bigger, it’s only bigger in my own personal notes and inside my own personal brain, so in no way that is relevant to readers. I know that I have broken the rules and done word-of-god stuff sometimes in the past because the “real beyond the story” thing is compelling to me too! But I aim for this. The “self-discipline” question I don’t really have an answer for; it is always kind of a struggle but I’m interested in making comics because that is how I want to reveal the stuff, so that is how I reveal the stuff!

If I were to do a lore-blog it would be me on-the-spot making up answers to questions based on the broad setting-principles I’ve established for myself. It would probably be useful for me as a writing exercise, but I’d lock myself into all sorts of decisions I would later regret, or I’d agonize over how seriously to take material “canonized” in the lore blog. It would extend the space of the story beyond the bounds I’ve so far established, and make it flimsy and untenable!

Picking up on some of this thinking in an answer to another letter, will post in a few days.

lettercol archive

rice-boy.com

#webcomic #graphic novel #webcomic update #3rd voice #evan dahm #comics

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siriuslyinlovewithsiriusblack · 7 months ago

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As a shifter, canon ships or fannon ships just make me so jealous. Like he's MINE.

#im just kidding #but i do get jealous #me seeing wolfstar fanart 💀#desired reality #reality shifting #shifting to desired reality #shifter #reality shifter #shifting blog by vis

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3lisorahh · 3 months ago

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info abt me! ☕️

- I'm hungarian

- I'm 17!!

- I study psychology!

- I am very very spiritual

about shifting! ♾️

I have been in the shifting community since september of 2020 (I found shifting during the DracoTok era, and fell under the trap of the misinformation on there). I have been actively shifting since early 2023, and I recently took a break from it due to things happening in this reality.

about manifesting! 🕯

I use the Law of Assumption, and I found out about it in early 2022. I started to learn about it from SammyIngram's youtube channel. I kind of forgot about the law for a few months, then got back to it in late 2022. I have manifested being a master shifter (even tho everyone is a master shifter), manifested love, money and other 'smaller' stuff as well.

masterlist 🪐

the 3D: the copy cat - I. II. III. IV. V. VI.

shifting: daily reminders - I. II. III.

oh and btw! since my first language isn't english, there might be some writing errors in my posts, and I apologize for that!!

free palestine and congo.

enjoy my blog🩷

sincerely, 3lisorahh.

#shifting consciousness #we are the universe #shifting antis dni #shifting community #shifting blog #law of assumption #assume and persist #anti shifters dni #hogwarts shifting #shifting to hogwarts

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mist1e · 4 months ago

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Cazador Sees Himself in a Mirror for the First Time

Screenshot by @velvolktra, please sub to her amazing blog!

“Away. No one is to disturb me.”

The mortal maid bowed deeply and, still bent, backed out of the room, closing the heavy oak doors behind her. She didn't look at him, her head hung so low she could only see the buttons on her chest. He wished to drink her dry, but not because of hunger. The damn cramping in his stomach, the pain that had driven him mad for centuries, was gone. Unrelenting, all-encompassing, twisting his veins into acidic cords, turning the whites of his eyes into two boiling clots and his skin into inflamed, flayed meat. Just gone, as if it had never existed. He wanted to drink her just because he could. The urge to kill was still there. If anything, it got stronger. Squeezing necks, breaking vertebrae, crushing eye sockets, tearing off limbs, gnawing, shattering, sundering…. Cazador closed his eyes and tilted his head to stretch his neck, calming the throbbing thoughts. He would have plenty of time for that, but not now.

Cazador shifted his gaze to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of his bedroom. Its indifferent surface gleamed coldly in the semi-darkness. He used to stand in front of it every day, scrutinising his outfit, adjusting it so that every crease and line would lie perfectly. From a household item, it had now morphed into an unknown entity. Was it a friend or an enemy? Would it show something new, or just like so many times before, it would gloatingly reflect nothing but emptiness?

He could face anyone without a shadow of fear or the slightest hesitation, but the thought of meeting his current vis-à-vis sent shivers down his spine.

Cazador took one slow, measured step towards the mirror. Then another. And another. He approached it cautiously. Gently circling it, he kept his eyes fixed on its tarnished gilded frame, as if he expected the mirror to pounce on him like a wild animal. As he took the last step, he set his other foot and froze. With his side vision, Cazador saw a blurred figure in the reflection. After three beats of his newly born heart, he took his eyes off the golden moulding that crowned the frame of the mirror and looked straight before him.

Silence fell in the room. It was so quiet that it seemed it was possible to hear the specks of dust dancing in the sparse sunbeams filtering through the heavy curtains. Time had stopped. Life in and around the palace stood still, as if its ancient, thick walls were watching Cazador with bated breath.

Cazador stared at the reflection with unblinking eyes, his face expressing nothing. Only the traitorously pounding heart gave away the storm of emotions boiling inside. It was thumping like a captive bird, beating against the bars of a narrow cage. But even his heart would submit to order. It, too, would serve.

The chaotic thumping turned into a measured, rhythmic beating.

Without taking his eyes off the mirror’s surface, Cazador slowly tilted his head back, cocking his sharp chin. His shoulders squared, making his tall, strong figure even larger. His shadow grew, covering part of the room in a suffocating gloom. The corners of his lips twitched lightly and formed a triumphant smile. A few moments later, it turned into a predatory grin that bared sharp white fangs.

His eyes flashed with red. Now it was the time. Time to kill.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 cazador #cazador bg3 #cazador szarr #mistle's drabble

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oxi-moon-xx · 4 months ago

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𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 !!

you can call me s

she/they, bisexual

i've known about shifting for about 3 years (shifttok 😞)

i've lucid dreamed !! but i havent shifted yet

id love some more shifting friends !!

this is a sideblog but my main blog is @julie-schwieters-supremacy !!

some of my current drs are:

better cr -

my waiting room -

summer dr -

streamer dr -

grunge dr -

influencer dr -

etc.

some things + people i love<333

julie schwieters !! top of my list love her shes the loml

vi from arcane and basically the whole entire tv series itself

i love greek mythology

also making moodboards and different aesthetics

i love sketching as well

i listen to a lot of dominic fike, most of my music taste is indie and alt but i listen to a lot of genres<3

dni if:

basic dni criteria, homophobic, transphobic, racist, anti shifters, support jk rowling (you can like harry potter but not support her) etc.

i won't hesitate to block you if you don't follow my dni.

this is a short intro sorry, i'll add more on later<3

#shiftblr #shifting blog #side blog #intro post #pinned intro #blog intro #shifting realities #reality shifting #reality shifter #anti shifters dni #shifting community #shifting

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misspeonirs · 1 month ago

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olá star! gostaria de fazer um relato e tirar dúvida.

tive uma experiência com shifting pela madrugada (achooo). meio que acordei no terraço minha casa, porém eu sabia que estava dormindo?? simplesmente só não permaneci naquele estado porque estava sem minha aparência desejada e na hora não me lembrei de mudar ela ali mesmo, era muito real, foi por volta das 5h da manhã, tava tudo em silêncio, todos estavam dormindo, porém eu estava no terraço – absoluta certeza, foi muito vivido, tipo, tão real quanto eu estar digitando isso pra você ou você estar lendo essa ask – outra que foi do nada, nem intenção eu tinha de isso acontecer.

hoje eu "sonhei" com meu sp e foi muito legal, estávamos nos divertindo com nossos amigos e eu estava toda bobinha por ele, era um "sonho" MUITO real, igual o de cima!!!! bom, esse meu sp namora porém eu tento ignorar isso, apesar de me sentir mal por essa atitude. quero muito ele, mas antes preciso revisar algumas questões na minha vida e a principal delas é a minha aparência. vou mudar ela porque não me sinto satisfeita com ela, tenho traumas do passado que me impossibilitam de fazer as coisas por causa dessa minha insegurança com meu corpo e rosto. coloquei na minha cabeça que só vou assumir meu sp quando estiver com cada mínimo detalhe da minha aparência revisada! porém, até agora, não vejo mudança.

onde posso melhorar? o que você indica? autoconceito?

se tiver link de asks sobre revisão, fico imensamente grata! um beijo de luz e tudo de bom.

𐙚⭑ olá, bem vindos ao meu blog .ᐟ.

ooooookiiiiiiiik, já vi que você é icônica!!!

tô pronta pra interferir na sua manifestação 🙈, acho que você está brigando com alguém que você não é mais e com algo que não existe mais.

você já tem sua aparência desejada (que nem desejada é, na realidade, e você agora). na lds é o seguinte: ou você tem ou você não tem

e você tem, ne? você é diva/o divonica/o

você é a deusa da sua realidade, sua realidade é o livro e você é a escritora, simples assim. só você tem poder na sua realidade.

ele é o seu namorado. essa é a sua aparência, são os seus amigos, sua vida perfeita.

você não quer, você tem. você é.

você dita/decide tudo o que acontece na sua realidade, lindinha/o.

você não está buscando algo, você não precisa fazer algo para ter pq é seu.

entende? aquela versão da sua vida não existe mais, acabou no momento em que você decidiu que queria, e nesse momento tudo se tornou seu.

veja dessa forma, não pense que precisa fazer alguma coisa, você já tem, escolha uma mentalidade de seus desejos, abandone essa mentalidade de precisar ir buscar, precisar fazer algo.

entenda seu poder, só você tem e só você pode decidir o que acontece e o que deixa de acontecer .

respira fundo, ele namora com você, você é tão linda que parece irreal, você tem uma beleza quase impossível de acreditar que é real, só é possível pq vc prova que ela existe.

as circunstâncias só vão importar se você decidir que elas importam

aliás, que circunstâncias? é tudo seu, minha filha. você decidiu que queria e agora você tem.

um beijão, se tem alguma dúvida por favor pode entrar em contato comigo se desejar, não tenha medo, eu adoro conversar..

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itsjaywalkers · 6 months ago

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hii!! i am still somewhat new to this fandom but i’ve read all of your stuff and ADORE your writing, like you are SO talented, it’s insane. your blog is actually kind of what inspired me to make a tumblr account for this fandom in the first place. you seem so sweet and have so much talent, i hope your day has been wonderful 🫶 do you have any accounts/any mutuals of yours that you’d recommend to someone new(ish) to the fandom? i’m excited to see more fics and art & would love some recommendations !!

hey angel <3

oh this is such a lovely and wonderful message, i read it this morning at work and it warmed my heart (and it was one of the few things that managed to pull me through today's nightmare of a shift). i'm so so so happy that my silly blog encouraged u to join the tumblr side of the fandom?? like, don't get me wrong it's the Worst sometimes but it can also be soooo fun!! you're the SWEETEST and my day wasn't great but it's gonna end on a nice note so <3 i also hope your day was as great as you are!!

oh i have LOTS of accounts.. honestly i think you should follow every single one of my mutuals or any single person you've seen me interact with, but to name a few: @carniferous (one of my favourite writers ever.. no one gets jegulus like dil does they know them personally) @foursaints (one of my favourite artists in the whole world.. made me get properly invested in rosekiller + showed me the bartylily vision) @quillkiller (Amazing writing.. Impeccable takes.. got me into quillkiller and always manages to make me care about ships i don't even like) @static-radio-ao3 (my baby.. wonderful writing with some of the best and most natural dialogue i've ever read.. fucking love how she writes the black brothers every single time) @certifiedl0verboy (india is writing one of my current fav jegulus wips.. aka deep the water.. it has one of the only james ever!! to me!!) @likeprongstostars (THE jegulus fanartist.. to me.. vi is always dropping masterpiece after masterpiece and she's always keeping us all so incredibly well-fed) @sommerregenjuniluft (always and forever kissing lune's brain.. one of the most creative people i know, she blows my mind even with the briefest of drabbles)

that's just a handful but really, every single one of my mutuals is so incredibly talented and dear to me, following any (or all) of them is always a safe bet. mwah <333

#asks #rin tag

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daryascurse · 2 years ago

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔐𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯

Commandment Part VI: Megumi Fushiguro x Reader [nsfw][5k wc][mdni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns

tags: aged-up!Megumi, feral Megumi, jealously, public sexual activities, over-the-clothes fondling, fantasizing, oral, fingering, biting, spanking, choking, dirty talk, doggy style, vaginal seχ

Megumi slams the door shut, shaking the residence even louder than the restaurant. As soon as you step into the hallway, he cups your face in broad hands, leaning you against the wall, and kisses you none too gently now. His lips are fervent on yours, fingers strong at the back of your neck and holding you tightly to his mouth, tongue against yours hotter than the last of ice water at your cheeks.

“You’re jealous, you’re still jealous,” you say in a gasp when Megumi's next kiss, so eager with fingers twitching at the back of your head, misses and his lips open on your chin. You take a staggering step to the side, and he follows you, sliding further down the hallway.

“Of course,” Megumi says, and there’s a snarl in his voice, the beast rippling just under the surface. You push your hips forward, back flat against the wall and knee between his.

“Do you really think I was flirting with him?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s that he was flirting with you. And if he made a move… I swear I would have killed him.”

keep reading below the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Megumi's spotify playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

The water is cold at the back of your throat, as cold as Megumi Fushiguro’s frosty glare radiating across the table. It doesn’t normally unsettle you; it normally isn’t even worth commenting, on how that impassive cobalt gaze cuts straight through you. You shift your feet together on the hardwood restaurant floor. But normally, his thoughtful glower simply has – nothing to do with you.

But today, his knuckles are tense and teeth are bared as he speaks through tight lips, and his eyes turn to you.

“Letting him flirt with you like that is embarrassing,” Megumi says, and you twist your lips before speaking.

“How am I letting him flirt? I’m just being nice.”

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at you,” Megumi says, not for the first time. His glare moves to the true source of this tempestuous outburst somewhere behind you.

“The waiter’s just being nice also,” you say, keeping your voice low. “You know, hospitable. Part of his job.”

Megumi's nostrils flare as he presses his lips together. “Well, he clearly thinks you’re cute. What do you think?”

You take advantage of the glass still in your hand to take another sip, to brace yourself. And just at that moment, footsteps approach your booth and the waiter – and, look, if asked (anywhere out of earshot of Megumi), you’d have to admit he is handsome – places his hand on the back of your seat to lean over, water pitcher in hand.

“Would you like a refill?” he asks. The arm holding the water flexes in front of your face, and Megumi’s jaw pulses in the framed space of the waiter’s dress shirt subtly separating the two of you.

Handsome, but so corny. “Yes, please,” you say politely.

He pours with a too-white smile, gaze never leaving your face, and only turns his hand to refill Megumi’s as well as he continues speaking to you. “Please, let me know if you need anything else. Your dinner should be right out.”

“Thank you,” Megumi says coldly before you can. The waiter leaves.

Megumi watches him go with narrowed eyes, and it strikes you that there’s something familiar about the way he’s sitting. He’s not outright flexing. He’s not moving with the ostentatious peacocking display the waiter used with every interaction, from ushering you to the table to each beaming smile. But the strength is present in his muscles, in the tightening of his neck, of the shifting of tendons over knuckles.

Oh, like a guard dog, he sits possessive.

And then he stands, hands clenched against the table as if it were clay he could rip apart.

“Scoot over.”

He doesn’t give you much time to move across the smooth vinyl bench before taking a seat, his hip hard against yours.

“I’m going.”

He can’t see the kitchen either from this side, and after a moment to let the last of the irritation out of you, you sigh and lean your head on his shoulder. Sitting on the same side of a booth is such a painfully couple thing to do. But it’s cute, and the warmth that begins to settle through you from the touch of Megumi’s body heat is comfortable. And because he can’t see the waiter now, he should be calmer, controlled. It’s amazing to recognize it, amazing to see Megumi a truly mature adult practicing restraint.

Right?

Megumi sighs in turn, his body rising and falling below your cheek. Your head tilts with it as his arm moves, down against yours, and you reach forward for more water. His hand rests on your leg, elbow pressing into your rib as he moves closer still.

“Stop, stop,” you choke out over your sip in a giggle when Megumi squeezes. You’re still coughing when you almost slam the cup back to the table and he squeezes again higher. His touch is warm even through your pants fabric, and the tease against your reflex jerks your knees.

“What?” Megumi says, low, and he leans his other elbow on the table, casually creating a box of your bodies.

“We’re in public,” you say, clearing your throat.

“That’s the point.”

You reach with a hand, damp still from the cup’s condensation, down to his own, as his curving grip comes to sensitive inner thigh. Megumi deftly escapes your fingers, turning his palm up to grab your hand.

“People will see – ”

“I want him to see,” Megumi says, his grip guiding your hand higher between your thighs. “That’s the point.”

When he pushes, it’s hard, rocking your hand along the seam of your pants. He pushes again and your hips roll forward despite yourself. And – oh, fuck – it hits just at the right part, with just enough pressure to make you close your legs and shift forward again. Megumi’s fingers move against yours in a dance of pressure stronger than the constraint of your thighs. Every muscle clenches in response.

Keeping your knees together is a strain, everything rippling hot and tight up through your cunt at Megumi’s touch against you. The ache is present when you relax, when you exhale shakily and let your legs fall apart, but Megumi’s fingers slip through your puppeteered hand to push at you himself. The heat of his touch, so teasing, so dense through your pants, forces your thighs to tense up again, anxiously pushing together for friction.

Have his fingers always been so strong? Has his touch always been so hot, so shocking? You find yourself wishing Megumi would just claw through your pants and rip the fabric aside, to fuck his fingers right into you, roll his thumb against your clit and smear your arousal against your skin, to have his hands hold your hips down instead of the cold chrome of the table’s underside.

“Stop,” you gasp out again, weaker.

“Why?” Megumi’s breath is hot in your ear, hair tickling your cheek as you turn your face into his shoulder and back, writhing in the booth and practically humping his hand now.

“It’s not enough.”

Footsteps approach, barely perceptible over his chuckling breathy response.

“I am so sorry for the delay once more, your food will – ”

“We’ll just take it to go,” Megumi says crudely. His hand curves between your legs, thumb coming up against the top of your thigh to stroke lightly as the side of his fingers keep pushing. It’s hard enough that your body begins to ache as the desire starts burning even more.

Go, go, go, go.

“Oh. Of course.” The waiter hesitates, and in your hazy periphery you can see him bend down, try to break through the cage of Megumi’s protective lean over the table. “Um, are you feeling – ”

“Fine, we’re fine,” Megumi interrupts him again. “We’ll take the food to go.”

Another pause. “Right away.”

As the footsteps recede, Megumi’s thumb strokes gently, and he turns his hand down to squeeze your thigh once more. It’s disappointing when that’s all he does before withdrawing. The jostle of his arm forces you sitting upright again. Megumi places both hands politely on the edge of the table, drumming with totally relaxed fingers.

You, on the other hand, find yourself still shifting your knees together, the throbbing of his touch quickly subsiding with nothing you can do yourself under the table to bring it back. “Really?” you ask, your voice close to cracking.

“You asked me to stop,” Megumi says. He’s so satisfied you can hear the smile in his voice.

“You know what I meant,” you say.

“Mmmm. Yes, you were worried someone would see.”

“Someone did see.”

“Exactly.”

You push your lips together and blow out the air exasperatingly just as the waiter returns again, holding two white paper doggie bags crisply folded around your food.

“We apologize for the wait,” he says, and Megumi reaches with one hand to take them both.

“That’s fine. Let’s go.”

Standing is hard, your pants feeling heavy against your weak knees. Megumi should be happy, you can’t even look at the waiter who follows your quick steps with as much eagerness as he has all night, only faltering when Megumi reaches back with his empty hand to take yours. The emptiness in your body is apparent, your skin buzzing as the fabric shifts against your legs with each frantic step out the door into the night.

Megumi squeezes your hand as the waiter shouts out, “Thank you, come again!” and lets the door slam so loud the windows rattle.

“That was so rude!” you gasp.

“I know,” Megumi says, and slows the pace to squeeze your hand again. You look at him, and his teeth are bared now in a smile. “It was very mean of me to tease you. Sorry.”

You try to scowl at him, but the blood is still rushing through you too hard to be really embarrassed or angry. Megumi pulls you close to him, arms brushing together, and kisses you right on the street.

Going home, back to his home, is a speed-walk with his hand still tight against yours, and a few more kisses interrupting giggling words under lanterns and before the entrance of alleys. Megumi kisses you quickly, with teeth scraping your bottom lip. As if making sure more than the one waiter, that everyone in town knows his claimed territory. But below the brightness the heat still rolls in both of your bodies, something you feel at your hips and in the way his grip gets harder the closer you come to his doorstep. When he unlocks the door, the doggie bags are thrown to the foyer floor. Shoes are kicked off.

“Of course,” Megumi says, and there’s a snarl in his voice, the beast rippling just under the surface. You push your hips forward, back flat against the wall and knee between his.

“Do you really think I was flirting with him?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s that he was flirting with you. And if he made a move… I swear I would have killed him.”

Megumi releases you. You sigh, rolling your hips again to lean for his body, and he slams his hands hard into the wall on either side of your head. It shocks you enough to shiver and eyes widen, coughing out a gasp.

“And you seem to find it funny!”

“No, no, not funny,” you say. You reach forward with open palms, splaying your fingers pleadingly across his chest. His heart hammers. “But – Megumi – don’t you get it, that it doesn’t matter to me who flirts with me or not? I only want you.”

Your hands slide down, his pulse beating below his skin, down his chest, down his stomach, and finding the hard bulge clear in his pants. You can feel the heat of his exhales as his arms on either side of your head begin to weaken, just as you brush over his crotch and palm at him with a gentler touch than his had been on you.

And you’re kinder, soothing his aching fire instead of dragging the teasing on. Stroking again, feeling the perfect curve of his cock rise to prominent outline, you move for the fastening. Megumi’s hands fall with a slight moan as you tug his pants down and come to your knees.

Megumi’s already hard, the rage and adrenaline and boiling jealously making him hot and thick to the touch. You wrap your fingers around him softly, and he twitches in your palm as you stroke from the tip down to dark coils of hair, a gentle waving motion. He moans almost like a growl, unsuppressed, and even in the dark of the foyer you tilt your head to look up at his flushed face.

“Only you,” you say again, softly, and your hand circles up once more. You rub, feeling a sheen of precum already bead against your fingertip. Megumi closes his eyes.

Your own face is beginning to burn, the dim arousal stirring as you shift on your ankles and feel that rub of fiction again. You flex your fingers around his cock involuntarily, the pulse fluttering through you.

Megumi’s hips tilt forward, and you open your mouth to spread your tongue around him. The licks are fat and lazy, slow as you work your tongue over your teeth in short motions. Your lips close briefly, saliva already sliding. The next sound is a slurp from your own mouth crashing into Megumi’s groans coming again from above.

You move around him, tongue rubbing his cock as you go low and then higher to the tip once more. Megumi growls your name, and his hand comes hard to the top of your head when you lick the underside. His grip slides down, another cupping caress at the back of your neck when your tongue withdraws to let your lips close in a pressing kiss.

Megumi’s thumb strokes your neck harder than back at the table, coming to your jaw and forcing a whimper through you at the strength of him. It comes through you wet and lewd, and you break away for a gasping breath. You close your lips again to suck, trapping that air in your chest, and your tongue slides forward in a dip.

Gasping and slobbering and you haven’t even forced him all the way back your throat yet.

“Fuck!”

Megumi’s body rocks up, his hand cradling you into his hips as you go lower, faster, and you choke.

The air in your lungs burns the further you press, saliva at the corners of your lips and congestion growing at your nose. Your tongue, heavy now at the bottom of your mouth, presses lightly up against his cock as you suck your way down. Megumi makes it easier – or, maybe worse – by pushing your head further again.

You need to breathe now, but he pulls you down. Your nose presses against him, jaw aching, as he holds you and fills your airway with his cock. Digging your nails into his bare thighs only elicits a wild groan in response. Megumi’s cock is thick and pulsing, and your weakly curling tongue finds a hard vein along the underside. You strain to stroke it. Megumi’s fingers flex and press at the back of your neck, as your face grows hot.

It’s unbearable now. You dig nails into Megumi’s legs again, and with one last tense of his hands, he finally lets go. You gag, throat convulsing as you lean on your heels to lean against the wall again with panting-open mouth breaths and drool stringing down your chin.

“Is that what I get for teasing you before?” Megumi pants.

“No,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hands and grinning up him from the floor. “It’s what you get for being a jealous, half-homicidal ass.”

Megumi’s down with you before you realize it, the fire roaring in his eyes exuberant, yearning delight. You reach for his face and he kisses your smirking mouth, a growl slipping through his lips as he slides you from the wall and to your back to rest over you. He pushes at the floor next to your shoulder, elbow bending when he breaks the kiss to reach with his other hand down to your waistband. As if he knew your foolish restaurant desire, he almost rips the pants from you in that feral haste. You arch your back over the floor and groan as his hand flattens against your bare thigh, his body swaying over your twisting form as you kick outstretched legs to help him peel the pants from you.

The hunger building in you too, you wrestle with your shirt, your bra, as Megumi strips you naked on the floor. His hands leave your body with legs spread around him as he sits up to pull his shirt off. In the moonlight cascading from the windows when your eyes focus up through the darkness, his hair spikes wild across his shoulder, jaw dropped and bare chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths.

“Touch me.” Your voice cuts harsh and desperate in the night.

The hard floor is cold at the small of your back as Megumi roughly grips the back of your thighs, just as cool as the rush of air down at your flushed skin. He pushes, rolling your hips and forcing your legs apart. You kick at the wall with one foot as he spreads you further to make space for his body.

Maybe it was all the previous ministration against rough fabric instead of bare sensitive skin, but you can feel how swollen you already are. You twist on the floor as Megumi brings his mouth down, scraping his teeth along your skin and biting your thigh somewhere that feels miles long. You moan, turning your knee in an effort to bring yourself together, hips bucking up for that friction. With breath hot on you, Megumi’s fingers pull together at the back of your thigh and pinch you. You gasp as it jerks your legs apart again.

Megumi’s mouth comes first, tongue immediately, impatiently tasting you and opening your folds. It’s so easy, with how slick you already are, and your knee jerks. You kick the wall again. He makes a harsh breath, something close to a laugh, sending that hot air from his mouth directly to your spread cunt. Even more teasing? You reach down, about to rub yourself frantically, but flex your hands and push Megumi’s hair back from his sweaty forehead instead, giving him a chance.

“More.”

He lets go of your leg closest to the wall. Your muscles suddenly struggle, pressed on the wallpaper to keep your angle high. Megumi’s tongue spins lazily through your folds, and pulls away to replace with his free fingers.

You moan his name, breaking at the third syllable. His thick fingers slide down through you to stroke at your entrance. You gasp in anticipation, but Megumi doesn’t push inside. He turns his hand, thumbnail scraping your inner thigh as he comes back up to give attention there, right where you wanted it. His fingers coax, stroking against your folds until he finds your clit, and he pushes so hard it almost feels like another pinch. It almost hurts, and you jerk your hips up helplessly, slamming back down to the hard floor when it proves fruitless. He just comes back to do it again, moving his lips back down with a groan that hums through you.

“Oh, oh!”

But for his wild touch, Megumi remains receptive, well-trained, moving to find patterns that elicit your loudest moans. He repeats motions when you whisper, “yes, ‘Gumi, fuck, fuck yes,” and twine your fingers urgently through his hair. So simple, so precisely exactly what you need, tilting your hips to the ceiling as your very skin grows hot. You grasp his hair in a fistful, coarse at your palms. His lips move faster, his tongue pushing saliva and your own arousal through you in a slick mess. He comes back to your clit to suck, and your eyes waver, half-crossing at nothing.

You’ve been babbling, moaning, flexing your feet and rocking your hips urgently into his face, and the pressure hard and heavy behind your stomach is beginning to make you tremble. You’re sweating, uncomfortably hot. Every sensation starts to heighten– every lap of his tongue, every shifting of pressure of his touch, every beat of your heart in your throat and ears.

Megumi pulls his fingers out of your body and rocks back on his knees, one hand drawing himself up over you again. He cups your cunt roughly with the other, pushing at you with thoughtless, rough motions as hard as the restaurant. You clench your thighs around him, clumsily humping his hand to keep it, keep that concentration, that friction that burns down to the bone. You part your lips, and “Me-gu-mi” comes cracking from you again.

He hunches, hair slipping back across his shoulders as he leans down and kisses you again, warm, open-lipped and intoxicating. Megumi smells like sweat, like sex, and he tastes salty, sweet, remnants of you a mouth-watering, heady flavor. When he pushes once more and pulls away, he wipes your slick on the top of your thigh, leaving you once more pulsing around nothing.

“Fuck me, come on, come on,” you say, whining and kissing down his neck, sitting up against him. Your back aches, and head spins, and you bring your hands back to his chest, spreading fingers across him in a pleading grab.

“Then turn around,” he whispers, tilting his head over yours.

It aches to pull yourself away, legs just as heavy as they had felt on the walk home, and the floor is just as harsh under your palms and knees as it had treated your back. You rock back, extending your arms in a long stretch and resting on your heels. Megumi's hands are on your waist, moving with you as he pants in your ear, trying to place his knees around yours. Restlessly, you lean forward on hands and knees again.

He slaps your ass.

“Keep that up and I’ll spank you sore,” Megumi says with a growl.

You moan, an invitation in itself as you rock back just slightly. “Sorry,” you breathe without sincerity. He knows it, and when he spanks you again, it stings.

“Oh, oh.”

He breathes your name when his hands grip your hips and the heels of his palms push your ass to bring himself higher, his hard cock sliding against your skin, and you want to turn around and kiss him just for that.

“Just - fuck - ”

Megumi lets go with one hand, spanks you again, and the drag of his cock on you finds direction as he positions himself to your entrance. The thick, blunt tip, easily slick with your throbbing arousal, pushes in, and your joints go weak as the heat behind your stomach begins to boil again. Your elbows bend, about to let yourself completely kneel back once more, but Megumi slaps you harder as promised.

“Ouch!”

“What did I - say - ” he pants. There’s only senseless vigor in it, just as the prick of fingernails on your skin digs harder. He pushes in completely, and you almost melt at it again, at every pulsing ridge and vein of his cock thoroughly filling you. You buck your hips, and Megumi growls.

You move with him as he fucks into you, squeezing with your inner muscles and whimpering in loud gasps. He’s pounding hard immediately, giving into the hunger that’s been consuming the both of you for far too long to be decent. His fingers are strong, streaking against your skin as his grip slides, something to discolor and bruise you as dark as his blue eyes tomorrow morning. But it feels so fucking good.

You toss your head back, finding a glimpse of his face in this aching position with back arched, teeth shining in the moonlight and eyes burning on you. He’s so beautiful, so wild, and his fingers bend on your skin.

“Fuck, fuck, look at you,” Megumi pants, and you moan.

He grabs your throat with stroking fingers, forcing your head back to him, spine bowed as his chest comes to your shoulder blades. It aches, the push of his cock lighter at this angle, somehow not reaching so deep but still making you clench your muscles and move your hips back to feel him in you. Your fingertips strain at the floor, and Megumi keeps hissing in your ear.

“I want him to see you like this, I want everyone to see you like this, splayed over my cock as I spread you open - mine - everyone to know, look at you, fuck – ”

You’re barely holding on, air beating out of you when he squeezes your throat, eyes rolling back and unable to find him, just flashes of flexing fingertips and strands of falling hair when he tosses his head and pulls back at your hip. You groan, feeble, grating, half-choked, and gasp when he lets go to place both hands firmly on your hips again and pull you fully back to him.

With that, his cock is driving deep, right to your core, and you cry out. Your hand flat against the ground for balance, you reach down, desperate to rub yourself for impatient release. But Megumi feels it somehow, and at the shift of your back against his sweat-streaked chest, he grabs your wrist and pulls the errant hand to just below your stomach.

“No,” he groans, as his fingers fan against yours to feel the push of his cock just barely swelling under your skin, “I don’t want you cumming like that. I want to be the one, I’m the one, scream my fucking name.”

And you’re so close, coming closer still with those words growled in your ear. You claw at his hand, out of your own desperate lust, and he brings his hips flush against yours and holds you tight with the next stroke in.

“You’re mine,” he says, the possessive wildness a simple crude truth.

He lets go, but you keep your hand there, feeling him in you in every way fucking possible as he thrusts. Despite the snarling bravado, you can feel the urgency in the bruising grip on your hip, in the quickening of his strokes. You tense your thighs and push yourself down, letting him fill you and spread you until you’re barely holding yourself up.

For a flash you can imagine it in the restaurant, so clearly in your mind’s eye, with that same infectious feral urge to have him rip your clothes right off in public – but he’s fucking you with your hands gripping the table for balance instead of this floor; both of your pants shoved down to the ankles as Megumi moves into you with wild haste, forcing the waiter to watch him mark his territory and claim you with his cock right there -

You cry out, hips twisting and convulsing. “I’m so close! Fuck!”

“My name, my name,” Megumi repeats through clenched teeth, saliva flying against the back of your shoulder with the force of his words.

“Megumi!”

He grabs you, reaching forward and knees bending into yours as he urges you flat to the floor with the earnest fervency of his strokes. He’s pulsing, so thick and large in you, and – there – just there, with his words and touch and your own fevered imagination, everything goes static. You slip down and let the orgasm take you. Megumi’s hands are the only anchor you have as the floor slides below you, your heartbeat drumming through your head and you hear yourself barely able to spit out his name -

“’Gumi, ‘Gumi, I’m – cumming!”

Megumi, with the last of his control shredded to ribbons, cums with a harsh cry of your own name too, something that makes you whimper as the ripple beats through you and your legs shake again. He shoots hot, palms scrambling flat against your skin. His mouth opens again, biting at your shoulder so sharp you yelp, arching your back and bucking into his body.

“Oh…my god,” you whimper, as he moans your name again into your skin and rocks his hips forward, pushing his seed to flood through you. When he pulls out at last, his own peak subsided, it leaks hot to the swollen folds of your cunt. You shiver again, a weak moan, and then the dark is silent, cut only by two cascading sets of lungs struggling to breathe smoothly.

You lie for a moment, Megumi panting above you as he rocks back on his heels, the reverberating thud of his hand slapping against the wall for balance. The floor is no more comfortable now than it has been, but you gather yourself, heart pounding into the floorboards and slick cold on your cunt, your thighs.

“Let’s make it to the bed next time,” you say, muffled in the wood. Megumi hears you, and lets a weak barking laugh through his heaving exhales.

“I just couldn’t wait.”

“Very impatient tonight.”

“You have no idea,” he says, and there’s something half-serious in his tone now. “I didn’t even want to wait for the food to be ready. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

You laugh, a sound just as exhausted as his own. “Well, look, even if that takeaway is delicious, I never want to go back there. Never, not after the way you treated that poor guy.”

Megumi reaches for you, his hand gentle on your sweaty, aching body. “No, I know,” he says with a voice just as soft as his touch. “Because if he gives me reason… I will kill him.”

He gathers you in his arms as you sit up too, leaning against the wall with him. The gesture of possession is kind this time, and he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before cupping your face with strong fingers and moving your lips back to his. You let him move you, kissing you back, smiling against his mouth. Yes, you’re his, and he’s yours.

fin.

171 notes · View notes