#smut ahoy

[heartbreak-sandwich]

are we down for a sad reader x sad billy get back together smut scene? are we down for that today?

[anzelsilver]

Eddie loves leg day.

Not because he loves exercise, the thought of physical activity as a recreational hobby is sacrilegious and insane.

But he loves watching Steve do his leg day exercises.

Or rather, he loves to listen to Steve whimper.

--

He isn't proud of this.

Eddie hadn't even known he was into this sort of thing until he was hanging around Steve's place one day, being a nuisance as usual, and deciding to play sportscaster as Steve went through his bi-weekly workout routine.

But he wears the black bandana on his right back pocket for a reason.

He doesn't think Steve has noticed he does it.

The strained little whimpers he does when a certain pose makes his whole body tremble.

The tiny grunts and faint, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,"s when he goes into a deep lunge, his back leg resting on a stool, both hands occupied by heavy dumbbells.

The drawn out, guttural moans when he finally releases his position.

Steve looks in his direction and smirks.

"Don't cream your pants, man."

Too fucking late for that.

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, is only slightly mortified that there's a puddle of saliva on his leg from how much he was drooling.

With a slight waver, Steve limps over and topples into Eddie's lap, uncaring of the wet spots on his pants, arms hanging loosely over Eddie's shoulders.

"Carry me to bed," his bratty boyfriend demands.

"Fuck no, you need a shower, babe, you stink." Despite his words, Eddie licks the salty sweat off of Steve's collarbone, up to his neck and lands on his earlobe.

"Then wash me, asshole," he purrs, words still as demanding but his eyelids quickly losing the battle of exhaustion.

"Wash your asshole? Don't mind if I do," Eddie squares his footing and goes into a stand, Steve lax in his arms. The younger man laughs so hard, Eddie almost loses his balance and admonishes him for being such a difficult damsel in distress.

"It's what you get for not doing leg day with me," Steve shrugs, not bothering to open his eyes.

Eddie's brain supplies him with the chorus of gorgeous sounds Steve had been making not even five minutes ago, immediately followed with calculated theories on how to recreate those same noises in Steve's giant bathtub.

"Nah, angel. I'll leave that to you. Let me enjoy the show during and the physical therapy after."

Steve lets out a very pleased hum and nuzzles his cheek up against Eddie's, the vibrations of it go down straight into his dick.

Oh yeah.

Leg days were the best.

[palomahasenteredthechat]

Smutty Italian Fic

Anon - his pov or hers? DM me.

[zaharadessert]

If you go down to the woods today (m)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @kmomof4!

Have the smutty aftermath of some haloween fluff I wrote last year that you bugged me for more of! Hope you enjoy it.

It's about 6k. Super explicit, kinda cnc? and a bit of hinted breeding kink to finish... Basically they make a deal, and it’s sexy... 

Tagging: @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @kmomof4 @wefoundloveunderthelight @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @teamhook @jonesfandomfanatic @tiganasummertree @onceratheart18 @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @itsfabianadocarmo @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @winterbaby89 @thepirateandhisson @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @captainswan21 @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza @sparlecorn93 @hollyethecurious @ammelia

As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :)

- - - - -

Emma felt a thrill in her stomach as she made her way towards the Jolly Roger. Candles still burned on porches, people still lingered with drinks cups in their hands underneath the orange fairy lights strung between the street lamps on main street, most of them still in costume. Although a lot of them were more risque than the ones she’d seen thus far.

She knew she had to avoid The Rabbit Hole or risk getting dragged inside by Ruby, and that her parents were still at Granny’s, so she skirted there too, thus taking a more circuitous route than she would have liked to the ship.

Henry had let her know he’d left the Jolly Roger nearly an hour ago, and with the official festivities ending not long after that, she knew Smee would have been dismissed for the night. So she was confident that she would find Killian alone when she boarded the ship. The heels of her boots thudded on the wooden boards of the dock as she walked purposefully towards the gang plank, her footsteps slowing to pause at the bottom.

He’d asked her to keep the costume on, but they hadn’t had a lot of time to discuss much more than that. She wondered exactly what he was expecting - for her to stay in character or just wear the costume?

Emma wasn't conceited in saying she looked good in it -the layered, tattered edged skirt, and the tight bodice accentuated her curves and her hair was curled again for the first time in ages, fluffed up to look wild and tangled, her cloak secure around her shoulders and her hood covering her head, keeping her hair from catching the light of the moon.

She took a deep breath and stepped onto the gangplank, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of her husband on the deck.

It wasn’t until she was about to step onto the ship when she heard a snicker of steel and froze.

“That’s far enough, Lass,” a low, seductive voice drawled out of the shadows. Emma caught a glint in the moonlight as he moved around to stand in front of her. “Having a woman on board is considered bad luck, I want to make sure it’s going to be worth my while…” Cerulean eyes gleamed at her out of the darkness as he raised a challenging eyebrow and the moonlight highlighted the smirk on his lips.

She felt her stomach clench with the thrill of it and sucked in a breath as she looked into his eyes, knowing she could take this any way she wanted. But she’d been playing a dubious witch, and maybe she’d find that fun to explore…

“Come now, Captain. We both know whatever I’m here for will always be worth your while…” Emma replied with a sly smile as she lifted her hands and pulled back her hood just enough to show her face.

- - - - -

Continued on AO3

[princessphilly]

Or

Pick one

[neonponders]

Two weeks.

It took Steve two weeks to recuperate.

Billy couldn’t say that he got used to Steve being gone; he just had lapses of distraction—and Billy Hargrove was simultaneously a master and disaster when it came to distractions. He hadn’t needed to occupy himself in months. He was out of practice. Every time he tried to smoke, he made it through half a cigarette before he could feel the memories of Steve worrying about him. The way he begged and pleaded for Billy to stay inside his body long enough for it to heal—

So smoking was a bust.

Television and music could only go so far before his brain vibrated inside his skull. The silence after such noise was actually pleasant until night fell. Then the dark was too dark and the streetlights were too bright and Billy found himself pacing his home because he didn’t want to lie in that dreadful half-conscious place.

He got quite good at using an espresso press. Along with the ensuing beverages made with all of his trial attempts. Scalding milk was a different creature that involved staying close to the stove with a book in hand and a thermometer in the pot—

Footsteps.

Soft, weighted footsteps behind him.

[wistfulcynic]

Chapters: 13/? Fandom: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley Characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet, Charles Bingley, Charlotte Lucas, Caroline Bingley, George Wickham, Georgiana Darcy Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Art, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Hate Sex, Pining Summary:

It began, as so many dreadful things do, at a party.

Darcy falls embarrassingly fast for Elizabeth Bennet, and he has no idea what to do about it. He’d like to court her—date her—hang out with her, whatever the term for it is these days. Her lifestyle horrifies him and her friends and family bring out the worst in him but he still wants her—when it comes to her, he cannot seem to help himself.

Elizabeth is never quite certain what to make of Darcy. He’s aloof and haughty and casually insulting, but she keeps catching glimpses of something deeper in his character, something that intrigues her. She doesn’t like him but she is drawn to him—and then she learns something that makes her hate him, just in time for him to ask her out in the most insulting way imaginable.

In a flash the passion and resentment becomes more than either one can bear, and they find themselves in bed together. It’s only one time—then a second, and a third—and somewhere in the midst of angry sex and angrier recriminations, they forge a bond that carries them out of the wreck of their beginnings and into a happy ending that neither one saw coming.

[irlaimsaaralath]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the incomparable @elveny (yes, I know, dear). Thank you.

Tagging @ket-mofo, @solverne-02, @kierarutherford, @pikapeppa, @monstersandmaw, and anyone else who wants to play.

This is another segment of my naughty Chantry sister roleplay with Cullen and Caitlin, which shall be dedicated to @kagetsukai upon completion because were it not for her, I’d have given up and thrown this away in frustration more than once in the last month.

*

“Reverend Mother, hm? You’re handing out Chantry promotions now, are you?” He could hear the smirk in her voice, and free to abandon his barricading efforts, his hand fell to her hip, coasting over to grip the roundness of her ass.

“Indeed,” he mused, “Maker be praised,” as he felt the tension of his laces give way, and she tugged at the leather, hard. Each pull rocked him forward, and his fingers hooked into the single satin cord that trailed into the crevice of her ass. He dipped beneath it, following the curve of her buttock down, down, dipping fingers into the heat that he could feel between her thighs. Maker, he wanted...couldn’t bear it.

[cyevi]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Characters: Bulma Briefs, Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Additional Tags: AU, Cyberpunk, BVDN, Drabble Summary:

Vegeta has stolen something from Frieza. Unfortunately, it's locked in a box. Fortunately, a certain blue-haired genius just happens to be a locksmith trapped at the spaceport where he's currently garrisoned. Drabble for the 2019 July BVDN: Glow.

[hopelikethemoon]

annnnnnd here’s part 13 of ‘a messy situation’ 

[andordean]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: Explicit Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Tankred Thyssen Summary:

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon,” Tankred said, his voice low and full of authority, and to her growing irritation, Ciri found it just a little difficult to focus on what was being said. “Thou have come to this house upon my word. Upon my word and henceforth to this house thy blood belongs. Be welcomed to Ensenada Palace; be welcomed to house Thyssen.”

***

Queen of Cintra’s first official visit to Kovir goes as planned.

Almost.

So I went and wrote some smut (GASP), with some politics, angst, and banter, because hey, it’s me. Come and feast on Smug Boi being himself, and on our brat finally having some fun. I love these two too much for words, and developing their relationship was (and continues to be) a JOY.

Happens after the events of Blood Ties (obviously).

Beta by @merulanoir. ❤️ (And I feel like I should tag astolat as an inspiration for certain scenes…)

[analisegrey]

My Spirit is a Roaring Sea, Chap. 5

inspired by a prompt from @mzh3de​

4 times Shiro refused to beg... Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Omg, ya’ll. I can’t believe it’s done. I hadn’t expected this to get so long, and was briefly concerned I couldn’t write the last chapter. Thanks to @cgf-kat​‘s cheerleading, I managed! (Thanks!) Just a reminder that this chapter is smut. Shalluratt smut, to be specific. So if that’s not your jam, that’s cool, just back away, no harm no foul.

...and the one time he didn’t.

Read below, or on AO3.

5. Allura’s bedroom, Castle of Lions

Shiro is dozing.

There are very few places he’d rather be than where he is right this moment- on Allura’s bed, with his head pillowed on her lap as she reads on her tablet with one hand and cards fingers soothingly through his hair with the other; he thinks he might actually be melting into the bed a little.

There’s a tap at the door before it opens, and Matt comes in, already peeling his outer layers off.

“If that quiznacking modulator dies one more time, it’s not my fault, and I refuse to fix it again.”

Allura hums in absent agreement and Shiro doesn’t bother to respond at all. Matt‘s been having an ongoing battle with the slynath modulator for the past few quintents, and his complaints are routine by now. He strips down to the sleeveless undershirt he’s taken to wearing under the layers of his rebel uniform, and after taking his boots off, crawls up onto the bed, stopping to drop a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head before moving up to lean against Allura’s other side.

“So, plans for tonight?”

Allura sets her tablet down. “I believe it’s Shiro’s turn to decide.”

Shiro hums, turning his head to nuzzle Allura’s thigh. “Whatever you want is fine.”

Allura and Matt share a look.

“You sure you don’t have any kind of opinion?” Matt asks. “Any inclinations at all?”

“Nope.” Shiro stretches lazily before settling back down. “I’m good with whatever you guys come up with.”

Allura smiles, and if Shiro’s eyes were open, he might be concerned at the edge it carries. “Alright, Shiro. If you say so.” She reaches down, grabs him under the arms and lifts, ignoring his startled yelp as she drags him effortlessly up the bed so he’s also tucked against her.

“It is really hot when you do that.” Matt breathes, mouth still hanging slightly open..

Allura reaches up and threads her fingers through Shiro’s hair, using it to hold him still as she leans in to kiss him. By the time she pulls back, Shiro is panting for breath, his lips kiss-bruised and his eyes a little glassy.

She grins, smug, and turns to look over her shoulder at Matt. “As we discussed?”

“Yeah,” he coughs, clearing his throat. “Yes, sounds good.”

“Excellent.”

The next few minutes are taken up with getting undressed, though they keep getting distracted by kissing. Shiro can’t say that he really minds, since both Matt and Allura are being especially affectionate toward him; one of them is almost always touching him, kissing him, petting him. It’s very nice, and by the time they’re all naked and back on the bed, Shiro’s skin is humming pleasantly with arousal.

Allura settles herself against the headboard, propped up by a small mountain of pillows, her legs spread out in front of her. She focuses and grows so she’s barely taller than Shiro, then pats the space on front of her on the bed, smiling sweetly. “Come sit here, Shiro.”

He crawls up the bed and turns before settling, leaning back. Her arms snake around his front and tug him back until he’s flush against her; Shiro hums happily and lets his eyes slide shut, enjoying the feel of skin-to-skin contact and the light touches where her hands have started to lazily pet his chest, skimming over his nipples. He gets distracted enough that he only realizes Matt has advanced on him when Matt puts his hands on Shiro’s knees, pushing them apart and to the side, and crawling between them.

Matt inches forward, palms sliding up Shiro’s legs and Shiro can’t help the delighted shiver that goes through him when Matt starts to rub gentle circles with his thumbs on the delicate skin of his inner thighs. Allura leans forward and nips at his shoulder, getting his attention.

“We know you said whatever we wanted was alright. However it is still your night to choose, so if you decide at any point you want something, let us know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Allura pulls her arms back, and moves her hands to run them over Shiro’s shoulders, down his arms to grasp at his wrists. His breath catches, heartbeat picking up, but in a good way. After a few disastrous attempts at using restraints, they’d found other options that worked for them. She pulls his arms behind him and helps him fold them behind his back, then wraps her arms around him, effectively pinning his arms between his back and her stomach. He’ll still be able to get free if he really tries, but this is close enough to give the illusion of restraint. Plus he’s not one to argue against having Allura’s arms around him.

It’s only then he really registers the look on Matt’s face, and realizes he might be in trouble. He recognizes that look- it’s the same look of determination Matt gets when he’s about to head into battle or tackle a really big coding issue, though he isn’t used to seeing that sort of laser focus directed at his dick.

He’s known Matt for years, had been friends with him for awhile before they were chosen for Kerberos, and they’ve been together, like this, for a few phoebs now. He doesn’t think Matt’s ever looked at him quite like this before, though; like he’s a snack and Matt’s going to devour him whole.

Allura hooks her chin over Shiro’s shoulder and practically purrs in his ear.

“Shall we begin?”

Shiro swallows, his throat making a dry click, but he nods.

Matt and Allura then proceed to drive Shiro out of his goddamn mind.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed; time isn’t really important right now. What is important is how he feels like he’s on fire from the inside out, and if he doesn’t get to come very soon he may actually combust.

Every time he starts to get close, Matt and Allura back off, and now he’s almost sobbing with need, hitting his head back against Allura’s shoulder in frustration. Allura just rubs a hand soothingly over his stomach with one hand while the other remains across his chest to hold him still.

Matt adds more lube to his fingers while he waits for Shiro to calm down again. “You know, if there’s something you want you can just ask us.”

Shiro’s brain is somewhere on the bed; he’s pretty sure it’s slid out one of his ears, so it takes him a moment to realize Matt is talking to him.

“Wh-ah!” Matt chooses that moment to slide two fingers back into Shiro’s ass, crooking them just-so to scrape against his prostate.

Shiro loses a minute to sensation, twisting on Matt’s fingers and against the hold Allura has on him. She’d moved her legs at some point to hook over his thighs, holding them out to the sides and leaving him open and vulnerable for whatever mischief Matt intends to get up to. Every time Shiro tries to speak, Matt crooks his fingers, and suddenly, he can’t stand it anymore. “Please!”

Both Allura and Matt pause, and no, dammit, that isn’t what he wants.

“What was that?”

Shiro looks pleadingly at Matt, whining as he struggles against Allura’s arms, trying to buck his hips  down, to get Matt to move again, anything.

Allura kisses his shoulder, nuzzling against the sweaty skin of his neck. “Use your words, Takashi. Tell us what you want.”

Shiro groans. He hadn’t realized until pretty recently what hearing Allura purr his name would do to him, and now he dreads her ever saying it in public; he doesn’t want to have to explain why hearing his own name makes him blush.

Matt smirks, pressing his fingers in again, and Shiro writhes, words starting to tumble out of his mouth without much input from his brain.

“Please, fuck, I need, need you to touch me- god damnit, Matt- please- I want to come, please let me come, please please please-” He wails in dismay when Matt pulls his fingers out, and Allura is petting him again, kissing up his neck to murmur in his ear as he trembles against her, her breath a warm puff against his skin.

“Takashi, you’ve done so well, you’re so good for us, how do you want to come? Tell us and we’ll make it happen right now. Just tell us what you want.”

He almost says he doesn’t care, but he has just enough brain cells left to know how badly that could go. He struggles for a moment to form a coherent sentence, and finally, he thinks he can do it. He opens his mouth, and Matt crooks his fingers again, eliciting a shout from him.

“Matt.” Allura says disapprovingly, but Shiro can hear the hint of a smile in her voice. “Let the poor man speak. He’s trying so hard.”

Matt grins. “Oh fine, ruin all my fun why don’t you.”

“Mmhmm.” Allura leans in to kiss Shiro’s neck. “Try again Takashi. What do you want?”

He strains against her hold, unable to help it. “Please, his- his mouth and fingers, and-” he whimpers as she pets his chest again. “Hands- your hands, on my chest, please, Allura-” Her name comes out almost a sob, and she squeezes him in a hug for a moment before unwinding one of her arms so she’ll have a hand free. “I think that’s all perfectly reasonable. Matt?”

Matt’s grin morphs into a smirk, and Shiro has a split second of worry. “On it.”

Shiro almost chokes on his tongue when Matt dives forward and swallows him down, working his hand under Shiro to get two fingers back into him. Shiro’s brain whites out for a moment from sheer sensation, and if he thought he was going to combust before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels now. Pleasure burns through him, and when Allura starts to rub her thumb over one of his nipples, it’s just another point of ignition.

His orgasm is quickly building, and he’d normally be embarrassed at the sounds he’s making, but he feels so good that he really doesn’t care. It’s not long before he’s right on the edge, he’s right there, so close, but he needs, he still needs-

Alluras lips catch at his earlobe, tugging gently before she whispers, “Come for us, Shiro.”, and that’s all he needs to go sailing over the edge. He thinks he screams, but the sudden release after all the build up leaves him in a soft, floaty place, and he really can’t be bothered one way or another. Matt gently slips his fingers out, and pulls off of Shiro carefully, turning to place a kiss on Shiro’s thigh before sitting up and wiping at his mouth with his forearm, looking very pleased with himself.

Allura pushes Shiro forward slightly with one hand so she can help him unfold his arms and sets them along his sides before letting him lean back against her again. He’s utterly boneless, not sure he could move if his life depended on it; but he also knows that Matt and Allura won’t let anything happen to him, and that feeling of warm safety is just as good as the orgasm he just had.

Fingers again, carding through his hair, and Shiro tilts his head up to see Allura looking fondly down at him. He smiles dopily up at her. “Hey.”

She snorts delicately, and pets his hair again. “Hello. How do you feel?”

He sighs and snuggles back against her. “Great.” He has a thought, and his eyes widen a moment before glancing between Allura and down where Matt’s pillowed his head on Shiro’s leg. “But what about you two, you didn’t- you haven’t-”

“Shh.” She catches at the sides of his face and tilts it back again to kiss his forehead. “We’re fine for now. Why don’t you take a moment before we do anything else.”

Shiro hums softly in agreement, closing his eyes and nestling closer to Allura’s chest, reaching down to find Matt’s head and give it a clumsy pat.

“Sounds great.”

[emmaekay]

Kotonari - Train, Part 3

AN: So it’s been, what, two weeks since I updated? Sorry. Most of you guys know I was dealing with some writer’s block for a while, and then my uncle died and I wasn’t in a good headspace. This final part of “Train” is a little shorter than my usual updates, but I should have plenty of time to work on this story all this week. Enjoy! Reblogs and comments are my lifeblood, so please don’t be shy - I love to hear from you guys. 

Read the chapter on AO3 here, or under the cut. 

Train – Part three

Everything tasted like blood for the first three weeks. Water – blood. Air – blood. Bread, rice, greens, meat – blood, blood, blood, blood. The Boy could taste his own blood in everything. Pumping his heart manually had eventually come more easily, and he was able to mentally control it, instead of physically beating his chest to force the blood through the chambers. He had trudged the perimeter of the training grounds for two days without sleep. The Boy was terrified that if he stopped, he would die.

Eventually, exhaustion overcame him and the black tide of sleep rushed in. He had awoken to Daiku compressing his chest. “You didn’t give me mouth to mouth, did you?” he sniped.

“I could’ve let you die, whelp.” Daiku grinned. “You’re speaking more easily.”

And he was. His brain was finally listening, and he was controlling the steady beat of his own heart manually. His breathing was less ragged, but The Boy was still ashen and pale. “Up,” Daiku commanded, pulling him to his feet. “A few more days of this and your body should be strong enough to put these basics back on autopilot.”

The Boy went back to walking.

The air in the dome was absolutely rank. Four full grown Saiyans, streaming with sweat and blood, blasting ki at each other, heating the air around them up with the energy. The Boy, once acclimated to the gravity difference, was the least bothered by the conditions. His world, his Vegetasei, was worse. The King, who had fought horrific battles and been in the sealed training grounds before was also stoic about their conditions.

Daiku and Nappa bitched endlessly. Daiku, again, was no stranger to the sealed training grounds – but he abhorred the conditions. The first thing he’d ask the Princess, when she was recovered and inventing again, would be to do something about this barbaric dome. Ventilation, proper bathrooms, gods of the sky – a shower! All these things Bulma could design in her sleep. Well, maybe not her current sleep…

Nappa was a hardy soldier, having fought on strange worlds and with gruesome foes, and he had also been in the sealed training ground many times. However, he complained about the situation nonstop, as if complaining kept him breathing. “But King Vegeta! It’s horrific in here!” Nappa hovered by the control tower, trying to figure out a way to vent the dome.

"There is no vent. If you have time to fiddle with that, you have time to train. Daiku!” the King bellowed, “I will see to the boy now. Fight this fool,” he said, gesturing to Nappa as he turned away from the bald Saiyan.

“Yes, sire!” Daiku flew at Nappa, sledgehammer fists at the ready. They sparred loudly in the background as the King came to his Grandson.

“How goes it, my boy?”

“Better,” The Boy nodded, still plodding forward on leaden feet. “Daiku says I’ll be able to train soon.”

“You are training.”

“I don’t know about that,” The Boy frowned.

“You are. Every step, every beat of your heart, every gasp for air, it’s destroying your muscles, your cells. It’s stirring up something ancient in your DNA, and when you heal from it, you’ll be ten times the stronger.” The King explained, sighing and running a hand straight up through his hair. “This should have been explained to you long ago.”

“Yeah. Tell my dad.”

“Ha!” The King bellowed. “Actually, the blame for this lack goes to Daiku. Or to his future self. He is your sensei, he should have told you all of this.”

“Yeah.” The Boy was listening, but still every step and every beat of his heart took a separate and concentrated effort. Having a conversation while mentally pumping your own heart was still beyond him.

---

Vegeta, still trapped inside the prison of himself, tried to remember everything he knew about the Keiyaku. The prison was like the deepest, darkest well, and his mind was embedded into the stoney mire of its walls – this is how he saw himself, in his mind’s eye. Bound by tendrils of darkness, trapped, chained to a wall that only existed inside him. He tried to think of the sunlight, tried to think of Bulma. The beginnings of an idea flitted above his head, but each time he tried to focus on it, it fled away – like a butterfly pursued. All he could do was sit in the muck of his mind, created by the miasma, and let it flutter above him until it chose to land.

The Keiyaku is the key, he thought. Unfortunately, as he was not an overly romantic or even sentimental person, Vegeta’s pool of knowledge was limited. Snippets of conversation, that’s all. “That’s the Keiyaku, my friend.” He rememberd Daiku saying, after Vegeta had described how he’d frozen when Bulma had been injured. He said something about the bond being able to connect the knowledge of the two, ruining surprises and plans. There must be a link, a real tangible thing, between the two people experiencing the Keiyaku – and if there’s a link, he should be able to use it.

Vegeta forced himself to remember his mother, hovering over Tarble’s dead body, golden glowing splendor focused on trying to bring him back. What was the trick?

I have to link him to this world, Vegeta. I have to find his soul and remind him what it’s like to be alive! If he can remember all the things that keep the living and the dead separate – if he can remember what it’s like to see, to hear, to smell, to taste, to feel something – I can bring him back!

His mother had been speaking in desperate, hushed tones to his father. He knew that Tarble was too long dead for whatever magic the Queen was brewing.

It hadn’t worked for Tarble.

Had it worked for Bulma?

My Bulma.

What memories would he have chosen to bind her soul to this world? What memories would he choose to bind his own? The night of his 30th birthday would do for sight – indeed, would do for many people’s memory of sight. Never before had such explosions been seen on Vegetasei that were purely for enjoyment’s sake. Yes, that’s Bulma – explosive, disruptive, beautiful. Furious light in the darkness.

Vegeta remembered the sparks of the fireworks as they shone in Bulma’s eyes.

Vegeta. What are you doing?

Vegeta shut out the darkness – he was on the verge of remembering something, something important.

The night of the antefasting battle announcement would do for the memory of taste. Her salty skin, her sweet wetness when he bowed before her and lapped up every drop that poured from her as she shook and cried atop him. The wine on her lips, jam and berries and underneath all of that – something that was just … her.

Vegeta, stop this.

He would never forget the way his heart had stopped when he heard Bulma, pregnant with their children, falling down the stairs. He would never forget the relief that flooded through him as he bent his head to her belly and counted two strong heartbeats, thrumming away with strength and determination.

VEGETA STOP THIS.

And how did she smell? Like roses and lilacs when she finished bathing. Like sunlight and sweat when she trained beside him. Like honey and bread when she was sneaking back from the kitchen in the middle of the night. He remembered rolling over and grabbing her by the hips one night, as she tried to silently side back into bed.

“And what were you doing?” He’d growled playfully into the crook of her neck as she giggled and crumpled away from the warmth of his breath.

“Nothing! I just needed to stretch.”

“Liar. You still have honey and crumbs on your mouth.”

She’d reached up to wipe her mouth, but he’d snatched her hand in his, rolling her down on the bed so she laid on her side. She tried to swipe at her mouth with her other hand, laughing in her bright, irresistible way. Vegeta easily caught the other hand and pinned it with her other above her head. He loomed over her and bent his head down, lips hovering just over hers.

She gasped in building excitement as he ran his tongue over her lips, tasting the sweet traces of honey. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth with the gentlest suction, and she gripped the hand that held both of hers as his free hand cupped one of her tender breasts. He was already hard as he released her hands and slid his own over her belly, then lifted her leg so that it bend at the knee. He held it in place and slowly, slowly, torturously slowly let himself flow inch by inch into her waiting, wet warmth.

Once he was in to the hilt, feeling her contract and pull him deeper, he kissed her leg and met her eyes. “Still hungry?”

“Starving,” she gasped as he began to move inside her, twisting her leg so that her budding pregnant belly was protected and comfortable. In this position, he had total control of her, and he relished the way she let go, let him give her everything she wanted.

VEGETA STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING – STOP THIS!

He remembered the softness of her skin, every time she touched him. He remembered the delicate touch of her tongue, every time she kissed him.

“Vegeta?”

“Bulma!” She was standing in front of him. Not in memory, in front of him in the darkness that bound his soul.

“Where are we?”

“I – That, is I – Where are you?”

“Vegeta, where are we?”

“I’m in my body, but I’m not in charge of it. There’s something else in here, some dark entity that stowed away in my body years ago when I was trying to take control of it for the kingdom. It’s trying to use me to – I don’t know, start a war? It killed my father, it told me you were dead.”

“Am I dead?”

Vegeta wasn’t sure, so he told her the truth. “I don’t know. Do you … do you remember everything?”

“That’s all I’ve been doing – remembering. Remembering all the things I’ve seen and done since I came here. I remember you, all the time.” She was beginning to cry. “All the time. I miss you.”

Vegeta felt like his heart was in a vice. He wanted to reach out to her, to wipe her tears away, but he was bound in thick chains of the miasma’s power over him. “Do you remember… our children?”

Bulma’s eyes widened, and her eyes looked off somewhere, far away. Her children – THEIR children! “Our children! I do, I remember. The girl, the little girl – her hair was so dark, like yours, Vegeta. I remember her.”

“And the boy?”  

“His voice. I remember how he cried and cried until you put him against your chest. I remember.”

“You remember.” Vegeta’s face cracked into the widest grin it had ever bore, and he felt genuine delight lift his heart for the first time in so long.

VEGETA.

Bulma stopped smiling at him. “What … was that?”

“The miasma. It wants me to stop thinking about you.”

Bulma, or her spirit, closed the distance between them. Vegeta felt, actually felt, her palms on his cheeks as she held his head in her hands. “Do you want to stop thinking about me?”

“I want out of here,” he whispered, leaning his head into one of her palms. “I want to come home, I want to hold you – the real you – and our children in my arms. I want to keep you safe, all of you. I want –“ Vegeta bit back a sob. “I want out of here.”

Bulma, the ghost of Bulma, or her spirit, or the idea of her – whatever it was standing before him – ran her hands down his cheeks, down his neck, and dug her nails into his shoulders. She pulled and pulled and pulled with all her miniscule might to free him from the sludge that kept him bound to the wall. “Then come home!” She gritted her teeth, she cried with the effort. His shoulders bled, and still she pulled, until she lost her grip and fell to her knees.

Vegeta sighed. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

Bulma jumped to her feet and slapped him, hard, across the face. She huffed, ground her teeth, cocked back her arm and slapped him again. “How dare you call yourself my husband! How dare you call yourself the father of my children! How dare you hang there, how dare you give up! How dare you! How dare you!” She slapped him again, as hard as she could.

“Woman, if you slap me again!” Vegeta had forgotten one thing. How utterly infuriating she could be. “I am not ‘just hanging here’ I am trapped, in case you hadn’t noticed while you were slapping the shit out of me!”

Bulma cocked back her arm, and shot it forward to slap him again – but this time he caught her wrist.

He caught her wrist.

He caught her wrist?

His arm was free.

“Now that’s my Prince.” Bulma grinned.

Vegeta brought his other arm forward, slipping out of the miasma with ease. His legs, his chest, himself – all free.

VEGETA, NO. YOU FAILED HER. YOU DESERVE THIS. YOU ARE A DANGER TO HER. YOU ARE A MADMAN.

“FUCK YOU.” The Prince and Princess yelled in unison.

“Come home, Vegeta.” Bulma caressed his cheek one last time, before vanishing as a mist into the darkness.

“On my way.”

Vegeta raised his power level high, higher, as high as he could – his own ki flashing in the darkness of his mind, burning away the miasma.

The miasma itself saw Vegeta’s strength reborn, coaxed back out by that woman’s devilish light. But it was cunning, it was equal to that. Outside, in the real world, it spat him out. The miasma rejected Vegeta’s body and his soul, but it kept his power.

They stood facing each other, in an empty field on Vegetasei. Vegeta, the man, whole but now powerless. The miasma, wearing Vegeta’s form but made entirely of darkness with glowing red eyes. The shadow laughed. “You’re free of me, but I’ve still won. I have your strength, you have nothing. You’re a fugitive of the crown, being hunted even now by the hawks and dogs. When they see you, they’ll kill you on sight… and you won’t be able to defend yourself.”

Vegeta snarled. “Return my power! Imposter!”

The miasma laughed and flew away into the dawning sun, leaving the powerless Vegeta to stand, vibrating in his rage.

---

Miles and miles away, Bulma opened her eyes.

[abovethesmokestacks]

There may be smut on this blog's horizon. I got an idea for what will hopefully be a drabble with Bucky/reader, but because I will be writing this on mobile on my way home, layout will be rudimentary at best and I might need to forego tags until I get home and can reblog with the tag list.

[angryschnauzer]

I have a feeling that @thatawkwardtinyperson is going to make my Monday evening so much better...