#sorry if my writing is bad-
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INTRODUCING MY GALAXY FORCE/CYBERTRON TRANSFORMER OC!!!
Sunny ☀️
Her real name was kagaya amako, 'Sunny' is just her fake name!! She's a Japanese young lady who's actually a demon since her birth, she has a older sister named 'Yasuko Tsukiko' whose fake name is Morris!
In the series (My Au)
Sunny was introduced in ep 20, she was sleeping in lucy Suzuki's car and she was seen by Coby as he noticed her sleeping, (he first thought that lucy is a kidnapper-). Sunny acted like a human, she also faked having a skin disease, which mean she can't go outside the daylight. Which worries lucy suzuki, when starscream and mudflap came, she was not even surprised of their robotic forms, since she was told by morris before was even introduced in ep 20. She was then never seen in any eps after ep: 24
Until in my au episode: 'The appearance of man-eating demon..?!'
She appears to be treating nomi (my oc) and she have also told her that from now on, she's going to be her caretaker (actually going to be her sister figure in nutshell) she then met starscream (rewritten by me ;33) and Alexis (magical girl, and also half or heavily rewritten by me!!) ofc starscream was going to kill sunny because the two of starlight siblings (starscream & alexis) saw her eating a man (who committed crimes). She managed to run away and disappear, thanks to god lovely's follower (My oc :D).
. . .
Here's her past! (Year: 1925)
Sunny was born after her big sister, morris. At first her mother didn't noticed that she's actually a demon until when she was 3 yrs old she ate a sparrow and her mother committed suicide because she's tired of living after her husband left her, when he stole all of her money. (And the mother doesn't care about the sun and moon siblings anymore.) Which leave morris and sunny to fend for themselves, morris learn that sunny is also a demon when she saw her eating a bird, morris quickly of course questioned her and was worried that if the chief saw this..they would kill her and kill her little sister, Morris didn't know what to do and then promised her little sister this 'its okay.. it's okay..no one is going to come hurt you, i am going to protect you and feed you. I promise we're going to be together..." Sunny didn't know what to say (ofc she was a toddler-)
Which leaves in the present (galaxy force/cybertron transformers) the older sister, Morris broke her promise to protect her little 'baby' sister.
"is this what you meant by your promise, morris? I thought so. Don't ever DARE to talk to me, again..." -Sunny
. .
Here's a fun facts about her!!
When she first met lucy suzuki, she was seen injured and suzuki became worried and goes to the 'injured' sunny, suzuki then took her back to the apartment and once sunny woke up, sunny tries to control her hunger on her and suzuki heard her stomach grows which she then made warm food for her. (Ofc, sunny doesn't like it but she acts like she loves it..) And suzuki noticed that sunny isn't quite talkative too, which then later on. Sunny saw lucy suzuki as her mother and she was determined and promised that she's going to be her child, until in the future of cybertron/galaxy force transformers. She was upset.
Fun fact (2): when she first met the auotbots, she doesn't seem to be interested in them but only to be there to have a conversation with lori. Optimus prime? Nope, Vector prime? Nope, Hotshot? Nope..Red alert? Nope, override & evac?? Nope. Smokescreen? Nope, landmine? Nope, lionbreaker & snarl?? (I think-) Nope. She doesn't care about them (or maybe she does a little bit.)
. . .
Yeah, that's it about her!! I'll post more about my Transformers unicron trilogy au and my ocs!! :D
#transformers#maccadam#unicron trilogy#transformers cybertron#transformers galaxy force#tf oc#Oc#my unicron trilogy ocs..#Au#sorry if my english is bad#sorry if my writing is bad-
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this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.
good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.
sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.
so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.
one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.
#warm up#writeblr#actually this is because again i don't go here#i don't read/write fanfic but i have nothing but respect for my troops#but i also have never played minecraft. im sorry. please ask me any question about pokemon tho i love that shit#anyway#out of some banal and thoughtless curiosity i watched the minecraft movie trailer#and again i know nothing about minecraft. i am aware im in an endangered population#but im watching this going: this is so fucking.... BAD#there is NO LOVE in it!#like if someone who has NO history in minecraft watches that and is like - ohhh this is soulless#WHO IS THE AUDIENCE????#ppl who love minecraft are gonna hate it!!!#at some point it's the ''mean girls musical movie'' problem --#some people will always hate the premise of what you're doing and some people will love it#make it for the ppl who love it#and usually that somewhat convinces the haters to like. chill enough to TRY it . bc it IS good#but when you try to make it for the haters..... nobody likes it. it doesn't have passion. energy. footwork#which is a small way of saying a big thing: if you love something. fucking make it and assume someone will love it too.#i love u . be brave . be bold. be in boston and come to my reading#where i wrote a really weird fucked up little book.#love u love u love u etc
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au where L and Light fall in love during the yotsuba arc ............... i think its a crazy interesting concept
#fanart#art#artist#light yagami#light yagami fanart#lawlight#lawlight fanart#l lawliet#l lawliet fanart#L#death note#death note fanart#IM SOBBING.#i might write a fic ab this .......#imagine light breaking down after realizing he's kira dude#like ..... wow#i feel like light should've def had SOME kind of confliction after getting his memories back#like..... one second hes like KIRA IS UNJUSTIFYABLE then the next hes like HEH HEH I WON#my art#sorry this looks low key bad#i didnt feel like doing heavy rendering :(
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my source is that i am autistic about horror
#this took longer than i thought it would but i needed to. for my own sanity.#also sorry if the ids are bad i dont have a ton of experience writing them and wasn't sure how to format smth this text-heavy lol#horror#horror movies#body horror#gore#saw#<- mostly tagging for organizational purposes and also bc people calling saw body horror is the main reason i felt the need to make this#puppet scribbles
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posting this with absolutely no context
#am i a cryptid now? i log on like once in a blue moon to post cringe and then leave again#ace attorney#apollo justice#tikki#random stuff#my stuff#ooookay okay okay okay. anyone reading the tags can have a LITTLE context‚ as a treat#so. sitting on my ao3 currently is an unfinished fic with exactly this premise#i want to finish it so bad. it haunts me every day. people leave such nice comments and everything#but i just have no motivation. trust me i've tried#i thought that perhaps drawing it might finally kick my brain back into gear#i'm so sorry readers i'm sorry i WILL finish it i promise it's not abandoned#it was so much fuuuuun#tikki are you seeing this. cringefail author who keeps playing video games instead of writing lmao#anyway goodbye friends i am gone again. logging off once more
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#im sorry these screenshots are SO bad. i hate taking screenshots on PC how do you make taking screenshots less horribly clunky on this thing#house md spoilers#someone should write a fic where wilson goes...well yeah#or link me if that already exists pls#house#text post#house md#gregory house#hilson#james wilson#my post#wilson#house quotes
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Was curious about what else Tech had recorded
those boys really get around
#i just wonder when they ran into a wampa#clone wars#the bad batch#cw s7 ep3 “on the wings of keeradaks”#tbb tech#aurebesh#the background details in these shows really are something else#don't mind my terrible hand writing lol sorry
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every iteration of the doctor can be categorized into two categories: dyke and twink
#13 you are firmly in the twink category.#twissy toxic yuri is my fav thing in the whole of dw ever LALALALLAALA#the doctor#doctor who#tenth doctor#eleventh doctor#twelfth doctor#thirteenth doctor#twissy#thoschei#tenrose#ninerose#ninejackrose#fuckin love ninejackrose that shit is fireeeee#fourteenth doctor#fifteenth doctor#DAMN DIVA THERES 15 OF THEM???? clutching my pearls rn i havent watched anything past when david came back#love you david tennant ❤️ you make a gorgeous woman. id smash.#ninth doctor#nwver actually finished watching 13 bc she was so so so poorly written. didnt she end up in lesbians with whats her face? idk man.#13 you a twink to me im sorry the vibes r frankly just horrendous. (what bad writing does to an mf)#a shame
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This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis
#guys i cant continue this comic I'll get too attached to the “oh its g1 animation errors excuse”#“this has great potential to be hilarious” makes angst instead#starscream i love you but your shoulder spike thingies are annoying to draw#theres only two parts but i wanted to keep my streak of posting art daily#DO NOT BE FOOLED BY HIS CUTE FACE HES STILL EVIL hes just having alot of thoughts right now#sorry if my handwriting is hard to read at the end#i print when i can but i... unironicly write in cursive#transformers#megastar#megascream#megatron#starscream#megatron x starscream#transformers fanart#transformers g1#tf idw#transformers au#ok looking at this a day later i realize how bad the flow is#note to self draw just make comics on the same canvas in the future#i will say though Ive never made comics before its pretty good for character angle practice! I need to do more of these#also use a character ref sheet!!! I gotta look at refs if im gonna do this cause its kinda obvious most of my drawings are from memory#G1 x LL AU
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hinononononomoris
#prsk#prsk fa#shiho hinomori#shizuku hinomori#hinomori sisters#waaaa i love the hinomoris they r so silly#sorry for the shit writing my bad...
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painting test with a limited color palette
here's the moon equivalent!
#my art#daycare attendant#dca fandom#hm... no character tags. guess!#really put off posting this since i had no clue what to write for the image id... but it turned out to be fairly easy. sorry if its bad tho#i've been having a falling out with this series recently#its hard for me to like it these days. like theres still a lingering bit of affection for it#but i cant help but wonder if its time to move on from it. hm#i know im probably talking about it in a weird way but... its always been mentally distressing to leave my interests behind!!#sigh.. i know this blog is fairly ''big'' but idk if i'd be missing out on much by leaving. considering how isolated i am from the communit#and also how much i tend to dislike the majority of the community too. hm#eh who knows... we'll see
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thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.
And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.
And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.
And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?
Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.
Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.
#humans are space orcs#humans in space#earth is a deathworld#earth is space australia#tagging this so that ppl can find it even though the space shit i write about always feels like its in direct opposition to all the pop tag#also my biggest pet peeve in all of writing - all writing. everywhere. not just in fanfic but books and tv and movies too - is when people#write off an injury by saying something like 'oh nothing bad just a couple of scratches some bruising and a minor concussion' like girl WHA#MiNOr ConCuSSioN is such an oxymoron and I hate it so fucking much. like i dont care how minor it was thats still brain damage.#especially when the same character does this more than once. like im sorry ms. but uh. you can no longer read. or talk eloquently. sorry#evidence: my brother has had two 'minor' concussions and now cannot read write or speak without tremendous effort. And like its totally#ruined my ability to watch action shows/movies because now i just sit there and count how many concussions there characters are getting#after a certain point it becomes totally impossible to believe that these guys are able to function. (still fun to watch tho im not a hater
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You guys think Simon thought about his family while he was digging himself out of his own grave in Mexico? You think he thought about Tommy and Beth, about how he couldn't just leave them behind? How sad poor Jospeh would be to never see his Uncle Simon again? You think he let that fuel the fire inside him to get out?
You think about how hopeless he must've felt when he finally got back home and found them all dead. How that same fuel suddenly went cold and how he probably turned off any emotion that wasn't pure anger. How he probably felt less like a person and more like a machine after that.
How high do you think he built his walls up after all that? How much did he hate himself, convinced he wasn't worthy of any happiness?
How hard do you think Johnny had to fight to prove Simon wrong? That he deserves happiness. That, regardless, people will love him anyway because he's allowed that? And he can love people back too. He doesn't need to hold everyone at arm' length, he can let people in and be loved.
And how futile was all of that in the end, when Simon watched Johnny die?
#simon ghost riley#call of duty#john soap mactavish#ghost x soap#ghoap#soap x ghost#im having thoughts#sorry if this is bad. i gotta clock into work and needed to get this out first#my writing
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There's one specific aspect of Deadpool & Wolverine that's important in relation to the queerness of Wade/Logan:
The fact that Vanessa isn't single.
I'm not kidding lol
Doesn't seem like people are talking about this so I'm going to be the one to say it I guess!
So… beyond trying to save his world / family, Wade's (flimsy) motivation is indeed partially motivated by Vanessa – or more specifically by things she said to him during their break up. He wants to figure out how he matters or how he can be a hero without being an Avenger, etc.
Shitty as it is that Vanessa is relegated to being a two-dimensional motivation mouthpiece… She and Wade didn't just break up; they tell us immediately that she's seeing another guy. By my memory, Wade never disrespects that, not even jokingly. And the plot isn't framed as a quest to ~win back the girl~ either.
The end scene underlines this too, where [SPOILER] he says he did it for her even if she doesn't want him or whatever the line is. Their little hand touch isn't really a romantic rekindling.
So, what am I getting at?
This all gives weight to Wade's mischievous flirting and (later) built connection with Logan.
If Wade and Vanessa were framed as "taking a break," or if she was still single and he was trying to win her back, the queerness with Logan wouldn't work quite as well. There'd be more room to claim it's an unserious joke.
But Vanessa's moved on.
Wade, taking LOGAN home, did too.
#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool and wolverine spoilers#deadpool x wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#poolverine#you guys need a better ship name#deadclaws#<- that sucks a little less#deadpool 3#wade wilson#wolverine#deadpool#this felt like a hot take worth putting on tumblr. sorry. but no one seems to be saying this?#oh wait I haven't posted my 'review' of this move on here. uhhhh I'll put a link in the replies of this post in case anyone is curious#(spoiler alert: I thought it was bad and kind of boring. lmao. but at least it was queer!)#char writes things
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happy new year Ego!!! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your twst fanart and the tags are just an absolute pleasure to read! You are my greatest inspiration for my personal twst art and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful masterpieces <333 if possible, may I ask what are some of your headcanons for the diasomnia family? If not for diasomnia then any other characters are fine as well!
thank you, and happy new year! 💚💜💚 that is amazing to hear; it's always a little bewildering but super flattering that other people like my silly little doodles so much!
I don't think I really have any really solid headcanons and also canon keeps validating me left and right (FLUFFY DOMESTIC DIAFAM IS REAL). mostly just kind of...impressions and general thoughts, if that makes sense! lately though I've been kind of obsessed with thinking about Lilia's hair, and specifically when/why he ended up cutting it. (l-look, we're bouncing around the timeline and I gotta make decisions about these things when I draw, it's relevant) (I mean I would probably be weirdly fixated on this anyway, but.)
I think I've settled on the idea that he kept it long until he went to NRC, partly because 1) I like drawing The Ponytail, and 2) I think he thought of NRC as a chance to reinvent himself a bit! he gets to go and be a wacky carefree teenager for a few years and have fun! (officially he's there to keep an eye on Son #1, but how much trouble could he get into, really.) so he gave himself a Cool Teen Haircut to go with his fresh new Cool Teen Persona!
also maybe he had some reflection on his hair's troubled past with three kids...
...and had to weigh his vanity versus the fact that he was going off to be around hundreds of kids on a daily basis, and. the choice suddenly seemed obvious.
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#this is my blog and i'm going to write a million words about lilia and you can't stop me#but anyway i do genuinely get the impression that he's using Pretending to Be a Teenager as a chance to be even sillier than usual#he's a very silly man he's just being EXTRA silly#supported by his recent birthday card where he says he was specifically trying to cast himself as an adorable little brother-type#because he wanted the other students to give him free shit and save him seats and things like that#it worked for about a week before he turned out to be way too good at stuff and everyone just kind of ended up in awe of him instead#and he was like DANGIT. I'VE RUINED IT FOR MYSELF.#(then he and epel went on to talk about their hypothetical vtubersonas because the birthday cards are INSANE but anyway)#i'm bad at headcanons :( sorry!#unless it's dumb things like...what pokemon they would have or whatever#(malleus would have some kind of special fancy-colored dragapult) (but i digress)#i have a hard time putting things into words. just know that i love the grampa bat and his weird kids very much.#my brain is also still kind of fried from the last couple of weeks#i am however starting 2024 off the way i intend to continue it: in deep contemplation of anime hair#(sorry if these look weirdly aliased) (i realized about 3/4 of the way through i was using the wrong brush and i didn't want to restart :U)
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First Burn — Mithrun x F!Reader
“You have a choice, Captain. You don’t have to follow me around if there’s something else you’d rather be doing.”
“There is something else I’d rather be doing,” he admitted with a slow nod.
—
post-canon, spoilers for Mithrun’s story
7000 words :0
NSFW! pls interact responsibly. No minors.
Disclaimer: I do not know how to write smut :)
°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。
Recently, the world had stopped on its axis. Dungeons collapsed, entire countries burst up from the sea, and Mithrun of the House of Kerensil decided to try.
And he would spend the rest of his life trying. Sometimes, he succeeded. Sometimes, he did not. The other week, he felt an inkling in his chest that he translated as a new desire— for bread. A desire for fresh bread. You proceeded to fulfill his desire, because that’s what you’d decided.
You tried, too. You tried hard. Sometimes, you succeeded. Sometimes, you did not. And judging by the barely-there expression of annoyance on Mithrun’s face, you had a feeling that today would be the latter.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said. While the street around you was crowded and bustling, the space between you and Mithrun felt private, quiet. He was lost in that secret space until your words yanked him back to reality.
You watched as his brows furrowed and a little line formed between them. His good eye searched your face as if looking for answers, but he had to know what you meant. If he wanted to go, then he could go.
It seemed to be the kind of day where he didn’t want anything. He was a ghost lingering at your back, pulled through the hours by some invisible string that kept him tied to you. On his worst days, he viewed himself as an anchor dragging behind your ship. Yet, you never cut that line. You wouldn’t dare.
Without an ounce of hesitation, you met his face. The line between his brow had disappeared, but Mithrun’s usual apathy was weaker, softer. Again, you said, “You have a choice, Captain. You don’t have to follow me around if there’s something else you’d rather be doing.”
“There is something else I’d rather be doing,” he admitted with a slow nod.
You perked up. You offered him the choice to leave simply because Mithrun deserved to have choices, though you knew that if he wasn’t following you then he’d most likely end up spending the day staring at the ceiling of his home. It was one of those days. When his brain decided to comply, he would keep himself busy with a hobby, or he’d visit the palace, or search for monsters on the outskirts of the city. He didn’t always need your company to keep himself functioning.
Yet, the fact that there was something he wanted to do was enough to make you smile. “That’s great,” you turned to face him fully. You had a basket of vegetables hanging off your arm as you and Mithrun stood in front of a merchant stall. Another customer approached and you placed a hand on Mithrun’s arm to gently guide your bodies out of the way. The streets of Melini had become crowded as of late, with more tourists coming to see the newly risen country.
“I suppose it is,” he agreed. He glanced down at your hand on his arm, following your fingers as you pulled them away and rested them on the handle of the basket. Then, his good eye flickered back up to your face.
“So,” you rocked back and forth on your heels, “what is it? Anything I can help with?”
The apathy instantly disappeared. Mithrun raised his brows and tilted his head, his good eye widening in thought. “Yes, actually. I want to have sex. With you.”
You froze.
Despite his words, the world still spun and time still flowed. It was offensive how nothing came crashing down for you, how the planet’s rotation didn’t stop to allow you a moment to comprehend Mithrun’s words.
Heat curled in your lower abdomen. Your throat went dry and you let out a soft exhale. All you could manage in response was, “Huh?”
Mithrun gave a quick nod and looked at you as if you were a bit stupid. “Now.”
Now. The hair on the back of your arms stood to attention. “Huh?”
“That’s what I want,” he slowly explained, “pay for the food and let's go.”
You had no choice but to close your eyes and block out the street sounds. “Wait. I thought you were having a bad day.”
“Hmm… No. I think you’re mistaking me being contemplative for me struggling.”
Right. Okay. Contemplative, that was the face he made when he was contemplating something. Something like sex. With you. Now.
Mithrun wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His skin was cold but his touch was like fire. He pulled, urging.
You yanked yourself free, “No.”
And he blinked in surprise, “You don’t want to?”
“No,” you corrected, “I mean, yes.”
“What?”
“I mean–” you groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, “I want to, believe me. I want to. But not like this.”
Mithrun’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. The apathy returned in full-force. He wasn’t hurt, you knew, but he also wasn’t used to having one of his few desires rejected, especially by you. “Alright, I won’t force you.”
A flicker of panic passed through your chest. You grabbed his arm to stop him from wandering off, “I’m not saying no, Mithrun. I’m saying that— Well, that I have standards.”
He glanced at you, “Standards.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes. Standards. It’s really not arousing to just be told ‘I want to have sex with you’.”
“Oh,” he nodded, the tiniest amount of realization dawning on his face, “I see. You want to be romanced and seduced.”
Truthfully, you wanted to shrivel and die. You would’ve liked to melt into the cracks on the sidewalk and hide in the darkness forever. Romanced. Seduced. Mithrun wasn’t judging you, but you were certainly judging you.
“Not exactly. I just mean that the time has to be right. We can’t plan these things,” you explained. The heat you had initially felt from his offer was replaced by cold, unpleasant dread. Mithrun was the one who so bluntly brought up the subject of sex, yet you were the one panicking and overthinking things.
“Alright,” again, he brushed it off with the least amount of effort. You wanted to smack him for the cavalier attitude, though you knew he couldn’t help it. Mithrun would most likely spend the rest of the day feeling perfectly calm, without a hint of awkwardness, while you slowly drowned in the flood of your own thoughts.
Except—
Except, as Mithrun turned away to continue the task of vegetable shopping, you saw his right hand flex. He curled his long fingers in, and out, then made a fist before stuffing it into the pocket of his coat.
It didn’t have to mean anything.
You weren’t technically a couple. Despite how emotionally intertwined you were with him, you’d never kissed.
Yet, he wanted you. He specified, Mithrun didn’t want sex with just anyone. He wanted it with you. That was his new desire.
Without a second thought, you let the basket on your arm slide off and hit the ground. Then, you grabbed the sleeve of his coat. He glanced at you, stopping mid-step and allowing you to softly yank him closer.
Mithrun knew. He wasn’t as connected to his emotions as some, but he knew what you were doing. He placed his left hand on your hip, the other still in his pocket. And as he leaned in, meeting you halfway, your panic and anxiety melted like ice beneath the sun. He pressed his lips against yours and you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Whatever your body did from then on was not your decision. Your arms snaked around his neck and you tangled your fingers into the soft hair behind his head.
Both of you knew this moment would come. He was yours, you were his. That had always been the case. Mithrun simply hadn’t had any desire to be physical before. Yet, with the way he pressed against you, now both hands on your hips as he gently walked you backward until your back hit a wall, it was clear. Somehow, in some way, the desire for physical intimacy had returned. Whether you had anything to do with that or not was a mystery, but there was no time to question that. He had needs and wants and there was nothing more important in that moment than fulfilling them.
The rest of the world faded away. Your knees grew weak as you realized that it was finally happening; Mithrun had made such progress. He had a desire, and the fact that the desire concerned you made warmth spread through your body.
Another kiss, then another, while gasps and pants between presses of your lips consumed the space around you. You lowered one hand away from his shoulder and rested it on his chest. Mithrun pushed further until he was the only thing holding you up, keeping you on your feet. His fingers splayed across your back and gripped your clothes. Your chest rose and fell with desperate attempts to get air without breaking contact. If it was possible to melt together, to erase every centimeter of room between your bodies, you and Mithrun would’ve found a way.
His hips brushed against yours. It was barely there, but easily identifiable— a hardness beneath his trousers. Flames within you burst into life and threatened to consume you whole.
“We–” through the fog of sheer want, you managed to grab hold of a sliver of logic, “we can’t do this here.”
Mithrun paused. He still held you, but slowly lifted his face. His lips separated from yours with a soft sound. You already missed the feeling of his mouth. It was cold and empty without him. He glanced out at the street, at the passersby who were pointedly not looking in your general direction.
He shrugged, “I don’t really care,” and returned his attention to you, leaning in again.
You pressed your palm against his face to keep him at bay, “Nope. No way. I care, and we’re not doing this here.”
With an annoyed exhale, he brushed your hand aside, “Fine. Then where?”
The heat in your abdomen was slowly dying down. The realization that most likely a fourth of Melini had seen you and the Captain making out in an alleyway was enough to dampen your fire.
You untangled your arms from his shoulders, trying to pull back. His grip on you resisted until you sent him a half-hearted glare. Only then did he let go and raise his hands to signify that you were free. Yet, as you turned to leave, he instantly grabbed you again.
“Where?” He repeated, his good eye narrowing.
“Nowhere!” You shot back, then paused, “Well, somewhere. But we can’t plan these things, they have to happen naturally, when the time feels correct.”
“Right now certainly feels correct to me.”
“I’ve got things to do,” you complained while you slipped out of his grip once more. You didn’t mean to be so difficult, but the lingering dread of making out in a public alleyway, combined with the fact that your armpits were a bit sweaty, killed every ounce of arousal within. You picked up the basket of veggies and sent Mithrun an apologetic smile, “I promise, we’ll try soon. I want you to be happy and to do these kinds of things, but this is more serious than, like, a food craving or something.”
“Objectively, I’m aware,” he answered, his tone clipped.
“You’re just horny,” you finished for him.
“Unbearably horny.”
What progress! “Good for you,” you patted his arm and smiled, “I’m proud!”
He made a face. You hoped that your imitation of a mother praising her child for a good grade would ease his newfound lust for at least a bit, at least until you could match his energy.
However, Mithrun still clung to you for the next hour. When you stopped to discuss a price with a merchant, Mithrun wrapped his arms around you from behind and nuzzled his face into your neck.
“Is now the right time?” He murmured.
And you brushed him off, because you had no desire to make everybody around you uncomfortable. (Mithrun did not care.)
“No,” was all you said.
He made a small, flat noise of disapproval. Despite your nature, you couldn’t help but smile. Torturing Mithrun made your heart skip a beat, it put you in a good mood.
You separated for the evening. Mithrun had resorted to giving you the silent treatment, which only raised your amusement to new heights. As you watched him turn to walk home without so much as a goodbye, with his barely disguised brooding and glare, a flicker of power passed through you. Admittedly, you were tempted to spend the night in his bed. But you were more tempted by the possibility of teasing him to the brink of his control, of seeing him overcome and ruffled and desperate.
Another curl of heat in your abdomen took your breath away. You forced yourself to turn, to retreat. Good things come to those who wait.
°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。
But it was midnight and waiting was no longer an option. Only several hours had passed since you’d last seen Mithrun, but his words refused to leave your mind.
‘I want to have sex. With you.’
There was absolutely nothing romantic about them. He didn’t use a sultry voice. He spoke those two sentences as if he was reading items off a grocery list. And it was so out of the blue.
Yet, the fact that they were from him, from someone who so rarely felt desire, was special. Without trying, Mithrun had branded the words onto your brain with a hot iron. And that heat traveled down your body like a spreading fire until it burned and pulsed between your legs, growing more urgent with every passing contemplation.
You needed to know: how did he come to realize that desire? What changed? Did he simply wake up that morning in the mood for sex? Had he been trying to cultivate that desire?
You laid in bed, your hands spread out over your chest, your eyes on the ceiling. Another throb of pleasant warmth between your legs made your lips part. Mithrun wanted you. Why didn’t you just give him what he wanted earlier?
Something began to build up inside of you. If you just had a little friction, a touch, it could burst forth and envelop you in warmth.
Your hand trailed down your stomach and—
And a loud clang from outside your bedroom window stopped you. You turned your head to look, hand halted mid-air as your flames began to dim.
In the darkness of the night, a shadow passed by the glass. Their features were blurred by the darkness, but they were tall, wide, and slowly stepping past your window. Your little cabin was on the outskirts of the town, and all of your neighbors were a half mile away. Your friends had always told you that it wasn’t safe for a single woman to live alone in such a vacant area.
Your blood ran cold as the shadow moved on towards your backyard. Instantly, you scrambled out of bed and through the house to make sure all your doors were locked. Another peek outside the window in the kitchen revealed that the figure had crossed the yard and was rifling through your garbage. At least they weren’t trying to get inside. Yet.
Breathless, with a racing heart and tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, you hurried back to the bedroom. You flicked a hand and your communication pixie twirled into existence. You didn’t give it any time to stretch and yawn from its slumber, grabbing it from mid-air and squeezing its little body.
Mana channeled through your veins. You attempted to shove aside the fear and imagine Mithrun, then frantically tapped the pixie’s head, “Mithrun!” You hissed.
A moment passed. No answer.
“Mithrun,” you insisted, your voice choking up. Air refused to travel through your lungs, and you started hyperventilating into your free hand.
Four seconds passed before you heard a soft sigh through the pixie’s mouth, “What is it?”
He sounded tired, groggy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about waking him up. “I-I think someone’s stalking around my house. They haven’t tried to break in yet but I’m really freaked out—“
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he instantly said, sounding more awake.
And with Mithrun, he meant it. Walking regularly would take around fifteen minutes, since you lived several miles apart. Yet, when he was determined, he could teleport quickly enough to cross those miles within five minutes.
You quietly groaned and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, releasing your fairy— who sent you a worried look before twirling and disappearing into thin air.
There was nothing wrong with calling Mithrun for help, but embarrassment and dread settled into your stomach nonetheless. He’d prefer you call him with these types of situations, you knew. But you were capable too. You had helped save the world from the demon, yet some random shadowy figure in your backyard reduces you to tears? Pathetic.
It was simply an invasion, and you were in your night clothes and your weapon was thrown into the back of your closet somewhere. That was all. And the fact that the figure passed by your window when you were seconds away from pleasuring yourself made you want to throw up.
Another set of footsteps crunching down on the grass tore you from your thoughts. They were accompanied by a light spell which illuminated silver waves of hair and a dark cloak.
Relief flooded your chest, though you hesitated to let your guard drop entirely. You scrambled through the cabin and toward your kitchen window where you saw Mithrun silently crossing your yard towards the shadowy figure.
He paused mid-step. Then, he rested his hands on his hips. As his light spell floated over him, you caught a glimpse of what he looked at; brown feathers and a yellow beak, accompanied by the slithering of a snake.
A basilisk. It was just a basilisk digging through your garbage.
You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to collapse from relief, or scream from frustration.
Nonchalantly, Mithrun reached out a hand and tapped the chicken part on the back. It disappeared, and he wasted no time in turning around and heading for your back door. Despite your shaking hand and sick stomach, you unlocked the door and opened it to let him inside without a word. He dispelled the light spell and pulled off his cloak with a sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” you exhaled heavily, locking the door, “I should’ve just gone to check on my own.”
Mithrun sent you a blank glance, but as if he’d been caught by a hook, he did a subtle double take. His good eye flickered over your body, across your shoulders, down your thighs.. It took several seconds for his brain to catch up, “No… If that happens again, don’t go outside. I know you can take care of yourself, but I’d rather not risk it.”
He didn’t stop staring. The shamelessness of his gaze on your diaphanous nightdress made you heat up. The intruder was just a scavenging basilisk, you weren’t in any real danger, yet Mithrun had been so determined to help you.
As offensive as the whole situation was to your personal sense of feminism, it made your knees weak.
Mithrun finally looked away. He took a breath that made his chest rise and fall, his hands buried in the folds of his cloak. “I’ll go now, then.”
“No,” you argued before you could even think twice. You grabbed his arm to stop him. He was wearing a loose night tunic so different from the long sleeved, high necked outfits he usually chose. You’d seen his scars before, but it was so rare to touch his bare skin like that, to feel the soft texture beneath your fingers.
Mithrun raised a slight brow, “No?”
He wanted you.
You wanted him.
“Could you stay the night?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’d feel better with you near.”
Calling Mithrun to investigate potential attackers was one thing, but requiring his presence to help you sleep was beyond uncharacteristic. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he sent you a look that revealed precisely that.
But he also wasn’t one for complaining. He simply nodded and draped his cloak across the back of a chair, then pulled off his boots. With weak knees, you turned around to return to your bedroom. You wanted to be casual, to not be too hyper-aware of his presence following you down the hall.
Any other decent man would’ve politely asked if you’d rather he sleep on the couch. Mithrun was not other men, and he was only decent around 42% of the time.
You pulled back the sheets. The silence was consuming, but only to you, apparently. Mithrun remained cavalier as he slid onto the left side of the bed and pulled the sheets up around him. He sent you a blank look as if to ask why you were hesitating, why this moment was so monumental for you.
He knew exactly why, he was just being a jackass.
You crawled in. Before you could get comfortable, Mithrun snaked an arm around your waist and pulled your back against his chest. Your bodies molded together as he buried his nose in your hair.
Right down to business. He knew precisely what you wanted.
Your heart started to pound and heat flooded the space between your legs. Mithrun hadn’t wanted anything intimate in forty years. It was the least you could do to let him be a little greedy.
His hand slowly ran down the curve of your waist, brushing over the fabric of your night dress. Once he reached the hem, his fingers danced across your bare skin. He had rough callouses, and as he stroked your outer thigh, the scratch created from years of fighting sent tingles through your veins. The room was quiet save for your exhales, your attempts to control your breathing.
“I wonder,” Mithrun murmured, “did you know it was just a basilisk in your yard, and you used it as an excuse to get me to come over?”
You scoffed, “No. I was fully planning on drawing this whole thing out for longer, actually.”
He exhaled in annoyance, but despite the sharp sound, his hand rounded the curve of your thigh and brushed closer to the sensitive inner part. That warm pulsing between your legs returned. The slight twitch of his growing hardness against your ass was enough to send a wave of arousal through you.
His hand drew up, over your underwear, to your stomach. And while he did that, he pressed his lips against your neck.
“You’re-“ you tried to gather the scrambled pieces of your brain, “you’re surprisingly eager for someone who hasn’t wanted this in so long.”
Mithrun ran his lips down your neck, “I’ve been working on it.”
Spectacular. That answered your burning question. You tilted your head to give him more access as you spoke, “So you’ve been trying to regain the desire for intimacy?”
He nodded, “I have.”
“How so?”
“Just putting some thought into the matter,” Mithrun lightly dug his teeth into the crook of your neck, earning a soft gasp. Then, he continued, “Contemplating what it would be like. Focusing on you, looking at you. Physical stimulation.”
He spoke so clinically, yet the implications behind his answer sent a shiver trailing down your spine. “Physical stimulation?”
“It was hard, at first. Nothing much happened.”
“So… It wasn’t actually hard at first?”
Mithrun promptly pinched your side, but that only made you laugh more. When you didn’t stop giggling quickly enough for him, he dug his teeth into your shoulder and hooked a finger into the line of your underwear. That dimmed the amusement. Despite the interruption, you could feel him growing harder against your ass.
“Anyway,” he grumbled, kissing the spot he’d just bit, “it took some determination and focus.”
“Focus on what?”
You knew. You just wanted to hear him say it again.
“On you,” he pressed himself against you. His hand rose to cup your breast, and his thumb brushed over the hardened nipple.
The image of Mithrun trying to revive his sexual desire by thinking of you, by stroking himself as he focused on you, flickered through your mind. You couldn’t help but arch into his hand.
“How long have you been waiting to try it out?” You asked, breathless.
Mithrun’s hand left your chest. He sat up, and you rolled onto your back to look up at him as he pressed his palms into the mattress.
“A bit too long for my taste,” he said. The gravel in his voice was evident despite how calm he looked. Silver curls fell, framing his face.
You couldn’t tear your gaze away, not even for a second, “What do you want me to do?”
Mithrun tilted his head and raised his brows, looking a little thoughtful, “What do you mean?”
“Do you…” you paused and raised a hand to brush a lock of hair away. Then, you trailed your fingers down the jagged edges of his ear, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “Do you want me to take the lead? Just to ease us into it?”
His good eye flickered open, “Another time. I’ve given this enough thought to understand exactly what I have to do.” He sat up and gripped the outer flesh of both your thighs. His fingers dug into your skin. You wanted more, you wanted him to hold you so tightly he left bruises, evidence.
“And?” You urged.
“I know that with the few things I want…” Mithrun’s hands slid over the tops of your thighs and to the inner curves, then he slowly spread you apart, just for him. “I have to put in the effort and work to get it.”
There was something so beautifully sinful about his hands on your inner thighs. He opened you up, laid you bare, invited himself in with full confidence that you wanted him there. Your core pulsed, aching to be filled. All you knew in that moment was Mithrun as he sat between your legs. His good eye flickered over your body. If he cared about any imperfections you had, he showed no indication. Rather, he looked slightly thoughtful, as if he were mapping out a battle strategy atop the landscape of your hips.
You couldn’t help but shiver beneath his stare. He glanced up at you, then back down, and hooked his fingers in the band of your underwear. His shoulders rose as he slid them down your thighs, the fabric a caress. You moved your legs to help shimmy them off before he tossed them aside and picked up your right thigh. Leaning down, Mithrun positioned your leg over his shoulder.
As realization burst through your warm haze, you sat up, “You don’t have to do that. I should be focusing on you—”
“Quiet,” Mithrun commanded. He dipped down, but paused, and his gaze flickered up to meet yours, “You’re already wet.”
Wonderful. He said it so casually, too, as if he was pointing out the weather.
You scowled despite the incessant pulsing in your core, “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not teasing,” he commented.
Usually, you could read Mithrun well. You knew his subtle indicators of emotion— the furrow of his brow, the slight widening or narrowing of his good eye, the twitch of his lips. However, whether he meant to or not, Mithrun’s book was shut for the moment. The closest emotion you could attach to him was analytical. Or rather, curious.
Still, you fought. The heat on your cheeks demanded that you go to war. “We don’t need to bother with me. I think that right now we should—”
Mithrun dipped down and flicked his tongue against your clit. Pleasure rippled up from your core and to your throat. You gasped, but he gave you no time, no mercy. He sucked at your clit, pushing and pulling and enveloping and stroking. Mithrun carried out intimacy much in the same way he fought: ruthless, relentless, disregarding what was right or wrong and focused solely on his goal.
It had been a while for you. You’d given yourself to Mithrun for so long that you never glanced at anybody else. You’d resigned yourself to a relationship with a lack of anything physical. You were okay with that. Mithrun wouldn’t care if you used your fingers, and you’d never ask him to do anything for you without his desire present.
Yet, he’d been trying. And he’d given it so much thought. And he increased in intensity as he stroked your clitoris with his tongue. You’d been writhing and gasping without realizing it, bucking your hips up in a desperate attempt to get even closer.
He let go of your thigh and pressed your hips deeper into the mattress. As his fingers dug into your skin, holding you down like leather straps, the pressure and pulsing and throbbing grew stronger. You ached to be filled. It was all you could do to grip the sheets and gasp for air.
“Mithrun,” you said, breathless. It felt right to say his name, as if that might make the moment feel any more real.
His good eye flickered up to you, but he instantly returned to his merciless attack. You watched as his shoulders tensed in his attempt to keep your hips down. He pulled back for half of a second to catch his breath before diving in with far more enthusiasm than you were used to from him.
The very fact that he wanted to pleasure you, that he was putting in the effort, that you could see the outline of his cock growing hard beneath his pants— it all built up like water filling a balloon. If he continued, the walls would burst and you’d be in ruins beneath his fingers and mouth.
Heat rose. Your muscles tensed and you planted your feet into the sheets, hoping to ground yourself before you floated away. Another intense caress of his tongue threatened to push you over the edge. You wanted it so badly. You wanted to fall, to be ruined by him. The fire within your abdomen started crawling through every inch of your body as you desperately tried to catch your breath.
“Mithrun,” you murmured again. It was louder, then. And, again. Again. His fingers dug further into your skin and you writhed helplessly. You were saying something, though you weren’t aware what it was. Another gasp, another flick of his tongue, and you were broken.
Mithrun rode out your orgasm with a surprising amount of patience. He opened his eye and watched from the spot between your legs as you threw your head back. While he had enough mercy to slow down in his ministrations, he licked up every bit of you that you had to offer. Your chest rose and fell. Your nipples were hard and poked through the thin fabric of your nightdress. Once you started to catch your breath, he pushed himself up, but that was where his mercy ended.
Mithrun gripped your arms and pulled you into a sitting position. He had to hold you to keep you from falling backwards onto the pillows. With one hand, he pulled the end of your nightdress up. “Off,” was all he said.
The command barely reached your ears, but you wanted to take it off anyway. You raised your arms and let him pull it over your head to toss it aside. Then, he yanked off his loose shirt. As you floated back down to reality, you took a deep breath— returning to the land of the sober just in time to catch Mithrun picking up the edges of the bed sheets and using them to wipe your slick off his mouth and chin.
You gasped, “Not the sheets!”
He pointedly ignored you as he lifted his hips and pulled down his trousers, though an ink-black eye lingered on your face, refusing to look anyway. His earlier curiosity was gone, replaced with determination you’d only rarely seen— once, when he encountered the demon. Another time when he couldn’t get a noodle recipe right.
Once his trousers were off, he shifted closer, between your legs. Hesitantly, you leaned back and rested your weight on your elbows. It felt wrong to blatantly ogle him, but the slopes of his arms and shoulders and the angle of his torso would surely haunt you all your days. He didn’t seem to mind, focused on his own endeavors. It was only when he held his dick and brushed it against your wet folds that you finally paid attention.
He rubbed the tip on your clitoris. You tensed, still sensitive, and raised a hand to cover your mouth as if that would be enough to stop the desperate sounds. Mithrun was experimenting, then. He was rarely careful, but he was analytical, smart enough to figure out what you liked. Again, he pressed his length against you and you couldn’t help but shudder.
“You’re very sensitive,” he observed.
Again, the asshole sounded like he was simply discussing the weather. You were crumbling and his demeanor sustained not even one crack.
You managed a glare, “I thought I told you not to tease me.” As if Mithrun ever teased anyone.
“Stop complaining,” he murmured as he snaked his hands beneath you and lifted your hips. Your insides throbbed for him, desperate, begging for him to fill you.
First, the tip. It sunk in like a massage on a sore muscle. Mithrun’s gaze dropped and he watched himself go further. You enveloped him. All he knew was you, your warmth, your wetness, clinging to him. He let out a shuddery exhale as he finally pressed himself inside entirely. His lips parted and he lifted your hips to pull you closer, though there was no more room left between your bodies to close.
His cock inside of you was like honey dripping onto your tongue. It was like silk. It was a several years long hunger finally being satiated. Mithrun thrusted experimentally and you couldn’t help but gasp from the sudden pulsing reverberating up your body.
“Move,” you begged, breathless.
“I—” Mithrun took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He still held your hips, but his hands quivered, “I can’t yet. Just give me a minute.”
His answer managed to pull you from the haze. He hadn’t had sex in forty years, of course he was sensitive. It was his first time feeling the warmth and wetness of a pussy in so long.
But, simply because you had a sadistic streak, you tightened your muscles to clench around him.
Mithrun’s head dropped. He tensed. His exhale was a shudder that racked his body, and he couldn’t help but grind against your hips in response. Finally, he was showing some response, some weakness. You bathed in the sight and feeling of pride. It was you who cracked him. It was your tightness that made him gasp and lose his mind.
He didn’t even need to move, and you were already addicted to having him inside of you. The look on his face, the flutter of his eye, the harsh press of his fingers; how could you ever stop?
But he took a deep breath and straightened himself out. Then, holding your hips, he slipped away, leaving you cold and empty. You sat up with the intent to complain, but he slammed back into you. Any words you had were instantly strangled into silence. His tip hit a sensitive spot, sparks ran up your body. With no warning, Mithrun began to relentlessly drive into you. Skin slapped against skin. Every thrust was yet another breath stolen from your lungs. And somehow, he hit the perfect spot each and every time.
You gasped his name. Mithrun’s lips were parted and his cheeks were flushed, but he looked up to meet your face. Without another word, he lifted his right hand and slid it between his hip and your thigh, then pressed two fingers against your clitoris and began to rub.
With just the simplest touch, he had you falling apart once more. You held desperate eye contact for a moment until you could no longer take it, until you had no choice but to shut your eyes. His name was a prayer on your lips. You praised him, reverential, letting him take you, own you, claim you. His touch was religion. Every time he filled you, you sunk deeper, indoctrinated. Mithrun pressed his fingers down harder and faster as you began to writhe once more. Another moan of his name was followed by a string of curses as the thrum within your core rose to unbearable levels.
“There,” Mithrun breathed out, “There you go. That’s my girl.”
You broke. He shattered you. You had no clue how loud you were, what you said. There was a few ‘fucks’ thrown in there, a few words of blasphemy and sin and pleading. The only sound that cut through your fog of pleasure was Mithrun’s hips snapping against yours even harder. He might leave bruises. He might leave you sore. You certainly hoped so.
Mithrun groaned your name. His hair fell into his face as he pressed both arms into the sheets. His right hand, still slick with evidence of your arousal, went to your face and lifted you into a hard kiss. His teeth knocked against yours but you were too lost to care. Another screw, another thrust, another slam against the most sensitive spot in the back of your body. You’d never come from just dick. You’d never orgasmed with so few rubs.
Mithrun repeated your name and his hips stuttered and—
Then, he buried his face against your neck and dug his teeth into your skin. You wrapped your arms around him to hold him close while he spilled inside of you. All you could think about was his seed coating your vagina, covering every inch while your walls milked him dry. He was yours. You wanted every ounce.
His thrusts slowed down and he caught his breath. You’d told yourself for years that it was okay to forego this kind of physical intimacy with him. You could handle that for the sake of being with Mithrun. Yet, now that you’d felt it, you couldn’t imagine ever parting with it. He was inside of you. He was holding you. He was bruising and marking and claiming you.
And he collapsed on top of you like a limp rag doll.
You let out an oof, “Get off. You’re too heavy.”
He only groaned into your shoulder, the sound muffled. Mithrun was absolutely boneless.
His dick slowly softened and slipped out of you naturally, though you already missed it. You would’ve gladly been his cock-warmer if he asked. You would’ve gladly allowed him to use your body beyond what was proper.
Holding him tightly, you buried your face into his hair. “I’ve got to go pee or else I’ll get a UTI,” you grumbled.
“Just… One more minute.”
One more minute. You wanted more than one, but you were also far too pragmatic to let yourself fall asleep with the threat of unbearable bladder pain on the horizon.
He was dead weight on your body, but it was grounding. If Mithrun ever thought of himself as an anchor, he might be right, though he greatly misunderstood the purpose of the role. Without an anchor, you’d drift endlessly. Without him, you’d lose a part of yourself.
Your soul slowly returned to your body as you patted his shoulder, “Come on, we’ve got to change the sheets too.”
“They’re fine,” he grumbled, another muffled sound.
“They’re gross.”
“It’s natural.”
“It smells.”
Mithrun lifted his head to shoot you an unamused stare, “Get used to it.”
You refused. For the moment, though, you would humor him. It was his first time fulfilling a new desire, a lack of complaints might be in order.
Mithrun rolled off your body and collapsed onto the spot next to you. With a contented sigh, you got out of bed and made toward the bathroom with him dripping down your thighs. The very thought made your knees weak.
After peeing and cleaning up— a shame, despite your concern for cleanliness— you returned to the bedroom to find Mithrun lying on his back in the bed. He had one hand on his forehead, his hair pushed away from his face and his good eye wide as it stared at the ceiling.
You tensed, “What’s wrong?”
“Please tell me you–” he sat up to pin you in place with an intense look, “tell me you’re taking some sort of birth control.”
You were. But all you could do was raise a brow, “You’re just now thinking about that?”
Mithrun looked a bit dead inside, more so than usual. “I was caught up in the moment.”
You decided to cut him some slack, “Yes, I’m on birth control herbs. Really, they’re just to control other things, since I haven’t had sex in years. But still.”
Slowly, his eyes closed. He nodded and lowered back to the pillows.
“Water?”
Another nod.
He lasted longer than you thought he would. He didn’t seem exhausted, though the adrenaline from his orgasm would most likely help him sleep. You brought water and he gratefully drank as you pulled the covers up over your body.
Mithrun set the glass down on the nightstand and sent you a glance. No words needed to be said. No grand gestures were required. He caught your cheek with his calloused hand and nudged you closer until your lips met. You tangled your fingers in his hair. Despite the monumental moment in your relationship, the air remained clear. Your comfort, the naturalness of it all, felt as if you’d been intimate for years, as if you were made for touching each other, as if your bodies were molds created specifically to fit together.
Still.
“Get up,” you demanded between kisses, “I’m changing the sheets.”
#gooning tonight#ghouling around#sighs I’m bad at smut sorry but I wanted to try#it’s a good writing exercise#mithrun#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#mithrun x reader#dungeon meshi x reader#reader insert#x reader#my writing
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