#tw past experimentation

[truths33k3r4]

The next chapter of "The Strength in Weakness" will be posted TOMORROW!!

Quick heads up- this next chapter is focused on more heavy subject matters, and will not shy away from past trauma of the characters. To those who are squeamish or uncomfortable with such subjects, there will be appropriate warnings at the top of the chapter before you start reading.

See you all soon. ;)

~ Melissa

[battiegutz]

revisiting my childhood thru mspaint doodles is fun actually

[cinderflower]

A small little Trina/Malenia ficlet🪻(~2k words, T)

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere knight who wants you instead of the princess.

Dead dove Do not Eat Tw. For noncon, MDNI, Fem pov

Yandere knight who has been training in the palace for a very long time. It's an honor for a commoner like him to even set foot into the castle walls, so he works earnestly.

Yandere knight who's been catching glimpses of not only the lovely princess throughout the years, but her handmaidens as well. You're a daughter of a somewhat lesser noble house, and therefore you have essentially been given to the royal family until you're eventually married off to another courtier.

But of all the noble ladies, who often ignore him, he finds you to be the most approachable and kind to him and the other squires. He's developed a bit of a crush on you over the years, and he eventually found it in himself to express his feelings. They were innocent and pure then, and he stood there blushing and awkward waiting for you to accept or deny. He would've taken a no from you. Really, he would have.

But then that pompous bitch got in the way.

The princess had you pulled away by her other attendants before you could answer, and she all but sneered at him.

"My maids are not for common rife like you to sully," she spat, a look of disdain carved on her delicate features.

Yandere knight who was deployed to the battlefront soon after. He spent years in misery knowing it was that royal woman's meddling that had both sent him here and stopped him from knowing how you truly felt.

Yandere knight who carved through foe upon foe with the flash of his sword while thinking of you. He would wipe blood from his face and wonder what it would take to have you. He resolves to become so renowned that he could have you and the respect he deserved all those years ago anyways.

Yandere knight who comes back as the hero of the nation. A parade is thrown for him upon his return, and flowers are thrown at his feet by the masses of people. He is awarded a noble title, a duke (impressive), a territory of land to manage, and the blessing to have the hand of any eligible lady in the land from the king.

The implication was for him to go for the princess, sitting there in a gown befitting of an engagement party. She wasn't the heir to the throne, and having a young, impressionable Duke to have and father a potential crown prince or princess was certainly a draw for her to act so sweet and lovely despite her previous attitudes. He had to use all the will in his body to hide his disdainful glare towards her. Instead, he strode up with a near giddy grin, breezed past the waiting royal, and knelt before you.

"[Name], I shall have you as my wife," He says with a beaming smile. You try to protest, but he's already sweeping you into his arms. The king seems surprised by his choice, but as he stares between Yandere Knight, lovestruck and beaming, and you, squirming and utterly shocked, he realizes that he cannot simply go back on his word. The king waves his hand, and your fate is sealed.

Yandere knight feels bad for not giving you a proper wedding. In fact, he feels bad about not taking you to your new home before he's pulling up your skirts. He's a dog, he knows, but you're just so tempting now that you're all his. He shoving you down onto the plush upholstery of the carriage seats, and you let out a startled cry.

Yandere knight who cannot claim he's chivalrous. He wishes he could, but he loves the way your breasts look pushed up so tightly in the laced bodice of yours. He lets out a groan, petting your hair and shushing you as you whimper under his wandering touch. Button after button becomes undone.

"Love, you'll never wear such stifling clothing again. You hear me? All robes and lace from now on. None of this nonsense," He murmurs into your skin. He pulled your corset and chemise from your body, and he pressed fervent kisses to the crook of your neck. He grasps at your breasts, kneading them experimentally. He's had time to experience women on the battlefield. A fling or two in some field on the outskirts of a freshly liberated village. He would think of you the whole time and imagine what he was latching his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple while a random girl cried out underneath him. But this was real. Your warmth beneath his much heavier form was on of the most beautiful feeling he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

He parted your legs, and he could feel you shy away from him. He laughed. As if you had a choice. He knew you would love him eventually, but for now you can't blame him for how ravenous he was as he felt between your shaking, parted legs. He smirked as his lips met yours. His fingers slid against your folds, gathering slick arousal on his digits with a curious hum. He grinds his thumb against your clit as he slowly pushes his way into your warm, spongy walls.

"Oh? Is it good there? Or here? Where, love? You gotta use your words," He teases and licks the tears rolling down your cheeks, peppering your soft skin with kisses. He feels you pulse and stretch around his hand, and he relishes the way your back arches when he curls his fingers just right against that sweet little spot. Desperate noises tumble out of you, and he smiles.

He pulls his fingers out, and you cry out at the sudden sensation. Your chest is heaving with small moans, and your pretty pussy is drooling onto the carriage cushions. He pushes your legs up to your chest for a better grip, and his shudders at the way your twitching feels against the head of his cock.

Yandere knight knows that, as he thrusts into you, he's going to enjoy the luxury of finally having you both under his body and under his control.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART ONE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, death (minor characters), bits of gore, 141 are mean pirates, kidnapping

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The village was tranquil as you stepped through it, bare feet threading through the soft grass, hands wrapped around the handle of a woven basket. It was peaceful, as it always was, without the souls of townsfolk to burden you. They didn’t dare bother you with the witness of elders around, keeping any torment to themselves until nightfall when the small vendor shops had closed up for the evening and the old folk returned to their homes.

You basked in the warm summer rays that shined down on you as you walked past the various shops. Really, they were far from any real shops, only showcasing simple merchant carts with limited supply for the village to gather, but it was a small village, and everything you needed was for mere survival. You weren’t a greedy woman, and you were plenty grateful.

Stepping up to one of the merchants, you offered a polite smile to the older woman sitting behind it, bowing your head in greeting.

“Hello, Mary,” you addressed, and she perked up from where she stood, occupied with counting together the sum of coins she’d earned throughout the day. She reflected her own smile to you, standing a bit taller. A wrinkled hand lifted to brush strands of her gray hair that had blown astray in the light breeze, revealing her radiance.

“Afternoon, dove,” she greeted in return. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Just need a few more herbs, is all,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away from hers to pick around her cart. Mary always had plenty on hand, and usually snuck you a few extras when you weren’t looking.

“Ah, I see. Well, you know the routine, dove. Feel free to pick as many as you need,” she encouraged. You smiled graciously, collecting a small variety of herbs and plants to place in your basket.

It was a different decision every week, seeing as you often performed trial and error with them in the comfort of your home. Despite many in your village disagreeing with your efforts, you were attempting to learn more about medicines. The village was in desperate need of a proper healer, and a female one at that. The male in current practice was much too biased and reckless, though you were sure to get a mouthful if you were to express the concern.

So, you took it upon yourself. Living in the village rather than out on the mainland, it wasn’t a simple teaching. Resources and education were much more difficult to come by, and it wasn’t deemed necessary information for women to have. It was exactly the reason why you were seen as a bit of an enigmatic outcast to all – all except Mary, of course. Perhaps she simply pitied you.

“This will be all for me, Mary,” you declared, setting the basket on top of her cart. Reaching for the small pouch that rested comfortably on your hip, you dug through it, collecting a few bronze coins and setting them in the old woman’s frail hand.

Mary accepted, placing the coins in her own pouch and throwing you a kind smile. “You sure, dove? Nothing else I can do for you?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed with a nod. “Still in the experimentation phase, I fear.”

“You’ll get there,” she assured, clasping one of your hands between both of hers and giving it an encouraging shake before releasing. “Perhaps I’ll come visit you one of these days. An old lady like myself could use a few tweaks.”

This elicited a light laugh from you, shaking your head as you grasped the basket. “You look as healthy as a babe, Mary. But yes, please do. You know my door is always open for you.”

The two of you said your sweet farewells before you set off down the grassy trail once again. You passed the other merchants, who didn’t welcome you with the same kindness Mary had, but didn’t scare you away with shrewdness either. It was a typical routine, at this point, for others to look down on you. A woman, unwilling to marry and bear children and instead, studying medicine. A true scandal, some might say.

The walk back to your home was done so without issue, but when your humble abode came into sight, tucked away on the farther side of the village for more private practice, the faces of recognizable men came into view. This was just as frequent as the judgeful side eyes you received, but much more inconvenient.

“Afternoon, dove,” one of the men greeted with a slimy smile, the nickname the village had given you slipping off of his tongue like rotted poison. Dove, a name of something so beautiful, given out of mere pettiness. You were free like a bird, yet you should’ve been confined to your cage. Something pretty to look at, but proving no use. “Never quite got back to me about my courtship.”

Right. You had ignored it on purpose. Though deemed as strange and grotesque by the townspeople, this particular man hadn’t quite gotten the hint. Lucius was his name, fitting, seeing as he was as close to the devil as they came. Conceited and boastful with no decency of leaving you be.

He was awfully determined in wanting to fix you, to make you the housewife everybody expected you to be, just like the other village women. It was common practice, seeing as women didn’t do much other than simply that. While some were quite content with that lifestyle, you sought out more. You didn’t want to be chained down to a simple man who had nothing but arrogance to offer, nor a man you weren’t in love with.

“Yes, that’s quite right,” you confirmed dryly, stepping up to your home. He blocked the doorway, barricading you from entering.

“It’s quite rude for a lady to reject,” he interjected, a devilish smile plastered on his face. You blinked up at him with a look of indifference. “I am only asking for an answer.”

“I believe I’ve told you no plenty of times,” you sighed, adjusting the basket on your hip. “I am simply not interested.”

He sucked his teeth together, glowering down at you from where he stood. It was clear he wasn’t pleased with the answer, but unfortunately for him, it was all he was going to get. You were solid with your decision, and god forbid you did change your mind on being a wife and mother, it would not be with him.

“Can’t change your mind at all, dove?” he asked in fake sweetness, reaching for your hand that wasn’t holding the basket. He took it in his grip, much too tight for your liking. “Perhaps I can help change it if you give me one night.”

You scowled at his underlying tone, pulling your hand from his grasp and resting it on the knob of your door. You pushed it open, stepping inside before turning to him. “Please do not humor me with such indications. I am not interested, nor will I change my mind.”

Abruptly closing the door on him, you settled inside of your home, breathing a low sigh of relief. You could hear his faint chuckles with the other men present, their footsteps soft against the grass as they took their leave. He never took things too far, such as forcing his way into your home or worse, forcing himself on you, but you feared that day may come the longer you rejected his advances.

You set your basket on your desk, slouching down in the old chair you’d spend days upon days occupied in. Your journal sat open with ink scattered on the pages in your scribbled handwriting, brief sketches drawn about of the varying herbs you worked tirelessly on. Above you, jars lined the shelves with fading labels, filled with makeshift medicines of all kinds.

With the village and its people now out of sight and out of mind, you resumed your studies with the fresh herbs, focusing on what your heart truly desired.

You don’t remember falling asleep. It had been hours of you with a pen in your hand, jotting down useful notes for your studies, and it was no surprise you had succumbed to exhaustion at the comfort of your desk. Your cot in the corner of the room was more a stranger than anything, but with the sight of moonlight still pouring in through your small windows, you debated on moving over to it so you could resume.

Standing from your desk, you rubbed the sleepiness crusting over your eyes, a yawn threatening to tug through your throat. Just as you began your short trek to your bed, a slight tinge of orange caught your eye, peeking in through your window. It was faint, barely knowledgeable.

Curiosity got the best of you, and through your hazy state, you tugged open the front door of your small cottage, daring to see what was outside. The orange grew brighter in view now that the door opening had allowed more light to pool in, and when you rubbed at your eyes once more, you recognized it as fire.

Fire, burning fiercely in the night, eating away at your village. The sounds of terrified screams and chaotic madness became abundantly clear when you stepped outside. It made your blood run cold. All hairs on your body stood straight in warning, beckoning you to return inside, to hide.

As much as you wanted to listen, the first thing to vacate your mind was Mary. In the brush of flames, you needed to know if she was alright, if she had gotten to safety before the angry fire had broken into her own home. Where most of the townsfolk treated you as a mere joke, Mary was the one who had given you kindness when needed.

Your feet moved in a rush to sprint towards the village, the grass damp from the midnight dew and sticking to your soles. The closer you came towards the heart of the village, the louder things grew. It was blood-curling, hearing booming voices bark various orders while others shouted in petrified fear. Mary’s house was on the other side of the village, and in an act of triumph, you aimed for it.

The heat of the flames became more apparent as you closed in on the town center. Townsfolk that you had grown with since a baby were in a frenzy, some bloodied, some weeping. They looked like they had gone through the pits of hell and crawled their way out, only to be inches away from being dragged back in again.

There was no explanation for why the men of your village were wearing the crimson color of fresh blood, or why some were laying in broken heaps on the ground. They were in agony, shrieking in deafening decibels. The healer in you wanted to stop everything you were doing to aid them, but the child in you wanted to reach Mary first.

You did what your heart wanted and ran for Mary.

Approaching her house, the flames had not yet approached. It wasn’t burned to ash, nor was it in shambles. Instead, one large man had Mary in their hold by each of her arms as she attempted to fight him off while another ransacked her home.

“Mary!” you shouted, helpless. The man’s head whipped in the direction of your voice, cruel eyes narrowing in on you. Mary joined him, fearful eyes catching yours.

The sight of the men was foreign to you, but you’d recognize heartless monsters such as them anywhere. They were mere stories shared between the village, often used to scare the children away from the sea for their own protection. The village was so small, nobody had ever worried about the stories happening to them.

Pirates. Cruel, greedy, malicious. Like dogs off a leash, bearing sharp teeth and frothing at the mouth. They raided innocent villages for their supply, leaving it in disarray once they got what they wanted. Sick bastards who deserved punishment, yet slipped away in the roaring waves of the sea before it could be handed to them.

“Let go of her,” you pleaded with the pirate, hands clasped together. You knew you couldn’t fight him off, even if you tried. Mary was just as powerless as you, and old age was starting to catch up to her. She was fragile, and with the way he was handling her, you feared she’d get harmed.

The mysterious pirate continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression. He grunted in annoyance, loosening his grip on Mary but not quite releasing. It did nothing to comfort you, and that feeling grew tenfold when the other pirate stepped out of Mary’s home, locking in on you.

“Grab tha’ one, will ye, Gaz?” the one holding Mary huffed, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. The other, Gaz, nodded in return, sauntering up to you like death on wheels. You needed to run, to escape, but he was too quick. Before you knew it, Gaz’s arms had wrapped around your waist, hauling you over his shoulder like a doll.

Flailing in his embrace did nothing. His grip was firm, arm locked on to you impossibly tight, and the punches you threw to his back seemed almost comical to him.

“Find anythin’?” the other asked Gaz. Gaz shook his head, releasing a frustrated exhale.

As chaos ensued around you, the two men began dragging you and Mary along towards the heart of the village where you were moments ago. Gaz’s grip loosened on you, before he dropped you to the damp ground carelessly. You landed with a huff, soreness soaring through your back.

Looking around, you realized that many of the townsfolk were in the same condition. Lined up besides one another, pleading for their lives, weeping with ugly snot running from their noses. Mary was beside you, shaken but unharmed from the looks of it. She stared at you with heart wrenching fright, and you wished you could’ve told her things would be okay.

But they weren’t. The village was set ablaze, its people lined up like prisoners with a group of pirates looming over them like reapers prepared for death. The peace from this afternoon had vanished, and there would be no return. Things would be forever different, if they spared your lives.

Gaz and the other pirate stood side by side as they looked over the townsfolk. Another was beside them, face distorted by a ghastly mask that resembled a skull. It sent shivers down your spine. It was as if you truly were looking death in the eye.

A fourth pirate stepped forward, eyes that should’ve been considered kind instead staring down every last villager with heated observation. He was silent as he paced slowly, hands behind his back, the fire casting a doomful glow upon his face.

“My name is Captain Price,” he introduced. His voice was booming with authority. “If you do not wish to aid us, then we do not wish to aid you. The choice is yours.”

Sweat beaded your hairline from both the flames of fire scorching around you, and the anxiety that spiked inside of you. Your eyes locked in on the Captain, watching his every movement, noting the way he stood tall and proud, showcasing the true power he held. The villagers and you were helpless against him and his crew, and he was ensuring that it was obvious.

“We seek a medic. If you cannot provide that to us, then you are of no use to me,” he explained, pausing his pacing. He took in the sight of every grim face. Once he landed on you, you shivered, looking away in a panic. “I will ask you once. Who is your medic?”

Deafening silence filled the air apart from the flickering flames that threatened to consume us whole. Nobody dared to speak a word, nor did they look away from Price. It was as if time had stopped and everybody froze.

Price sniffed, glancing around the villagers. Though he seemed collected in his behavior, you could recognize the impatience from the way his lip twitched and his shoulders tensed.

“The Captain asked you lot a question,” Gaz sneered in defense. Price spared him a glance before returning focus. Still, nobody spoke for the next few moments.

It wasn’t until Price’s hand drifted to his waist, hand coming to rest on a handgun that the air shifted into one of unease. The sight of it made you sick to the stomach. Handguns were a specialty only the wealthy or military could acquire. They were rare and expensive, a luxury to some, but deadly. One click, and your soul was taken right from your body.

Price grasped the handgun, holding it in his hand as if it were a toy. He stepped up to the line of villagers, peering down at them like useless pigs. The sight of the gun had women quivering in fear, tears streaming down their rosy cheeks. The men were men no more, stripped away of their masculinity and replaced with little boys, unable to protect their kin and fulfill their duty as defenders.

The gun was raised, threat building with every inch. The barrel pointed right at the horror-stricken face of the very man who intruded on your home earlier – Lucius. Gone was the cocky mockery of a man, replaced with a whimpering boy who feared death just as much as another. He was shaking, shoulders slouched in attempts to appear small.

“We will try this again,” Price demanded. The cold barrel pressed to the temple of Lucius’ head and you could do nothing but sit and watch, unsure of what to feel. Sure, he kept a sour taste in your mouth simply from being. But to wish death on him for being a hindrance was distasteful. “Who is your medic?”

Lucius wouldn’t possibly rat you out. He was a selfish man who took what he wanted, but surely, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that cruel.

The coward’s shaky hand lifted to point in your direction. It felt as if he were throwing a sharp dagger at you, the way he exposed the occupation you’d been so meticulously working hard towards.

Eyes shifted towards you, sending an ice cold burst through your veins. They were prodding, dissecting you from head to toe as if you were an experiment for them to test on. It was unsettling, sinking your heart down to the pits of your stomach.

“You’re the medic?” Price questioned. He hadn’t lowered his weapon, keeping it firm against Lucius’ skull, but his attention had shifted to you. His eyes weren’t warm and kind like they were shaped out to be, but rather cold, glossed over with hardened hostility.

“I–” You swallowed. “I am merely a medic in practice. I am not a professional, I do not know proper teachings–”

��Ghost,” he interrupted, whipping his head to look at the masked man. Ghost was a brute of a man, a shadow that would’ve been consumed by the night if not for the illuminating glow coming from the village in flames. “Take her so she can gather her things. She’s coming with us.”

Dread struck you right to the core. You wanted to beg for them to leave you be, to explain that you weren’t what they wanted. You didn’t want to be stripped from your home and tossed onto a ship with no clue of where your next destination was. These men were dangerous, seeping pure rancor and poisoning the very ground you laid on. Leaving with them was a death sentence.

Ghost said nothing, and even if he did, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it from the subtle weeping from villagers beside you. His strides were long as he approached you, and without warning, his rough hand grasped your elbow, hauling you to your feet. The force startled you, throwing you off balance but his grip was tight enough to keep you grounded.

As you were dragged away towards the direction of your home, you could hear an uproar of cries. Terror struck the village once more and you could do nothing but accept fate for what it was. You wanted to turn your head to see what was becoming of your people, but you were scared. Scared of what you may see, scared of what Ghost will do if you look.

You kept your gaze forward, legs moving quickly to match the heavy pace of Ghost, guiding the lion into your den.

Arriving at your home, you were hit with the realization that it would be the last time entering it. Your hard work would vanish, the space you made into your security blanket would be destroyed, burned to ash once the flames settled. It tore your heart to bits.

“Hurry up,” Ghost gruffed, his voice gravelly and hoarse. Just like Price, it was assertive, leaving no room for discussion.

You made haste to pack your essentials into a flimsy satchel. It wouldn’t be able to fit much, and you could only pray they would at least provide you with bare necessities on your voyage to hell. In your satchel went your journal, the cluttered jars of experimental medicines, your favorite quill, and a daring change of clothes. If Ghost thought you to remain alive long enough to have the opportunity to redress, he didn’t express it.

“That all?” he huffed, and when you nodded, he seized your arm again. “Let’s go.”

The sight of your home became a distant memory the farther you went from it. Already your body was pleading to go back, to curl up in bed and pretend that all of this was a sick dream. You regretted not making your cot of more use, sleeping in that damned wooden chair instead.

By the time you arrived back at the town center, it was like witnessing purgatory itself. Bloodshed with the bodies of your people laid across the ground like animals tossed aside. Useless and unworthy, that was how these pirates treated them. Though your people had never been kind to you, this was a fate you would never have wished upon them.

Their faces were unrecognizable as you took them in. Some burned, some beaten so bloody their faces had swelled into ugly monsters, some slain. The sight of the deceased made you want to vomit, bile piling in your throat and threatening to expel out.

Your eyes frantically searched for Mary, aching to know if they had given her mercy. She was a frail woman, withering with her age. She was innocent.

You couldn’t find her familiar face, and you weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or dreadful.

The three other pirates were standing around one another. They were unphased by the actions they had bestowed upon the village, as if it was another simple day. It unnerved you, rattling your bones with burrowing fear. When they noticed the return of you and their crewmate, they wasted no time in guiding you off to the small port in which their ship had been docked.

It was large, wood tainted with brown so dark it could’ve been black. It blended in with the abyss of the sea, which you realized was entirely the point. Unnoticed and concealed.

Ghost didn’t let go of you as he helped you on to the ship, nor did he release once your bare feet connected with the wood. It was just as restricting as before, causing a light pulse to form in your bicep where he held you.

“Take her to the chambers until we figure out the next step,” Price ordered Ghost, nodding his head in the direction of raggedy doors. You could only imagine what lies behind them, waiting for you.

Ghost grunted in response, tugging you with him and having you stumble on your own two feet. The wood was rough and sharp on your soles, slicing tiny splinters into your skin. Shoes weren’t needed in your village unless it was winter, and even then, the grass was always enough to consume them in warmth. Now, you were regretting not owning a pair.

“In you go,” Ghost uttered once he had the door pulled open, shoving you down a small flight of stairs towards the lower section of the ship. It was dingy and unlit, the only light seeping in being the moonlight from a tiny window.

Once inside, you recognized your new home as a cell. Barred and caged in, being tossed inside carelessly. There was nothing but a cot and a bucket to relieve yourself. It was completely empty and void of comfort.

Ghost shut the cell door, locking it with an annoyed grunt. You hadn’t even noticed him pull out the set of keys to open it for you, nor had you noticed when he locked you in. You watched as he thrusted the keys in his back pocket, the only evidence of its presence being the small glint of metal from the moon’s light.

“Wait!” you cried out when he turned to leave. You scrambled on the cell floor, hands wrapping around the cold bars. He paused his walk, throwing you a look of disinterest. “You can’t just leave me in here!”

Ghost snorted in what you dared to say amusement. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, princess. You’ll be of use soon enough.”

Ignoring your pleas, he stepped up the stairs and returned to the main deck, shutting the door and leaving you utterly alone. Silence filled the air apart from the calming waves of the sea, though it did nothing to soothe you. You were helpless, deprived of any form of escape.

You spent what felt like hours on the floor of your cell, weeping into your own hands, silently praying to a God to release you. When nobody came to your rescue, you knew it was far too late for a miracle. This would be your new life, your new home, for as long as they kept you alive.

Part of you wished they would’ve just killed you instead.

[shangtusianheroes]

Milla sat in the little Shop in Shang Tu, a Mug of Coco in hand and a warm smile on her face. She loved coming to this little shop, as it was quiet and they had great tea! and during the festival month! Coco! it was a wonderful drink she so did love, and from what she saw it looked as if they had revamped the Cafe area. It had a nice marbled tiled floor, and this cute little aquariam with some koi fish! It was so cute she had to pick the booth close by. She tapped the glass, the little fish swimming close by.

The soft bubbling of the Aquarium, the gentle gurgling, of the water, the sound drew Milla in closer. Staring at those bubbles as if mesmerized. Her eyes dilated, and she found herself unable to glance away. She was enraptured by the sound, as it reminded her of a sound she knew to well... a sound she wished she could forget.

Drifting back to that time, before she met Lilac and Carol, to the ship she grew up on. The massive War vessel that was Brevon's Flag ship, and the Lab. It was sterile white just like the Cafe, but she never realized that till much later. The tube they kept her in, the tube she was born in, the tube they modified her in. That was what she remembered most.

That soft.... bubbling sound....

She was surrounded in it now, floating there watching the Scientists outside. Her little paws touching the glass as she could only breath thanks to the mask she wore. She knew it was injection day, she didn't like it. It hurt to be jabbed in the air, and the noxious orange and green liquids burned going into her body. Like fire it filled her, and she knew it would hurt today to. She could already see them filling tie vials, and preparing the machine and she dreaded it. Her eyes drifted to the other capsules like hers, other hounds like her floating in that vile liquid. How many of them were there? She wished she could see better but the green liquid she floated in made it hard to see. Or was it something else?

her ears lifted slightly? the gentle gurgling was starting. The mechanical arms inside her tank moved, and grabbed her wrists, it hurt they were so rough with her---sometimes they left bruises, and once it even broke her wrist. She knew better then to struggle as it pulled her away from the glass and suspended her at the center of the tank. More arms, more needles, she closed her eyes, she didn't want to see it--- she didn't want them to, please make it stop!

Milla snapped back to reality, as the hot cup was burning her hand, and brought her back. A morbid memory she wanted to forget she pulled her hand away from the cup wincing at the small burn, and sunk back into her chair. She set the cup on the table and fiddled with the burn, it wasn't bad but it did sting! Her shoulders slumped and she couldn't get the memory out of her head.

Of all the things she remembered of her home world---that was the one that was always most vivid. She patted her cheeks with her paws and refused to let it make her sad!

NOPE!

She was going to enjoy the festival this year! Enjoy it like it was her last!

[solarlunarsstuff]

HEY! i adore your writing :) i was wondering if you could write a semi long one shot abt reader riding mike and him being super sensitive and him whining and moaning and calling him a good boy and maybe like… spitting in his mouth… LMAOOOO

LMAO, U READ MY MIND FR ALSO, UR LITERALLY MY FIRST ASK, TY FOR THAT HERES AN AWARD 4 YOU🏅

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙

☆ Her Whiny Boy ☆

Synopsis: Even if he started the teasing it'll always end in him being a big whiny mess, and him being so sensitive.

Tw: Dacryphilia, spitting, foul language, sub!Mike and dom!Reader, dick riding, marking, penatrative sex (p in v), and pet names.

A/n: ILYYY FOR THE REQUEST GIVING YOU BIG FOREHEAD KISSIES MWAH🫶🫶🫶

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙

For a start, Mike and you have been friends since you were both about 5 years old. He was sitting on the elementary school's swing.

You obviously decided to talk to him. That was about 20 years ago, you yourself thought that the relationship wouldn't go that far but here you are now.

Sitting on Mike's bed while he was all hot and bothered, all pressed up against you. He had his lips attached to yours for the past 10 minutes, Mike wanted more. He needed more.

But you knew, oh you knew how to pull his strings. Mike was leaning against the headrest of his bed with you straddling his lap.

You started to slowly grind into him, you tugged on his hair lightly to see his reaction. Mike's moan was muffled between the heated make out.

"F-fuck, {Y/n}, pl-please" he whined out.

You knew he needed it, but you don't want to just hand it to him, no no. You had to tease him back.

You didn't answer but you did grind down harder, he let a groan move past his lips while his head lolled back.

"Hmmm, how about I get you a little ready first? Sounds good, ay?" You taunted his neediness

Fuck he looked so hot, he looked so disheveled that it was attractive. His hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, you and Mike were both fully dressed making it a bit hard to get friction.

You reached your arms out for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, he obliged and puts his arms up for more access.

Once you got his shirt over he wanted you to take yours off but you thought otherwise, you instantly grabbed his hands and put it to your hips that were still moving up along his crotch area.

"No, you're not allowed to touch me just yet." You reminded him

Mike whined once again, shit you needed more. You got up off of him and looked down, he had a spot on his pants that were wet. That was sent straight to your core making you soak your pretty black laced panties.

Fuck it. You pulled your top up and over yourself to reveal that you didn't have anything under, you took note that Mike had been palming himself through his jeans.

You moved closer to him letting out a big huff while gripping the sides of his pants and pulling them down past him ankles, catching his boxers along with it and onto the floor where your top was.

You were nearly drooling at his cock, he twitched making him embarrassed and tried covering his beautiful face. While giving him a few experimental pumps and saw how his tip leaked a bit of precum and he grew a bit bigger which you thought was impossible.

You let go and stood up off the bed and onto the floor to shimmy out of your own pants, also catching your laced panties and tossing it into the pile of clothing on the wooden floor.

Crawling back onto him, straddling his thighs while pumping him a little again. You brought your right hand up to your mouth and spit just to lather it into his ready dick.

Mike moaned through his anticipation of wanting to touch you. He wanted to touch you, your body, your everything. Mike needed to touch your soft skin with his rough hands.

"You can touch me now, Mike." You finally replied

Mike was so eager he dove straight for your breasts, massaging them and giving them kitten licks so they would harden from his heated muscle.

You reached for his head and shoved it into your chest more, he was like a starved man. He took the opportunity and used his whole mouth sucking and leaving hickeys on your breast so he could see them turn into a pretty purple later on.

While he was stuffed between your tits, he looked up at you with his beautiful brown colored eyes, it broke something in you.

You pulled his head away by tugging a bit harder on his hair to move him, he let out a hng from the pressure. That made your core dampen even more.

You lifted yourself up a bit and grabbed the length of his cock and positioned it in front of your sopping entrance.

You sat your whole weight down into him, you both whined in unison. Your eyes rolled back while you sat there for a moment to make sure you could adjust to his size.

You slowly started to move, you were steadily sat on his lap. Mike's cock buried deep in you, you'd think he'd split you, which he was. But you loved every single second of it.

"{Y/n}- hiccup -fuckkkk, need more. Need t' move in you." Mike complained

God he was a mess and loved him because of how he acted. At this point you started to bounce on him, he couldn't take it. Mike had reached his arms out and had a death grip on your hips.

He moved you up and down with his hands on your hips, his breathing was unsteady and his whimpers and cries of shit don't stop, m' so close didn't help you out either.

"Open your mouth." You demanded him

He indulged and open his mouth along with lolling his tongue out, you used your left hand to hold his face in place while your right was resting on his thigh for stability.

While still riding him you spat in his mouth and called him dirty slurs while you assisted his dick that was stretching you out greedily.

"Hah, being- fuck. Being such a good boy f' me aren't you.. letting me spit in your mouth." You mocked at him

Your walls spasmed around his cock that told him you were close, you rested your hands on his shoulders.

"I'm gonna- fuckin' cu-!" You blurted out

Your sopping wet cunt tightened our him and came, leaving your slick on his cock and lower stomach.

He was ramming into you at this point, his dick was kissing your cervix which made you want to cum again.

As soon as you came back from your delusions, he came, and hard. You swear your eyesight went white.

You were both breathing heavily from your highs.

"You did so good.." you mumbled while collapsing onto Mike's chest.

He didn't say anything but tightened the embrace and kissed your forehead.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

A/n: I feel like I did a shitty job one this one but I did it woo-hoo! Also I'm sorry again if it's to short my luvs :(

[oozebrain]

For @terrifierclown based off an awesome prompt!!

Art x gender neutral and shy reader drabble. No dialogue is exchanged. Fluff, kissing, and love bites from your favorite clown. Small tw for blood (nothing graphic, Art just gets carried away!).

Nothing too explicit but contains suggestive themes, body worship, and smooching. Minors DNI.

His Eyes

“I could have told you then, you’d heard it all before,

And now you’re in suspense, you’ll have to wait for more.

In all those mysteries you’re taken by surprise,

You never thought to see that look was in his eyes.”

You threw your bag over on the couch and followed right along. With a deep and relieved sigh, you plop down on the cushions and stretch your arms over the back of the couch. It feels good to finally sit down after a long day and you prop your feet up on the table. You forgot to take your shoes off and you shrug it off. You were too tired from the day. Your feet and shoulders ached and all you wanted to do was bask in the solace of the dark room.

From the closet burst an entity, a sudden presence that filled the area with oppressive energy. You startled at the shadowy figure with an audible yelp, clambering for the light and switching it on. Your breath quivers at the fright but it quickly rolls over into a laugh of relief. It was just your roommate.

This is a game the two of you play, seeing who can scare the other and it was Art’s turn this time. He laughed uproariously in silence, his lips curling over his teeth in a wide mouth smile. He strode over to you with a bounce in his step before stopping short exclaiming wildly with his hands. He pointed furiously to your feet on the table and shook his head. He shooed them off theatrically until you relented and placed your feet on the ground. But he would not relent.

At first you were confused then remembered Art had a strict ‘no shoes in the house’ policy that he was enforcing just as you were enforcing he wear deodorant. Consider it his way of getting back at you. You chuckled then removed your shoes and tossed them over by the door, looking back at him reassuringly before averting your gaze to look just past him.

It was hard to look him in the face, especially his eyes. His shark-like eyes pulled every ounce of surrounding light into them and swallowed them into its great maw. Nothing could escape them, especially you. He would often stare at you, you could both feel and see it, but you could never return it.

Art tilted his head and drummed his fingers on his hips before taking a seat beside you, nearly sitting on you with his close proximity. He mirrored you, leaning back against the couch and draping his arms over the back of it. His arm rested atop yours, his much longer arms easily reaching over your shoulders. He touched your face experimentally, as though you were a curiosity.

He carefully pinched your cheek, just light enough to feel pressure before turning your face towards his. You offer him a small, shy smile, averting your eyes to the side. This intrigues him as his hand moves to your jaw. He clasps it gently, but with a commanding firmness as he pulls your face closer. With his free hand he once again trails his fingers over your face, smoothing your eyebrows, grazing your eyelids and nostrils. His finger trails down to your lips and eventually your neck.

Art wraps his fingers around your neck, admiring how easily his large hand fits around it. Something about knowing he could crush you but approached you so gently made your heart race. He did not squeeze, but merely allowed his hand to linger there, the meat of his palm pressing into your throat. He must have felt you gulp as his hand twitched slightly in response. You can feel his gaze burning intensely into your soul.

Without warning, both of his hands are on either side of your face and he is wrenching your head to look up directly at him. His expression is neutral, and there is no animosity behind his actions. Rather, he seems curious, and desperate, to get you to look at him. He gives your head a small shake of encouragement and motions for you to look upward.

Eventually you do meet his gaze but cannot maintain it for long. His eyes, obsidian glimmering orbs of Hell’s treasury, expel you. Behind their black expression there is a ever kindled fire burning furiously. There is a powerful force behind them that renders you powerless like a deer in the headlights. His gaze is too forceful to meet and withstand.

But he wants you to look at him. He shakes you again, this time parting his lips as though to speak but nothing comes out. Art tilts his head slightly down to match with you instead of forcing you, and you find yourself staring into the corner of his eye. With great effort, you meet his gaze and become entangled in it.

You cannot look away from the smoldering iris, the black sheet of cooled lava with fire brewing beneath it. Through the cracks you can see it, the fire, the passion, the molten fires of hell itself. You realize you are not breathing, nor can you. You have gone still as he commands your gaze and looks at you in a way no one ever has, or ever will.

His lips are abruptly on yours, gentle at first. He barely grazes them with his own, black makeup flecking your face as he trails his lips against your mouth, your jawline, your cheek. Gentle bites accompany his exploration as he tugs at the skin of the nape of your neck. He withdraws from the awkward, stooped position and wrenches your head upwards again, commanding your attention.

You barely looked at him before his lips met your again, this time with more ferocity. His kisses were no longer exploratory or gentle, rather they were a mashing of teeth and tongue. Your hands found his chest and clung to the smooth fabric of his suit before wrapping around him. Your dig your nails into his back, encouraging him to continue. He responds to this by kissing you more fervently, his biting becoming more feral and less experimental.

There was a sudden sharp pain in your lower lip and something warm. Art paused, body heaving with silent panting as he wiped his thumb along your lip. It was red with blood and without hesitation he sucked it off his finger before returning to your lips. The excitement emanating from him was nearly tangible.

He licked along your bottom lip and drew it into his mouth, extracting the blood from it. The act was strangely sensual. Your head was too clouded to feel revulsion and terror, and instead you gently withdraw from him to offer a small, playful kiss on the end of his nose.

You feel the corners of his mouth upturn in a smile and he reciprocates the affection. He returns to his mannerisms, kissing and biting, exploring every inch of your face, neck, and shoulders. You are what he craves, what he needs, and he finds the taste, scent, and sight of you delectable. He savors every inch, every millimeter, as he explores with his mouth and leaves a trail of hickies along your neck, physically marking you as his territory.

His arms wrap around you and pull you in closer, his hands scooping you off the couch and into his lap. He breaks the kiss to look at you once more and, blushing, you reciprocate his gaze. His eyes indicated he was hungry, ravenous, and that you are just what he wants.

[my-my-my]

KINKTOBER DAY 6 - Somnophilia: Sosuke Aizen (Hueco Mundo) x Female Reader

Requested by anonymous

Summary: Observing people, shinigami and hollows alike, are just one of the many hobbies Aizen likes to partake in. In one of his visits to Naruki City, he decides to leave a book from his personal collection, in a used bookstore. You, a human who doesn't know any better, become fascinated by the book - never hearing or seeing anything about it before. No one knows of this book, except a stranger, Aizen, who feeds your curiosity.

TW: this is kinda angsty. Implied past somnophiliac acts (reader thinks its a dream), dubious consent, hypnotism, voyeurism, stalking.

Word count: 2491

Read on AO3 here.

In preparation of his descent into Hueco Mundo, Aizen scoured Karakura Town and the nearby Naruki City for test subjects, spiritual readings and hollow experimentation. Sometimes, it’s easier to disguise himself amongst the humans, wearing a gigai.

Aizen is fascinated by the mostly mundane tasks of human beings. They’re so incredibly fragile in his presence yet make the most out of their inadequacies. While their technology is not as advanced as Soul Society, his or Urahara Kisuke’s inventions, he’s amused by what they have made for themselves already.

Sometimes Aizen wanders through the various bookstores and libraries in the World of the Living. He observes mortals and what they decide to read. For whatever reason, today he decided to bring a book from his own collection and places it on the shelf of a used bookstore.

He watches you, with curious eyes, skimming the book. Your eyes widen from what he can see. What will you make of it? He wonders. The store owner doesn’t recognize the book at all but sells it to you for a low price.

He watches you read it in your home, on your commute and your days off. You’re in awe.

You decide to finish the book in a quiet part of the park, under a gazebo with some of your favourite flowers surrounding it. Page after page, you’re engrossed with what the book shares with you, things you haven’t heard of, concepts you had never dreamed of. You had never heard of this book before, no existence of it in the library or online copies anywhere. Yet it captivated you.

“Are you enjoying that book? It’s quite fascinating, isn’t it?” Aizen asks, as he walks into the gazebo to see you.

Today, Aizen would find you enjoying an iced coffee on the patio of a café in Naruki City. In the back of his mind, he had already begun his machinations to move you further away from Naruki City to Kyoto or somewhere else, where you wouldn’t be affected by his plans for Karakura Town and the nearby areas.

You sipped your coffee, thoroughly engrossed in a book that he had lent you. His lips twitched at seeing you enjoying something he also enjoyed, his heart quickened in your presence.

But he ignored it.

Today, Aizen donned a gigai, as he always does when he visits you. A simple white dress shirt tucked in to black slacks, the sleeves rolled up, his hair pushed back as normal. He ordered a white jasmine tea for himself, and a small pastry for you.

“Are you enjoying the book?” Aizen’s voice startled you, but you smiled at him, waving him over.

“Yes, I am, thank you so much Aizen-san! Your recommendations have been wonderful.” You beamed at him, placing a bookmark on the page as you closed the book. It wasn’t often that you bumped into your mysterious crush.

He gave you a small smile and sat across from you, taking a sip from his cup. This café is terrible he thought to himself, tasting the bitterness of the tea leaves. But you were here, and that was more than enough to finish drinking the offensive liquid.

“What brings you here today? I haven’t seen you in a while.” You asked, feeling nervous suddenly.

“No reason in particular, I was in the area and wanted some tea. I just happen to see you here today. It’s nice to see a familiar face.” Aizen said, continuing to drink his tea. He noticed your coffee was also still unfinished. “Are you not enjoying your drink?”

You laughed, then lowered your voice, “I found this place on a whim… but it’s kind of terrible don’t you agree?” To which you gave him a sheepish smile.

Aizen chuckled, nodding his head, “but I got this for you. Hopefully that’s better than our drinks.” Your eyes widened at the pastry, and you immediately thanked him for it.

You ripped a small portion off the plate and placed it immediately in your mouth. Your eyes lit up, it was surprisingly delicious. “You need to try this Aizen-san!” You immediately ripped another piece off and handed it to him.

A blush crept up your face as he ate from your hand. “It is delicious. Maybe they should open a bakery instead.” Aizen surmised, his tone calm and collected, as if your fingers weren’t near his mouth at all.

You gave a nervous laugh and immediately pulled away, “I think that’s a great idea for them.” “Ignoring them, tell me what you think of what you’ve read so far.” Aizen asked, watching your eyes glimmer in excitement.

It had been a few months now, of meeting with Aizen, whose first name you learned was Sosuke. He revealed very little of himself, but you had exchanged numbers with him. As of late, many of your meetings were more like “dates,” that ended with some kisses and heavy petting.

Yet you still didn’t know much of the man. He was a complete enigma to you. You had shared with one of your closest friends what you knew about him, but even their sleuthing skills couldn’t find anything. Was he giving you a fake name?

You doubted that, but you never really saw him around town save for when you two were hanging out. He wasn’t purposefully evasive towards you, he told you as much that he was in the area a lot (but didn’t specify where), as he had work there (but didn’t disclose what he did).

Yet even then, when you two were together, it felt like the rest of the world was gone. The two of you were in a bubble. It was strange in some cases, you thought. On days when you were having an especially hard time, something at work or something upsetting, you would find him, almost as if on accident.

And the time with him felt comforting. Your problems felt like they disappeared when you were with him, or he offered you advice and listening ear if it was too much to bear.

But still, nothing about him, nothing of existence of him. Maybe… you were hallucinating him?

That would make sense, right? Your friends never met him, and any instances of trying to have him meet them were thwarted at some point. Even when you tried to take photos, your phone’s camera would (surprisingly) malfunction.

Now you felt crazy, but the books were real, weren’t they?

You picked up the latest book he lent you. It was heavy, hard and sturdy. It felt real.

You took a photo of it and sent it to your closest friend, who responded with a question mark.

“Why are you sending me a pic of a book?” Your friend responded.

You replied with an “oh it was an accident, meant for someone at work!”

Ok, so the books were real.

Then your phone rang. Speak of the devil and he shall appear your mind thought, as Aizen’s name flashed on your screen. You hurriedly picked it up and heard his baritone voice immediately. “Are you free tonight?”

Aizen had treated you to dinner, at a remarkable restaurant you were saving up for. You savored every part of your meal, from the food, the décor and Aizen himself.

“I think…” you hesitated, wanting to choose your words carefully, “this is the first time you’ve called me for dinner, Aizen-san.”

He gave you a small smile, “it is, and unfortunately there’s a reason behind this.”

You felt your heart dropped at the shift of his tone.

“I’ll be going overseas indefinitely.” He said, “I’m not sure when I’ll be back here again.”

“Oh…” you trailed off, disappointment clear in your voice. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it may be the last time I see you.” Aizen said, his face expressionless. He watched your face drop with sadness, while his heart felt a bit strange. But he ignored it, again. He enjoyed your company and nothing more of it would come from it. His plans were too far along now to pull you into them. It was better this way.

Although Aizen shared it was his last night, he wanted to spend the night together. It was a surreal blur to you. The two of you spent time watching the stars, discovering late night gems in Naruki City, with kisses in between, but once a yawn escaped your mouth, he escorted you home. You remember being tucked in to bed, and then waking up to find a new book on your bedside table. Aizen’s last gift to you. You thumbed the pages carefully before hugging the book to your chest.

The following morning, you sent him a text, to have it being bounced back. Calling him left you with an automated tone saying the number did not exist.

The man, Aizen Sosuke, never appeared in your life again. To your friends who knew of him, never brought him up.

At places where you two were seen together, no one batted an eye as to where your partner was. No one asked. As months went by, if it weren’t for the books lining your bookshelf, you would have wondered if he even really existed.

Lord Aizen remained unphased watching Ulquiorra share his update on Karakura Town to him and the rest of the Espada. Everything was going according to plan, plans that he thought well and hard for, plans that had contingencies running if they were (shockingly) to fail.

Ulquiorra’s voice droned out of Lord Aizen’s mind as he saw the briefest glimpse of you. Of course Ulquiorra was not privy to you. Watching you, hearing you, talking to you was only a privilege to Lord Aizen.

To which he thought, he was due for a visit to you.

Some nights you dreamt of Aizen.

Some dreams, the two of you were a seemingly normal couple, traveling the world and sight-seeing.

Other dreams he was a military captain, commanding his troops with his sword and his voice alone.

Some dreams felt real – his touch hot against your skin, his kisses deep and passionate. Your bed, his bed, some other bed – you would wake with the distant memories of moans and pleasure, as your thighs were left sticky, and your body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

Other dreams involved him in a palace far beyond, of stark white in an area devoid of light. Where sand dunes filled the landscape, with strange creatures roaming around. He commanded them, wearing robes of white, with a presence that commanding fear and utmost respect.

You never knew what to make of these dreams. Some days you loved them, to see him again, to “feel” him again. Other days you hated it, you wished you had never met him.

The dreams now, were becoming fewer and far between, and again, you weren’t sure if you were happy with that. To be haunted by him, or to forget him almost completely.

Tonight though, you were exhausted, and your bed called to you more than anything.

Once you were sound asleep, Aizen approaches. He knows you and your bed now. He knows which parts to put weight on – and which not to – to avoid waking you. It amused him some days, to hear you cry for him in your sleep, other days it made his brows furrow, his heart quickening like it did before.

Tonight he wanted you for himself. Seeing you in Ulquiorra’s surveillance update tugged at him. You called to him, both mind and body, and it bothered him. But tonight he would indulge. His reiatsu lightly fills this room, weighing on you more heavily, forcing you into a deeper slumber.

“Sosuke” you whimpered, your eyes still closed, while your brows were knitted. He kisses your forehead and watches you relax, wondering what you were dreaming of tonight.

Aizen cups your face and turns you on to your back. Your breathing is deep – your chest rises and falls to every breath you take, your breasts barely containing your nightshirt.

Aizen muses if you were made for him, as your legs spread apart. He whispers an incantation under his breath that leaves you naked and bare for him alone.

He runs his hands over your body, parts he's familiar with, places he hungers for. Deep kisses are left along your neck as he travels down your breasts, taking delicate care for each nipple.

Your eyes are still closed, but moans are freely spilling from your mouth. Aizen pushes your legs further apart, your glistening cunt in full display for him. He draws slow circles around your clit, earning a gasp and mewl from you. It amuses him how needy your pussy is for him, you’re completely drenched, and he hasn’t even put a finger in.

Aizen pushes a finger into your wet hole and relishes at how tight you are around him. Your mouth opens into a whine, “please, more Sosuke.” Although your eyes remain firmly closed.

Who was Aizen to deny you like this? Undoing a part of his robe, Aizen pumped his cock in his hand, watching you panting, and moaning for him. As if on reflex, he watches in amusement as you pinch and play with your own breasts, before your hand circles your clit, but he stops you before you can go further.

Your body was meant for him, and he would remind you of that fact.

Aizen slowly pushes his cock inside you, relishing at how your face tightens at the sudden intrusion, but slowly relaxes as you moan to the full stretch of him. Aizen brings your face to him, giving you a deep kiss as he slams his hips into you.

A part of him wants to see your eyes open for him, to watch your eyes sparkle at him, trickle with tears as he pounds you mercilessly. But not tonight. He grinds into you, forcing your legs on his shoulders as his cock is covered in your slick juices.

You chant his name, over and over again, cries for more pleasure, more of him. And of course, he would never deny you tonight. Aizen slams into your wet pussy repeatedly, as you tighten around him, before a low groan escapes Aizen, his cum filling you up as he remained inside you. He watches you in fascination as your eyes relax again, your breathing less laborious than before, slowly pulling his softening cock out of you. You let out a soft whine from the feeling, to which Aizen kisses you, as if to say he was sorry.

He undoes the incantation in your room, your shirt appearing back on your body, before fading into the darkness of Hueco Mundo once again. When morning comes, you’re left with another moment of wonder and frustration. Of sticky thighs, sore nipples and kiss swollen lips. A vision of Aizen runs through your mind, haunting you once again.

I've been in a wistful mood for Aizen as of late... and yes, more Ghost sex hahaha. Thank you for reading! This fic was set to VIQ's "Ghost".

[erindrinkstea]

Dead Girl Walking

Platonic! 141 x Teen! Reader

TW: Violence, Blood, Death, Suicidal Tendencies, Angst

Description, Part 1

Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist

Note: Happy birthday to me! I just turned 20 yesterday so here's a gift. Another series <3

The 141 Task Force has been sent on another mission by Laswell to take down a shady organization that have been slipping past the government for a long time.

Arriving at the main hideout of the organization, they find more than just weapons and data, they find people- hostages used for human experimentation. Dead and discarded.

All gone. Except for one.

You.

Meet Teen! Reader, meta experiment with suicidal tendencies.

Enter the newest and youngest member of the 141, little miss deadpool.

[gyucheolslut]

just be • kmg

lower case intended.

cw/tw: mentions of reader being sad, mentions of reader hurting because of said sadness.. other than that? none :) just pure comfort

genre: fluff, hurt&comfort

not proof read!

wc: 634 :) a little one

a/n: it’s been a very very rough week.. all i want to do is crawl into bed and cry.. so.. here you go.. for anyone feeling the same, i hope this can bring you a little comfort. it’s okay to just.. be. it’s okay to just exist. i love you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“do you want to talk about it?” mingyu speaks softly, cautiously putting weight on the bed with just his knee, behind your sniffling frame.

you shake your head no, using your sweater covered hand to wipe your nose and tears, curling more into yourself and the blanket around you.

“that’s okay..” mingyu hums understandingly, playing with the edge of the blanket. “is it okay if i lay here with you?” he questions, tilting his head as he watches you closely, reading you, trying to understand what you want and need.

you let out a broken sigh, breathing through your mouth since your nose was stuffed up from crying for so hard for so long, you peer over your shoulder at him and mingyu swears he feels his heart breaking.

your eyes are puffy, red and tired. after making eye contact with him for a moment, you look away, hiding your face in your hands. “ugh..” you cry out “don’t look at me, i look gross! you’re not supposed to see me like this! you have to go away.”

mingyu stifles his laughter, shaking his head in admiration. it feels good to hear you talk. you’ve been communicating for the past hour with nods and shakes of your head. although your voice is raspy and laced with sadness; it’s music to his ears.

“baby..” he experimentally starts to shift himself underneath the blanket next to you, smiling with content when you don’t stop him or shuffle away from him.

mingyu takes his spot behind you, slotting his body against yours like a missing puzzle piece. fitting perfectly as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to his chest, embracing you in his comforting warmth and scent.

“first, you look beautiful” he starts, cutting you off before you can reply “and second, i want to see you like this… i want to be there for you in moments like this… just like i’d want you to be there for me, like you’d want to be there for me..” he says, nudging his nose into your hair, fingers tracing soft and delicate shapes into the exposed skin of your tummy.

“i want to be there for every moment, good and bad… you don’t have to go through this alone, you know?” he hums into your ear, placing a soft kiss on it before moving to kiss your temple and cheek. you turn to face him, and he opens his arm so you can comfortably do so.

you look up at him, tears filling your eyes as you search his. “it hurts..” you whisper.. “i hate feeling like this.” tears escape your eyes, and mingyu is quick to catch and wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead.

“i know sweetheart.. i know…” he pulls your head to his chest and plays with your hair, the sound of his heart beat and soft, slow breathing entering your ears, comforting you and grounding you, almost like white noise would.

mingyu pulls you back, cupping your face in both of his hands,

“but i’m here.. i’m always here.. and you don’t always have to be happy.. you always have someone to lean on, okay? we will get through this. whatever this is. we will get through it.” he stares into your eyes lovingly as he speaks, brushing your tears away. “you take as much time as you need, we can just lay here forever… we don’t have to talk.. we can just.. be.” he nods, “okay?”

you sniffle, crying out as you nod and bury your face into his neck, gripping his tshirt and pulling him as close to you as humanly possible.

mingyu traces up and down your back, underneath the fabric of your shirt as he holds you. letting you just exist in the comfort of his hold.

[vivalabunbun]

Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret. 

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error. 

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy. 

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head. 

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes. 

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.  

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better. 

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench. 

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door. 

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward. 

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes. 

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.” 

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?” 

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests. 

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing. 

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined. 

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance. 

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room. 

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.    

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above  accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall. 

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past. 

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally. 

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer. 

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said. 

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago. 

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room. 

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument. 

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes. 

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’. 

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame. 

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice. 

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off. 

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents. 

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water. 

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard. 

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore. 

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays. 

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget. 

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes. 

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month. 

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display. 

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now. 

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read. 

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers. 

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening. 

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison. 

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room. 

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied. 

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you. 

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really. 

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense. 

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak. 

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again. 

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble? 

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open. 

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped. 

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue. 

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence. 

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue. 

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it. 

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun. 

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him. 

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away. 

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair. 

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next. 

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature. 

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time. 

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him. 

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name. 

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him. 

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista. 

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood. 

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts. 

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb. 

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys. 

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight. 

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you. 

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air. 

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple. 

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson. 

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. 

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you. 

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now. 

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated. 

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this. 

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. 

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand. 

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense. 

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation. 

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. 

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week. 

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy. 

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all. 

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead. 

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised. 

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences. 

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on. 

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text. 

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies. 

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break. 

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern. 

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance. 

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.  

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’. 

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness. 

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before. 

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness. 

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet. 

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano. 

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery. 

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward. 

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration. 

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??” 

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.” 

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face. 

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling. 

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer. 

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano. 

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano. 

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes. 

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”  

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?” 

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture. 

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face. 

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon. 

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths. 

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer. 

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response. 

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind. 

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock. 

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination. 

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume. 

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble. 

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read. 

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity. 

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight. 

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him. 

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library. 

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response. 

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision. 

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks. 

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch. 

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.” 

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply. 

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter? 

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity. 

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass. 

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression. 

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?” 

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

 Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner. 

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs. 

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts. 

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended. 

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him. 

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle. 

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down. 

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip. 

 His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine. 

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing. 

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you. 

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him. 

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes? 

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him. 

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer. 

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.”  Came his flat reply.  

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted. 

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in. 

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk. 

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet. 

“Is that a piece by Debussy?” 

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?” 

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight. 

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them. 

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back. 

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind. 

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system. 

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them. 

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way. 

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything. 

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house. 

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face. 

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.” 

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face. 

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. 

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion. 

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you. 

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.” 

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice. 

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor. 

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch. 

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you? 

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight. 

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself. 

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries. 

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely? 

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started. 

Another miscalculation on his part. 

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note: 

“Don’t Bother Me”. 

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back? 

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side. 

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings. 

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.  

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers. 

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you. 

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet. 

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue. 

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself. 

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!” 

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom. 

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”  

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind. 

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well. 

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.” 

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all. 

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle. 

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette. 

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora. 

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie. 

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand. 

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he. 

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up. 

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times? 

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex. 

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.” 

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs. 

“I have a reason to seek you.” 

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle. 

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply. 

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity. 

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it. 

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion. 

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face. 

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more. 

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return. 

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges. 

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend. 

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed. 

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized. 

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off. 

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display. 

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet. 

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor. 

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.” 

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed. 

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks. 

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth. 

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch. 

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it. 

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face. 

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.  

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym. 

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is. 

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow. 

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.  

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities. 

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision. 

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment. 

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is. 

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts. 

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands. 

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed. 

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame. 

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts. 

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time. 

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents. 

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together. 

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her. 

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you. 

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller. 

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan. 

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff. 

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his. 

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand. 

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued. 

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look. 

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face. 

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had. 

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry. 

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now. 

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her. 

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face. 

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo. 

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls. 

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things. 

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again. 

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing. 

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him. 

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses. 

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts. 

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis. 

Acceptance, the last stage of grief. 

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it. 

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind. 

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths. 

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you. 

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own. 

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away? 

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211. 

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival. 

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air. 

“Number 211.” 

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano. 

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss. 

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands. 

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical. 

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight. 

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round. 

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.” 

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams. 

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void. 

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands? 

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain. 

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. 

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain. 

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards. 

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” 

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’. 

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan. 

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes. 

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down. 

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly. 

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him. 

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move. 

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message. 

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee. 

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt. 

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head. 

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them. 

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn. 

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders. 

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request. 

“Ah! Ah! AH!” 

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed. 

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm. 

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. 

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face. 

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions. 

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle. 

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

 In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member. 

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within. 

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet. 

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead. 

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again. 

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings. 

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything. 

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish. 

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air. 

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow. 

It was a grand piano. 

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well. 

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step. 

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand. 

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid. 

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted. 

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano. 

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you. 

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests. 

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook? 

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by. 

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor. 

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house. 

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day. 

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves. 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart. 

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears. 

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry. 

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.” 

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky. 

“… Of course.” You let go of him. 

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again. 

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago. 

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change. 

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat. 

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly. 

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile. 

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it. 

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature. 

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

[eldritch-spouse]

I reeeeaaaaaallllllyyyyy want a pumpkin cream pie if you get what I mean

I wanna IMPRRREGNATE THAT DULLAHAN!!

Can we imagine his firefly getting her hands on a spell that gives her, like, maybe artificial tentacle cocks or just 1 really big one for a limited amount of time, and she spends all that time fucking Patches and filling him up w cum

:3c

TW: Genital modifications; Egg-preg; Surprise sex; Feral mindset; Large insertions

You glance at yourself in the mirror.

This is certainly something...

You're not going to lie, being stuck inside of Patches' lab while he's attending to "urgent matters" on the other floors is probably toxic for you. Because you always end up touching things you shouldn't, messing with concoctions that probably aren't safe for humans, or reading incantations aloud. Speaking of that last one- Trying to read a paragraph from a book with a leathery cover and suckers on it was ill-advised.

In your humble defense, it looked like a Lovecraftian cliché, and the paragraph you tried to read was the only one that used an alphabet you could vaguely identify.

It's not as if the results were instantaneous. You let the words hang in the air, felt stupid, and simply closed the book, thinking nothing of it...

Only to end up squealing and tearing your own pants off when it felt like your pussy was being warped into a different dimension. You can't even describe the sensation! The panic of feeling like your very nethers were shrinking out of existence, leaving a Barbie-like void in their place, before something wet and gross erupted out of your pelvic zone, proudly installing itself there.

So there you stood, clad only in a shirt, hyperventilating at the sight of a purple-ish mass of tentacles where your regular mound would be. The things connect seamlessly to your skin, glossy and wriggling aimlessly. One of the trio seems to be the main attraction, thick and heavy between the legs of a species that likely isn't meant to carry something as... Endowed. The other two are much smaller, auxiliary almost, ridiculously futile adornments to something that is already capable of easily gaping someone.

Fascinating. You hope it's not permanent, you really do. Even then, maybe Patches knows how to reverse it, right?

To touch upon the thing was to receive a myriad of new sensations your brain wasn't quite ready for, struggling to find new pathways, until oh! It all sparks, and you feel. What it's like to have a cock? No, what it's like to have something so much more different than what a human would sport.

Marvelous...

Hands fumble for the best way to handle this new piece of anatomy. Slimy and wriggly as it is, when you try to handle it the same way you would a humanoid length, it doesn't provide that much satisfaction. Tentative experimentation proves -Ugh, you're starting to sound like him- that using both hands to create a shoddy imitation of a cavity is much more fruitful, providing sparks of potent sensation as the tentacle frantically tries to wriggle past the tight creases of your clasped fingers.

It's actually forcibly trying to squeeze into the gaps between your digits! And the worst part is that it feels good enough that you don't care to stop it.

It's secreting something, but you definitely didn't orgasm. Precum? No, it's... Gelatinous. A tingle spreads across the palms of your hands to the tips of your fingers, causing you to immediately pry them apart and shake it off- Onto the counters of your captor's already messy laboratory. It feels... Numbing?

This spell, whatever it is, grants the bearer a reproduction-oriented appendage, which is probably meant to pierce into someone's womb. It doesn't take much for you to guess that maybe, just maybe, it also deposits something inside. But it's not as if you can feel the presence of eggs within you. Everything about this set of anatomy is foreign to you, how would your poor brain recognize anything of the sort?

Just as you stand there half-naked, lightly tapping the appendages, the noise of a lock clicking open reaches your ears.

And with one inhale, it's as if time stops.

Inexplicably, you become hyper-aware of everything surrounding you. The noises of every little piece of machinery idly running, the growing creak of the door turning open, chatter from people that didn't leave the elevator far away.

Something compels you to turn, and you silently face the dullahan as he walks in, looking tired.

" It's the fourth time this week! I've told them eons ago that the pool bar needs safer- " He freezes. " Firefly? "

While you can't find it in you to move, or look anywhere else for that matter, Patches is clearly taking in your current state. He's nothing if not intelligent, eyelights surfing from your swirling genitals to the very book you've just misused.

It's not uncommon for him to come back to something amiss in his own lab, courtesy of your curiosity, but the undead is usually very quick to find a fix for the situation.

Not this time. He looks stumped, nervous. A bead of magical sweat runs down that gourd head and his carved smile crooks anxiously, gloved hands tentatively closing the door behind him. Patches maintains eye contact.

Although inwardly panicking, you can't help glaring into him, fixated, feeling the monster cock between your legs pulse hard.

There it is, your brain screams.

Hole.

Easy.

Warm.

Fuckmate.

You don't even notice you're drooling until the sound of your own saliva hitting the ground manifests.

Overshadowinging the mild concern on the magic caster's face is a lurid sort of wonder that seems to war with his common sense.

" F- Firefly... I need you to stay calm and still, okay? This- This is temporary, you're in an extremely volatile state a- and-... "

You rip your own shirt off. Your bra, everything. You can't stand anything against your bare skin, it's too much stimulus, too much heat.

He chokes a noise out. " That's fine, that's fine- You're overheating, I- I know-... I'm going to have to put you back in the cage now, okay? "

You don't respond, his gaze flickers to your tits for the briefest second, then your newfound cock. Patches shakes himself back to seriousness.

A silence so thick and so tense compresses your cranium, like a spring, counting down the seconds.

One step.

That's all he gets to do before you lunge.

With a force and drive you've never possessed before, your limbs race past desks and stacks of thingamajigs, tossing everything aside, uncaring of the bruises to later form as your body crashes against Patches'.

He screams, naturally, and the two of you fall to the ground, your nails sinking deep into his arms, holding them to his midsection as you sit on his torso and huff down at the dullahan.

There's a fog caressing your brain, a certain dimness taking over, hiding any and all higher thought and leaving behind only animal impulses you've never felt before.

The monster beneath you trembles slightly. And perhaps if you had more of a mind present, you'd know that Patches isn't helpless, he's never been, he just enjoys pretending to be.

" Ough... Firefly? "

What were you doing again...?

It throbs, sloppily playing against the undead's clothes.

Hole.

Frenzied, gluttonous, you start pushing and pulling at the undead's clothes, frantic and confused. Patches already has a habit of dressing in a weird manner -You'll excuse that on his age- But now more than ever, all you want to do is tear those fabrics away with the sharpened teeth you never had.

You're not getting anywhere, the frustration has you gnawing on his pant leg, shaking it like some kind of feral creature. At some point, you must have bitten his leg because he yelps.

Patches makes a noise, you're not too sure if it was a snort or some kind of garbled giggle, but he eventually mumbles some kind of request and begins fumbling with his own clothes, trembling thin digits struggling to catch the right parts. Excitement? Doubt? You don't care.

Faster- You want to yell at him, but the only thing that comes out is an exasperated groan.

The undead doesn't get to do much more than unzip himself before you're yanking his pants down, throwing them away while he scrambles to get the rest of his outfit off, before it can be ruined by your enthusiasm.

" I- Let's take this easy now- "

He's hard.

Good, that'll help. It's not what you want though.

Uncaring, your one-track mind ignores his useless blabbering and pulls him closer by those green legs, parting them as wide as his flexibility will allow- Granted, being undead gives him a certain pain tolerance and unnatural nimbleness you can appreciate.

Patches gasps, worriedly eyeing the thing between your legs and comparing it to his own body. The size of it... Enough to rearrange organs. Thankfully, he doesn't make use of most of them anymore.

" Firefly...? Earth to my- my flame- Look at me- Look at me... "

You do look at him, for about two seconds, before feeling your tentacle slap onto his pelvis. It writhes against his hard cock, offering the two of you some mockery of friction, the wet sensation causes his back to arch and the resulting noise makes something crackle in your brain, driving you just one step closer to mindless lust.

Wrapping around Patches' dick, it squeezes and prods for something that's not there, slithers past his balls and lands on his ass, squished between his skin, slicking it grossly. Instinctively, it finds its' goal, the ring of muscle that clenches as soon as a rounded tip flirts with it.

" Oh my Lord- "

You spread his legs wider, observing.

" Ah- Ahn- I never actually tested this one out- I suppose mmn- I should be taking notes? "

A frown settles on your face.

No, no this position won't do it.

" Where's... Where's my-? Ohn fuck that tingles- The recorder! "

Patches twists slightly to reach an object deposited on the nearby desk, it was just the motion you needed for an impromptu eureka.

As soon as undead fingers clasp a gray device, you flip him stomach-down on the floor.

" Huh- Oomf! " There's a clicking noise. He starts blabbering something or other, date, time, location, you aren't listening.

In fact, you're more preoccupied trying to get him to raise his ass and bend for you.

" Hh- Human specimen has interacted with Transmutation Grimoire number five, speci -Firefly I need you t- to slow down- Specifically the tantric incantation in chapter six and- And oh Gods- "

The irritating buzz of his stressed words is ceased when you growl and crash his head to the ground, keeping it there as you slot yourself behind the dullahan's ass, spare hand poising on a bare ass to spread him out.

" And although I cannot yet know the timing of this action, I can guarantee the phhhh- Oh- The physical effects have manifested as well as the expected lack of higher awareness and overwhelming urge to mate. I am- I'm currently... At the specimen's mercy. "

Mercy that you aren't willing to give.

Thrusting won't work, because even as your hips angle and roll, the tendril is too restless, not at all like the hardness of a human, slipping past the monster's hole every time. You have to somewhat clumsily guide that thin tip and keep it pressed there, preventing it from aimlessly twirling around.

Your struggling eventually proves fruitful, because as soon as that inexperienced tip forces its way past Patches' entrance, the rest stretches to accompany, unforgiving in its increasing growth.

You pant, open mouthed, muted moans and overheated exhales falling out your lips as your eyes nearly roll back from the wave of sensation raking across your brain. It doesn't leave room for anything else except the impulse to fuck. Anything to keep this ecstasy going.

The dullahan on the other hand, howls.

Maybe it was pain, maybe it was shock, the slick of the massive tendril might have helped the insertion, but truth of the matter is that you must have flipped his dormant stomach when you snapped your hips against his ass and bulldozed the rest of it into him.

Relief. Blessed relief. You hold onto the magic caster with all the strength in your body, legs around his and arms coiled over his chest as you use your weight to keep him pinned. A grossly primal visage reminiscent of wild animals in rut.

" Ohn Gods ahn ffuck- I can feel it everywhere hhhn- " He sounds incredulous, laughing breathlessly. "This is still recording...? Uh- "

Although the tendril stuffed inside Patches starts pistoning without input, instincts collide and you can't help thrusting along too, creating an erratic rhythm that eventually clicks into plunges so deep Patches starts crying like an overstimulated baby.

You don't have the mind to care, don't have the chance to see his face twisted in a depraved, tear-soaked mess as he blubbers and starts arching back into you, trying to cling to his nearby hat for dear life.

Not even five minutes ago he was standing and clothed, now he's getting the guts fucked out of him by his own human captive.

" I wish- I wish you'd fuhh -Fuck I'm cumming I'm cumming ghhn- I wish you'd fuck me this enthusiastically more often- "

It feels incredible, an endless stream of pleasure that strains your vocal chords, for you can't help but moan with every breath, especially when his walls clench down on you with intense force, over and over amidst relentless fucking- Perhaps if you could stop to think, you'd realize you've been forcing him to orgasm several times since this started.

But you can't.

You can't do anything except cry out and mechanically bounce him on monster cock, surpassing your own physical limitations for the sake of climbing to a climax that constantly teases you, ever so slightly out of reach.

At some point, you have the feral impulse to look down, this sick and crooked smile on a sweaty face as you get to watch that ridiculous girth stretch Patches repeatedly, a steady wet clap of sound following the hypnotizing view, overshadowing even your labored panting and the undead's garbled sniffling wails.

For some reason or another, he starts moving a little too much, manic with overstimulation, trying to hold onto anything that can help draw away from the way his ass must be burning and his brain fried with feedback too intense. His cock throbs uselessly between numbed legs, a dirty puddle of his own release beneath it, he's entirely spent and yet can't flag at all, body scorched and confused.

The moment he manages to wiggle forward a bit, a noise of beastial aggravation rips from your throat, and you claw him back to you with malice, one hand reaching beneath him to trap a neck that hardly matters to his survival, while the other reaches to hold his head in place once more, digits hooking into his sockets.

It works well enough, Patches is back to incoherent sobbing and limp beneath your punishing pace.

" Yeah, I found his nasty ass like this. " The waiter snorts, showing his phone to a couple of coworkers.

The break room nearly vibrates with laughter.

" His desire for humiliation knows no bounds. "

Nebul notes, watching the clip of you biting onto the dullahan's back and screaming in pleasure as another concerningly fat oval figure travels from the length of the tentacle attached to you and into the swollen figure of his half-conscious coworker.

" But I can appreciate the knowledge, I was wondering if that incantation could be marketable. "

" BwaHAHA- Do you think those things are alive?! Is gourd for brains going to be laying eggs around? " Vinnel snorts like a pig at his own joke.

" Chicken- " Sybastian giggles, waving his arms.

" UHUHU- Buk buk buk ba-gawk! The human got me preggers buk bawk bawk- "

The two of them have entertained themselves imitating chicken noises.

Gallon looks at his shroom coworker. " Do you think you could cook them? "

Morell viscerally grimaces. " Hell nah, ya fuckin' sicko- "

" Grimbly, send this to me. " Santi mumbles, avidly watching the sad display.

" Eww no, so you can jerk off to it?! "

" Ye- "

The elevator dings.

Not a single sound rings as they expect either Belo or Admin to step inside the room.

Instead, in shambles a disheveled and barely covered dullahan, exhausted, and looking heavily gravid.

Faces turn a variety of colors as everyone holds back any reaction.

Sybastian cackles so hard he spits the mimiclings out his mouth.

[20doozers]

★Small problem★

TW: dressing room sex, unprotected sex, spit as lube, semi-public sex, quickies, m!reader, anal/gay sex

Bill whined when he heard his dressing room door open, expecting it to be one of the staff to interrupt him. Yet when he felt hands on his waist he realized it was his boyfriend, sighing and letting his eyes close as his hands gently wandered his sides, occasionally slithering up under his t-shirt.

“Sorry if I interrupted, jus’ needed to see you before the set..” m/n murmured, kissing at the side of his neck with a small yet sly smile. Bill just rolled his eyes, going back to doing his makeup in the full body mirror. He always found it easier to stand and do his makeup before shows anyway.

“No big spiky hair?” M/n hummed, his eyes locked on Bill’s figure in the mirror and the lack of his boyfriend’s spiky hair like he usually had it.

“Nope, it’s an acoustic set anyway, just enough volume to look good.” Bill hummed. He had his hair down a bit, it was a lot less spiky and more reminiscent of his past style the year before.

“So no scolding if I want a quickie and mess your hair up?” M/n teased, smirking as he nipped at the side of Bill’s neck, leaving a little red mark. Bill whined, feeling his boyfriend’s hips press against his ass.

“Cmon.. please bill? We have like 30 minutes before the show.. surely that’s enough time.” M/n whined, pleading with bill for a compromise.

“Without lube? You’re out of your mind.” Bill scoffed, he was so anal about it (no pun intended), it was just a quickie anyway.

“Bill please.. help a man out…” bill couldn’t help but blush at the needy whine, letting out a huff as he set his makeup palette back on the small vanity.

“Fine. But quickly.”

Bill moaned as m/n’s hands groped at his ass, their lips moving almost in sync as they kissed. Bill could feel himself getting harder, his tight jeans not helping one bit as m/n basically dry humped him while they made out. How desperate. Bill frowned when m/n pulled away, pouting as he watched the other boy undo his belt, his frown fading at the sight of his boyfriend’s erection, a bead of precum already gathered on the tip as bill quickly turned and undid his own jeans and pulled them off. He had to change his jeans before the show anyway after spilling soda on them.

“Mmh.. fuck..” m/n moaned, watching as bill stripped his lower half and m/n quickly used the opportunity to press him against the vanity. He spat in his hand and slicked up his cock, pumping himself a few times before pushing into bill, earning a hiss from him as he adjusted to m/n’s size.

“Sorry.. fuck.. I would use lube if I had any baby..” he murmured into the crook of Bill’s neck, glancing at the mirror to gauge Bill’s expression for any pain. Bill’s eyebrows were furrowed like he was concentrating really hard, either trying not to show it or too focused on how it felt. Either way m/n was trying extremely hard not to cum right away as bill experimentally clenched around him, making small whines fall from his lips as he tried to not be too loud. They could never be too loud in case they got caught, nobody ever really knew how thin the walls of dressing rooms were so it was better to be careful.

“…move.. please..” bill murmured, moaning as m/n’s hips began to slowly move, thrusting in and out slowly as he tried to form a steady pace. He froze when bill let out a strangled whine, his cock having hit Bill’s prostate a bit roughly.

“What? Did I hurt you?”

“N-no.. Scheiße keep going please..“ bill whimpered, moaning loudly when m/n began to pick up his pace, bringing a hand to slither up Bill’s chest to gently pinch one of his nipples through his t-shirt. Bill‘s nipples were extremely sensitive, bill could cum from only nipple play most days if he did it right; one wrong caress and his hardened nipples would give away how aroused he was.

M/n’s pace slowly sped up until he was rutting his cock deep into bill, soaking up every whine and moan bill let fall from his lips, letting out little grunts when bill clenched around him.

“Ah- Scheiße.. I- ‘m gonna-“ bill couldn’t even finish his sentence, moaning as m/n gently pinched one of his nipples as he orgasmed, spurting cum all over the vanity as m/n wrapped a hand around Bill’s cock, milking every last drop out of him as he picked up his pace a tad more, only a few seconds behind bill as bill clenched around him and brought his orgasm over him harshly.

M/n's thrusts slowly came to a halt, his hips only lightly jerking forward as he and bill slowly came down from their highs.

Bill frowned as he pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, staring sadly at the makeup palette he had accidentally knocked off of the vanity while coming. He crouched down to pick it up, scanning it over for cracks or chips. It wasn't broken thankfully. He looked over at m/n who was currently working on wiping Bill's cum off of the vanity, having used about 5 tissues already.

"I swear bill you spray like a sprinkler..” he huffed, earning a whine from bill as he wiped up the last bit of cum and tossed the wad of tissues in the trash, chuckling when he went over to bill and pulled him close.

"Oh c'mon don't give me that look, it makes me want to kiss you even more.." m/n teased, earning a small giggle from bill as he leaned in for a kiss, his hands planting themselves on Bill's hips as their lips met in a sweet and gentle kiss.

YAY! Another fic done, some bill smut for you guys. This one was a bit rushed but I promise I tried my best if it’s shit. Love you guys!!

Tags: @itsmealaiahh @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @cherry-rawr @divinelolita @d0wn-in-the-morgue (let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist!)

[brokenmutations]

Bloom

Logan Howlett • They/Them Pronouns • Listened to “Bloom” by The Paper Kites • Mutant!Reader [Levitation (A variant of Flight)] • SFW/Smol ANGST • TW: Scars / Mentions of Nightmares & Past Missions

If you were to tell Logan Howlett, The Wolverine, that he’d finally have the life he’s always wanted at the start of it all? He wouldn’t believe you.

But thankfully, they gave him exactly what he’s always wanted.

The sunlight shined in the room right as the sun rose in the horizon. A soft groan escapes his lips when the light hit his face causing him to roll over opening his eyes. He couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his face when he started to admire the sleeping being beside him.

Y/F/N Y/L/N came into his life unexpectedly, granted they came into all the X-Men’s lives unexpectedly.

“Where the fuck did they come from?!” Nightcrawler shouted, the last person you’d expected to be surprised by magically popping out of nowhere.

“We found them on our latest mission. They don’t fully understand why they were experimented on or even kidnapped. They say their mutation is not noteworthy” Ororo stated, simply repeating what they told them.

“Every mutation is important.” Charles added as he wheeled up beside the exam table that Y/N currently sat on. They let Jean run all the tests in case of any further injury outside of the visible war wounds they carried from recent experimentation. “You’re safe now and that’s all that matters”

The blank stare Y/N carried, they carried even after the initial meetings of most X-Men. After exploring the mansion and learning where their room was, Y/N found themselves outside in the garden staring at the night sky. Their mutation sometimes has a mind of their own and the more clear their mind, the more likely they will start floating and this case they did.

At this timing, Logan had stepped out to smoke his cigar given he would get a talking to or worse his mind fucked with if he smoked inside the building when children were around. So he waited for the night and expected to be alone outside but then he noticed the floating individual.

“What the actual fuck” He huffed out, putting his cigar away and approaching the situation with only more confusion. He’s not a religious man but last time someone talked to him about the Bible, he thought your clothes would rip off when being raptured. Or was that a reference from a shitty tv show he’s seen?

The higher they got, the more conflicted he got with whether he should yell at them or climb up a tree and launch at them to bring them down.

He went with the latter.

As Logan climbed up the nearest tree, he kept stumbling trying to drag his adamantium ass up.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving you” Logan stated only to suddenly stop and pierce his claws into the trunk when he noticed the floating figure was now closer to him. “What the fuck”

“You said that already”

“So you heard me?!” He snapped, expecting them to flinch but they kept a stone cold expression. “I could’ve avoided this”

“Right” They frown straightening themselves out and extending a hand to him. “Trust me?”

“No”

“Do it for a second”

“Have you heard anything about me?”

“No”

Logan gave them a skeptical look. He doesn’t know how far their mutation works and is only thinking about how his skeleton will make them both plummet. But with a little faith, he took their hand.

And he hasn’t let go since.

He froze slightly when he heard a deep inhale from their no longer still form. They sigh softly, opening their eyes and noticing Logan’s gaze on them.

“Mm…morning”

“Good morning” Logan whispers brushing the hair out of the way of their face, watching them ease into his touch as his hand lingered on their cheek. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good…you didn’t wake up once, so extra good” Y/N brought themselves close letting him adjust to them pressing their body against his, hiding their face in his chest. “No nightmares…”

“Yeah, no nightmares” He whispers, wrapping his arms around them and resting his cheek on top of their head.

After some early morning cuddles, the two rose from the bed to their bathroom to share a shower and get ready for the day. Y/N went ahead to make coffee and tea for the both of them while Logan got the truck loaded up for them to head into town.

After everything they’ve done for the X-Men and the school, they decided to live out in the woods and have the life they both deserve. Yes they still help whenever they are called but they are at the bottom of that list.

Logan leaned against the fence watching Y/N herd their few chickens and ducks back into their coops before they headed out. He couldn’t help the laugh when they struggled to get their two goth chickens back inside but once they did, they instantly shot a playful glare to the lumberjack.

“So, what do we need?” Logan, who always took hold of the cart of them, asked as they both went through the isles getting the essentials mainly but he asked if anything sparked up in Y/N’s mind.

“Promised Charles I’d bake a couple dozen cookies for the students. I gotta grab at least two bake storage boxes…or whatever they are called” Y/N pulled the cart from the end into the baking isle to grab what they’ll need to bake everything.

“Can you uh. Make the ones with what nut in it again?”

“The white chocolate macadamia nut cookies?” They smile knowing damn well why he asked about those cookies, they were his favorite. “I’ll make a batch just for you, but I’ve gotta stick to the no nuts rule for the school”

Logan couldn’t help himself in the moment with giving his affection toward them in public. Even if it were just the two of them in the isle. He brought himself around the cart, bringing them into his arms and pressing his lips firmly against theirs. They giggled against his lips wrapping their arms around him and kissing him once more before parting and giving him a loving look as they held onto each other.

After getting their groceries and walking back to the truck, Y/N got in the car before Logan noticing how he’s stalling as they brought their upper half out the window watching him. Logan brought himself toward the greenery by their supermarket finding an abandoned box.

“Lo, what is it?” Y/N frowns watching him return with the box, he opened their door resting the box in their lap. Their frown faded and quickly turned into a soft smile.

Shortly after that, Logan found himself grumbling as he sat on the couch feeding one out of three kittens with a syringe of kitten formula.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“I made the syringes this time. So it’s your turn to feed them. Besides, I also promised these cookies and you don’t know how to bake” Y/N laughs softly, putting a new batch in the over before making their way to the couch leaning over and petting the two kittens that were snuggling with each other on the blanket beside Logan. “I’ll make you an extra batch of your favorite”

“Mmm fine. I’ll do it for that” Logan knows he’s doing it for them, but he got a laugh for that.

Seven dozen chocolate chip cookies, two dozen white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, and three fed kittens later…

Y/N packed up the cookies while Logan made up a small nest of blankets in the corner of the living room with a heating pad underneath for the three kittens to sleep for the night. Of course either of them will check on the three during the night but for now they were convening on the couch once everything was situated. They sat down after Logan, grabbing his hand and bringing his arm around their shoulders as they situate themselves in his arms.

“Comfy?”

“Mm. Always” Y/N smiles shifting slightly for the two of them to lay on the couch and for them to lay on Logan more comfortably in between his legs. “I made so many cookies…I’m too tired for dinner”

“I’ll make it, but in a bit” Logan wraps his arms around their torso pulling them impossibly closer. He rests his cheek against their temple, feeling him nuzzle into his touch.

Dinner was simple. Pasta, some veggies, and whiskey for Logan, wine for Y/N. They wind down for the night and the next day was another start.

“Remind me to never let you drive again”

“I’m not a terrible driver, love. I said I was driving and you let me so” Y/N shrugs smiling as they knew his truck was his second love and that’s why he’s making a fuss. “We’re almost there” they continued to smile, focusing on the road as they brought their hand to his thigh giving him a smirk.

“That’s my move”

“Yeah but I’m the driver” They smirk. “So it’s mine” they smile wider when he laughed.

The second they arrived to the mansion they both watched Ororo happily head down the steps with the biggest smile on her face. Y/N parked the truck and got out quick so they could be the first to hug Ororo while Logan on the other hand was bombarded with hugs by Rogue and Jubilee.

“You bring the goods?” Ororo smiles as they nod before leading her to the bed of the truck to grab the boxes of goods. “You are a miracle worker”

“I try” Y/N smiles helping Ororo as they watch Rogue talk Logan’s ear off about Remy and Jubilee talking about how she’ll be able to teach a class soon in the Danger Room. He was happy and content.

Once the cookies were set up for easy grab from the students, Ororo took Y/N through the mansion talking about the changes her and Hank have been doing ever since the Professor stepped down from principal. Being solely a teacher and a parent to every kid that comes through is what he decided to primarily focus on. He asked for the cookies as a boost in the mood for mainly the new students and for those silently struggling.

Y/N’s baked goods have always done that.

“Hey”

Y/N looked up from the counter to address the presence of Jean and Scott who both noticed their absence after a tough mission.

“Hi”

“How are you feeling?” Scott asks bringing himself to the counter they had all the baking supplies sprawled out on, to lean on it.

“ok” Y/N says softly, putting a new tray in the oven after taking out the finished one and placing it on the kitchen island where Jean sat. “Feel free” they pointed to their cooled off batch of cookies before returning to making their fourth dozen.

“Are you sure? You took quite the hit during the mission…” Jean frowns picking up a cookie and picking it apart.

Y/N shrugged for the most part as they looked down at their left leg that was bandaged. They really shouldn’t be standing after having their leg trapped. But Hank said it would be fine given they use their mutation to keep the weight off without being off balance.

“How are uhm…Ororo…and Logan?” They frown at Scott who brought himself to sit on the part of the counter not occupied with their baking.

“Ororo is recovering comfortably in her own bed. A concussion and a few cuts that had to be stitched….and for Logan, you know he can heal. But the bullets he took to the head still…left him unconscious and we don’t know how he’ll react when he wakes up”

“We studied the bullets. None were made of adamantium so they bounced off his skull but the impact still left him uneasy” Jean continued as the anxious feeling disappear when she took a bite of one of Y/N’s cookies. “Fuck…this has to be the most comforting thing I had in a while..these missions are getting rougher”

Scott hoped off the counter and took one of the finished cookies to get in one the action of the baked comfort. Y/N put in the last batch before grabbing a few Tupperware to put a few in.

Ororo didn’t stir when her door opened as she was exhausted after the mission. For good reason. Y/N quietly entered the room and set the tin on her nightstand before leaving to the basement.

The basement was quiet when Y/N first stepped in as they slowly make their way to the infirmary finding Hank checking Logan’s vitals. He turns his head to the hiss of the doors, smiling to find them standing in the doorway holding another tupperware tin.

“Is your leg bothering you, Y/N? Or what can I do to help” Hank questions only for them to hand him the second tin. He opens them with a bit of confused look but it broke out to a smile. “Cookies! You make these?”

“Y-Yeah. I uhm. Bake when certain things happen as a comforting thing. Thought I can…share it with everybody after today” Their eyes lingered to Logan’s still form as Hank caught that which prompted him to rest a reassuring hand on their shoulder.

“He’s going to be okay” Hank reassured even if he had a bit of tension when they started to tear up a bit. “I promise and I can with Logan”

“Stupid fur ball…”

Both of them turn to find Logan sitting up and taking off the EKG leads as Hank approaches him with a smile.

“This stupid fur ball made sure you were alright while unconscious. I’d like a scan to make sure—-“

Logan sniffed around intrigued by it as he gave Y/N a confused look, which resulted in them walking over to the counter Hank set the tin on and bringing it over to him. He popped open the tin and instantly ate a few of the cookies given he’s been out cold for a while and hungry. Hank laughs, thankful to know his appetite didn’t change.

“Fuck…I needed this”

Logan smiles watching Y/N approach him with something behind their back.

“You know I can smell them right”

“Right, but I still come with gifts anyway” Y/N smiles handing him the tin opening it to reveal the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.

The big bad Wolverine smiles big picking up one of the cookies to enjoy and before he even took a bite, Scott came out of nowhere taking one only for him to glare at the man.

“What? I love them too!”

“Just don’t tell Charles you brought macadamia nuts in here” Jean smiles leaning over Y/N’s shoulder to take one, enjoying the laugh that escaped them toward her words. “We’ve missed you. Logan comes for missions on the rare occasion…wish you would to”

“You mean the very rare missions? You should be glad you don’t need me”

“We are. But we still miss you” Scott adds, about to take another cookie only for Logan to smack his hand. “Well okay”

As the day winds down into night, the students return to their rooms and let the teachers and those visiting to have time just them. Y/N stepped outside to find Logan standing by the pond watching the night sky and listening to the nature that surrounds the school.

“Remember that night…I found you just. Floating up into the night. Aside from my own anxiety…you looked peaceful. Grounded.” Logan says with a smile, bringing his arm around their shoulders when Y/N stepped beside him.

“My mutation is very minimal compared to others but in a way it makes me feel grounded”

“I rarely see you use it nowadays…does it still make you feel grounded?”

“Mmm” Y/N rests their head on his shoulder with their arm around his back. “I don’t need to use it much anymore…when I feel grounded with you”

[kinq-sleazee]

I had a thought out request then work got busy and now all I remember is mean over protective step brother, or best friend if you don’t like pseudocest, Bakugou scaring off all your dates without you knowing and telling you how you deserve better and he would never

hello @mhathotfic my love , sorry i’m responding so late— but i’m here now with smut !

MDNI | TW! College AU, Stepcest, Degradation

Your relationship with Bakugo has always been a odd. From the day your mom moved in with his dad, he’d developed a sick little obsession with you.

Nothing got past him. He swatted away any and all suitors—with you none the wiser.

Date after date would be canceled. Messages changing from blue to green. Guys actively avoiding you on campus and you had no idea why.

It would always lead you back to his dorm room. Straddling his lap and crying on his shoulder while he rubbed your back and cursed those “extras who could never be good enough for you”.

And your suki is so sweet to you. Saying that you’re so special to him and he doesn’t understand how those idiots could treat you so bad. Claiming that anyone would be lucky to have you and whispering that sometimes he wishes that you weren’t his sister so that he could have you for himself.

And he words it like a joke, in case you get spooked, but he’s dead serious. Staring you right in the eye as you chew on your lip while playing with the strands at the nape of his neck.

You’re a little shocked but you get it. It makes sense, y’know ? Who could love you better than the boy that’s protected and cared for you since middle school? The man that makes you feel like the only girl in the world.

He blinks twice when he hears you little voice say, “m’not really your sister”. Lips curling over his teeth in a wicked sneer.

“Hah?” He raises a brow, hands slowly falling to rest at your waist. “What’s that ? You’re not my imouto? My sweet girl ?”

Bakugo rolls his hips experimentally, pleased with the exasperation huff you give at the brief contact.

“m’just sayin’, we’re not really brother and sister” you whine, face heating at the implication of your words.

Were you really suggesting this ? Are you so desperate that you’d stoop so low ?

Bakugo feigned a gasp. A pout formed on his lips that juxtaposed the glimmering lust in his eyes.

“So after all we’ve been through…”, he began, hands traveling under your skirt to rest on your bare thighs. “After all we’ve been through. I’m not really your brother because you really want some dick ?”

The vulgarity startled you. You tried to deny but it fell on deaf ears as his fingers ventured closer to your moist heat.

“Are you really getting wet on my lap ?” His face is stern but there’s amusement in his tone. Your ears burn at the accusation, which you vehemently deny. This time your denial is met with a mean pinch to your plush thigh. “Now you’re lying to me ? What’s got into you What happened to my good girl ?”

A broken whimper leaves you. You’ve never felt this desperate for anything. You want to be a good girl but you just want him so bad.

“ I am your good girl, suki. I promise”.

“Tch” Bakugo shakes his head, admiring the way your lip trembles when he pinches you harder. “You’re not a good girl” he coos, moving closer to kiss the tear sliding down your cheek. “You’re a whore, imouto. A desperate slut for nii-chan’s cock”.

Your panties are pulled to the side and a single digit swipes through the mess of slick arousal. Bakugo whistles lowly, dragging your sticky wetness to press at your clit.

“Is this what you wanted, baby” He pouts up at you, mimicking your expression. You nod, nails digging into the skin of his broad shoulders.

“More, suki” you whine, grinding against the pad of his thumb. “wan’ sum more please”.

He shushes you and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Then another. And another until his tongue is pushing through the seam of your lips in time with his finger diving knuckle deep into your cunt. He grunts at your tightness, but continues kissing you while working you open.

The flat of his tongue collects the sweat beading on your neck, just as a second finger enters you. He curls them upwards, rubbing against your velveteen walls.

“Taking my fingers real good, baby. So proud of you right now” he whispers in your ear before nibbling on the lobe. You gush around him, pussy spasming from the ruined quality of his voice as he praises you. The fact that he looks absolutely wrecked, and you haven’t even touched him properly sends you hurtling towards your orgasm. A few more pumps and you’re met with the most euphoric orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

He works you through it. Pumping into you slowly as your body vibrates around him and your breathing settles. He pulls out and taps his fingers on your lips, humming when you drunkenly take them in your mouth.

He keeps you like this for a moment. Just rubbing against your tongue until saliva pools in your mouth and spills from the side.

Bakugo knows that you’re getting working up again by the cute little scrunch of your brow and the way you drag your cunt over his thigh. So desperate to get fucked. His dick feels unbreakable.

With his free hand he pulls out his cock and lowers your head to drool on it. You’re pushed off his lap and placed between his legs. Mean cock bobbing in your face.

“If you want nii-chan to fuck you , then you have to get on your knees and beg”.