hellfire baby :: e.m.
summary: when starting a new campaign, the hellfire club didn’t except to see a toddler sitting in their club leader’s throne
content warning: parenting & pregnancy, talks about teen parenting, swearing, basically really fluffy, child’s features mostly based off of eddie
word count: 1013
when all of the hellfire boy’s entered through the theater room’s doors, they felt a huge rush of excitement. eddie had been hyping up his new campaign for about a month and told everyone that he was going to do something real special for their first meeting.
what they did not expect was a small little girl, maybe around 1 or 2 years old, sitting in their dungeon master’s place. she had a pink dragon onesie on and her big brown eyes stared back at the group.
“why good evening lovely gentlemen.” eddie popped out from behind his throne, holding a small sandwich bag filled with ‘star wars’ cookies. he handed it to the child with barely any acknowledgement and she gladly grabbed it with eager hands. “are you lads ready to start this wonderful campaign?”
each boy had their own looks of confusion on their faces. they looked at eddie and then the child, then back again.
“eddie why the hell is there a baby here?” dustin was the one who spoke up.
eddie’s face sported a wide grin. “well guys i would like to introduce you to the surprise i mentioned.” he scooped up the little girl and presented her to the d&d club memebers. “everyone this is my daughter mei. say hi mei mei.”
“hi mei mei.” the little voice spoke a she waved a tiny hand to the boys. she tugged her onesie hood down, reveling long, brown hair, just like her dad’s.
“daughter? eddie we didn’t even know you could speak to girls?” mike chimed in.
“well wheeler, if it matters to you, i don’t speak to girls because i already have my fiance.” he raised his eyebrows at the last part.
you see, eddie munson didn’t become a super-super senior because he was dumb. he became a super-super senior because he accidentally got his high school girlfriend pregnant. they had been together since they were 16. eddie and y/n were going great until the summer before their senior year. y/n’s pregnancy took a large toll to both of their academics, so eddie decided he would try and lighten his girlfriend’s stress load. on april 29th, 1984, their daughter was born.
he thought y/n’s future was too bright for her to be held back, so after she gave birth he let her continue as an almost normal high school student. eddie didn’t get to graduate that year. but he did get to hold his baby as he watched the love of his life walk the stage.
he didn’t graduate his second senior year either. he was too caught up in healthy parenting and making sure he was there to watch his daughter’s firsts. he watched her first steps, her first time eating solid foods, and even heard her first word. ‘dragon’.
so here he was, his third senior year, finally ready to walk that stage.
as eddie finished up the story he heard a sniff. all heads turned toward the direction of lucas.
“dude that story was so beautiful. i didn’t even know that.”
“yeah most people don’t except a few people who were in school during that time like harrington. but y/n kind of chose to drop off the map so it isn’t talked about much.” eddie sat down in his chair and placed his daughter on his lap. “now that introductions are out of the way, shall we get started?”
eddie’s new campaign was centered around exploring an abandoned gem mine to figure out what was terrorizing the near by townsfolk.
“so little dwarf, you enter the cave with your mates behind you. as you guide them with your light, the air becomes increasingly warm. as you approach the growing heat, you see a shimmer of pink scales.”
“munson you did not...” dustin starts as his hands grip the table.
“you raise your torch higher and you see her in all her glory...” eddie lifts mei off of his lap and places her in the middle of the table. “mei the fire breathing dragon.”
all the boys start to exclaim in frustration. what kind of sick father makes his own kid the first boss of his d&d campaign? eddie munson that’s who. after explaining they all need a time out to discuss, they all huddled in the corner.
“dude what are we going to do? we can’t slay the dragon. i mean look at her, she’s adorable!” dustin whispered.
“i mean honestly if you think about it, it’s just a game.” mike said. typical.
“yes but the moral principal of it is, eddie knows that we would have to be sick son’s of bitches to kill a kid. especially his daughter.” dustin explained frustrated.
him and mike felt a little wedge between their legs. they all looked down to see mei still holding her bag of cookies.
“tooktie?” she raised it up to the air, offering the boys a share of her snack.
each boy took only one, while politely thanking her for sharing. she unwedged herself from the huddle and waddled towards her dad.
“juice peas?” she said to him, pointing to a sippy cup sitting on the table. he handed her the cup and looked at the clock on the wall.
“unfortunately boys, time is up for today’s meeting.” eddie tsked.
just as he said that, y/n opened the door to the club room and walked in scanning around. each person all had their eyes on her.
“mommy!” mei squealed, running towards the young woman. she jumped into her arms, y/n picking her up and spinning her around.
eddie grabbed a small child lunch box and walked towards the two girls. “as you see i can't stay any later than i’m supposed to tonight guys. but this will give you some more time to think about your next move.”
he trailed behind the two girls, waving everyone goodbye.
as the door closed, each hellfire member could hear a faint, “eddie why is our daughter talking about slaying a dragon?”
followed by “edward munson why did our daughter just say son of a bitch?”
Inspired by the song: Jannat by Ezu ft Harshdeep kaur
Genshin Impact imagine/scenario
Zandik/Dottore x Reader
"When I met eyes with my beloved, I saw the doors to Heaven,"
A soul dedicated to science, is one with a severed connection to God and faith. Zandik, a man entirely devoted to uncovering the truth of this world, does not have time to ponder on whether heaven exists or not, nor does he have to luxury to humor such stray thoughts. His goal at the Akademiya is clear to him, always has been since long before he even set foot into the establishment.
Then why is it, that with each passing moment, that once crystal clear reflection, blurs and contorts into such whimsical fantasies?
Why is it that his once settled gaze has begun to wander, to search?
Why is it that his calm and collected self begins to crumble and shake?
How could someone, as mad, cold and inhumane as him, feel something so tender, warm and so very human?
Zandik replaces the book he'd just shut only to pull out another, yet his hand halts, falling limp to his side with the book in hand, as his crimson eyes settle on the view, the glimpse between these old, dusty shelves.
His heart punches his ribcage, knocking the breath out of his lungs, cold sweat gathers at the back of his neck and his gut bubbles and twists in all unholy shapes and forms. Butterflies, Lisa had called them, a sign that his ever unfeeling heart had begun to long, to desire- not an object, but another person. His mouth feels dry, lips parted as he continues to simply stare from between the books.
The afternoon sunlight peeking through the tall glass windows grace your features and bathe you in a warm honey hue, one that enhances your dark lashes and sharp gaze that wanders over your text book, completely unaware of the trance you'd put the infamously stoic Zandik into. Your hair is messily tied back, and is quite unflattering at the moment, yet that imperfection is perhaps the only thing reminding him that you're not an angel, but are human. A real life human being, the same as any other person.
'Definitely not,' he argued bitterly in his mind. You were too beautiful to be the same as any average person. Too graceful, too kind and too angelic for him to believe such falsehood.
Zandik watches from the sidelines as you eyes skim the pages, your head turns to the side when you hear your friend call out to you, and he watches in awe as a dazzling smile, one that could rival and out shine any star in teyvat graces your face. Your smile so kind, your lips elegant even as you speak, your tone although hushed still so melodious it could put Zubyr theaters best singers to shame. Your shimmering and lively eyes that trail and stray from your friend and land on his.
Zandik swears his heart stops for a moment, but then it pounds so fiercely in his chest that he feels himself getting sick. Your eyes ease up and you give him a smile that steals the oxygen from his lungs, that has his fingers twitching at his side and body screaming at him to approach you, be near you.
Zandik watches as you excuse yourself from your friends, he watches as you stalk around the table and cross your arms over the wooden shelf on the opposite side, your cheek resting on your arm as you gaze up at him.
Neither of you speak as everything feels like it's in slow motion. Zandik hears his pulse racing through his veins, heat crawling up his skin as he stands paralyzed. You bite back a chuckle and withdraw, prowling around the shelf until you stand face to face with the blue haired and crimson eyed man that just so happens to be your lover. Your petal soft touch graces his face as he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his pulse slows and his pounding heart calms.
The warmth from your hand cupping his cheek brings him peace and he gazes down at you, to meet your tender eyes. Your pupils are blown wide, the dark encompassing the color and he thinks he's finally realised why he's been questioning his beliefs.
He didn't believe in heaven until he touched it, until he touched you. He didn't believe until he saw the the light peeking from the crack in its doors, until your lips parted to warm his skin.
You are the only heaven that Zandik his willing to believe in.
The only one in this universe that he's vowed to never sever from his heart or mind. As a devout worshipper prays in a temple or church, he devotes his entire self to you. To protect the glimpses of pure and raw adoration and unconditional love he knows you hold for him. A god, his god, that he knows loves him. A heaven that is his alone, a garden that is only his to care for.
Zandik has a disconnect between his heart and his mind, but there's only one thing that they both yearn for.
His hands are feverishly warm yet tender and soft as they grasp your hips, pulling you to him self. Webbing through your hair and curling you even closer to himself, as if parting even a sliver was a grave sin in this divine act of worship between you both. His lips on yours are unpracticed but desparate for yours.
His crimson eyes peek open, meeting your glossy gaze and lidded eyes. His hand cups your face as he moans your name into your mouth, eyes screwing shut as he feels himself unravel. The palpations in his heart when he hears your sweet voice purr his name in return are dangerous, but he loves it. He adores it, desires it, wants more of it.
You're ruining him in every way possible and he's hungry for it. You've obscured his vision and his path, blinded him from his goals and filled his heart and mind with the glimpse and touch of heaven.
You've made a man who rejects faith, desire paradise.
Imagine being a warrior who grew up on an alien planet. One day, you become Doctor's champion in a trial by combat: a bizarre beginning of a relationship that will shake the universe in its time.
(Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)
"Doctor, the last of Time Lords of planet Gallifrey,” the Emperor began. The audience in the arena was silent. ”For your crimes against Tartayah and her people you should be sentenced to die. But I am a merciful rex,” He smiled, rotting teeth shining in the scorching sun. ”And I will give you a chance to preserve your worthless head. A trial by combat!” Emperor yelled out with outstretched hands. The crowd roared. Hundreds of people dressed in tunics were waiting for the Doctor to close his eyes once and for all. ”Your champion against mine.”
All maenia were filled with people of various social statuses. For that day, they had put their differences aside to closely watch the death of a man who put an end to their bloody conquers across the system.
One gate at the battleground level, right below Emperor’s gallery, slowly opened. The four men opening the heavy stone door were visibly too weak to do it faster, their red skin glistening with sweat. Tartayan sun, just like the people of Tartaya, knew no mercy. The day, like many others, was fatally hot. Most surfaces were too scorching to be touched even through clothes.
Two enormous hands emerged from the gap between the door, held the wings one each, and slammed them against the wooden construction. The pace was too slow for them, it seemed. Maybe not all gate-openers were crushed to death.
The creature that emerged couldn’t be human, no, it was way too big. Seven meters tall and bigger than anything the Doctor has ever seen: veins under its reddish skin looked too thick to belong to a man. He was dressed in rags and had metal chains around his neck, ankles, and wrists: a slave, a gladiator. His right arm, the size of a horse at least, was holding a stone mace that was leaning on his shoulder. The gladiator had a full helmet on, Doctor couldn’t see his face. It was the only piece of armor the gargantuan Tartayan was wearing.
"And who should fight for you, Doctor?” the Emperor asked before laughing. The crowd laughed with him. "Could it be that all others have left you, oh, the last of the Time Lords?"
Doctor’s gaze found Rose who was equally terrified and hiding near one of the exits, among women, in higher parts of the theater. She knew she couldn’t help, although she was already thinking about how to possibly delay the hour of doom. The metals chains around Doctor's hands started to heat up in the Tartayan sun. It burned his skin. The coarse sand he was kneeling on irritated his skin even through clothes. He could feel waterfalls of sweat drench all layers that he was wearing. The Doctor started to pant, his mouth dry and his head starting to hurt: not used to such weather, he was fighting against the wrathful rays of Tartayan sun. If he did not do something soon, the incoming heat stroke could do the job faster than the seven meters tall giant in front of him.
”I -" he began but didn’t have the chance to end.
”I will fight, your majesty." A voice behind him said. It was a woman.
And in that second, every set of eyes has lied on her: (Y/N). She had her hair put into an intricate and quite fancy hairstyle, the pearly decorations contrasted with her tanned, dirty skin. (Y/N) had yellow warpaint on her face, its design followed local artistic traditions. Physically speaking, she was muscular, big even for a Tartayan woman, who already grew larger than women on Earth. She was dressed in a white flowy tunic and greyish baggy underpants. (Y/N)'s legs were covered by a type of thick bandage in places where her underpants did not provide sufficient protection from the scorching sun. On her feet, she was wearing a pair of old brown shoes made from cheap leather. She held a shimmering, silver one-sided sword in each of her hands. Although her clothes yelled poverty, (Y/N)'s weaponry was of extraordinarily high quality, on top of being well taken care of. The Doctor noticed that under the tunic's wide sleeves, she was wearing more bandage: it wrapped around her hands and forearms, securing wrists and joints between fingers.
”And who are you, warrior?” The Emperor asked displeased. He had plans for that evening and if real combat was about to ensue, those plans will have to be rescheduled.
”I am (Y/N) of Viperion, the War Dancer!” She yelled back so everyone could hear her. ”And I stand here, on these hallow sands to fight as the champion of the Doctor of Gallifrey. This champion knows her holy duty!”
”What are you doing?” The Doctor tried asking her quietly. He didn’t want anyone dying for him although he did not complain about watching a real War Dancer fight if it had to be the last thing he saw before death.
”Saving your life, what else did you think? Weird to be the one saved instead of saving, isn’t it?”
”I don’t want you to fight for me. Look at that guy, you’ll die.”
(Y/N) looked at the faceless giant in front of her: his knees were more or less at the same height as her head. If the story of David and Goliath was untrue, it surely became real at that moment.
A gist of wind smacked Doctor's wet face with a handful of coarse, hot sand. He could feel the little granules burning and irritating his skin. Although he was drenched with sweat, everything felt dry.
"Too late, my friend.” She smiled. ”Fortunately, I don’t know when to die. A trait we have in common.”
An Acquired Taste
Pairing - Getou Suguru x Reader
Summary – You ask Getou a question about his curse technique.
Tag(s) - Fluff, Kissing
It looks like chocolate.
That thought crosses your mind as you witness Getou use his curse technique. Black and tar like, the defeated curse swirls into an orb inside the palm of his hand with a strange light shimmering inside it. No matter how many times you watch him do it, Getou always amazes you with how mesmerizing his technique is. To turn these curses that hurt people into a force for good.
But than reality come back to remind you that good things come with cons at times.
An unknown emotion flickers across Getou’s face as he shallows the ball whole and his body stutters. His throat bobs as it enters his body and he lets out a breath similar to a person who was close to being sick.
“Are you okay?” He chuckles at your baffled expression, his eyes examining you for any injuries. “That curse was pretty strong, did you get hurt?”
“Ah, no... Um, Getou-kun, I-I…” You twiddle your fingers as you try to come up with a good excuse. Right, it’s rude to stare and you probably made him uncomfortable. “I…”
“They won’t hurt you...”
“Huh?” You stare at him as he approaches you, the smug expression on his face makes your heart beat a little faster. He coughs to clear his throat before he delivers a long-winded speech with the practiced proficiency you normally seen from teachers.
“Once the curse is weakened, I will be able to extract it and have it purified by my technique. To do this, I orally ingest the captured curse and it is purified by my body. Once this process is completed, they are completely under my control and-”
“What do curses taste like?” Your question cuts him off and it is his turn to be baffled at you. You scratch the back of your head as you feel your face burn, waiting for him to make fun of you.
But he just stares at you, pink dusting his cheeks and eyes wide with shock. You wonder if you are being too bold with your question and just made him upset. You prepare an apology, but a deep chuckle escapes from him and gives you pause.
“What? What kind of question is that?” Chuckles turns into full-blown laughter and your body feels like it’s on fire as you choke out an explanation.
“I see you eat them so many times! I get a little curious sometimes…” You cross your arms and look away with a huff. It’s an honest question after all. “But for you to think I might be afraid of you. Do you truly think so lowly of me, Getou-kun…?”
“Sorry, sorry! Give me a sec! Don’t try run away.” He wipes a tear from his eye as he grabs your hand to stop you from reporting back to the Auxiliary Manger. His hand is warm and gentle. “It’s not a question I’m used to being asked.”
You both stand there in the clearing with the sound the summer cicadas buzzing and the wind. You look back to see a contemplative look on Getou’s face as he mulls over your question.
“It’s a bit of an…acquired taste.” You brush your thumb softly over his knuckles as you wait for him to gather his thoughts. No words come to you, the startling sight of Getou having nothing to say for once. A look of insecurity crosses his face and it makes you feel bad for asking this of him.
“How do I explain it without you thinking I’m gross…” Your heart breaks a little as you hear that.
“You always smell like sandalwood…” You look away from him as you start off, your heart beats fast as butterflies flutter in your stomach. Is it weird when you tell a guy he smells good? “And you… I always feel at ease when you’re around and I like dependable you are…”
“Oh~?” A teasing smirk spreads on his face as he interlocks his fingers with yours to pull you close. You didn’t like that look. That look usually preludes before he or Gojou do something to embarrass you. “Keep going. I’m liking where this is going.”
Crap! That sounded too close to a confession now that you mull it over. Tone it down before he gets ideas and a even bigger head.
“But sometimes you come off as a bit smug.” You pull away and your turn your nose up like a hissy cat. God forbid you feed into his strange ego you catch at times. “And your pissing contests with Gojou-san can get a little bit old…Especially when you got us kicked out of the theater that one time. Oh! And the incident where-”
“Let’s not talk about that~!” His laugh is insincere as he reins you back in and locks you in a hug. You dig your feet into the ground as he tries to lift you. The air went from teasing to tense. “Tell me how great I am again.”
Now, from the distance, a stranger can misconstrue his actions as romantic, but the truth is this move is the equivalent of a wrestler preparing to suplex their foe. He is just waiting for an excuse to start a fight if you continue to engage this way.
“We’re straying away from the original topic.” You surrender as you try to lower your center of gravity to counter him. “What do curses taste like?”
He hums in fake thought to draw this whole thing out and your pinch his sides to voice your displeasure. A light bulb goes off in his head and he gives you a bit of a sly look as you prepare yourself for the worst.
“Close your eyes.” You puff up and stare him straight in the eyes with disbelief. He laughs, easing his hold on you as a truce before repeating his request. Something warm fills his eyes as he flutters his eyes lashes at you teasingly. “Trust me, I’ll show you how it tastes.”
You sigh through you nose, giving him one last warning with a glare before closing your eyes. The afternoon sun warms your eyelids. Cicadas buzz around you as you wait for him. As you focus on your other senses, the faints smell of sandalwood fills your nose and a feeling of calm comes over you as he relaxes his hold on you.
A shadow falls over you and blocks out the light. You flinch as a hand cups your face and you feel a thumb brush over your cheekbones. You go stiff, your heartbeat roaring in your ears, his other arm lowers to your lower back.
You feel like you are about to burst. Warily, you part your lips barely a sliver and you feel a warm heat hover over them. Worry, anticipation, and curiosity flood you as a minute goes by and nothing happens. For a second you got scared that maybe he was about to prank you and just when you are about to open your eyes. Time stops.
His lips meet yours and you melt. Your arms loop around him as he turns his head to deepen the kiss. You welcome him in, lips parting as he molds himself into you. Your mind spins, question long forgotten as you give yourself over to bliss. He holds you closely as your knees go weak and leans into you. For a few minutes, everything around you two melts away and you forgot why you were there in the first place.
Then he stops.
“So…” You blink as he grins down at you with a smugness. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he stares into your eyes. “Do you want another taste of me?”
You can feel steam whistling from your ears as rage and mortification fill you. Your emotions war inside you as he laughs at your ire and you couldn’t tell if you wanted to slap him for the audacity or pull him back in for a second kiss.
Just as things are about to come to a head and turn violent again, Gojou Satoru finds a way to make things come back to him.
“Are you two done over there? We have to report back or Yaga is going to lecture us again!” You and Suguru turn your heads to find Gojou at the edge of the clearing. Phone in hand, Gojou was wabing at you two with a shit-eating grinning across his face.
“Suguru-chan~! We can’t get in trouble again after the incident!” He teases, the click of his phone’s camera echoes across the clearing like a gun shot. “What would he say if he found out you two lovebirds were out here canoodling?”
The rest of the afternoon is filled with Suguru trying to wrangle Gojou’s phone away as you slowly die inside. Like a child, Gojou finds a way to make it worse as he gives a vivid account on how he became oh so worried about you two and came by to make sure you two were okay. His storytelling top with making kissy faces at your two’s expense. This incident will fuel Gojou for the next two weeks as he uses it to goad Suguru into a fight or call him out if he was being a bit to promiscuous at the café.
You press your fingers to your lips, the ghost of a smile on them as you remember the taste of Suguru’s on them. You feel warm and soft inside with the memory of him stored safely inside.
He tastes like strawberries.
↠ seokjin x jimin | smut | pornstar!au, 1970s!au | 21+ | 4k
↠ Summary: “H-hello, I'd like to order a pizza please, with extra sausage. Mmmm I do enjoy a good ol' sausage." Jimin’s voice soft and seductive. He placed the phone on the ground and began to grind down on the mattress, head thrown back in ecstasy while his fingers twisted the nipples that peaked out of the top of his bustier. Seokjin was getting hard watching the scene unfold in front of him. . .
“Superstar Glow is a brilliant new porn film. Fantastic debut by actor Kim Seokjin. It simply is the best film of 1975.” - Jeon Jungkook, Playguy Magazine.
(Aka Seokjin films his very first Porno)
↠ Warnings: anal sex, anal fingering, anal fisting, blowjobs, swearing, drug use, come shot, come eating, seokjin has a huge cock, porn films, terrible pizza related pick up lines, jimin in lingerie, 70s slang, drinking, casual mention of cheating, filming a porn video.
Seokjin confidently strode into the warehouse. It smelled strongly of cigarette smoke mixed with patchoulli incense which tickled his throat when he breathed in. Right in the center of the room was a circular shaped bed sitting on top of a large brown shag mat, partitions surrounded the afghan blanket covered bed which had 3 spotlights shining brightly in it’s direction. A funky bass line and rhythmic drums reverberated around the large room as people walked on by, cigarettes lazily hanging from their mouths as they carried long thick cables wrapped around their arms and bulky cameras perched on their shoulders.
In the far corner of the space sat a dressing table, the mirror lined with bright lights. A small man with thick thighs was currently perched on top of a fur covered stool, brushing his blond hair back gently. He was wearing a black and red lace bustier which brought attention to his muscular chest, garter belt with nude coloured stockings and silky black panties which showed off a rather impressive bulge. He was a very pretty man and Seokjin was pleased to be staring alongside someone so gorgeous.
Today was Seokjin's porno debut. He had been scouted at an adult movie theatre during a late night session of ‘Boys in the Sand’ by a director who happened to be sitting in the same row as him.
As with all adult theaters once the movie started, the dicks came out and his large size had garnered the attention of the man a few seats away. Seokjin was naturally skeptical, thinking it was a lame pick up line to get him back to his apartment to fuck. But when the man handed over a very professional business card and told him to "think about it" Seokjin realised the offer was legit.
Seokjin's watched the director Yoongi and his fantastic bushy chevron mustache adjusting the lighting on the set and walked over to say Hi. He was an quite the character, he wore a burnt orange turtleneck jumper underneath a brown, orange and pale yellow checkered leisure suit, his jet black hair was pushed off his face which allowed you to focus on his beautiful feline shaped eyes and strong eyebrows. A thick gold chain draped around his neck and several clunky (fake) gold rings sat on his fingers. His voice was deep, barking orders at the crew to get everything ready in time. He was also a short man, which would explain the very high brown and cream platform shoes he was wearing. Seokjin's ankles hurt just looking at them.
"Uh hey, what's crackin'." He asked once he had reached the man, holding out his hand for a handshake.
"Ahhh the star of today's shoot." A large hand shot out and slapped against Seokjin's, pulling him in for a hug. "How are you feeling today? Nervous? We have some cocaine if you wanna take a bump, loosen yourself up a bit? One of the guys can take you out back and suck your dick if that will help?" The man turned back to adjusting the light, mumbling about how you can't trust dope heads to get anything done right.
"Oh no, that won't be necessary. Once I'm in front of the camera I'll be groovy baby." His eyes continued to dart around the room taking everything in.
"Have you met your co-star yet?" Yoongi asked over his shoulder. "The cute little blond in the lingerie. He may look delicate and sweet, but he's a huge whore. Loves being stuffed with big cocks. Ah fuck yeah, that's perfect!" Satisfied with the lighting set up he turned his attention back to Seokjin dusting his hands on his polyester trousers. "Though, I've never had a cock as big as yours on my set, so this will be interesting."
Seokjin blushed at hearing this, he was truly blessed by the Penis Gods when it came to his manhood. Twelve inches of thick, tan cock. Even the vein that ran up the underside looked as though it was designed by a specialist penis sculptor. Yoongi had told him the night they met that his cock was made for pornography and it was a shame he wasn't showing the world his gifts.
The blond must have sensed he was being spoken about and made his way over to where Seokjin stood, swaying his hips deliberately with every step. He was a beautiful sight, a sharp straight nose that complimented his angled jawline, sultry monolids dusted with a shimmering brown eyeshadow, and a full, sumptuous pout that screamed "blow job lips"Seokjin licked his lips as he watched the way the mans long legs moved in the soft, silky stockings that enclosed his smooth legs.
"Yoongi, is this the Jive Turkey I'm filming with today?" The man cocked a hand on his hip, eyes roaming over Seokjin's body.
"Hey! I ain't no Jive Turkey, what the fuck?" Seokjin exclaimed, shocked that for the first time in his life he'd been insulted in such a way.
"Jimin mellow out huh? This is Seokjin, yes he is filming with you today, I hope they prepped you well earlier 'cause this man is gonna be a star baby!" Yoongi wrapped his arm around Seokjin's wide shoulders squeezing tight, "The biggest cock I've ever seen! He's gonna have you squealing like a little bitch, you're gonna love it."
"I was only joshin' you know me. I'm Jimin by the way." The blond made no attempt at a handshake, instead looking off seemingly disinterested in the conversation.
"See that door on your right? Head in there to get your threads for the shoot and when you're done get back here and we'll start, we're ready when you are." Yoongi clapped his hand against Seokjin's shoulder before letting go.
Once inside the small room he stripped off and dressed in the clothes that were hanging on the clothes rack. Crisp white trousers that fit like a glove, letting everyone see just what he was packing down below and a matching shirt that he made sure to leave partially unbuttoned. His hand brushed over the jewelry selection, deciding on a thin silver chain and matching ring. He looked at himself in the mirror and winked. He looked fantastic and he was truly feeling himself. He also couldn't wait to get out there and choke that sassy little twunk with his cock. The thought of his pink plush lips struggling to stretch around his girth had Seokjin twitching in his pants.
Once back on set the mood had changed, the loud stereo system had been turned off and the crew were in place ready to start filming. Jimin was sprawled out on the bed, hand lazily palming the bulge through his panties while he and Yoongi spoke in hushed tones.
"Seokjin! You look bitchin', that outfit is great. What's underneath is even better, oh Jiminie you are in for a treat," Yoongi clapped his hands gleefully, "Alright here's the skinny, Jimin is a horny slut who has ordered a pizza, Seokjin you are the pizza delivery guy. You come in and fuck his brains out. You both got it? It's porn, not rocket science. Think with your dicks not your brains. Can you dig it?"
"Right on." Seokjin nodded, walking to the prop table to pick up the pizza box before standing on the x marked with duct tape on the ground, just out of the way of the cameras. He unzipped his trousers and pushed his semi hard cock through the hole on the bottom of the pizza box. The only thing Jimin would be putting in his mouth today would be his cock. The loud wurring of the camera let everyone know that tape was rolling and it was showtime.
Yoongi slowly moved the camera towards the bed as Jimin's soft moans filled the room, his small fingers tracing up and down his stocking clad legs. Jimin picked up the prop phone pretending to dial a number.
"H-hello, I'd like to order a pizza please, with extra sausage. Mmmm I do enjoy a good ol' sausage." His voice soft and seductive. He placed the phone on the ground and began to grind down on the mattress, head thrown back in ecstasy while his fingers twisted the nipples that peaked out of the top of his bustier. Seokjin was getting hard watching the scene unfold in front of him. He really wanted his dick sucked immediately, but took a deep breath to calm himself down. Yoongi pulled the camera back and motioned towards Seokjin. One of the sound crew knocked against a piece of wood to replicate a door being knocked on and he quickly stood straight ready to make his grand entrance.
"Oh." Jimin crawled across the bed and skipped to near where Seokjin stood. One of the camera men, a tall man that went by the name Namjoon followed Jimin and stood directly in front of him, camera lowering to shoot a close up of his cock trapped behind the silk fabric, then making it's way to his face again. "Come on in." Jimin pursed his plump lips, before returning to the bed to sit, legs daintly crossed over one another. "Are you the pizza man? Because you sure look like you could deliver." He purred, stroking his length over the silk.
Seokjin walked into the shot, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He wasn't nervous before, but once he was under the heat of the lights, camera zooming in on his handsome face, well he was starting to feel like maybe he had fucked up on coming here today. Seconds ticked on by before he gained his composure, "Are you craving pizza? Because I'll gladly give you a pizz-a this dick." He pulled the top of the pizza box open, cock springing to life. Jimin's eyes nearly bulged out of his head which made Seokjin smirk.
He moved to stand in front of Jimin who was still sitting on the bed, using his free hand to run his fingers through the blonds perfectly styled hair.
"You're the only topping I need on my pizza." Jimin whispered loud enough for the sound boom to pick up, smooth as butter he dropped down onto his knees and took Seokjin into his hand, small fingers struggling to wrap around his thickness. He pumped Seokjin a few times before taking him into his wet hot mouth. Seokjin let out a gasp, he was surprised, he really thought the smaller man would struggle to suck his cock, but as he looked down he saw a blond head bop up and down expertly on his length.
Seokjin grabbed a fist full of bottle blond hair and moved his hips, shallow and slow to begin with then a little faster and harder, allowing his cock to slip further down Jimin's throat. The man hummed around his length, spit drooling down the sides of his mouth as he took Seokjin nearly to the base. Seokjin groaned at the feeling of Jimin's throat constricting tight around his cock. The sounds of crew footsteps and the glare of the hot lights above fading into the background as he lost himself to the pleasure of Jimin's mouth.
"Look at you, what a good boy you are, throat so full of my cock." He tightened his grip on Jimin's hair, "So pretty."
Tears ran down Jimin's cheeks, mixing into the spit that was dripping down his chin and neck. He pulled his cock free and slammed it back in without warning, fucking Jimin's pretty mouth with vigor. The camera men had moved closer to the action, a camera focused on Seokjin's cock while another filmed his reactions, the way his eyebrows furrowed whenever he felt himself getting close to his release and the quiet whimpers when he locked eyes with the man below him.
"Your mouth is too good at this pretty boy, I'm about to come." He groaned between gritted teeth, hips stilling as his hot release spilled down Jimin's throat. The blond swallowed Seokjin's load like the professional he was, falling back onto his ass, absolutely exhausted once he was done.
"Aaannd CUT!" Yoongi yelled from behind his camera, he pulled a joint from his pants pocket and motioned for one of the crew to light it for him. He took a big toke, holding the smoke in before exhaling. "Right on, right on. That was good. Shit, Jimin you are freaky deaky. Damn! This might just be my most successful film to date." He took another deep drag of the good Mary Jane and pointed at Seokjin, "Go have a drink, there is whiskey and beer on the table, or water if you're a square. If you think you'll have trouble getting hard again go and ask Hoseok for a little blue pill, that'll help. He's the jelly brain over there in the red shirt and fake Gucci belt."
Seokjin slowly removed his cock from the pizza box and threw it to the side as someone from wardrobe dashed over and cleaned him up with a warm hand towel. He tucked himself back into his pants and strolled over to the drinks table, deciding on a bottle of Rheingold beer, he nursed the red and white labelled bottle as he watched the crew change the film in the cameras. The tight knit all male crew made lewd remarks and joked around, while Yoongi the director sat in his chair getting stoned.
"How are you enjoying your first shoot?" Jimin asked, face no longer a tear stained mess.
"It's pretty rad, not quite what I expected but it's all gravy." He replied taking another sip of the yeasty and fruit flavoured liquid.
"Yoongi was right, your cock is magnificent. I can't wait for you to fuck my ass. Don't be gentle, I like a bit of pain." The sweet voice next to him explained.
Seokjin nearly choked on his drink, everyone here was so open and had absolutely no filter.
"No fake?" He turned to ask the man.
"No fake handsome. They prepped me so well earlier you could probably fist me if you wanted. Don't want to scare you off on your first day though." He laughed, hand shooting up to cover his plump lips.
"I-I'll keep that in mind, thanks."
Jimin and Seokjin strolled back onto set once the film had been changed and Yoongi returned from taking a piss. Now it was time for the fucking. Seokjin took a deep breath and looked down at his crotch, "Make me proud big boy." He whispered.
"Alright places people, let's get this thing done so I can go home and fuck my girlfriend before my bitch of a wife gets back from work." Yoongi called out, shifting to sit behind his Ikegami 3-tube colour camera.
Seokjin made his way over to Jimin, who was standing in front of the bed. He gave the smaller man a shy smile before turning his head towards Yoongi waiting for the signal to begin.
"3, 2, 1 Now Fuck!"
"I know this is pretty cheesy, but I think you're saucy." Jimin curled his hand around the lapel of Seokjin's shirt, pulling him so close he could smell the star anise and blackcurrent hints of his cologne. Seokjin leaned down and slowly pressed his pillowy lips against Jimin's, who slightly parted his own when he let out a quiet sigh. Seokjin flicked his tongue against the soft fullness of Jimin's pink tinged lips and deepened the embrace, tongue meeting with the other as he placed his big hands on either side of the mans soft face, tilting his head upwards for easier access.
He nipped at Jimin's bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. He dived back in, kiss messy and wet, their mouths wide open so the camera could film their tongues flicking against one another's. Seokjin nudged Jimin backwards towards the bed and helped lower him down onto the firm mattress, caging his lingerie clad body with his own. He rocked his already hard cock against Jimin, grinding hard against the silk, desperate to feel some friction. They continued to messily make out until Yoongi called out "Cut!"
Seokjin concentrated on getting his breathing under control. He was already so hard again and it was beginning to hurt. The man Yoongi had earlier identified as Hoseok came over and handed Seokjin a bottle of KY Jelly, "He's been prepped, but lube up anyway, we don't film that pain shit some people are into. Finger him a few times, slowly so they can get some close ups, then fuck him like you've never fucked before. Come wherever you like, just make sure to let us know so they can get in close and film it."
Jimin was on his hands and knees, silk panties long gone, as he spread his cheeks wide for Seokjin. His hole was stretched open, pink and glistening. Seokjin coated his fingers in the clear liquid and crawled behind the blond.
"Alright, no stopping this time. Let's get this cumshot in one go. Action!" Yoongi murmured, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
Seokjin brought two fingers to Jimin's entrance and remembering Hoseok's words, slowly pushed in until he was knuckle deep. He pulled his fingers out, before pushing back in enjoying the sound of soft moans underneath him. Seokjin took his time to add another, and another, making sure to press down on Jimin's sensitive spot when he withdrew his fingers with each thrust. He watched in awe as Jimin's hole stretched perfectly around his knobbly fingers, clenching and fluttering due to his touch. He pulled out gently, coating his entire hand with more lubricant before lining up once more, tucking his thumb into the palm of his hand and steadily worked his entire fist into the blonds ass.
Jimin let out a long whine, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "Jimin don't do that, let it all out." Yoongi yelled unimpressed at his attempts to quiet himself.
Seokjin couldn't believe his eyes as he pushed in further, his whole hand disappearing inside Jimin's ass. He nearly came right then and there. He moved his hand shallowly inside Jimin's warm hole, cock throbbing as Jimin's pants and whimpers filled the room.
"Fuck, you are amazing." Seokjin choked, enjoying the depravity of performing an act like this on someone. The camera men moved around the studio, positioning themselves awkwardly close to Seokjin to film what would no doubt be the highlight of the film. He looked over his shoulder and asked, "Can I fuck him now?"
"Yes, YES." Smoke puffed out between Yoongi's lips as he replied.
Seokjin withdrew his hand and quickly jumped off the bed to remove his clothes, flinging his trousers off to the side. Using the hand still coated in lubricant, he jerked himself off a few times coating his length in the sticky cool liquid.
"Do you like Pizza Hut pretty boy? Because I want to stuff your crust." He looked at the camera and raised his eyebrow before he slipped his thick cock into Jimin's gaping hole, balls snapping against the blonds supple ass when he bottomed out. His hole was surprisingly still tight and Seokjin couldn't help but let out a filthy groan.
"O-oh your cock is so big, it feels soooo good. Keep fucking my ass just like that." Jimin cried out mouth hanging open as he pushed back onto Seokjin's length. Seokjin slammed his cock back in again and Jimin fell face forward into the pillows due to the force. He spread Jimin's ass cheeks with his hands, watching as his massive cock stretched out the man below him. His grip was tight on the soft skin of Jimin's hips, leaving marks that would bruise by the evening. He leaned himself over the smaller mans body, chest pressed against his muscular back and rammed into him. They were both a whining, moaning mess, his cock brushing up against Jimin's prostate with every thrust. Seokjin placed his head against Jimin's shoulders, sweat making their skin stick to one another. He reached between his legs and took Jimin's cock into his hand and pumped him in time with his own thrusts.
"I'm gonna come soon, how far away are you?" He whispered into Jimin's ear, voice barely picked up by the sound boom. "Mmm keep doing that with your hand and I'll be coming pretty soon too, shit."
Seokjin faced the camera and seductively licked his lips, a hungry noise escaping his throat. The camera crew changed positions making sure to capture all the action from different angles. Namjoon climbed onto the bed, legs planted on either side of Seokjin as he filmed from above.
"Oh-oh shit, I'm gonna come." Jimin cried into the pillows, cock throbbing as his release spurted out onto the mattress underneath him. His hole squeezed around Seokjin's cock, so he picked up the pace and fucked his ass fast, desperate to reach his orgasm too. Jimin was becoming overstimulated, squirming his body under Seokjin's firm grip. He held on tight, thrusting so deep Jimin was seeing stars. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed in his ears triggering him to squeeze his eyes shut as he focused on reaching his high. The tell tale sign of his approaching orgasm began, tingling starting in his crotch and slowly spreading out to his arms and legs.
Seokjin managed to pull out just as he came, hot cum landing all over Jimin's soft ass cheeks, slowly dripping down onto the back of his thighs. The camera moved in close focusing on Jimin's stretched hole and his cum covered ass, Seokjin leaned down into the shot and dragged his tongue over the smooth skin of Jimin's perky rear and began cleaning up his mess. He hummed as he licked away his salty release, eyes focused on the blinking light of the camera, corner of his mouth turning up into a small smirk.
"CUT! That was great you dirty whores! All right, let's get this set cleaned and get the fuck out of here." Yoongi passed his camera to his assistant and walked over to Seokjin, he pulled out an envelope and handed it over, "Here's ya mulah for the day. If you want more of that let me know and I'll book you in for another film. I think this one is going to do really well. Pretty face, huge cock, how could it not?"
Seokjin jogged back to the small room to get changed, he could shower at home, adrenaline was coursing through his body right now and he was excited to catch up with his closest friends and tell them about his amazing experience. Once he was back to looking like normal everyday Seokjin and not burgeoning Porn star Seokjin he made his way around the room, saying thanks to all the staff, especially Jimin who had given him a sweet kiss on the cheek.
Seokjin reached the exit pausing to take a look back at the porn set. He smiled as he watched crew dissemble lights and pack away furniture and props. Yoongi had said he could do this again, an offer he would take up for sure. Working at the local grocers didn't have as much appeal as having sweet, tight assholes begging for his cock, maybe this was the start of a new career for Seokjin? He pushed his sunglasses up onto his nose and stepped out into the bright summers day, he entered the building a porn actor virgin and left with that superstar glow, he was a (porn) star in the making.
Also 13 Drive-in-Theater with Jude?
Always a pleasure doing business with you @holacherrycola90 my dear xx
Prompt: 13. Drive-In Theatre (from the May Prompts List – still accepting)
Pairing: Jude (Hungry Hearts) x Dove
Warnings: semi-public and rough fingering because fuck yes, but you’ll have to suffer through some fluff first, plus saying ‘no’ to Jude but make it different
It’s so so rare, and precious, to have nights like this: with just the two of you. It seems like years—because it’s been years—since you and Jude had time to relax and enjoy each other’s company one-on-one. Even then, with Jack so young, and Jude having so recently emigrated, date nights were always a little different than you’d been used to. But you’d known early on that Jude was worth it.
“Do you want some of these in your popcorn?” Jude offers you a party-size bag of Maltesers that he’d torn open eagerly, and your brow furrows in disgust.
“That’s gross, bub.”
Jude makes a noise, half-way between a scoff and a laugh. “Sweet and savoury, dove—can’t be beat.”
You roll your eyes.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
The young person behind the counter returns with two large soft drinks and paper straws, and as you hand over your card to pay for it all, you spy Jude smiling in your periphery, shaking the bag of malt-choc treats over his bucket of popcorn.
His eyes and cheeks crinkle and dimple, the tip of his tongue cheekily pushing into one of his canine teeth.
“Disgusting,” you mutter quietly, just for Jude to hear and he huffs a laugh, smiling into the crunchy, salty mess of confectionery he’s made.
Your breath mists in the air as you walk back to the car. Out here, away from all the lights and noise of the city, the sky is an inky blue-black pool above you, vast and limitless and full of the secrets of the night. You and Jude graze elbows as you walk side by side, gravel crunching under your feet, weaving through the maze of parked vehicles arrayed in concentric semi-circles before a larger-than-life projector screen.
Sitting inside your smaller, city-safe car—and getting comfy in the passenger seat—Jude says, “Run the car for a few minutes, dove? Get the heater going, too. Cold as balls in here.”
“You got it, boss,” you chime, twisting the key in the ignition to turn the car on and run the battery for a bit.
The massive screen in front flickers to life with images and sound, lighting up the wide-open space and bathing the field of cars in blue-white light. With your radio tuned to the drive-in’s station, voices and music filters through your car speakers.
“Hey,” Jude mumbles, finishing off the crunchy chewing of his combination mouthful of popcorn and Maltesers. He briefly sucks the salty sweetness from his thumb and forefinger and wraps his hand around the back of your palm.
You glance at his hold, his hand so large, enveloping yours in so much warmth. “Yeah?” you murmur, your eyes flitting up to meet his gaze.
Jude’s carob-sweet eyes soften. He squeezes your hand and adoringly he says, “I love you.”
The air is thick with the deep-seated kind of affection brought on by many years’ intimate knowledge of each other and two children’s worth of love and companionship. You smile into Jude’s eyes, and lift your hand to pull the back of his palm to your lips.
“’n you like me?” you murmur onto his skin.
Jude’s smile broadens. “Yes, dove,” he murmurs fondly, relishing the warmth of your breath as you exhale over his hand. “I love you and I like you.”
Moonbeams shine in his eyes. You smile through the small kisses you press to the back of Jude’s palm, gazing at his deep brown eyes, rich and dark from night and closeness to you. “Me too,” you mumble, your voice thick with feeling, choked with devotion.
You release Jude’s hand and as he draws it back, keen to settle in for the flick gearing up to play after the opening credits, he sees something that changes everything.
Changes his whole damn plan for this evening with you.
The cool, pale light of the moon catches on it, makes it shine and makes the tiny flecks in it glimmer. It reflects the light, the blended mystical gleam from the backlit projector screen and the radiant white orb in the sky.
Jude clears his throat, as he stares at the small smears of your lipgloss that transferred onto the back of his hand when you kissed him delicately.
It’s one of those things—one of those natural, ‘over time’ adjustments. Where once it was red and plum and flicked eyeliner, it’s now a swipe of pink and a couple lashings of mascara. But there’s something about it… something about how familiar and rushed this effort of yours is… that makes his gut clench.
He stirs when he realises what it is.
Motherhood—with all its chaos and fatigue and mess and busy-ness—looks so God damned good on you.
“You sure you don’t want some of this?” Jude murmurs, voice getting thick and dick growing thicker.
“Nuh-uh,” you hum, making a quick glance at his popcorn bucket before looking back at the screen. “All yours, boss.”
“No? You sure?”
“Certain,” you nod, popping some kernels from your own bucket into your mouth. “Absolutely not.”
“You haven’t even tried it.”
Jude’s looking at you now, you can feel his eyes on your profile. You keep your gaze fixed on the screen, trying to make sense of the minute of exposition you’ve missed.
You say, “Watch the movie, Jude.”
“Just taste it.”
Slowly, you turn your head to face him, sliding your gaze from the projected film. You look at him sceptically, expectantly, trying to figure his intentions—intentions that are typically nefarious.
When you don’t say anything, Jude offers his hand to you, and with a deep dark voice he says, “Lick my fingers.”
Your head tilts as you scrutinise him, your eyes narrowing as you gauge whether this is a joke. “You w—”
“Don’t tell me you don’t like it until you taste it.”
It’s perverse, the wicked sense of want that rises in you, coiling deep in your core. You pretend at putting up a fight. “There’s people—”
“It’s dark,” Jude shrugs. “No one will see.”
His eyes bore into you, mining for weaknesses in both your decency and your dignity.
“Just one lick,” you say, voice soft and smooth.
“Fine,” Jude’s eyes narrow so subtly, so dismissively as he shrugs this off too.
You lean towards him and run your tongue quickly over the pad of his thumb. Conflicting flavours assault your palette, but that one single second was enough to charge the air around your warm, beating bodies with a shocking pulse of need.
“You sure, just one?” Jude mumbles, his voice heavy. The first drops had been like red food colouring dripped into water but now, his desire for you floods him, and the deluge builds so thick and fast it coats the walls of every vein and artery.
Fills his cock stiff, to a complete and aching hardness.
“Dove,” he croaks, “just one?”
“No,” you breathe, and wrap your mouth around his forefinger.
Jude’s nose flares wide as you loll your tongue around his fingertip, grazing the pad with your tastebuds. The touch is such a small, intimate, indelicate, indecent thing… he wonders how many of his fat fingers you can fit in that talented mouth.
As he feels you pulling off his second digit, Jude murmurs, “’f you want more where that came from,” he swallows as your mouth leaves him, “we could make out.” Suddenly there’s nothing as pressing as the urgent need to lick your teeth and shove his tongue so far down your throat you gag on it.
Lick your lips, too. Lick that pink shimmering sticky stuff right off them and swallow it.
Swallow you, whole.
Your brow lifts, as the last of the salty sweetness dissolves on your tongue. That little stunt was hand-waveable, easily dismissed. But for anything more, there’s cars all around you, full of couples: the place is packed with people. “What do you think this is, ‘Grease’?” you scoff a laugh, only half-mirthful. “Are we seventeen, Judie?” He can’t be serious. You know he can’t be implying what he’s implying.
And yet… the look in his eyes—
“You know what?” Jude says.
“I think you’ve objected to me enough for one night.” He sets his popcorn down on the floor of the car. “Don’t you, dove?”
Before you can say anything more Jude cups your face and kisses your lips with crushing force. He devours your mouth desperately, licking your tongue and smacking his lips against yours with all the elegance of a loose shutter banging against vinyl siding in gale force winds—insistent, and careless.
Gone is the game; the façade having crumbled. There is only untamed, unrestrained need on Jude’s tongue now.
“Uhnfh,” he grunts your name breathily as one hand slides down your neck to your breast, groping through your sweater with rough, impatient fistfuls of your pliant flesh.
Heat pools in your warm, wet centre. On instinct you widen your knees, the seam of your jeans pressing and pulling taut at the denim and cotton that clothe your most private, sensitive parts.
“That’s it, dove,” Jude mumbles, planting raging, searing, liquid kisses all over the side of your neck. “Get hot for me,” he mutters, slipping his palm up under your sweater to palm and paw your tit through your bra. “Mmhh,” he groans when he feels your budded nipple through the fabric, “get wet.”
“There’s probably cameras,” you complain, breathy and heavy with flaring arousal. “What if they get our l-licence plate?”
Jude pinches at your nipple.
“They could report us—hmmfh—send us a fine.”
Jude works his way up towards your ear with husky kisses. “You fight me too much,” he grumbles onto your lobe, before his hand darts down to the closures on your jeans. “I gave you one job, dove.” He loosens the button and tugs down the zipper. “Show me you can do it,” he murmurs, and forces his hand into your panties.
But it’s not his hand with the smeared gloss or remnants of saliva where you’d licked off buttery salt and melted chocolate—that one’s cradling the base of your skull.
No, this is the hand with the ring finger where his wedding band lives, and it’s that digit, alongside his long fat middle finger, that he pushes up into you with a determined shove.
Your mouth drops open on a deep gasp, surprise and pleasure mingling with a sharpness: a sting. The shock of the fullness startles you, and your muscles—not as slippery slick as they need to be—tense against the stretch.
You gasp his name, delighting in the decadent thrill of the pain.
“Uhngh,” Jude grunts into your ear, a primal kind of pleasure taking root in the stem of his brain, “tiny little dove. You’re so fucking tight like this.”
You suck a breath through your teeth, arching back against the car seat to grant Jude admission deeper into your part-way aroused cunt.
Jude feels his pulse beating in his fingers. He revels in the constricting wrap of your pussy walls around his digits, and ever so slightly he rocks them, permitting your slowly slickening pussy some friction. He nuzzles into your ear, presses his nose into your hair and growls with hot breath, “Does that hurt?”
“Jude,” you hiss, stinging stretch sending flames rippling through your nerves.
“Don’t get too loose,” he murmurs. He pulls gently at your clit with his thumb and forefinger—hands so big his fingers reach every part of you with ease. “Want you this tight for me later.” He keeps pulling, starts to flick at your protruding pearl. “Want to break you open on my cock.”
You shudder and jerk as Jude tweaks your body to his will. Kernels of yellow popcorn jostle against each other before spilling over the side of your bucket and landing noiselessly on the floor of the car.
Your pussy only just starts to accommodate him, lubing his fingers with the first waves of your slick, when Jude says, “You know what to say, if you really want me to stop.”
Pleasure creeps up—your body almost shy of it. Your nipples, teased stiff, rub up against the lace of your bra with your every heaved breath and panted sigh.
“Say it. Go on, dove. Say it. You know the words.”
Jude starts to pump your pussy, plunging into your molten depths with lewd squishing sucks. He drills upwards with authority, with certainty, dragging the pads of his middle and ring fingers down over your front wall and the interior bundle of nerves that hides there.
“Won’t, will you? Can’t do it.”
You bite off your words into small, quiet, meaningless stammers and whines. Even if you wanted him to stop—which, Lord above, you don’t—you wouldn’t be able to trust your voice to deliver the message.
Jude knows all of this.
“Nah, feels too good to get finger-fucked by your husband at the drive-in.”
Your body betrays you as a fresh wave of cum—slippery, igneous—coats Jude’s fingers. Your clit, proud and swelled for more of his attentive devotions, sends flares of pleasure up your spine with every nudge of his thumb.
“You know, you don’t make me say this all that often, but…” Jude trails off as he starts to rub rings into your clit with the broad, flat pad of his thumb, pausing his words so that the only thing your mind focuses on is every sensuous second of that first glorious circle, “…you’re a bad, bad girl, little dove.”
The sound leaves you before you can hold it back—“Ohh!”—and you grab hold of Jude’s jostling forearm, clutching tight. The grind of his thumb and the plunge of his fingers flutters your insides, trips your pleasure skyward.
“You let me shunt my fingers into your pussy and you weren’t anywhere near ready.”
His words flip and lift your core, pulling it taut and tight. You gasp his name, rasping and haggard, hypnotised as Jude’s roaming thumb traces circles over your swollen bud.
Release—your orgasm—rises in your gut like bright morning sun in clear blue sky, and you cry out in thanks, in prayer for it.
“Now you’re moaning and we’re not even at home, in bed.” Jude drops his voice and murmurs directly into your ear, “Mother of my children and you’re still so dirty, dove.”
He keeps pumping, pushing, orbiting, encircling. The windshield is fogged, you’re panting, it’s getting too hot steaming sweltering in here and—
“—God I’m gonna cum.”
Your voice comes in a breathless gasp and Jude devours it.
“Oh yeah,” he growls lowly, his gaze trained on your screwed shut eyes, your pinched tight face, “can fucking feel it, dove.” You’ve got an iron grip on his forearm and he loves it—it’s almost as tight as your walls on his two thick digits.
“Squeeze my fingers with that cunt,” he says. “Cum.”
You burst with a strangled moan, trying to shorten and stifle it. You squeeze your thighs closed, clamping Jude’s hand inside your jeans, as you roll and rock your hips through the clenching and shaking and quivering high.
Jude watches you through it all, and hopes that this little adventure has already converted itself into a long-term memory. When you finally stop, reduced to a panting, sweaty mess, he extricates himself from your body gently.
“Can you drive?” Jude says, somewhat breathless himself.
“Not yet,” you pant, crown of your head tipped back against the head rest as you brush back sweat-laced strands of hair. “In a minute, bub.”
Jude shakes his head. “Zip up your jeans and let’s swap.” He looks down at his glossy, cum-slick fingers, then back to you. “I’m taking you home.”
Like That - Weecest Fic
My fic for the @wincestreversebang inspired by the awesome art of @alexiescherryslurpy�� - See the art HERE or on AO3
Rated E, underage
Fic and art on AO3
Dean was propped against the wall in the shade under the tattered awning in front of the office. Heat rolled off the cracked concrete of the parking lot, but at least the Wyoming wind blew dry and gritty during the hottest part of the afternoon. The motel was quiet. It was a weekday afternoon, people were either gone or lying low from the August weather. Technically Dean was watching the desk for Kelly Ann while she fed the baby. She would make him and Sam dinner in exchange, in the little manager’s apartment behind the office. Dean had managed to get a job at Gillette’s single, run-down movie theater but stale popcorn was less useful to bring home than leftover gas station hotdogs.
At the end of the breezeway, Mrs. Lawson, who was living in room 115 since her husband was “a real piece of work when he drinks,” was hanging washing on a portable drying rack in the sun. Dean made a mental note to ask her for some laundry detergent. He and Sam were down to their last clean pair of socks between them, and the less said about their underwear, the better.
Cars roared by on I-90, a constant, distant rumble - tourists headed toward Yellowstone, or Bighorn, or Sundance. Gillette was too close to the parks to stop, and too far from everything else. Most importantly it was far enough from whatever top secret hunt Dad was on that he’d felt comfortable ditching them, but a day’s drive to Bobby’s “if something happens.” Dean wasn’t sure what would have to happen to make Bobby welcome them back, after the last fight he and dad’d had, but he’d just said “yessir.”
School would be starting for Sam in a month, but that was a long way away. They’d be somewhere else by then. They’d already been in Gillette for three weeks, which was a week longer than Dad’s usual hunt timeline, but they’d gotten a voicemail from him a couple of days ago, so at least he was alive.
Across the parking lot a door slammed and the lanky figure of Dean’s brother loped toward him, shimmering with heat haze, bare feet shoved into his battered sneakers. His hair was long enough that it was curling at the ends, fluffing out untidily around his head. He hadn’t reached Dean when another door opened and Sam was intercepted.
“Hi, Sam.” Delaney Davis was about Sam’s age, blonde, pretty enough for a fifteen year old, and always stank of her stepdad’s dope.
“Hey.” Dean could hear them over the highway noise.
“Whachya doing?” As far as Dean could tell, in a short but storied life of living out of hotels, Delaney was doing a good job keeping her head above water for a teenager whose parents were definitely dealing heroin. She’d be a decent fuck and a better friend, if Sam could pull his foot out of his mouth for five minutes.
“Not much. I was just reading.”
Delaney fiddled with the end of her ponytail. “Some friends and I are going swimming at the lake this weekend. Saturday. Do you want to come?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Sam shuffled his feet. “Can Dean come?” Dean dropped his head back against the cinder block wall.
“Sure,” Delaney said, and laughed.
Later, alone with Sam in the dingy, musty-smelling office, Dean said, “Sam when a girl asks you on a date, you don’t ask if you can invite your brother along.”
Sam made a face. “It wasn’t a date. Her friends will be there. And you and I were going to watch that new Zorro movie Saturday. I didn’t want to ditch you.”
A thrum of affection for his baby brother pulsed through Dean’s chest. Sam’s teenage moodiness seemed to be getting worse, not better, but sometimes he’d turn so sweet and earnest Dean got whiplash.
Slinging an arm around Sam’s neck, Dean wrestled him into a headlock, ignoring the fact that he might not be able to for much longer. Sam had grown, offensively, an inch and a half taller than Dean this year, but he was still beanpole skinny, and Dean managed to pin him between his armpit and the counter. The bell chimed gently as Sam’s flailing elbow hit it. “We can watch Zorro any night, it’s running for another week.” He scuffed his knuckles through Sam’s silky-soft hair. “Let’s go get wet with some girls instead.”
“It’s not like that,” Sam said, muffled into his armpit.
“Sam, Sam, Sam.” Dean patted his head. “When a girl asks you to go night swimming, it’s always like that.”
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You’re Different Backstage
Title: You’re Different Backstage
Rating: Explicit (NSFW)
Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld
Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance
Character(s): Balan, Lance
A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them.
However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.
Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.
Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness.
No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while.
They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.
Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment.
Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead.
His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.
“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light.
Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it.
Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place.
“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.
“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking.
He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his.
Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away.
“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed.
Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him.
“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight.
Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.
Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again.
“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying.
“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.
Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively.
“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”
The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings.
Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.
“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan.
“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.
“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.
“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.
“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated.
His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.
He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up.
Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely.
“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get.
His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat.
The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded.
The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.
It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows.
Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.
The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.
Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils.
He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr.
The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.
“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.
“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings.
“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties.
Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for.
The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste.
In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down.
They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.
Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy.
Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold. He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.
“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue.
Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets.
“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity.
Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis.
“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm.
Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again.
“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face.
An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard.
“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case.
“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low.
“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all.
Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”
“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused.
“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”
Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming.
“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.”
“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.
“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion.
“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now.
“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise.
“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss.
Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock.
Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough.
“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms.
Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers.
He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.
“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth.
He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen.
“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed.
Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue.
The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face.
“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry.
“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside.
Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.
They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.
The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.
“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything.
Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.
“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance.
“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much.
Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did.
“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation.
“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap.
Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists.
“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more.
Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery.
They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy.
Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him.
The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind.
“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.
“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily.
It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts.
They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot.
The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous.
Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them.
“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before.
“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.
Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?
“You want to go again?”
“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead.
Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain.
“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati.
“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.
Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.
‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’
‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’
‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’
‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.
The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.
The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.
The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.
They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to.
In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him.
The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often.
A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see.
“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest.
“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax.
“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage.
Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl.
“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms.
When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations.
The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times.
“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters.
Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately.
“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish.
“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts.
Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable.
He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax.
When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream.
Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.
“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm.
“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets.
He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely.
The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.
As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved.
For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose.
“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”
Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love.
“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.
Teen Wolf Character Scents
Okay this might sound weird, but I’ve been reading a lot of Teen Wolf fic lately and it always puts a heavy emphasis on what the character smells like. Because...werewolf senses and everyone has a natural scent. I personally love this so here are my headcanons for what each characters natural scent would be!!!!!
(I give reasons for why I went with those things but some of the reasons themselves are headcanons, and some just came to me and have no reason at all besides that fact that i love it that way)
So background info: I headcanon some scents are from birth, while some are added/change based on experiences, temperament and emotions. You have your own scent and it does its own thing, even when you’re human. Humans cant smell them since they aren’t necessarily real, they are more a smell supernaturals pick up that’s a cryptic reflection of ones personality.
Stiles: Gotta start with the main boi!!!! He smells like spicy chili peppers, honey and everything spicy. He is wild and loud and so so sharp. He uses cutting anger and snark and sarcasm as a defense mechanism, this reflects in a scent that burns your nose. But he cares and loves a lot and is super soft, hence the honey. If you focus on his scent too much your eyes water with the chili. When he gets angry he send tears down everyone’s faces and even reddens the cheeks and burns the tongues of the supernatural pack members in his anger, his scent becoming physical as his spark acts up.
Peter: He smells like cold. Like cold, and petrichor and mint toothpaste. He always has. He smells like the cold of ice, the cold you smell when you open a freezer in the cold isle of the grocery store and like Vick’s Vaporub but 10x as strong. As the left hand of the pack it was his job to kill, to eliminate threats, his job to bear all the blood on his hands, to have his hands permanently stained sticky red and his eyes glow blue, so that no one else in the pack has to live with the guilt of murder, even when justified. His first kill was at 8 years old and he would never forgive the fact that he had been given that burden. So he became unmovable ice and unending cold. With the thick smell of rain for the warmth he would always keep hidden.
Theo: His scent is that of fresh, right off the smoker, BBQ sauce-soaked ribs and apple juice. Its a scent he was born with, one that reflects the gooey warmth of his soul and his innocence before he was manipulated and tortured. His scent always throws people off since it usually reflects ones personality and he’s not a good person by any means, he is amoral and cruel; and such a warm, soft scent doesn’t make sense. But his soul (though no longer pure) would always hold his original innocence. The apple juice isn’t actually his scent, but his sisters, her heart such a part of him that his guilt manifested her soul in his scent. And if you focus hard enough, underneath all that you can find the sting of bleach. His time with the dread doctors (and the fact that he was surgically tortured into being a chimera) leaving part of his scent mangled and altered into the artificial tang of bleach. The fact that he forced his scent to remain mostly unchanged throughout his life (which was worse than hell on earth) is Very Very Impressive, even more so when in the beginning he wasn’t even supernatural.
Scott: Our ever-sweet true alpha. He smells like overly sweet pink and blue cotton candy and hot, buttered, movie theater popcorn. He’s literally sugar and spice and everything nice. His morals and warmth translating to the hot popcorn and his perpetual smiling and niceness coming though as cotton candy. He smells like fairgrounds and the laughter of children. Underneath all that he bears the subtle scent of rust, a permanent reminder of his forced change to the supernatural and permanent resentment of the burden he must bear (and the guilt about that resentment)
Derek: He smells of Sandalwood, Patchouli, and Frankincense. He always smells like incense and spices, like the inside of a stereotypical fortune tellers shop. He becomes heat, warmth, and flame. Something that pulls at his soul since the fire. Something that is a comfort to the wolves around him. He also smells heavily of smoke (something that makes Peter unable to be in the same room as him for longer than 30 minutes unless forced) because of his never-ending guilt about his family, something that seared the event into his scent. When he’s angry (which is a lot) his scent gets stronger and the incense smell becomes extremely heady and makes his betas lethargic.
Lydia: She smells like metal, like your hands after handling handfuls of change. She smells like she bathed in pennies, her standoffish coldness bringing the bitter smell to her scent. Since she became a banshee she also smells strongly of spider lilies (also know as hell flowers), japans flower of death. You would think the contrast between bitter metal and floral scents, so strong you choke, would be bad but its actually strangely comforting. And while bitter its the only thing that can get Jackson to relax some days. The scent of the only person there for him for over a decade-and-a-half sometimes even more comforting than the scent of his boyfriend.
Isaac: His scent is of strong cologne even though he never wears any, he smells like he bathed in the Mahogany Teakwood candle from Bath and Body Works, or lived in an Abercrombie & Fitch for 50 years. He always had that smell, even as a child, but it just gets stronger the more confidence he gains. His childhood innocence and cleanliness of soul translates as a strong laundry soap smell. But hidden underneath there's an undertone of metal, plastic, and cold; that takes over his scent when he's scared and overwhelmes everything in a mile radius. It takes the Pack far too long to realize it smells like a freezer and metal chains.
Allison: She smells strongly of ozone and static (not rain though, never rain). Her anger and righteous fury making her scent like electricity and making the static-y-ness tingle in everyone's nose - sometimes making Scott sneeze. Nothing in her scent is pleasant or comforting to everyone's confusion. Its only when she feels negative emotions that she smells like roses and summer. Its like a warning but in reverse, the opposite of what it should be. Bad scents usually mean bad emotions or feelings or memories, and good scents mean good moods and positive things but for her its the opposite. Just like how she took the opposite path then what was laid out for her.
Jackson: He smells very very heavily of cherries, his scent so strong and sweet its like he took a bath in a hot tub filled with cherry cough medicine, chloraseptic cherry sore throat spray, cherry pie, cherry starburst, cherry Jell-O, and maraschino cherries. Its thick and sticky and strong enough to drown out the scent and stick for hours on anyone standing near him or touching him and it lingers on the Pack members even if they haven’t seen each other for years. Case-in-point: Jackson left for England after the kanima thing and Isaac left for France not long after. When Isaac came back 6 years later (2 years after Jackson came back) he still had the smell on him pretty strongly. Why cherries? No one knows. But its thick as hell and stronger than epoxy when it binds to things together forever. The Pack thinks it stems with his identity and abandonment issues, but once he claims you he wont let go, not even his scent. He is very self conscious and embarrassed about it so its never discussed, and he’s been friends with Danny for so long that his scent almost drowns out Danny’s own.
Ethan: Ethan’s scent is subtle and barely there. He was the one who always stood in front of Aiden to protect them, and took the beatings when possible so his scent became as bland and barely-there as possible. The Pack can only smell his scent with intense focus and at least an hours meditation (unless you’re Aiden). He smells of freshly baked bread and homemade jam, comforting smells that easily calm Aiden down. In times of distress he smells of burnt toast, he scent twisting with negative memories. A reminder that all good things have eventually turned bad for him and his twin.
Aiden: Aiden on the other hand smells strongly like curry and lavender. An odd combination but one that speaks of his guarded- but angry, headstrong and stubborn- nature. The abuse left him angry and twitchy and paranoid, everything setting him off and his moods turning on a dime. His scent fluctuated wildly between spicy curry and calming lavender which indicated his mood and Ethan was the only one able to calm him down, doing so with a single touch between his shoulder blades where they merged.
Danny: Danny smells like he lived in a Eucalyptus oil factory for 50 years, the scent soothing and calm like he is. Its always the same and never changes, not even when his emotions do. It was concerning at first, since everyone else’s scents changed throughout the day, even when their mood didn't (the only other scent that barely changed was Peter’s but that was because the man hand an iron grip over his emotions, even in his scent. Which is super impressive). He was just that calm at all times, even when annoyed. The one time he got angry- and I mean really angry not just the pretenses he kept when ‘annoyed’ with Stiles who he more endeared with than anything- his scent overwhelmed the entire apartment complex ( the one Derek had bought out for his loft) with the horrible, strong, pungent scent of burnt rubber. No one angered him again.
But they did have a chat about his witch ancestry.
Erica: Her scent was that of a bonfire. A blazing bonfire, gasoline, and the smell of the world when it was so hot outside the air above the tar street shimmered. She was competitive, and fierce, and pure heat and burning. If she wanted something, she would take it she had always been that way, even when she was sick. And while her sickness may be gone she had a subtle distortion to her scent, one like poison, that made her always smell slightly sick. (Peter almost had a panic attack when he first met her because of her scent, he now never came within 10 feet of her).
Boyd: He smelled like a flower garden. He was so stoic that the floral scent took many by surprise. He had always smelled like soil and dirt, his down to earth personality manifesting as a calming and grounding scent. He also smelled like the ocean, like salt and brine, and waves. But that was all drowned out by the overwhelming smell of flowers, a scent that used to be his sisters, one that he subconsciously adopted after her death when he was still human. He empathized with Theo and would exchange heavy glances when the pack discussed their natural scents as a ‘pack bonding exercise’, they were both drowned in guilt for different reasons, but both over lost sisters. They never discussed it.
That was all folks!!! Feel free to add on to this and/or use it as a fanfic reference!!! Do you agree??? What are your headcanons???
New Year’s Drabble - Lico
Wow SURPRISE AGAIN! Another trashy BSTS drabble I wrote last night xD They just keep popping out of me :’D This is a gift for my friends of the heart and patient listeners of my BSTS crap @pihlajamarmeladi & @ashwing UwU <3 Love you guys
This ficlet was also inspired by the end of the year cleaning song (炎神) event, especially the 2nd chapter was it where you try to help Ran, Lico and Kongou clean the restaurant floor.
I know Koku is my favourite, but I’m also such trash for Lico ;;;; What’s it with me and the trashiest possible guys I swear xDDD
Fandom: Blackstar Theater Starless
Pairing: Lico x fem!reader (established relationship)
Warnings: Probably some OOCness (I’m still trying to grasp the characters x’I)! Cursing, oral sex with a bit of edging and… is this maybe like sex in public?? IDK what warrants a warning these day either….
Word count: 2664
Fic under the cut
Luckily both Lico and Ran seemed to be too busy turning over tables and exclaiming their disgust with what they found beneath them to pay much attention to you. Kongou had already left to help Mizuki and Heath clean the bathrooms. Perfect.
After they had all firmly refused you offer to help with the cleaning you had obediently sat down on a bar stool to act as their motivating charm, but you honestly felt so useless just perched there. Thus, you had crept silently behind the counter while the boys were distracted. Stealthily you had started to wash some of the coffee pots, tea kettles and other stuff hiding behind the counter.
Seriously, the coffee pot was so dark brown and murky from the inside you weren’t sure if it had ever been washed properly. But you’d get it clean, just they wait! And then you’d remove all the clutter from the bar counter and scrub it sparkling clean! They might complain, but you knew they had to be just a little bit happy and grateful for your efforts. You couldn’t help but to smile, helping them out made you happy. And listening to their complaints, especially Lico’s, had made you want to help threefold. He was so cute bemoaning his faith when the full horror of Team B’s promise to clean the whole Starless had dawned on him. Better not tell him though.
As his face flickered in your mind’s eye you raised your eyes from your work to the restaurant floor. Ran was scouring the tables with vigour, you could hear the rap blasting from his phone all the way to the other end of the room. Lico wasn’t there. Maybe he’s gone to get some more cleaning supplies, you thought.
Speak -- or think -- of the devil, though.
“Oy, oy, is our little songbird hard of hearing?” a soft voice purred to your side, from the same side of the counter as you were in, and quite close too. Lico’s voice was like velvet. It made the hair at the nape of your neck stand up as a hot shiver ran through you, even as you jolted a bit.
You turned to him to flash an apologetic smile. Lico was leaning to the counter, his lithe form bending and curving in perfect angles. How he managed to be so stunning even on his off day and in his cleaning gear, you had no idea, but that he was. Not to even mention the steely danger in his green eyes, he was clearly more than a bit annoyed with you for disobeying his direct request. The anger seemed to be less of the yelling sort, but something much more calculating and perilous.
“Can’t I just help a little bit?” you hazarded a plea at him, to which his mouth twisted sourly.
“You were already helping perfectly fine.”
“But...” he drawled, edging closer, you felt the nervous exhilaration of being prowled upon, “if you insist on being stubborn...”
He was right next to you now, so close you smelled his fragrance beneath all the detergent, drawing it in with quivering breath. He held you trapped in his gaze, and even though you were nervous about how Ran would react if he saw the two of you like this, you were completely unable to draw your gaze off of him. The way he smiled told you he knew it, too.
“I’ll clean with you here.”
“Huh?” your thoughts had been so intent on him, you had already lost your grasp on the conversation. Lico just smirked, like the suave ex-host only could.
“You take the top, I’ll take care of the bottom,” he said crouching low, leaving your reeling. Was that it? You got your way with him this easy? Maybe he did have a bit of a soft spot for you, you chuckled under your breath. The two of you had been secretly seeing each other for a while now, after all.
“Yeah, looks pretty dusty down here,” Lico’s voice came from next to your knee, but before you had time to look down upon him you let out a small scream of surprise.
Lico’s hands were holding you by the thigh and he kissed you just above the knee, all of a sudden.
“Hush, now little birdie,” he chuckled against your skin, and you felt a sparkling wave of arousal spring up your leg all the way to your sex.
“Are you okay, sis?” Your gaze snapped back to Ran, who was looking at you suspiciously from the tables, “You’re not cleaning up there are you??”
“Oh no, no! I’m just making us tea!” you yelled back at him, voice quivering as you felt Lico kiss a bit higher, hands brushing up your tights. He had one palm on both your legs, caressing gently.
“Lico, what the fuck,” you hissed at him, keeping your eyes on Ran and your voice down to a whisper.
After scrutinising you for a moment, Ran shrugged, “Okay~!” he chimed, diving back into his cleaning business with zeal.
“I’m cleaning,” Lico snickered against your skin. His breath felt hot, as he placed another kiss a bit higher and twisting slowly to your backside. You tried to fight down a moan, Ran was right there! He could notice any second! Yet, as you bit hard on your lip feeling Lico’s palms slip beneath your hem, the heady deluge of arousal drowned out any protest you harboured. Shame mixed into it, you didn’t want to believe how turned on it was making you, looking at the empty restaurant floor and the sole cleaner there while your lover was kissing his way up the back of your thigh.
The Lico bit down on the soft skin. Clamping a wet hand on your mouth you bent down over the sink, doing your utmost to not moan out loud. He should stop, no the both of you should stop this right now, but no such words made it past your lips. Your sex was throbbing with each panicked beat of your heart, and it was galloping madly. Belatedly you realised you had only made room for Lico to fit better between your legs with your squirming. The satisfied chuckle against your skin revealed his elation at your eagerness.
“Shh, honey, or he’ll see,” Lico crooned, his long, nimble fingers massaging your heated flesh, sneaking higher.
“Lico,” you hated how the name dropped from behind your fingers like a desperate plea, “Lico we--”
“Now, now, it’s not like you to leave things unfinished, my obstinate little cleaning lady,” his tone was that mock scolding, “Nor like me.”
Before you had time for another protest, his finger whispered their way up and in between your thighs, to the damp heat of your sex. He rubbed the pads against your panties, feeling the wet spot already seeping into the fabric of it and into your tights. His other arm snaked around your thighs keeping you firmly in check.
“Tell me if you really want me to stop. Say No, Lico, stop!” he purred, snagging the shimmering fabric of your tights between his teeth and pulled, downwards. You felt them slip a bit lower on your hips. All the while his fingers brushed a maddening little circle between your legs, sending jolts of spine bending arousal up. Instead of a denial a quivering mewl made it past your lips, as you tried to stand up straight, so Ran or anyone else who might come in wouldn’t suspect anything. You were sure your face was beet red though.
“Hehe, stay put there, and wash them pots and pans until they’re spick-and-span.”
You had not said a thing.
“And do try to stay quiet, love.”
Lico bit you again now on the tenderness of your inner thigh, a little higher. His fingers hooked on the waistline of your tights while you were distracted with trying to not make a sound.
“Ahh, Lico,” you whined out, quietly, unable to stay completely silent. You still couldn’t believe he was doing this to you. He wriggled the elastic fabric all the way down to your knees, crawling then under your skirt hem like into a fucking tent. He pushed you forward until you were bent half into the sink. Hastily you pulled the plug so you wouldn’t drench your clothes in the dishwater. You bit down on your knuckle, hazarding a glance at Ran, while pretending to wipe the counter or something with your free hand. You prayed to all the gods you had no faith in he'd keep being occupied by his work. Luckily he still had a lot of tables to wash.
Lico was pressing wet, sloppy kisses onto your bare skin, traveling up your thigh slowly. Each kiss felt like it stole a bit of your blood from your brain, to have it flooding down into your hips feeling red hot with arousal, while your head was woozy and empty. Yet, you wanted him to go on, and your hips bent backwards to invite him deeper in. The satisfied little sounds he made against your skin were a telltale sign of how much he appreciated you yielding to your desires, to him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered between shallow gasps for air, and they too were engulfed into a deep mmph of barely contained euphoria as his lips finally landed on the drenched cotton of your panties, the only thing between that wicked tongue and your needy sex. You heard him echo you, distantly, felt more keenly the vibration of his moan against your oversensitive pussy.
Without hesitation he hooked his fingers on the waistline of your panties to slowly, teasingly so, drag them over our ass and all the way down to your knees, bunching them with your tights. You squeezed your eyes shut thinking what a view he had of your privates now, hoping it was too dark beneath your skirt for him to see properly.
Soon any such thought went flying from your head like leaves into the wind. His fingers slid languidly on the slickness of your folds, from back to front. There they rubbed deeper until he found the bead of your clit.
“Oh, fuck!” you spat out when a violent spark of pleasure almost stole your legs from under you. Lico let out a little laughter that sounded way too much like a gleeful giggle, rubbing your clit again, gentler this time.
“Keep your legs under you, little bird,” he said as you tried to find your footing, leaning half your weight already on your hands.
“Fuck you,” was the only retort you manged, and even it sounded insincere to your ears. He just scoffed at you, slipping his fingers in lazy circles, spreading your slickness all over. After a few teasing brushes by your entrance, earning him another demanding sound from you, his finger finally sank into your swollen hole, but keeping the leisurely pace. You leaned into that intrusion hungry for more, saw Lico’s cheshire grin as you did without needing your eyes.
Deciding that it was time to amp up the onslaught Lico slipped his finger out only to dive between your spread legs. You had to fight down another string of curses as you felt the soft tip of his tongue probe at your slippery heat. Quickly it found its way to your already agitated clit, teasing it gently.
Breathing shallow and fast through your nose you tried to keep yourself together even if the only thing you wanted to do was crumble onto the floor, and pull him on top of you. Why was he like this, you cursed, knowing full well this was the reason you liked him so much. No one was like Lico, no one came even close. Briefly you wondered how badly he would end up burning you.
Dispelling any dark thoughts, you surrendered to the pleasure you leaned into the counter clamping your mouth shut with both your hands. Otherwise you would’ve moaned out loud like a bitch in heat when Lico’s long tongue lapped at your folds eagerly. When you felt it slip inside you, your head blacked out totally. His hands were rubbing your thighs, in maddening esoteric signs bewitching you until you were completely under his spell. You felt one of the sneak over to the front and reach over the mound of you sex. He pressed the tip of his thumb onto your clit while his tongue gave you not an iota of mercy, caressing you flesh wherever it could reach. Deep. You were so close to the edge already, head buzzing with the heat of your rising wave. Lico must’ve felt it too as his agile tongue seemed to rub you in all the right places.
“Lico,” you hissed with urgency of your growing orgasm in your voice, “I’m going to..--”
“Hey, sis! You okay?”
Of all the fucking things, you cursed, forcing yourself up from the table upon which you had almost been lying while Lico had his way with you.
“I’m, o-okay, I just hit my head, it-it’s nothing,” voice an approximation of normalcy you tried replying, and arrange a reassuring smile on your face, too, while Lico hummed against your sex enjoying your predicament. You felt the vibration in the marrow of your bones, but had to stay put or Ran might think you had ants in your panties or something. Or worse, find out that it was Lico in them instead. Swallowing thickly you tried to keep your back straight as you felt Lico’s tongue delve deeper still within you.
“Oh, sure you’re okay?” Ran looked at you intently, clearly worried.
“Y-yeah, I’ve a h-hard head.” Another almost painfully hard rub against your clit.
“Seen Lico? He was supposed to go get this scouring soap or something for the tables.”
Just as you were about to say no, you felt Lico slip out from beneath you. Scandalised you watched him get up from behind you looking about as innocent as he ever could, with your juices glistening on his lips, and hair maybe a bit of a mess. You could smell your own lust on him from where you were standing. He smiled wide and winked at you seeing your eyes as wide as saucers.
“Can’t find the fucking thing, not here, not in the cleaning closet,” you marvelled at the genuine annoyance Lico got into his voice, like he had actually spent the last ten minutes or so actually looking for soap instead of torturing you.
Winking at your shocked face he continued, “I’ll go check the kitchen next, maybe the staff’s hidden it there.”
He looked so un-flustered you couldn’t take it.
“Okkaay~!” Ran piped in from the other end of the room as you tried to give Lico your best You have to be joking -face but he just beamed a smile at you.
With a sideways glance he made sure Ran was back to his efforts, and leaned closer trapping you between him and the counter, “You just stay here little bird, and make yourself that tea.”
He pulled your hem up enough for his hand to slip back under it, rubbing gently at your still exposed folds. You felt your lust ooze down your thighs as your barely contained heat flared up again.
“I love how wet I got you, little pervert,” he whispered into your lips, “but you’re going to be a good girl now and up until we’re done.” Each word was accompanied by a maddening spiral by his fingers, circling your clit, taunting your need.
“Fuck you, Lico,” you snarled into his chaste kiss, but he just smiled that infuriating smile of his.
“You will, later.” He smacked one last stealth kiss and was on his way. And you stood there, unable to follow with your panties and tights around your calves and head still reeling with the horror of what you had just done.
Thank you for reading this far! I’d love to hear feedback if you have any（=´∇｀=）I’m pretty new to BSTS and I’m also not a native speaker so I’m always anxious about my language, and this time also characterisation…
Anyway happy new year! Hopefully we’ll see more, better BSTS fics out of me in this coming year, and before that I have a few DL & Haku stuffs in my sleeve >:3c
Halloween Prompt #31 - Luna/Crowe
I’m just gonna go ahead and champion myself for my future self on this one, because I’m actually pretty proud of how it turned out! It’s femslash, it’s sad, it’s not gonna be everyone’s cup of tea, but I really liked it!
“The moon looks beautiful tonight.”
Crowe looked up to find Luna at her side, alighted in such elegant repose upon the dirty stoop. She looked so out of place in the dingy city, so perfectly pristine in her ivory gown, draped against the silty flagstone steps like the first folds of fallen snow, concealing every fault in the earth underneath. The delicate bow of her smile shimmered gossamer frail beneath the moonlight, her face upturned to its cool, midnight glow.
“Looks the same to me,” Crowe groused, glaring down at the mud caked between her bootlaces.
“It’s the shadows,” Luna mused. “It’s not the moon that changes, but how the light and the dark play around it. The shades of every night are always different.”
“And you think that’s beautiful?” Crowe snorted. “Just sounds unreliable to me.”
“There can be beauty in impermanence. Don’t we both know that?”
Crowe looked back up again, this time finding the pale glow of Luna’s smile reflected upon herself. Moonshine glimmered softly inside the Oracle’s eyes, so close Crowe could nearly see her own face emerge from the play of light within. And yet, there was still something so achingly distant in the way Luna looked at her, as illusory as the sky at daybreak; so close in sight, yet so far from reach.
“Hello,” Luna greeted her, as though she’d only just arrived.
Lestallum hummed in mute whorls of industrious insomnia around them. Despite the perpetual warmth of the town’s meteoric core, pulsing in steady dregs of power beneath her feet, Crowe felt strangely cold beside Lunafreya. It wasn’t the first time. In the small span of time she’d known the princess, she’d felt a chill in her presence that Crowe could never quite define. It wasn’t exactly dread, not a fearful sort of cold that begged her to escape some frigid danger yet undiscovered beneath the placid grin of the Princess.
It was quite the opposite, actually. The kind of chill she felt around Luna was more of a relief. It was a balm to the heat that had seethed in Crowe’s veins since she was old enough to recognize rage. It was the kind of cold that one welcomed, if only for the promise that there would be warmth at the end of it. Crowe ran hot, but she’d rarely ever felt warmth. Her heat was fury, wild and volcanic erupting from deep within her resentment for the Empire.
Warmth, however – true warmth – was a feeling of comfort, soft and safe in the weary aftermath of the fighting. It was the long thaw of the extremes which numbed Crowe all her life. And there was a kind of terror to letting herself feel that. Every time she looked into Luna’s eyes and felt that gentle wash of wintry ease start to snuff the flames in her, she felt afraid. Afraid of the warmth she knew was coming afterward, afraid to feel the safety she knew that the Oracle would promise once she escaped her self-made inferno.
Lunafreya terrified her. And Crowe was certain she knew it.
“Where have you been?” Luna asked, with all the patience of a snowfall, the whisper of her voice as light upon Crowe’s ears as the winter flurries.
“Around,” Crowe said, wrinkling her nose as she kicked a chunk of dirt from the sole of her shoe – she didn’t even remember where she’d walked for them to get so dirty. “Easy to get lost in this place.”
Crowe glanced over, unnerved by her deep blue stare, as motionless as a still pool of water, awaiting the first ripples to stir the surface. She hoped that she didn’t expect Crowe to be the one to dip her toe in. Because when she fell into Luna’s gaze, she made a splash, made waves cresting chaos in the quietude. That was all she’d ever done – create chaos.
“If you ever need help finding your way…”
“I can figure it out on my own.”
While Luna did not frown or flinch or flick away her gaze, Crowe felt guilty for being dismissive of her anyway. It was a reflex, to snap first and regret it later. But Luna took it with just as much grace as she took her morning cup of tea: with a touch of sweetness and a careful hand.
“Nevertheless,” she said, frosting over the hot lash of Crowe’s frustration. “Rest awhile. Enjoy the moonlight with me.”
Crowe huffed, but otherwise obliged the princess. Her boots were heavy with drying dirt and she could feel the fatigue in her soul. It had been a long night. Been a longer walk to get here. She might never understand what Luna could see in the banalities of the world which Crowe could not, but she’d take the excuse to just sit, be still, and listen to her talk.
“Everyone in the world is so frightened of the dark,” Luna murmured. “So few people see it for the stars anymore. I confess that sometimes I forget myself.”
“It’s a scary place,” Crowe agreed. “Hard to look up to see what’s there, when the second you take your eyes off the road a daemon’s bound to appear.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Crowe squinted up at the face of the moon, trying to decipher the theater of shadows Luna claimed to see in every moonrise. It had always been difficult for Crowe to see the beauty in simple things. Watching a magitek soldier melt down into black embers at the snap of her fingers as fire wreathed around its core; now that was a thing of beauty. Destruction was beautiful to her, because while it was fleeting, it still left its mark. That’s all she ever wanted – to leave her mark.
When she looked back at Luna, she wasn’t looking at the moon. She’d never taken her steady gaze off of Crowe, full of that faraway fondness that Crowe didn’t know how to bring closer.
“Not watching your moon?” Crowe jabbed, gently as she could manage with her barbed tongue.
“We have such little time. I’d much rather spend it seeing you.”
“I’m here all night,” Crowe chuckled, bemused.
But then she saw what Luna meant about shadows across the moon. She could see how the light shifted across the woman’s face, how her smile remained the same yet the shade of it all changed. The chill she recognized as a comfort from Lunafreya turned sharply to the one she remembered as dread. Crowe looked down at her boots again, at the dark brown dirt caked between the laces. Her feet felt so heavy with it, weighing her down, down, down even further.
“Ah,” Crowe said, matter-of-factly. “Right. Forgot.”
“For what?” Crowe grunted, dragging herself to her feet.
“For keeping you here,” Luna said, quietly, afraid that the whole world might hear her. “For not insisting you let me help you.”
“Couldn’t stop me in life, princess. Definitely can’t stop me now.”
The solemnity in Luna’s smile made Crowe yearn to remain, but remembering always kept her moving. She had to return the grave dust on her boots, start again from where she’d ended. She’d find her way back here again, though. Somehow, she always found her way back to Luna.
She vanished too quickly for Luna to say goodbye. Much like how she died, it happened too fast for her to say everything she wanted before it was over. She’d loved her too briefly, and lost her too quickly. And while she knew how selfish it was to keep her tethered like this, Luna couldn’t seem to bring herself to let go. What did it matter? They both had so little time. Was it so wrong of her to cherish these nightly visitations while she still could?
She knew what was coming. It had already begun, deep in her chest, just below her heart. It scraped up into her throat, coughing past her lips in faint black flecks. Luna took a deep breath, driving the darkness back down, and turning her eyes back to the moon. Watching the dark and the light orbit each other across the surface, never quite touching, yet never quite apart, she made a promise.
“I’ll see you soon.”
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IL luminance/Light Yield (40,000 – 160,000 lux) is the capacity of how much light falls on the exterior per square meter. The components of light removed by OT Lights are gaged in lux with a lux meter. This is gaged at 1m for OT Lights. Rendering to the International Electrotechnical Commission (IEC), the luminance of the working hollow should be within the 40,000 - 160,000 lux variety. In dissimilarity, the prerequisite for the reading light in the patient’s area is 300 lx, for inspection light – 1000 lx.
Color Malaise (3,000 – 6,700 K) is the capacity of the light source’s color comparative to an idyllic light foundation. The unit of dimension for color malaise is Kelvin. The dimension of daytime color malaise is around 5,800 K. The IEC necessitates the color temperature of OT Lights to be inside the 3,000 – 6,700 K variety.
Color Interpretation (85 – 100) is the degree of excellence of light and it is often denoted to as the color rendering index (CRI). Normal colors of objects are best envisaged under the bright daytime, to which illumination devices are likened (orientation value of 100). Illuminations with “decent” color interpretation have a CRI over 80. Illuminations with very decent color interpretation have a CRI over 90. Often unvarying illumination can misrepresent the color and advent of substances, something that must be evaded during an operating procedure. Consequently, the IEC has directed that the color rendition index (Ra) for OT Lights essentials to be amongst 85 and 100.
Added Factors to Reflect When Buying Surgical Lighting from OT Light suppliers
Scorching Heat: Old-style illumination schemes yield higher levels of heat which can cause uneasiness for the doctors and dry out unprotected matters, possibly impacting patient upkeep and retrieval. Heat radioactivity also inhibits with the laminar airflow in operational rooms, which supports to decrease microbial entities in the operating area by producing incessant bacteria-free airflow in a convinced course. Sieves and lenses are often engaged, which allow light but block heat releases. LED OT Lights are a good speculation since they yield almost no heat, while on the other hand, halogen lights dispel much higher planes of heat.
Glooms & Shimmer: Glooms are cast from the doctor’s head, arm, or body as well as the adjacent medical team during the operation. The newest lights manufactured by OT Light manufacturers in India use manifold light foundations that can be effortlessly cross-focused to nearly remove glooms. Shimmer can initiate from the light basis or it can be a thoughtful shimmer from other exteriors brightened by the OT Lights. Shimmer can cause eye exhaustion and momentary apparition distorting. Protections should be taken concerning the approaches and assignment of brooding exteriors in the operating room to eradicate shimmer issues.
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