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permanentswaps · 23 hours

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The Cursed Hunk, Pt. 3

Read Part 1 and Part 2 by @manswaps

Seth’s POV

Wearing the stranger's body, Jared led us out of the apartment and to a gay club. The city’s neon lights glinted off the wet pavement, and the bass from the club’s music pulsed through the ground, matching the rhythm of my nervous heartbeat.

He explained, "This is the best place in town to find us the hottest guys possible to swap with and fool around with."

“I still don’t see why you can’t just let us swap back to our original bodies first,” I protested, uncomfortable in my dad’s much larger, hairier frame. The weight of his muscles and the scratchiness of his chest hair felt foreign and awkward now that the horniness had worn off.

My dad, now in my body, nodded in agreement. “I don’t see what you have to complain about,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. “But yeah, Jared, this is kind of ridiculous. We should swap back.”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Jared replied, smirking to himself. I think he was getting a little turned on by the fact that he had done this to us.

As we entered the club, the atmosphere hit me like a wave: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of bodies moving together. Jared immediately darted off to the bathroom, saying his body was so horny that he just had to jerk one out.

“I’ll stay with him,” my dad said, following him to the restroom. It was a good idea; we couldn’t afford to lose him in here.

Left alone, I was incredibly nervous. Even though I was sure I was into guys, I had never been to a place like this. I decided I needed a drink to steady my nerves.

Walking up to the bar, I signaled to the bartender. Before I could order, he greeted me warmly, “Hey Marcus! It’s been a few weeks, so glad to see you! What can I get for you?”

“Oh,” I said, a bit surprised. “Good to see you too.” I faked a smile. “Could I grab two vodka sodas?”

As I waited for the drinks I thought to myself, “A few guys in college? Yeah, right.” I guess my dad had a bit more of a slutty wild side than I realized.

After opening a tab with my dad’s card, I wandered deeper into the club, which was filled to the brim with every type of guy imaginable.

Searching around for where my dad and Jared went, I felt a bit at a loss. I couldn’t see them anywhere. Holding both drinks gingerly in my hands, I turned carefully, only to accidentally bump my shoulder against someone. I guess I wasn’t used to how big this body is.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I began to say, only to be greeted by the most beautiful face I’d ever seen.

The man standing before me was stunning, with chiseled features, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that could melt anyone’s heart. He laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No worries, big guy,” he said warmly, his voice a smooth blend of charm and confidence. “With muscles like that, it must happen all the time,” he chuckled, reaching out to feel my bicep.

My heart skipped a beat, “Not as often as you might think,” I replied, trying to flirt back but sounding a bit awkward.

The stranger's touch on my bicep sent a shiver through me, both exciting and unnerving in equal measure. Wearing my dad's body was still surreal, and the sensation of someone admiring muscles that technically weren't mine was strange. I managed to smile, hoping my nerves didn't show too much.

"I'm Diego," he said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, and his touch lingered a little longer than necessary, sending another jolt through me.

"Seth," I replied automatically, then quickly corrected myself. "I mean, Marcus." I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, realizing the slip might confuse him. "Just a bit scattered tonight, you know how it is."

Diego raised an eyebrow, his smile turning a bit more curious. "Rough night?"

"Something like that," I laughed nervously.

Diego’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, Marcus, if you need a distraction from your rough night, I think I can help with that."

I felt a tug of nervous excitement in my chest.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear, and said, "How about we find a quieter spot to talk? It's a bit loud in here."

I nodded, grateful for the escape from the overwhelming noise and crowd. "Lead the way."

Diego took my hand, and a thrill shot through me as he guided me through the throng of dancing bodies. We weaved through the club, finally emerging into a quieter lounge area with plush seating and dim lighting. The bass still pulsed in the background, but it was muted here, making it easier to hear each other.

Diego gestured to an empty couch in a corner.

I sat down, and he settled in beside me, his proximity making my heart race even more. "So, Marcus," he began, his eyes locking onto mine. "What brings you to the club tonight?"

"Uh, just needed to blow off some steam," I replied, trying to keep my story straight. "Work's been crazy, you know?"

He nodded sympathetically. "I get that. I'm in finance. What do you do?"

"Construction," I said, recalling my dad's profession. "Lots of hard work, but it's rewarding."

Diego's eyes widened in appreciation. "I can tell. Those muscles don't build themselves," he said, giving my bicep another playful squeeze. His touch was electrifying, and I found myself leaning into it slightly.

"Yeah, it's tough," I admitted, trying to sound casual. "But I like the challenge."

Diego's smile widened, and I could see a spark of genuine interest in his eyes. "I bet you do," he said, his voice low and flirtatious. "There's something about a man who isn't afraid of hard work."

I chuckled, feeling more at ease with his playful banter. "Well, what about you? Finance must be pretty intense too."

"It can be," he admitted, leaning back slightly but maintaining eye contact. "But I like to think I balance it out with fun. Nights like this help."

"Yeah," I agreed, "I can see that."

As the conversation flowed, I found myself becoming more comfortable in my dad's body. The initial awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a growing confidence fueled by Diego's attention. I wasn't used to being this physically imposing, but the way he looked at me made it easier to embrace.

"You're quite something, Marcus," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. "I've got a feeling tonight is going to be unforgettable."

I smiled, the nerves now a distant memory, replaced by anticipation. "I think you might be right," I replied, leaning in closer.

---

Marcus POV

Waiting outside the bathroom for Jared, I was struggling to fend off a bunch of creepy old guys. Damn, this twink body is attracting a lot of attention—and definitely not all of it wanted. Their leers and inappropriate comments were making me increasingly uncomfortable. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to create some sort of barrier between them and me, but it only seemed to encourage more attention.

One particularly persistent guy came up to me, grinning in a way that made my skin crawl. "Hey there, cutie," he said, his breath reeking of alcohol. "What's a sweet thing like you doing here all alone?"

I forced a tight smile, trying to be polite but firm. "I'm waiting for someone," I said, hoping that would be enough to make him go away.

But he wasn't deterred. He moved closer, his hand brushing against my arm. "Come on, don't be like that. Let's have some fun."

Panic started to creep in as I realized I couldn't shake him off. Desperate for an escape, I glanced toward the bathroom. Jared had to be in there somewhere. I just needed to find him.

"Excuse me," I said sharply, stepping away from the persistent guy and heading toward the bathroom door. I pushed it open, the smell of cologne and sweat hitting me as I entered. "Jared! Where the hell are you, dude?" I called out, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.

There was no response. The stalls were empty, and the urinals were unoccupied. I checked each one quickly, my anxiety rising with every empty space I found.

"Jared!" I shouted again, more urgently this time. He was nowhere to be found.

I leaned against the sink, gripping the edge tightly as I tried to steady my breathing. The club’s bass thumped through the walls, a constant reminder of the chaos just outside the door. Where could he have gone? He said he was just going to jerk off—how long could that take?

Feeling the panic start to overwhelm me, I splashed some cold water on my face and looked at my reflection. Seeing my son's face staring back at me was still a shock, but I had to focus. I needed to find Jared and get out of here before things got any worse.

I then bump into some guy who can only be maybe three years older than my current body—damn, he’s really cute. He had dark, wavy hair and a charming smile that made my heart race a little faster. For a moment, I forgot about my predicament and just enjoyed talking to him.

"Hey there," he said, flashing a smile. "You look a bit lost."

"Yeah, you could say that," I replied, trying to keep the conversation light. "Just trying to find my friend."

We chatted for a few minutes, his easygoing manner putting me at ease. I almost forgot about the chaos around me until I spotted Jared out of the corner of my eye. Relief washed over me.

"Sorry, I have to go," I said to the cute guy, giving him an apologetic smile before darting off toward Jared.

I ran up to him, my frustration boiling over. "Damn, where the hell have you been? Enough is enough, I need to get my body back now. I wanna swap!"

Jared looked back at me, a bit surprised, and then smirked. "Damn cutie, I wanna swap with you too."

Before I could say anything else, I felt the familiar, disorienting sensation of being sucked back into that horny body. It was like being pulled through a vortex, my senses swirling until I landed back in my own form. I blinked, trying to steady myself, and took a look at Seth’s body, which was now feeling itself up.

"Damn dude, this body is cute as hell," Jared—now in Seth’s body—said with a grin. "I’m definitely going to be able to pull some hotties in it."

"Jared, what the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, my anger flaring.

"I don’t know who the hell Jared is," he replied, his grin widening. "But thanks for the sexy body, dude." With that, he turned and ran off into the club.

"Fuck," I thought to myself, panic setting in. "What did I just do?"

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maltesejjong · 2 days

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after being ia for so long, and losing the passwords to my original tumblr and wattpad accts, i am happy to say i am BACK, even if you don’t know who i am lmao. For now, imma be doing reposts of my old tumblr and wattpad posts before i start new content. Enjoy!

꒰ঌ(⃔ ⌯' '⌯)⃕໒꒱

What’s Really Going On?

Summary: you and you boyfriend Minho have been together for a while now. Years, as a matter of fact. There’s no reason for there to be secrets, especially when it comes to your body. But after missing an appointment you had been anticipating and tension from an argument nights prior still brewing, the truth comes spilling out

WARNINGS: dom!minho, afab!reader, oral sex (both receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please y’all don’t be stupid), use of traffic light system, fingering (reader receiving), swearing, mentions of pregnancy complications, i think that’s it? Please lmk if i missed anything

Wc: 5971

MINORS DNI, THIS CONTAINS 18+ CONTENT

5:30 pm

You sigh and pocket your phone. Fifteen minutes. He's fifteen minutes late.

Of course, he's been late before, but never like this.

Fifteen minutes, you normally let slide. You just can't imagine that he'd be late when today is so important.

"Y/n! Babe!"

You turn at the sound of your name, and somewhere in you, even though it's not fair, you think eighteen minutes.

Nevertheless, you pocket your frustration and smile the smile only he can draw from you.

"Minho!"

He comes up to you, putting his arm around your waist and kissing your cheek. "I'm so sorry, baby. Traffic was horrible," he explains.

You understand, of course. It's a random Wednesday, but a major band is in town, and 500 lucky people in the area got free tickets.

But that isn't why today is so important to you.

"Why didn't you leave sooner?" You ask, slightly miffed that he ignored your suggestion to stay the night with you, so you would both be on time.

Minho doesn't answer, but you're sure you know what he's thinking. "Babe," you say, holding his arm to make him look at you, " I'm not mad, okay? It was just a bit...much." You bite down in the apology trying to jump from your lips, knowing it could just do more damage.

"What?" He looks slightly confused, as if he forgot the argument you two got in a few days ago. "Oh," he says as the memory resurfaces, "I know. I'm just thinking. Nothing bad, y/n. Just work stuff."

"Okay..."

You arrive your appointment with ten minutes to spare, feeling thankful for the cop that had created a barricaded lane for people not going to the concert, making it easier to navigate the traffic-choked streets of your usually quiet city.

"Wait here," you whisper to Minho. "Hi," you say as you approach the lady behind the desk, "I have an appointment with Mia Loffe."

The secretary, who you've never seen a day in your life at Mia's, types something on her keyboard. "Of course... Let me see... Okay, what's your name, dear?"

You swallow the reaction trying to escape at being called "dear" by someone so young. "Y/n Bang."

"Bang... Bang..." she mumbles to herself, searching what must be a busy schedule. You know Mia's been slammed with work, but she made sure there there was at least an hour for you to come in.

You even booked an appointment, something you never do with Mia, just in case.

"Okay, um, Ms.Bang?" Dread fills your stomach. "It says here that some things had to be rescheduled, but Ms. Loffe has maybe ten minutes, if you'd like to pop back there real quick."

"I, uh... No, that's alright," you say, knowing that Mia is probably getting ready for her next appointment. You don't hold it against her for not letting you know that between last night and today, there was a shift in schedule. "Can I leave a message with you? I don't want to call her while she's working. Will you please just tell Mia to call me when she's not busy?"

The secretary scratches the note onto a pieces of paper and sticks it onto her computer. "Of course. Is there anything else I can do?"

"No," you say, trying to fight the sinking feeling in your chest. "No, thank you though. Have a nice day."

"You, too, Ms. Bang."

You round the corner to see Minho scrolling through his phone. "C'mon," you say quietly.

Minho looks up at you. "Hey." He stands up. "Did Mia kick you out or something?"

You don't answer, except to say "There was a change in schedale, so i'm comine back another You don't answer, except to say "There was a change in schedule, so I'm coming back another day." You can't help but feel annoyed at your boyfriend for his lateness. Mia had even said to make sure you were there at least thirty minutes beforehand, just in case. This, you feel, is largely Minho's fault.

Minho picks up that you don't really want to talk, and doesn't pry as you drive back to your place together.

"Babe," Minho says softly once he's closed your front door, "What's wrong?"

You keep your back to him, trying to contain your feelings. "Nothing, Minho. I'm just a little tired," you lie.

"Why don't you change, and we can watch a movie?" He suggests. "I'll order takeout later, okay?"

You agree, and go change into one of his hoodies and a pair of shorts. When you come back to the living room, you see that your boyfriend's hands have not been idle. He set up a little nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, just the way you like it when you watch movies together, snuggled in close and pressed against one another.

"Is this okay?" He asks when he hears you behind him. "I wasn't sure how much you wanted snuggles, but..." he trails off as he turns and takes in your outfit. No matter how often Minho has seen you wear something of his, it gives him a rush every time.

Clearing his throat, he says "What do you want to watch?" Your ongoing agreement is that you get authority over movie snacks, and he gets authority over what food gets ordered. You both always pick what the other likes most, though, and you switch off who gets to pick the movie.

"I don't really care," you say dismissively. "You can choose. I just want muddy buddies and popcorn."

He smiles warmly, hiding his concern behind deep chocolate eyes. "Choi's alright?"

You nod, as he knew you would. "Don't forget the crab ran-goons and crispy beef," you say, putting a bag of popcorn into the microwave and nuking it.

"Oh, and egg rolls."

"Babe, I got it," he teases. "You act like I haven't known you for twelve years."

"And loved me just as long," you say to yourself, remembering the day your older brother, Chan, came home with his newfound friend, someone named Lee Minho. It wasn't the fact the he was Korean. No, Chan had lots of Korean friends, and you had you fair share. It wasn't his name. It wasn't his age or complexion.

It was his eyes. The way his nose crinkles when he smiles. It was how he acts like the mom of the group, even to the guys older than him, reminding someone to put on sunscreen, or, more often than not, cooking for everyone.

Later, it was also the way he started to look at you, like you weren't "Chan's kid sister" but a girl worth his attention, even though you're three years younger than him. It started as getting more "older brother" attention than the others. Then, you learned what flirting is. It became shy touches and bold smiles. Inside jokes and feeling jumpy if Chan was there when you were together. It became hidden kisses and climbing onto one another's rooftop in the middle of the night to watch the stars and talk. It became Chan walking in the room right when your lips touched Minho's, blouse slightly unbuttoned.

The microwave beeps, bringing you out if your trip down memory lane. Carefully picking the hot bag up by a corner, and reaching for the bowl you had put on the counter. You sigh as the smell of butter and salt taunts your stomach. You hear sounds from the TV as Minho skims past different movies.

Minho glances over his shoulder at you while you shake some ttekboki into a bowl. You can feel the worry and questions rolling off him. It took years for you to recognize the care, hidden beneath such a brash and forceful facade. He always plays his emotions close to vest, but knows how and when to pull back. That hasn't changed, except now, he has a heart that's completely open to you.

"What did you choose?" you ask, coming into the living room.

He's standing in front of the TV, arms crossed, remote pointed at the screen. "Action movie?"

"Okay," you say, setting the snacks onto the ottoman.

You lose yourself in the movie, and eventually, you don't even notice what's going on in the plot, because, as always, you re more tuned in to the Minho show. Every point where your bodies touch, his warmth, this feeling of security. You smile as his lips touch your neck for what must be the tenth time.

"I'm gonna put the order in," he says, his words warming your skin.

"Okay," you mumble, somewhat sleepily. "I'm taking a bathroom break."

He nods, his phone to his ear.

When you come back, you decide to get some water. You go to the kitchen and reach into the dish rack to get a glass. You aren't really paying attention, and nick your finger on the knife you washed this morning, after cutting an avocado. In your preoccupation with your appointment with Mia, you had left the knife pointing upwards.

"Shit," you yelp, waving your hand.

Minho comes into the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just cut my finger," you say, sucking on the cut, blood staining your tongue.

He gently pulls your finger away and examines the cut. "It's not deep," he says, sounding relieved. "Here." He turns the knob on the sink, and water starts flowing from the faucet.

You gingerly put your finger under the water, hissing at how cold it is. Minho stands behind you, his chest touching your back as he massages your hand under the chilly water.

"You gotta be more careful, y/n," he says with a slight laugh.

You ignore his words, and instead focus on the feeling of his fingers kneading your hand, his breath on your skin. Your pulse quickens predictably. As it always does with him.

"Thanks, babe," you say, gently pulling away, trying to calm yourself, but not entirely sure you want to.

Minho opens the medicine cabinet, searching for a band-aid. "Food'll be here in about half an hour. Maybe 45 minutes," he says, his back to you.

Something in you says "fuck it" and you go over, hugging him from behind.

You feel his muscles jump, but his voice is steady as he says "Hey, pretty girl. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say, your cheek pressed against his back. You know you should talk to him about the appointment with Mia, but you don't want to. Not yet. You have other things on your mind.

You stand on your tiptoes and press your lips to the back of Minho's neck. He brings his arms down, abandoning his search for a bandage. "Babe?"

"Minho," you say quietly, in the same tone you use every time you're feeling a little naughty.

You can hear him swallow. "Y/n?" He turns to face you and you look into each other's eyes.

After a moment, you lean forward and kiss him, keeping your lips closed. You know he finds this as both an annoyance and a turn-on.

When you pull away, you see confusion in your boyfriend's gaze as he tries to decide which route to take. You know that he's going to wait to see what you do first.

Looking him dead in the eye, you say "Stop being such a gentleman." The code word you use to let him know what mood you're in.

You know he's decided to go with it, that he wants this too, when he says "I've never known a lady who doesn't wait for the man to make the first move."

He kisses you, hard. No playing around, no lead-up. You know this is going to get rough. Just how you like it.

He's still leaning against the counter, and you wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his tongue meet yours. You make some vague noise at the back of your throat as he somehow manages to kiss you even deeper. His hands grip the hem of his hoodie that you're wearing, and he pulls it over your head.

"Thought so," he murmurs against your mouth.

You aren't wearing a shirt. Somehow, no matter what, he always knows. One of the Minho mysteries you have yet to figure out.

Not wanting to waste any time, you yank his shirt over his head. He laughs, tousle-haired and swollen-lipped. You trail your fingers over his lean torso, one of the many results from years of dance. You love that he's a dancer, that he couldn't give less of a shit about stereotypes. It's sexy as hell.

You lean into him, forcing him to practically bend backwards, kissing him as roughly as you possibly can. He slips a hand into your waistband, his fingers teasing. You bunch his hair into your fists, knowing he won't go any further.

Not after the other day.

Not unless you tell him to.

His touch is like fire, burning into your skin. You moan slightly against his lips as his fingers slowly move to your clit, waiting to see if you'll stop him.

You don't.

What you do do is drag your fingers down his chest to his jeans, and start to unbutton them. Something you've done so many times that you could do it with one finger and your eyes closed.

Except.

There's a nervousness zapping your spine and bubbling in your stomach that hasn't been there in a while, making you fumble.

Thinking that your slip is due to him, Minho starts to pull back, but you grab his wrist with your other hand, leaning back to look in his eyes.

"Don't stop," you say.

He swallows, seeming to feel the same nervousness.

He nods and places his lips on yours, kissing his way down your jaw and to your neck, his lips gentle while his fingers are anything but, making your walls clench like crazy.

"Damn, y/n," he mutters.

"Minho... the couch. Please," you say in a strained voice.

He gathers you up and moves into the living room, a short transition in the small apartment.

You lay on your back, biting his neck, his lips, his tongue, as he works a second finger into you. Your hips lift off the couch.

"Y/n."

You look at him, seeing the question in his eyes.

You nod slowly, feeling your stomach jump. You watch him pull his fingers out, covered in your juices. He pulls your shorts down your legs, followed by your panties. He runs the same fingers that were just inside you up your ankle, your leg, to the inside of your thigh.

Minho makes eye contact with you again and you nod firmly. Yes. The green light.

He kisses the inside of your thigh, working his way to your entrance. When he gets there, you re clenching so hard around nothing it hurts. You ball your fists, trying not to make the noises so desperately trying to escape.

You wait, anticipation racking your body until he pushes your legs a little farther apart. Then he gets to work.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. "God, Minho," you moan.

"That's it, baby. Let it go. Sing for me, I want to hear that angelic voice if yours."

It feels so good. Perhaps too good. You can barely believe that you picked an argument with him over this.

You arch your back as his tongue enters your body and he makes some noise when your walls tighten even more. He pulls back and says "Relax, y/n."

"I'm trying," you mutter through clenched teeth.

As if to help, Minho starts rubbing your thigh. "No, babe, that doesn't—-" you cut yourself off, trying to get a grip. "Minho- I can't- agh-"

"Just let go, babe"

That's exactly what you're trying not to do. It's what you got so upset about on Sunday. The way you just lost control, how he encouraged it. He was a little confused, because you used to love it, the rush, the feeling, and now, he said, you're acting like it's your first time all over again. He was hurt because you called him greedy. You regret it, and you know he's going to make sure to make you such a mess and so needy that you really regret it.

One strong suck is all it takes to make you come.

You moan, grabbing at the couch as he pulls away, a devilish smirk on his face. He comes back with his fingers, shoving three fingers into your pussy, his thumb stroking your clit.

"Minho, I can't... You're gonna make me- uh!" You exclaim, coming all over his fingers.

"You know you want me," he hisses, but not maliciously. You shake your head, trembling. "Don't you?"

Again, you shake your head.

"Are you sure?"

"No. I don't want—"

"I can't hear you." He pushes his fingers even deeper.

You bite your lip, trying to pull him closer so you can kiss him, but he just raises an eyebrow in that way that drives you wild and pushes his fingers against your walls.

"One more chance, y/n. You know you want me, don't you?"

Yes," you gasp out. "I want... so bad..."

He smirks. "Who's the greedy one now?"

"Me," you pant. "Greedy bitch. I know. I'm such a dirty-"

"Keep going," he says.

"Dirty ho." Your clit aches painfully against his fingers as a fourth stretches it out. "So... such a- a slut,” you pant, somewhat hysteric.

"Mmm. You can do better than that."

You push him onto his back, yanking his jeans and boxers away.

"There you go," he says.

"In me," you beg. "Please?"

"Hmm.. I don't think you've said 'thank you' yet."

You start kneading around his dick. "Why should I?"

“I require payment," he says, his voice still so steady.

You cup your hand around his erection and start moving up and down. You take the tip of him in your mouth, tongue circling as you suck gently.

"Good girl."

You decide to show no mercy and suck as as you can, making him groan.

"Y/n. I can't-"

"To bad," you snap. "Try."

"God, you're so hot when you're fired up."

"Stops fighting."

"Oh, but then there'll be nothing left for you."

"There always is," you reply. "I’ll even be nice and help you," you say, right before he lets go and comes all over your hand and chin. "There's a good boy."

He pretends that he didn’t whine at the pet name. “Shall we call it even?" He asks, even though you know he's in no way finished.

"Oh, no," you say. "I'll let you choose."

"On your back," he orders. You comply. "And get the bra off. Stop acting like you're some innocent angel."

You drop your bra to the ground, right before he starts kissing your neck, his hands squeezing your breasts.

He moves to sit on your stomach, and you know what's coming. He holds his hand under your chin, and you spit into his palm, obliging. He uses your spit as a lubricant for his dick before he positions it between your tits, moving them back and forth, rubbing against him.

You feel him go hard almost instantly and smile inwardly. You knew he wasn't done yet. He's never down for the count that early on.

"Minho. Stop wasting time."

He raises his eyebrow again. "Who's in charge here?"

“Asshole,” you spit out. “I just fucking tolerate your orders.”

He hums in consideration. "What do you think?”

You stroke the tip of his dick, making him shudder. "Fuck me, Lee Minho. Show me what you've got."

The second you say it, you wish you could take it back.

"Challenge accepted."

This is going to be a long night.

ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆

You're leaning against the arm of the couch, watching your boyfriend enthusiastically eat a bucketful of shrimp lo mien the same way he had eaten you out not too long ago.

"You hungry?" He asks, using his chopsticks to gather the noodles into his mouth.

"Mmm. Maybe later. I'm just exhausted. Tired."

"But not tired of me, right?"

You flash him an amused look. "Unfortunately not." Your entire body is sore, your legs are weak as hell, and your clit is pounding with pain. You give him an appraising look. "You seemed to hold your own longer than usual."

Minho shrugs, mouth full of noodles. His hair is a tousled mess, his bare chest and neck covered in hickeys and teeth marks. You're sure that you're no different.

You tug the sleeves of his hoodie down over your hands and pick up your phone. "Oh, fuck," you say, realizing that you have a missed call.

"What's up?"

"Mia tried calling me earlier," you tell him. "But..."

"You were a bit busy," he supplies with a shrug. He twists away from you to grab another carton of lo mien, and you see that his back is bright red and covered in scratches. You reach out and trace a puffy red line, feeling him shiver under your touch.

"God, babe. Your fingers are freezing."

You trace another line, realizing that there are tiny beads of blood on his back. "Holy shit. Minho. Baby. Why don't you ever stop me?"

He shrugs, opening the lo mien. "I'm fine with it. I like it. You seem to like it. It also kinda kills the mood.

"But if it hurts—"

"It dushnt," he tells you, noodles hanging from his mouth like octopus tentacles.

"Still. What if I scratch too hard and actually cut you instead of just scraping the surface of your skin? Stop acting like 'the mood' is more important that your health."

He doesn't meet you eyes as he quietly says "Are we really going down this path again?"

You sigh and push your fingers into your hair.

"Maybe. Yes. I don't know!"

"Babe. I don't really know what you want me to say anymore. I told you not to worry about me."

"I'm not just worrying about you, Minho. I'm also thinking about me."

He twirls his chopsticks in the lo mien container. "Do you, y/n? Because you seem to have a tolerance the size of fucking Kilimanjaro. You never tell me to stop, even if, quite frankly, I'm exhausted and can't keep going. But I do. I do for you."

You feel your neck getting warm. "Well maybe it's your own fault for not telling me you need to stop."

"I do, though. I do, and you listen when I tell you I'm out. I'm more so a bit ticked off that you never tell me to stop. Do you remember what I said to you all that time ago? Did you even care? Because that was me, caring."

You close your eyes, remembering the color system that he devised for you, signals as to when to tell him to stop, if something he's doing hurts. "Yes, Minho. I remember. But I said that also goes for you! And you-"

"Use it when I really need to," he interjects.

"Well... well maybe I just don't really need to, then," you huff.

He cocks an eyebrow, and you tell yourself it's just an eyebrow, not a sexy move from your boyfriend. Definitely not something that turns you on.

The truth is, you've always been scared to use the light system. It's always green. Green means go. Even though you and Minho had had feelings for each other since you were in primary school- the last year, but still— that didn't stop him, who was three years older, from meeting other girls and going out with them, and you didn't try to stop him. You yourself went out on dates, kissed guys and did everything short of getting fucked for real. You wanted Minho to be the one to get your cherry. And he didn't disappoint.

Through it all, though, he had plenty of experience, experiences that you couldn't compete with unless it was oral. He told you green light means all good. Yellow is "I need a break" and red is stop. No questions asked. Whatever you're doing ends and you do something that doesn't involve sex. Red and yellow both mean "this hurts, I'm uncomfortable" of some degree.

Though you've definitely needed to, you've been worried about how Minho would react if you tell him to stop. It's one of the other reasons you argued with him on Sunday, but he doesn't know it. You made it seem like he just takes and takes, when really, it was that it hurt. You couldn't keep going, even though it hadn't even been 15 minutes when the pain kicked in. You were embarrassed. He was able to go on for God knows how long, and you weren't lasting anywhere near as close as him that day.

The look Minho gives you tells you that he's calling BS.

"Y/n."

You look at him. "Minho?"

"Look." He's always down his container of noodles and shrimp. "I know that's not the case. Why don't you try telling me what's actually up."

A spark of frustration heats your chest. "What's up, Minho, is that, thanks to you being late, we missed our appointment with Mia!"

Minho leans forward, massaging his temples. Finally, he drops his hands, his elbows balancing on his knees, and he looks over at you. "Is that what this is all about? I'm not ignoring the fact that you're dodging my question, but why didn't you say something to me?"

"Because... because it's just-"

"Not worth it? Babe, clearly it is. You wouldn't even tell me why this appointment was so fucking important to you. So important that I had to be there, which I found odd, because you usually tell me you want to see Mia alone. Which is fine, because I know that's the only girl time you two get together, so I found it strange that you wanted me there."

You clench your fists, hidden from view by the long sleeves of your boyfriend's hoodie, trying not to explode.

"And," he continues, "you still haven't told me the full story as to why you were actually upset on Sunday. You just called me greedy and said you weren't in the mood anymore. So please, please, will you tell me what's wrong? What's been going on?"

"I..." you look into his amber eyes, trying to fight the truth.

Minho puts a hand on your knee. "Y/n. Baby. Please."

The words come spilling out. "It's not that you're greedy. It's not that I don't enjoy the sex anymore. It's that... it's that I'm scared," you blurt. His expression is startled, incredulous as you go on.

"I'm scared to tell you no. To tell you to stop, that something hurts. It makes me feel like shit, when something hurts and I start to feel tired by the fifteen minute mark when you haven't even gotten started. It's not every time. But that's what was happening on Sunday. Sometimes it makes me ashamed, how much I just... it's like I'm a different person when we have sex. Sometimes I don't recognize me. Like, I turn into a mess. You turn me on like that" —you snap your fingers— "and somehow, you get me to cum four times in less than half an hour. I needed to feel justified in my feelings of 'I can't anymore' and I was scared to flat out tell you to stop, so I told you that you were being greedy and it was a turn off. And I'm sorry, Minho. I'm so so sorry for calling you greedy and disgusting. The truth is, I feel greedy and disgusting, wanting so badly, wanting so much, when I can't go on, or when you need a break. Sometimes I feel annoyed that you need to stop." You bury your face in your hands. "God, I'm such an asshole." You try to prevent the tears prickling behind your eyes.

"Y/n. Look at me. Please." You lower your hands to see Minho. "I'm sorry. Babe, why haven't you said something? If it hurts, if I'm hurting you, then you should tell me. If you can't anymore, tell me. Yellow light. Red light. Doesn't matter. Don't feel ashamed, okay? To tell you the truth, sometimes I can tell you're tired, but I'm never sure whether or not I should slow down and stop because you never tell me to, and I worry about accidentally offending you. I don't want you to think I'm assuming you're weak."

"Anyone that can ride Lee Minho for even fifteen minutes cannot be weak," you joke.

"Point taken. As for being a totally different person during sex? Well, yeah, you're gonna act differently when you're fucking. Think about it: do you go around constantly calling yourself a dirty ho and greedy bitch when you're at work?"

You don't say anything.

"I mean, unless you're getting it on with a coworker. Then we might have some problems."

That gets a laugh from you. "God, no. No, Minho. I understand what you're saying. It just... I feel ashamed and dirty after the fact. Like 'was that really me'?"

He smiles gently. "Yes, and I get that. But you have to know that there's no reason to feel that way. I don't think any less of you. And, in case you don't remember, you aren't the only one yelling and moaning and talking dirty, okay? You also aren't the only one that gets turned on instantly and cums a billion times. Then again, I, personally, can't really help it."

You smile again, that special smile that you save for him.

"Now. What about this appointment with Mia?"

The smile drops from your face as a slight panic sets in. "What about it?"

"Baby, please don't shut down now. Keep this going, okay? Why were you so upset to miss a meeting with Mia?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "I... I'm maybe... something came up, and she... she's had a few times dealing with this with other people and knows what to do and I wanted you there so we were on the same page."

"Okay," he says slowly.

You feel your hands start to shake. "I guess it has to do with why I was so punchy these past few weeks..."

"Oh. I though it was PMS."

You shake your head. "No. Maybe a little bit, but mainly no. The truth is.." you hesitate, trying how best to go about this. "I have a rare immunodeficiency."

Minho looks at you with disbelief. "What?"

"I... I have a rare immunodeficiency," you repeat shakily.

"What is it? How did you find out?"

"Well... I actually found out from... from us having sex."

Minho's eyes widen. "Have I somehow gotten you sick? What happened? Does this have to do with why it hurts you so much?"

"No, I'll explain in a second, and possibly." You look down at your hands. "Let me ask you this: you'd say we're usually pretty... careful, right?"

He nods. "If I remember correctly, told me to download that app that tracks your cycle so we both have a record of your ovulation schedule and know what days to avoid completely. And you regularly remind me to make sure I have condoms both here and at my place and you have some sort of birth control, but you stopped taking it because it was causing some sort of issue, so no more of y/n's birth control. Correct?"

You nod. "But we're only human, and even technology can't predict something that fluctuates like a woman's period. Because it does change."

Again, he nods. "True... Wait." He looks up at you, lips parted. "Are you..?"

You shake your head. "No, babe. I'm not pregnant. Not anymore."

"Anymore?"

You nod. "Yes. I've technically been pregnant five times in the past two years."

Your boyfriend stares, mouth agape.

"After the fourth time, I went to the doctors. Do you remember how I had that constant bout of sickness?"

"I remember."

"Well.." you squeeze your fingers, preparing yourself. "I was getting so sick because my body was thinking that each fetus was actually a virus. At the same time, my body was naturally like 'okay we've got a life force in here to grow and protect'. Essentially, my body was waging a two-sided war on itself. One side to protect the baby, the other trying to get rid of it."

"But why?" You can't help but be thankful for how calm he's staying.

"You're taking this remarkably well. Better than I thought you would, anyways." You hug your arms to your chest. "Explanation: my body isn't accepting your DNA."

"So, essentially, I'm making you sick. But only when you end up pregnant?"

"Exactly."

He shakes his head. "God, y/n. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I... I wasn't sure how," you say meekly. "I mean, I'd be like 'hey, babe, guess what? I'm pregnant. Surprise!' Just to be like 'Ha. Sike!I'm not pregnant anymore' within a month."

He sighs. "True. Holy fuck. Five times?"

You nod and laugh a little. "Yeah. Guess we know what that means."

He nods conspiratorially. "Yep. Probably should've listened to everyone being like 'be smart. Be safe. Always use protection', huh?" He rubs the back of his neck. "Is there a way to fix it?"

"Fertilization treatments," you say glumly. "I hear they're absolute hell."

"But it'll be worth it, right? I mean, you don't get sick and... I mean, if you don't want kids, that's fine, I just thought... I'm not saying I'm assuming anything. I mean, obviously it's your choice, I just thought..."

For the first time, you realize just how… nervous this news is making him. Your boyfriend, the always cool, calm and collected Lee Minho is a flustered and stuttering mess. It also hits you that he actually, really, truly wants kids. He wants kids... with you. Which must mean...

No. You can't get sidetracked. Whether or not he proposes is up to him. You'll always be ready to say yes.

Back to the task at hand.

"Minho. Babe, calm down. Of course it'll be worth it."

He starts shaking his head, almost frantically. "No, no, no. Don't make a decision based on me. Do it because you want to. Don't-"

You put your hand on his knee. "Hey. Deep breaths. Yes, I want the treatments."

His body sags in relief.

"I want to get this fixed. I can't have a family if my body is killing off our kids. I dare say you'd prefer it if your children actually made it out alive."

His eyes widen at your statement. You run it through your head, trying to catch your mistake.

Then you realize: you just laid out a future of togetherness, marriage, and parenthood with Minho in those three sentences.

You try to backpedal, feeling like you've overstepped, even though you've talked about a future together many times. "I just meant, if you were me— I didn't mean—"

He cups your face in his hand. "I'd prefer it if my children made it out alive," he says softly, placing a hand on your abdomen.

You smile, relieved that you've finally told him. As Minho leans in to kiss you oh so softly, you close your eyes, envisioning your future.

#lee know #lee know smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids smut #lee minho #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #skz ff #skz smut #lee know fanfic #Spotify

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kyliegae · 9 hours

Note

Wouldn't mind requests she says.. hm then how about a soft smut for arlecchino ? I do love the way you wrote her and I'm a sucker for her being so in love with her s/o lol. Perhaps she saw you play with the children or help them with something and was overcome with the affection

Other than that I did mean to ask, are you excited for Wuthering Waves ? Some of these characters are kinda... 😳😳😳 Yinlin especially frfr

Oh and do you accept emoji anons ? Might be a bit easier lol, if you do could I have 🔥 ?

Have a lovely day :)

OMGGG HIII MY FIRST EMOJI ANON? HIIII 🔥 ANONN!!!:OO anyway, regarding WuWa, i have seen stuff about it but not really much updated about it since i've been busy but i do know that it's coming out tomorrow? iirc. but yea fear not for i WILL be playing it, BUT YEAAA yinlin omg and baizhi?? ughajshd who knows i might write about them too.. anyw enjoy anon!!!

-warning/s : NSFW, cunnilingus (r! receiving), tooth rotting fluff, super soft arlecchino, not proofread.

(men and minor dni utc!)

imo.. arlecchino is a person who genuinely loves and cares but prefers not to show emotion especially due to her profession and background (childhood too). she does not like being vulnerable at all and has trust issues with everyone, even the kids as they r still capable of betrayal, but she trusts you 100% with her vulnerability and what she sees as her "weaknesses" which is why she is more showy of her love and care towards you, hence why she is a lovesick fool for her s/o in my eyes hwjasdh sorry for yapping anyw here's ur fic that was supposed to be just a thirst.. haha.. this was also rushed and not proof-read so sorry for d mistakes.. HAHAHA (will elaborate about this behavior of hers in future fics..)

"f-father, may i have a moment?"

small hands tug on the harbinger's coat, and her deadpan eyes meet with those that belonged to a nervous toddler-- one of her children, to be specific. "what is it, my child?" she asked, tone devoid of any feeling, making it hard to guess what she was thinking, much to the child's anxiety of getting scolded by her.

"a-a.. a bouquet for you, father!"

frail little hands open up in front of her, a messy bundle of assorted wild flowers tied together with a sloppy ribbon had been presented to the knave. with a hum, the harbinger accepts the bouquet from the toddler's hands, gives her a pat on the head and the little darling scurries off.

her eyes follow the direction of where the child was headed to, the harbinger's curiosity was piqued and she wanted to know what had motivated the child to bring her flowers out of nowhere without any special occasion.

-- but as soon as she sees as to who the child runs to, she immediately has a clear answer to her question. of course, it was you, it was you who encouraged the child to give her flowers. with silent steps, she approached the slightly ajar of the bedroom's door, leaning on the wall next to it to hear your conversations with the child.

"ah, little love, have you given your father the bouquet you made?"

"y-yes mother! she even gave me a headpat.."

"hmm, now you see, my love? father is not scary at all, father can be strict with you, but it is only out of concern.. sharing is caring, little love, i am sure she'll appreciate a few flowers from time to time. now settle down, it is time for bed."

arlecchino stared at the "bouquet" in her hands, suddenly, it had more meaning to her than just a bunch of wild flowers. it was evidence of the child learning to give, and of course you were the one who taught them that. it was evidence of the child learning that they could be safe around her despite her outward appearance, and of course you were the one who assured them that. she was scary to most children, yes, for she had nurtured and raised them under the guise of a strict and unfeeling father just so she could raise them with proper discipline. although recently, even the younger kids, they have started to treat her more.. genuinely. ah, it must have been your doing. you must have been convincing them behind the scenes. she should hate you, for coaxing the kids in indulging with personal emotions that could cause them to have flaws as they grow up, but she doesn't. instead, she is thankful, because you've treated the kids with such gentleness and unconditional love-- she is thankful that you've treated her the same.

"oh! my beloved, have.. you been standing there all this time?"

a surprised gasp brings her back to her senses, the sound of the door closing behind her lover's back echoed through the hallway of the orphanage. "no, darling. i was simply checking up on you and the children, are they asleep?" arlecchino asks, choosing not to reveal to her wife that she had found out about your recent teachings. "yes, all tucked and away to dreamland." you smiled at her, walking up to her and pulling her in for a hug. the knave was not one for affection, that was made clear, but after a busy day- she cannot help but miss you too. "let's go to bed, my love. i wish to cradle you by my side tonight." you whisper to her ear, and arlecchino silently nods, her hand on your lower back.

as soon as you return to your bedroom with arlecchino, dressed in bed time clothes, the harbiner seemed to have other plans however as she immediately starts to pepper you with slow, soft and sensual kisses.

"my love, ah- you're.. strangely affectionate today, not that i don't like it, is there something on your mind?" you ask with that same gentle tone of yours, the same tone that reduces her to a lovesick fool whenever it's just you two, that lets her put down the wall she's built to let you in and show you what's inside her mind.

"nothing, my beloved.." she whispers, looking at you with adoration. it makes your heart skip a beat to see her like this. she leans in to kiss your forehead, a silent thank you for taking care of the kids.

".. i just simply wish to express my feelings. isn't that what you teach within this household?"

she adds, which confuses you a little. you were unsure about what she exactly meant, but you let her regardless. "okay, my beloved. express your feelings then." you mumbled with a silly smile, finding arlecchino's actions a bit adorable- quite similar to the children, even. arlecchino nods, a look of determination paints her face for a moment, then she leans in to kiss your cheek.

a silent thank you for loving her and seeing through her harsh demeanor. you can't help but feel flustered, feeling like a teenage girl and her first love.

she then moves on to kiss your neck in a ticklish manner, making you giggle, and it was music to her ears.

a silent thank you for introducing genuine warmth to the house of hearth. thanks to you, the orphanage burned with compassion and not with competitiveness. "beloved, aha- s-stop it!" you squirm with a chuckle, and arlecchino's face may not show it, but her heart is leaping at the sight of your gorgeous smile.

a kiss to your chest, making you gasp as her lips landed on your nipples. her tongue swirling gently around it, making you feel a subtle warmth from the intimacy of the moment.

a silent thank you for being a source of healing to her. before you, the word "mother" had brought chills up her spine, and she resented the word fiercely but after you? you had shown her what a real mother was like, and it's one of the many qualities you hold that she absolutely adores about you.

"mhm.. my beloved, is it gratitude that you wish to express?"

you asked, followed by a quiet moan as she releases your chest from her mouth with a pop. she was in awe of you, that you were able to read her mind without having to tell you. ".. yes, my beloved. how did you know?" she curiously asked, and you couldn't help but let out another chuckle. oh, this side of arlecchino was endearing, to see her openly express her thoughts. "you like to show your gratitude towards me in the form of kisses, arlecchino." you answered, bringing your hand to her head to pull her closer, then leaning in to kiss her forehead as well. "- but this is certainly the most intimate way you've shown it." you added, and she definitely felt a bit flustered. either way, arlecchino does not say a word, and chooses to continue expressing her emotions through actions.

her kisses go lower, and lower, and the sensitivity that you feel from increases.

silence rings throughout the room, except for your moans off the walls. her gratitude and devotion to you was as clear as day. her hands gently held you down by the hips as she pulled down your panties with her teeth. it was fucking hot, to see her hold you completely still with her strength alone-- and the eye contact that she kept as she stripped your pussy bare.

"my beloved, do i have permission?"

"of course, my love."

arlecchino knows that asking consent, despite it being already established beforehand, was a major turn on for you. she started by light kitten licks to your clit, making you gasp with each time her tongue made contact with the sensitive bud. the quick and light flicks were a tease, and made you tremble in anticipation.

"the mother of my children, what a pretty pussy you have.."

she mumbles in pure adoration, her breath lightly grazing against your exposed slit. you couldn't help but let out a shaky gasp of her name, "a-arlecchino.. please, do something.." you begged. "patience, my beloved." she answers, but dives right in between your legs to give your slit one, long, lick. it drove you crazy, but it felt so good. she slid her hands under your knees, bringing you closer to her, before holding onto your thighs to keep you spread apart.

"mm, you taste so splendid on my tongue, beloved.."

she moans, before finally indulging both you and her with the pleasure of her tongue roaming, exploring and pleasing your pussy. you started to squirm with the increasing intensity of her licks, and soon she was eating you out like a starved madman. thank god for strong hands, as you could barely keep yourself still, if it weren't for her holding you down you would have kept lifting yourself off the bed.

"a-arlecchino- arle-!"

you cried out her name, as her tounge darted inside you. you were close. so close. arlecchino however, was currently drunk on your moans and the taste of your slick, too busy savoring the raw taste of you, her lover. she hadn't noticed the way your cries were getting louder, or how tighter your grip on her head was becoming-- so she was surprised when you suddenly closed your thighs around her head, a bit of your fluids landing on her lips and tongue, accompanied with a loud cry of her name. she spread your legs apart once more and kept it open through the whole duration of your orgasm, wanting to see how your pussy throbbed and dripped, wanting to admire how pretty you were when you came undone because of her actions.

after you've settled down, she immediately joins you for a cuddle, she was not finished for the night- no, but she'd grant you a short moment of respite. she lays her head on your chest, closing her eyes as she listens to your heartbeat. "my love, i am still surprised how you've managed to notice my way of showing gratitude when i haven't realized it myself.", she mentions. you smiled at that, and looked at her. "to be known is to be loved. i love you, peruere."

she opens her mouth to speak, wanting to further inquire what you meant by that, but closes her mouth as she realizes what you meant once you call her peruere, the name that she hid away as it represents her past, her most fragile self, that only you've come to know instead of arlecchino, the name that spreads far and wide, which strikes fear and conquers respect from the hearts of many.

she nods in agreement, wrapping her arm around you tighter. her heart swelling from the feeling of loving and being loved, of knowing and being known. to be recognized. to be appreciated.

"i agree, my beloved. i am thankful that you've come to know me as who i really am, and stayed to love me despite what i've come to be. i love you too."

#arlecchino x reader smut #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino smut #lilac writes💜#🔥 anon #lilac asks💜

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dragon-kazansky · 14 hours

Text

Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eleven - Cracks in the glass

☆☆☆

You were sat in your garden. Sitting on the stone wall over a flowerbed nearby. The bricks were your favourite colour. Dream's doing, of course. You had been out here for about an hour now practising making things.

You had been in the Dreaming for about a week now, if you had to guess. The power Dream had given you was almost begging to be used, so you decided to put it to use. After all, he did gift you the garden.

You sit with your hand covering over the soil slightly. It was strange. Somehow, you knew what you needed to do. Rubbing your pointer finger and thumb together, dust fell down to the soil. No, not just dust, stardust.

It fell delicately from your fingers and embedded itself into the soil. Slowly, a little green stem poked out from the soil. You smile and move your hand over a little and repeated the action. You kept going until the flowerbed was full of sprouting flowers.

You smile at your work.

"Your garden is beginning to grow."

You turn and see Dream behind you. You smile at him softly. "Yes. I felt it was a good time to put the garden to use."

Dream walks over and offers you his hand. You look at it for a moment and then accept it, rising from the wall. He brings your hand to his arm as he guides you round the garden.

"How are you enjoying your time here in the Dreaming?"

"I've settled now. I am used to your realm," you tell him.

"I am glad. This is your home now."

The two of you walk slowly through the garden. You watch as fairies and birds fly overhead. A doe prances through the trees to the left. A horse grazes in a field on the other side. There was so much beauty surrounding you.

"I was hoping to have a word with you," he starts after a long bout of silence.

"What about?"

"The night I was captured."

You stop. Dream feels you tense beside him and looks at you.

"The night I was captured, I was in the waking world. I was searching for someone. I only intended to find him and bring him back here, but evidently failed when your father summoned me."

"I'm so sorry," you say softly.

"Don't be. You are not at fault for what your father did. That was his own doing. As was Alex's when he decided to keep you in your room all those years."

Dream could see you were still upset about what happened and reached up to cup your cheek. His hand is warm against your skin. "Don't cry," he spoke softly.

"I'm sorry."

He hushes you quietly. "What I wanted to discuss with you was the man I was searching for that night."

You nod to show you were still listening, unable to find your voice right now.

"He is one of my nightmares. The Corianthian. He has escaped my realm and is still out there now. I came to tell you this because I must go in search of him again."

"I understand. I'll wait for your return."

"You do not wish to come with me?" He asks, sounding surprised.

"Wouldn't it be best I didn't? I don't want to get in the way or be the reason anything goes wrong."

Dream seems confused by your words. "I want you to come."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Why would I not?"

"For the reasons I just said before." You look at him in wonder. "Is he dangerous?"

"Quite. More so now, I assume."

"And you want me to come?" You ask again.

"Yes."

You chuckle softly and shake your head lightly. Dream smiles at your amusement. Every day, he discovers something new about you that he likes.

"What can I do to help?" You ask.

"For now, keep practising with your new power. I need to find his location first."

"Alright."

Dream smiles and then takes hold of your hand. He lifts it to his lips and kisses it gently. You exhake softly through parted lips as you keep your eyes on his. He does not look away once.

When he lets go of your hand, it feels cold. You miss his touch. You watch him retreat back into the palace.

☆☆☆

Over the next few days, you work on your garden. Every flowerbed is full. You work hard to help them grow. You want your garden to be full of colours of all kinds. You want Dream to know his power did not go to waste.

Matthew flew above the palace and swooped down into your garden. He landed on the fountain and saw you sprinkling stardust onto the flowers again.

"How's it going?" He caws.

You look up and smile. "I'm making progress."

"Yeah, looking good. So, uh, his higness is asking for you."

"Oh? Alright. Lead the way."

Matthew takes flight, and you follow him inside the palace. He takes you down several halls and down toward the throne room. When you arrive, you see Morpheus and Lucienne talking. When they hear you approach, they stop and turn to look at you.

"I have found him," Dream says before you can ask.

"Alright. So, we go now?"

"Do you feel ready?" He asks.

"I don't know, but you want me to help, so I'll try. Though I'm still not sure what I can do."

"It may seem strange, but I'll explain when we get there." He can sense your anxiety.

Lucienne looks between you both.

Dream offers you his hand. You take it, stepping closer to him. This pleases him. He other hand reaches for his sand, and he begins to tip the pouch. The sand falls around you in a haze.

Lucienne looks concerned.

Before you know it, you're standing outside a diner. You look around to find yourself in a place you've never seen before.

"Where are we?"

"America. He's here." Dream keeps his eyes trained on the diner and walks on in. You follow him closely.

The last diner you went to was covered in blood. John. Poor John. Things could have been so different for him if Rodrick wasn't involved in his literal creation.

Inside was quiet. Few people are present. The chef could be seen through the window to the kitchen, and there were two girls on the counter. One pouring coffee for a gentleman at the bar and the other restocking condiments.

A few stools down from the man with the coffee was a plate of untouched food. No one was sitting there.

You both stand by the door and look around. Clearly, there is no sign of this Corinthian.

"Are you sure he's here?" You ask.

"Yes."

In that next moment, a man steps out from the men's toilets. He wipes something you can't see clearly with a cloth and then tucks both items into his pocket. On his face sit a pair of small round frames covering his eyes. He stops and looks up, a huge grin appearing on his face.

"Well, well, well."

Something about his voice sets you on edge, and you find yourself grabbing at Dream's sleeve. He feels your little tug on his coat, but doesn't turn to look at you, keeping his eyes solely focused on the other man.

"Corianthian."

"Dream."

You look up at Dream, but his gaze is locked on to the other man. You feel like the Corianthian is looking at you, though. His lipsnarw curled up into a very pleased grin.

"So, you got free."

"I did. I am here to finish what I came to do all those years ago." Dream speaks firmly.

"Is that so?" Corianthian speaks slowly.

The Corianthian chuckles and walks past you both, heading outside. You look at Dream, who just follows him with his eyes and then follows him out. You stay right behind him.

The Corianthian goes round the back of the diner and stands there. You watch him, staying close to Dream. You do not feel good about being here.

"Well, I'm not going without a fight."

The Corianthian reaches into his pocket and pulls out the thing you saw him put away earlier. When he removes the cloth, you see the knife.

Dream doesn't seem threatened by it.

"I should explain why I bought you with me," Dream says, turning his head slightly to show he's addressing you, but his eyes stay forward. "I gave you a portion of my power, which means I am only complete when I am with you."

You look at him. "Why did you give it to me then?"

"It was a gift."

"Dream..."

You feel his fingers brush against yours as he takes your hand. You glance down and look at them entwined together.

"Look at me."

You lift your eyes to his.

"Trust me."

You nod softly.

Dream turns back to the Corianthian, and his expression becomes firm again. "Your games are over."

The Corianthian laughs. The knife shimmers in the sun. It looks so very sharp. Dream keeps his hand in yours as he lifts the other one up. He's trying to force the Corianthian back into the Dreaming.

However, the Corianthian isn't having it. His aim is true as he throws the knife towards Dream. You push him by instinct and raise your hand to shield your face. The knife embeds itself through your hand, and you resist screaming.

Dream's focus is instantly on you as he places both his hands on your upper arms, looking at the knife in your hand.

The Corianthian runs.

"Go!" You tell Dream.

"No."

Morpheus pulls you into his chest and uses his sand to return you both to the Dreaming. The moment you're both back in the palace, he calls for Lucienne. She rushes in and sees you, asking what happened. Dream doesn't explain. He just asks her for help.

That was something he rarely did.

You're in tears, and your breathing is erratic. Dream is worried about you. You're hurt, and it's his fault. Lucienne has to pry his hands off you so she can help you, requesting things from Matthew and Mervyn.

Lucienne sits you down, and Dream can only watch. He's panicking on the inside. He won't let them know, won't let you know, just what he's feeling right now.

You're hurt.

The scream that you let out when Lucienne pulls out the knife makes his heart break. He watches blood drip down, too late for Lucienne to prevent it from happening. She tends to your hand all while speaking to you in a calming voice.

That should be him, but he couldn't. He couldn't help you. He can't be gentle with you like that. He can't comfort you the way he wants to.

Dream leaves. He can't watch any more.

☆☆☆

You had long since gone to bed. You had come to bid him goodnight, despite the fact he didn't sleep. He told you goodnight and watched you go quietly. He then sank down on his throne and sulked for about an hour.

His sad hours were cut short by a deep rumble under his feet. He snaps back into reality, or well, his realm, to what could only be described as an earthquake. He rises from his throne but holds onto it for support as he looks around the room.

The window behind him cracks, and he stares at them in confusion.

Then it stops, and all is calm.

Matthew comes flying in moments later. "Uh, boss?"

"I know, Matthew. I felt it."

"You, uh, might want to see Lucienne." Matthew caws.

Dream nods and makes his way to the library. The Dreaming doesn't have earthquakes, so whatever that was, it was new.

☆☆☆

@deniixlovezelda - @missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @meganlpie - @thoughtsfromlayla - @ladyjbrekker

@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @star-maker-rain-dancer - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 - @hopshusushi - @sloppyzengarden - @thecraziestcrayon -

#heart of the Dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #soulmate au #dragon writes

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 3 days

Text

He Suddenly Became a Plushie!?

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. This is a rush translation.

After finishing my work, I returned to Ieyasu's room.

Mai: "I'm back, Ieyasu. Huh?"

(I thought he'd be in his room by now.)

Ieyasu: "Hmm? Welcome back. Sorry, I must have fallen asleep without realizing."

Mai: "Huh? Where are you?"

Ieyasu: "What are you talking about? I'm right here."

Mai: "Huh?"

As I heard Ieyasu's voice, a plush toy resembling him appeared beside the writing desk.

(No, a stuffed toy can't just stand up and talk, right!?)

Mai: "Wait a minute, are you serious? Is that really you!?"

Ieyasu: "What are you talking about?"

Ieyasu: "Huh? Aren't you unusually tall today?"

Mai: "No, you're just small! I mean, you're a plushie!?"

Ieyasu: "Plushie? What's that?"

Ieyasu: "!?"

After moving his body, he noticed his own hands and finally grasped the situation.

Mai: "What happened while I was away?"

Ieyasu: "Even if you ask me, I have no idea. I was just writing a letter and suddenly got sleepy. Then, when I woke up..."

Mai: "You found yourself like this?"

Ieyasu: "I guess."

Mai: "Are you okay? Can I touch you?"

Ieyasu: “Go ahead.”

Mai: “Okay.”

Carefully, I place the small Ieyasu in the palm of my hand.

(What should I do? He’s so tiny.)

Ieyasu: “Hey, why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

Mai: “Ah!”

Ieyasu tapped the tip of my nose and moved his short arms.

(Is he trying to fold his arms? They’re too short for that, though.)

Ieyasu: “I don’t know why this happened, but I’ll find a way to return to normal.”

Ieyasu: “And you, don’t worry more than necessary. Just keep smiling, as usual. Got it?”

He said that and pointed one arm towards my face.

(He's trying to reassure me, even though it's harder for him.)

Mai: "Thank you. You're right. Being depressed won't solve anything."

Mai: "Thanks to your cuteness, I'm feeling a little better."

Ieyasu: "What are you talking about? Moving and talking dolls are creepy as hell."

(He's embarrassed.)

Mai: "That's not true. You're small and cute."

Ieyasu: "My bad. I guess the real me is huge and totally not cute."

Mai: "Your normal self is tall and handsome! I love your usual appearance, of course."

Mai: "So, can I help you look for a way to return to normal?"

Ieyasu: "You're still going to help, even if I say no anyway."

Ieyasu: "Do as you like."

I couldn't help but run my fingers over his cheek as he turned away.

Ieyasu: "Hey, what are you doing?"

Mai: "Hehe, you're just too fluffy and cute."

Ieyasu: "Stop grinning like that. I’ll remember this when I return to normal."

He turned away, sulking.

(Even as a plushie, he's still stubborn. Huh?)

Suddenly, a black stain on his back caught my attention.

I casually shifted my gaze and noticed a brush beneath the writing desk.

Mai: "Ieyasu, there's ink on your back!"

Ieyasu: "Really? It doesn't hurt or itch."

Mai: "Are you sure it's okay? Ink isn't poisonous, right?"

Ieyasu: "Calm down. It's just ink. I can just wash it off."

Mai: "Then let's wash it!"

Ieyasu: "Now?"

Mai: "I'm worried it'd stain your clothes. Just wait. I'll prepare everything quickly!"

Ieyasu: "Hey!"

Quickly preparing hot water and a basin, I lifted him with both hands.

Mai: "I prepared it in a hurry, but I hope it's okay to get you wet."

Ieyasu: "It should be fine. Worst-case scenario, you can just dry me off."

Mai: "Still, if we leave it, the stain will only get worse."

Ieyasu: "If you're going to dilly-dally, then don't wash it."

Mai: "I'll do it!"

With determination, I gently submerged Ieyasu in the warm water.

Mai: "Ieyasu, is it too hot? Are you okay with the pressure? Does it hurt?"

Ieyasu: "You're worrying too much. Just do it properly."

Mai: "But even you are careful when washing the Wasabi doll."

Ieyasu: "That was something you gave me, so I can't help it."

Mai: "Then I can't help it either. I'm washing something precious to me."

Ieyasu: "I see."

Ieyasu: "So, how long are you planning to keep washing me?"

Mai: "Well, it seems like the ink has soaked in more than it looks. Ah!"

The ink spread to his stomach, and I panicked.

Mai: "Wait, I'll get it off now!"

Ieyasu: "Ugh."

Mai: "Did it hurt?"

Ieyasu: "No. It just tickles."

Mai: "Sorry, I'll try to be gentler."

Ieyasu: "Hey, it's getting even more ticklish."

Mai: "But it's not coming off easily."

Ieyasu: "Guh!"

As I gently rubbed, he trembled more and more.

Ieyasu: "Hey, aren't you done yet?"

Mai: "Just a little more. Hang in there, Ieyasu!"

Ieyasu: "Even if you say that, I..."

The small Ieyasu started squirming in my hand, almost falling into the basin.

Mai: "Ieyasu, don't move!"

Ieyasu: "I can't take it anymore!"

The next moment, water splashed everywhere.

Ieyasu: "Huh?"

Mai: "----!"

(He's back to normal!)

Mai: "Maybe getting wet was the trick?"

Ieyasu: "Who knows? I'm just relieved to be back to normal."

Mai: "Wait, what about the ink stain?"

I quickly moved closer to check his back and stomach, but I couldn't find any.

Mai: "Great, it seems like everything's fine!"

Ieyasu: "Fine? Not quite."

Before I could react, the wet Ieyasu grabbed my waist and swiftly pushed me down.

Mai: "Um, Ieyasu?"

Ieyasu: "I told you several times it was ticklish, but you didn't listen."

Ieyasu: "Now it's payback time."

Mai: "Ah..."

He untied my obi, opened my kimono, and touched my bare skin.

Mai: "Wait, Ieyasu, you're soaking wet. You need to change."

Ieyasu: "I'll be taking it off anyway."

Mai: "Mm."

His rough hands caressed me, and he kissed me more passionately than usual.

That night, we shared the warmth of our bodies until Ieyasu was completely satisfied.

Ikesen Masterlist

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen ieyasu #tokugawa ieyasu #ikesen jp #ikesen translations #cybird

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minminyoonjii · 8 hours

Text

Tea Party

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

🍄Wordcount: 1K

"Hhgh," you whined, stretching your sore limbs from a well-rested sleep. You sat up, rubbing your eyes awake before blindly patting around to get your phone. The bright light made you squint, "Ugh," you groaned, waiting for the auto brightness to adjust. There were a few hours before lunch but you already felt energized enough to do something. "There must be something I can do," you mumbled, pondering for a second when you realized your beloved plush wasn't in bed.

You instantly looked around, only to see it lying face down on the floor. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you picked it up, "I'm so sorry," you mumbled, burying your face into it. You sighed in relief, feeding the plush of your warmth. 'Want a tea party,' a thought deep within your subconscious whispered. "Yeah, that sounds fun," you whispered aloud, crawling off your bed to get everything set up. You pulled a box from under your bed and inside it was a kid's play set, just perfect for a little one like you.

"This goes here," you mumbled, arranging the chairs and table to your heart's desire. Soon the tea party was about to begin, but something was missing. You furrowed your eyebrows, checking off everything you needed, 'Guests? checked,' all your toys are in place. 'Food? checked,' there are cookies on the table. 'Tea? Oh!' That's right you were missing the tea. It can't be a tea party without tea now can it? You got up from the table, holding the teapot to fill it with water, "I have to be quick," you whispered, making your way to the kitchen.

You didn't bother to lift your head, prioritizing your quiet feet instead. To say the least, you got scared when you bumped into someone. "Oh, sunbeam. What are you doing this early?" Felix asked, ruffling your bed hair. You straightened up, clearing your throat, "Water. I just wanted water," you said, hoping he wouldn't pick up on your nervousness. "In that?" Felix questioned, noticing the teapot in your hand. You nodded, "Yeah, yeah. In this," you said, pressing it against the water filter to fill it up.

Felix hummed, "You're not hiding a tea party from me right? Because I'd love to join," he said, drinking his morning coffee. You bit down on your tongue, holding yourself back from spontaneously saying yes, "Would you actually?" you asked offhandedly, just in case he was jesting. Felix nodded, "Of course, I would sunbeam. Wouldn't miss it for the world," he reassured, remaining eye contact with you. "Fine, but you can't be too loud, this is a quiet tea party," you mumbled, walking back to your room.

"Wow, you did a great job, sunbeam," he said, sitting next to your plush toys as you sat across from him. You began pouring 'tea' into every single cup, "The tea party can begin," you whispered, proud of your work. Felix chuckled, moving his hand behind one of your plushies, "Mm, this tea is just right," he said in a high-pitched voice. You smiled, "Try the cookies too," you said, handing the plush some cookies. Felix tilted the plush's head down, "Yummy, that was delicious," he said, making you burst out into giggles.

You felt yourself sink into that familiar headspace, pleased by the company of your plush toys and members. Felix noticed the glint in your eyes changed, "Are you feeling alright, sunbeam?" he asked, holding up his teacup so you wouldn't be startled by his question. "Ahm, is alright," you whispered, swaying yourself with a cookie in hand. Felix chuckled, reaching behind another plush, "Well I have to say, this tea party is the most fun I've had," he said, using his deeper voice.

"That's good," you replied, feeling your heart swell in pride. Felix cooed, secretly snapping a few pictures of your blissful state. All was good until you perked up at the sound of someone closing the door outside. Your smile dropped as your heart sank. You sat the teacup down, eyes wavering to think of what to do next. 'Should I keep everything?' 'Should I stop?' 'Is it safe to play a little longer?' you thought, trying to make a quick decision but it only resulted in your breathing picking up in a panic.

Felix's eyes widened, "Hey, hey. Look at me, sunbeam. How many things can you see, hm?" he asked, cautious of touching you. "Too many," you whispered, seeing too many things. Felix winced at his mistake, "Why don't you list at least five of those things for me?" he asked, specifying the question. You furrowed your eyebrows, “A teacup, cookies, my hands, the teacup dish and the plushies," you said, feeling your heart rate slow down. "That's right. Good job, sunbeam," he praised, gently patting your head.

You exhaled deeply, frowning as the numbness crept up your skin. Felix noticed but he didn't know what to do next. You felt yourself zoning out, staring blankly at the teacup in front of you. Felix wanted to help but honestly, it was making him spiral, "I'm going to go get someone okay, sunbeam?" he said, getting up. You nodded, dipping your finger into the chilling water. Felix huffed, dragging Minho in without an explanation. Just as Minho was about to retort, Felix turned his attention towards you.

Minho eyed your movement for a bit before knowing what was wrong. He didn't say a word, only gesturing for Felix to sit back down. Minho sat next to you, holding a teacup of his own behind clinking it with yours. You furrowed your eyebrows at the disturbance but wavered when you noticed Minho next to you. He smiled, gradually initiating movements from you, either by pouring you another cup of tea or making you take a bit of the cookies. Minho slowly eased you out of that dissociative episode.

You soon found yourself consciously doing this again, shivering as the chill numbness wore off. Felix smiled, glad that you're back to playing and interacting again. Minho chuckled, grabbing his own Leebit to join the tea party as well. Felix eventually sent the photos to the members and it didn't take long for his phone to buzz with notifications. He chuckled, teasing the members for being out of the house. Minho pinched Felix's ear lobe, "Stop that before they rush back home and break down the door," he whispered with you being none the wiser.

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spot-of-tea · 1 day

Text

Okay headcanon time.

So for ages I’ve always wondered whether magic can be inherited or not. So like if your parents are powerful wizards chances are you’ll be one too. So the main reason I've always thought this is due to the fact that whenever you see a powerful character and are then introduced to a family members of theirs, that family member is as powerful or more so.

And I have examples. But I am gonna put a read more cause this is gonna get looooooong.

There's also gonna be spoilers beyond this point if you haven't watched the anime or read the manga.

So first off Laxus is a powerful wizard, he's an s-class wizard at a young age. While you could always say that that is due to his lacrima, I've always believed him to have the potential for powerful magic but because he was born sickly he could never fully achieve it. But then you look at his family and both his dad and grandfather are both powerful wizards. I mean Makarov is a wizard saint, not many get more powerful than that. Even looking back further, while we don't see the full extent of Yuri's magic in action he does appear to be somewhat powerful from the get go.

Then we move onto Cana. Guildarts is considered the most powerful member of Fairytail, the top ranked S-class mage who was even allowed to try a 100 years quest. Cana has shown multiple times how powerful she is, she's the only person in the guild whos been able to wield fairy glitter.

Then we have Erza, now from the very beginning Erza is shown to be an absolute powerhouse, from meeting her it would be easy to assume that she gained her power through grit and determination. However, we are then introduced to one Irene Belserion. Now Irene is cast as a pretty badass person from the start so you can definitely see where Erza gets parts of her personality from. Magically speaking Irene is said to be one of the top members of the spriggan twelve. Now when we first meet a member of the spriggan twelve we meet Brandish who is most likely one of the less powerful ones, but still her magic is described as overwhelming, so Irene's magic must be even more so.

Now Lucy is an interesting case, while Layla did in fact open (and likely closed) the eclipse gate on her own when it required both Lucy and Yukino to do so later, she (if I remember correctly) also had a pre-existing condition which made her magic less powerful? That being said it's shown that she was already a remarkable wizard and even held the respect of Aquarius who seems to have taken her death very hard. Going further back though we also have Anna Heartfilia, Lucy's ancestor. She's described as being one of the most powerful celestial spirit mage of all time.

Now finally while we don't ever learn about their parents or see if either was canonically powerful. I feel it's safe to assume that at least one of their parents was quite powerful. Natsu and Zeref are revealed to be canonically siblings. Now before we get this reveal you would assume that Zeref is only that powerful because of how long he's been alive for and has accumulated that power over the centuries. But we can then assume that he was already pretty powerful at a young age, I imagine had things worked out he would've used the eclipse gate himself instead of teaming up with Anna. We also see that Natsu is already one of Fairytail's powerhouses (honestly why he's not S-class yet is something I'll never understand). So I can imagine that the both of them had the potential for being powerful wizards long before either of them cast their first spell.

Whew. okay I'm done, I'm sorry this got so long, it's been bugging me for so long. I do want to stress that this may not be 100% accurate but this is just my own interpretation and headcanon.

But yeh let me know what you think and if you want to add anything else to this go ahead, I'm always interested to hear what others have to say.

#fairytail #fairy tail #tea speaks #headcanons #laxus dreyar #makarov dreyar #cana alberona #guildarts clive #erza scarlet #irene belserion #Layla heartfilia #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #zeref dragneel

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optiwashere · 2 months

Note

if you're doing prompts this week too I might send in one or two more!

with that said, how about some angst, C1 For mintharaheart perhaps? I imagine minthara is used to her lovers dying, just not of old age.

You're so real for this one. Thanks for requesting it! 💜

Also, I apologize in advance.

--- C1. Lifespan differences

It is the weakness of surface-dwellers in her, thought Minthara as she helped Shadowheart from the bed to the small washroom nearby.

The webbed halls of the new House Baenre were not to Shadowheart's liking at first. She struggled to see the beauty in Qu'ellarz'orl as well, the view of the mushroom forest lost to her. That was decades ago by then, though to Minthara that still felt as if it were yesterday.

It is the weakness she's instilled in me that doesn't call on our servants to aid her, Minthara told herself as she gently pulled the shift from Shadowheart's body.

Her hair, once black, now matched Minthara's silver, though its pallor was joined by new wrinkles and lines on Shadowheart's face. Beautiful all of them, like a suit of armor wearing the proud signs of battle.

"Will you warm the water for me?" asked Shadowheart in perfect drowic. She'd learned the tongue easily, and she used it more than any other language now.

"Of course," Minthara said softly, matching Shadowheart's weak grip on her hand.

The clawed tub next to them, its curling edges mimicking a spider's legs, had already been filled with water. Minthara trusted the servants of her House enough to do that much. Even still, she knelt before the bath and dipped a finger into the murky water.

No heat nor acid scorched her skin.

None were so ambitious — so foolish — as to target the Matron Mother's consort, at least. It had happened once, long ago. A failed attempt and a bad one at that. What Matron Mother wasn't accustomed to having her consort's food taste-tested?

Pieces of that traitor's skull still adorned one of Minthara's favorite spider-silk dresses.

With a word of power and flick of her wrist, the heating element underneath the tub lit with gentle flames. While the water heated, Minthara collected the surface soaps and shampoos that Shadowheart preferred without a word.

I should not be the one waiting on her. She is my consort, and I am her Matron Mother. Her superior in all things.

Minthara thought it all to herself as she turned to the sitting Shadowheart next to her. She slipped the sandals from Shadowheart's feet, saying not a word. Gray-green eyes stared down at her, the wrinkles around Shadowheart's mouth more pronounced as she smiled.

"My weakness," Minthara said, the pet name effortlessly flowing off her tongue, "is the water to your liking?"

Shadowheart dipped her fingers in the water. "It's perfect."

"Then allow me to help you in."

It is this weakness, her, that has infected me so.

Nevertheless, Minthara helped Shadowheart into her bath without even a grunt of exertion or a word.

She never called for her servants when it came time to help Shadowheart with the soap. Her fingers fumbled with it so often these days.

It is this infection that will kill me when she leaves me, isn't it?

#bg3 fanfiction #minthara baenre #shadowheart #minthara x shadowheart #my fic #anotheropti prompt fics #I can only say that I'm sorry and that is that and now I must bury my head in work to stop thinking about this #from the Drow of the Underdark the closest word I can find that matches 'weakness' like this would be 'streeaka'#which is more like recklessness #so the pet name would be like 'ussta streeaka'#if I'm feeling lazy and don't want to figure out the adjective-to-noun from foolish to foolishness

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wild-at-mind · 3 months

Text

I feel like tags like these were inevitable on the post about people traumatising themselves for the greater good or w/e... There is SO much emphasis on posting on tumblr and other social media being so important and so useful and we must never stop. But I would like to counterargue with the idea that posting on social media (especially tumblr) constantly does very little/nothing. If that was true then the point here becomes meaningless.

#i guess i must be broken according to this person because i don't seem to feel emotions the way they feel helps palestine #activists in palestine are also calling for a general strike where no one goes to work and that has yet to materialise in a meaningful way #because people keep watering it down by saying 'oh it's ok just post constantly/about nothing else than palestine on social media'#yeah awesome great- look i'm sure there are people in palestine saying get the word out about our suffering etc #but they are also calling for more meaningful symbolic gestures like strikes which as far as I know no western country has delivered #because that would take a lot of organising and much less guilt tripping and people spending all their time posting #and comfort always comes up- comfort and discomfort- what even is comfort?#is feeling ok in your own mind an insult to palestine?#are there people losing everything in wars feeling better because someone in the west feels really really bad about their pain?#like sorry to be facetious but what on earth does any of this rhetoric accomplish #i spent years thinking like this and it made me so sick and now i'm better i am DONE with it- i cannot go back to this thinking #i can only live if i bend away from this kind of thinking like a plant to light- and i want to help others but people just won't stop #please- post on social media if you like. it doesn't help anyone to view the depths of their pain and feel bad #it is better to look towards hope a ceasefire and a resolution and end to the killing of palestinians for good #that can happen!!!#i think avoiding misinformation and dehumanising rhetoric about either side is also very important #i fully believe you can only understand geopolitics and war if you see everyone as human

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schleierkauz · 2 years

Text

h. hh-

(by @anna-montenegro)

#god knows i adore her but JESUS #HEAD IN MY FUCKING HANDS CORNELIA COME O N #I NEED TO READ THIS LOVERS VERSION OF INKHEART ???#thats my favorite fucking character now and SHE DOESNT EXIST #HOW DOES THIS WOMAN CONTINUOUSLY COME UP #WITH THE MOST STANNABLE VILLAINS IN HISTORY #ONLY TO SAY #'ew. no.'#CORNELIA WORK WIHT ME HERE #it bores me WELL IT DOENST BORE M E CORNELIA OHH MY GOD JUST #MAKE THE STORY ABOUT HER #MAYBE THE STORY IS ABOUT HER #sorry sorry i'm just. really REALLY having a moment here oh My GOD like.#can you IMAGINE????#the power this character must have had. i must know everything about her.#i think i finally understand how basta stans feel oh ohhhhhhh the POTENTIAL!!!!!#WHO IS SHE #WH O IS SHE CORNELAI PLKEASE

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iniziare · 2 years

Text

Tag drop: Dante of Sparda (Part 2/2).

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shotmrmiller · 3 months

Text

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

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