#crawling back to Tumblr seem like a good idea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

st4rhwa · 5 months

Text

𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗬𝗖𝗟𝗘𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗨𝗦𝗧 k. hj

김홍중 | playboy!kim hongjoong x afab!reader smut, light angst, fluff

synopsis: much like recycled stardust, no matter how far you drift from hongjoong, you'll always find your way back into his arms.

cw: university!au, deliberate lower case, smut, angst, fluffy ending, reader has feminine attributes, ex boyfie joong, push-and-pull kind of relationship, it's not toxicity i promise, hongjoong's a little bit ooc, brief mentions of alcohol/drugs, making out, pet names (baby, princess, joong(ie)), empty threats

wc: 5.7k

𝗮/𝗻: first tumblr fic ! this might be kind of messy ?? i'm still in the learning process of everything lol inspired by: i'm yours (isabel larosa)

sw: unprotected sex, switch!joong, switch! reader, desperate make up sex/kind of hate sex?, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, i really did try to start this blog off with a soft fic but i couldn't help myself

"-you'll come, right?"

just a normal interaction, is what you kept telling yourself. it's nothing special, nowhere near the sort. just a conversation. nothing out of the ordinary.

that's what it would have been if kim hongjoong, your ex boyfriend, hadn't been the one to stop you in the middle of the road to convince you it'd be a good idea to attend his party next saturday. because i mean come on. sex? alcohol? ket? shrooms? please. that's child's play.

but how he's so relaxed around you cognisant of the long history the two of you share, you'll never know.

"i would but.." your witless muttering isn't doing anything for you other than digging your grave. his keen gaze makes your palms sweat; is it the comical height difference or the general attention he seems to be adamant to give you?

"come on," he whines. "i could convince anyone else in the world other than you to go. why do you always make it so difficult?" "not my thing," you should know that, is what you would have liked to add. "sorry." making tracks however, obviously wasn't justifiable in his books. immediately reaching for your wrist, you don't make it much further than two steps before he locks you back in his gaze.

"come on, y/n," "i don't-" "please? i'd really like you to be there." your eyes snap up to his, and the way he looks at you so enticingly makes you want to crawl up into a ball and die.

you hate the fact that he has you in the palm of his hand. especially because he knows it too.

"my ass." you mumble, shoving past another group of people. you're sweating, trying to weave yourself through the crowds of intoxicated young adults mingling, drinking and swaying to the music. you hate it. you hate it so much it's unbearable.

your friends squeeze you into a mini dress and cake you in makeup, just to leave you five minutes into the party to fuck some junkie they'll never talk to ever again. and kim hongjoong? he's nowhere to be found.

your entire being reverberates in time with the heavy bass line of whatever fusion afro beats were playing in the living room. in times like these, the kitchen becomes your safe haven; surrounded by countless bottles of alcohol for you to mix and match as you wish, only seeing the occasional person enter who'd greet you and refill their cup.

you wince when you begin to find the music has become much more bass accelerated, and you decide you need a breather. you would have guessed hongjoong would have retreated upstairs with a girl by now. you guess wrong, however, when your eyes briefly meet his in the midst of the sea of bodies.

his eyes are wide, puppy like, vivid colours reflecting in his pupils. he looks at you expectantly, ignoring the people trying to catch his recognition left and right. he opens his mouth, as if about to say something, before a girl tugs on his arm, sidetracking his attention again.

you keep your head low, shaking it as you run a hand through your hair. you make it through the living room, the foyer through to the dining room, and make a quick move to lock yourself in the bathroom noticing it's vacancy.

the door acts as a soundproof wall, concealing you from all the commotion, the chaos. what was the point of showing up anyway? you had false hope - nothing was going to happen between the two of you even if you got down on your hands and knees and begged.

in truth, kim hongjoong is a coward. it doesn't matter how hard he tries to deny it, it's simply his thing. he makes a move, poised and mighty. but once the conviction begins to fade he shrivels into nothing more than a drop in the ocean, and hides his uneasiness by picking up another side chick. one moment he loves you, the next, he doesn't.

you shake your head, hands resting on either side of the sink. your heart is racing rapidly, and you feel pathetic. you feel pathetic because you know that your cheeks are red because of him. your palpitating heart is because of him. your thighs pressing together is all because of him.

you hate him, is what you keep telling yourself. you hate him and his reckless actions, his arrogance, his popularity, his likeability, his devilish smile, his handsome face, his perfect body- fuck. that's not it. you don't hate him. you hate how much you love him, how deeply you fell for his charms.

your index finger drags along your aegyo sal, wiping away smudged mascara and eyeliner. your eyes settle in the mirror dragging over your worn expression, and you sigh. it'd probably be best if you left before it got too late.

you jump slightly when there are a few desperate bangs at the door. "c'mon! gotta fuckin' piss-" you snatch your phone from the shelf, frantically unlocking the door and pushing it open, running off before you could face any confrontation.

maybe you were just a coward too.

you immediately approach the adjacent door which leads to the garden. reaching for the handle, you swing it open and slam it closed behind you before anyone else could follow. your back rests against the cool glass, and you exhale softly, finally being able to find some peace and quiet in the midst of the clamour.

you catch your breath, pulling out your phone from your back pocket and opening it to call an uber.

"i was almost convinced you weren't gonna show."

your eyes clamp shut. make it a nightmare. make it some sort of weird twisted dream. maybe someone spiked your drink - perhaps you were just hallucinating.

you blink once, twice, before hongjoong's index finger catches your chin. "hey. look at me." you can barely pick out his features, the dim lights emitting from the inside of his dining room just barely illuminating his cheekbones. "stop-.. running, from me.." he sighs out at the sight of your uncomfortable facial expression, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. he continues, before you can stop to think, "i try to talk to you, we give it a go, you regret ever giving it a go and run off, and this whole cycle repeats itself." his hands drift to your shoulders, down your sides before finding welfare on your hips. "and i don't think that's fair.."

his soft and rich tone makes your shoulders relax, and your head leans back, gently bumping against the door. "talk to me." you pull yourself together and shake your head, pushing him off you. "you talk like it's just me doing all the running. that's pretty ballsy coming from you," the way he looks at you tells you he knows that. better than anyone else. "and why does it matter anyway. go back inside, it's your party. bet your side chick's already waiting for you."

to your dismay, his hands reach for you again. he ignores your snarky comments, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, forehead bumping against yours. his eyes are large; doe-like. they're nothing short of innocent, but you're not blind to the small flames kindling within his pupils.

"i want to know why you're ignoring me. why you've stopped loving me so abruptly." his eyes fall shut and his eyelashes tickle your forehead. "otherwise i might have to make you tell me.." he tilts his head ever so slightly, soft, pillowy lips brushing against yours. "hongjoong.." your voice only comes out in the form of a whisper, and it makes hongjoong nod softly. "shh baby.. i've got you, it's okay."

"i don't-" "what happened, y/n? just abruptly telling me you're breaking up with me and then avoiding me for weeks on end isn't you. you're better than this!" "you're not right for me, hongjoong!" shit. that came out wrong. like that, the flames in his pupils douse. hongjoong's shoulders droop and his hands fall, but his eyes stay glued to yours. "no," you shake your head, rephrasing. "i'm not right for you."

"what makes- what makes you say that?" "listen to me closely, hongjoong." he wished you'd use his name in a brighter light. "i'm not right for you." "you're repeating the same shit but you're not telling me what it fucking means!" he rips away from you, a hand tugging through his hair. "what the fuck happened?! i thought we were doing well i-, i made sure you knew i loved you and i tried to make time for you-" "that's my problem! you're too busy- you've got no time for me! you've got dance, singing, producing, all these fucking parties! where does that leave me? does it make me love you any less? no! but i can't afford to be neglected by you!"

hongjoong's mouth opens and closes like a fish, trying to wrack his brain for something- anything! but deep down he knows you're right. he's busy, he can barely catch a break. and then off he goes throwing parties when he should be spending time with you. but somehow, 90% of what you say goes through one ear and out the other-

"you still, love.. me?" you scoff. "of course i do. but i just.. think it's better if you move on an-" "why do i have to move on when i haven't lost anything?" a smile grows on his face, and he grips your wrists excitedly. "i- i thought you hated me! and-" "are you not grasping anything i'm saying right now!" you yell over his excited yapping. "i'm saying!-" he quiets down to a soft pause. "-..you need to find someone who suits your needs better."

you barely register his sudden movements as he bursts forward, taking your cheeks in his hands as he slams his lips against yours. his eyes roll back as he sighs into your mouth. god how he's missed the feeling. he presses his body flush against yours, revelling in the feeling of, well, you. your addictive lips, your sleek hair, your compelling curves, he basks in you.

you try to break away, but your body seems to have other plans, arching into him. "hongjoong-" it's not longer than a second before he once again encapsulates your lips with his. you try to make out a sentence between desperate kisses. "we- .. we- shouldn't-" his front teeth graze your bottom lip, and he pulls you nice and tight against him, just the way you like it.

you would have made more of an effort to flee if it didn't feel so fucking good. his hands never cease to wander your body like it's an uncharted island in the pacific ocean. if they're not massaging your waist, they're sliding up and down your exposed back. if they're not sliding up and down your exposed back, they're groping your ass. he just can't get enough of you- of how intoxicating you are.

"hongjoong for fucks sak-" "shh." he smirks softly against your lips. he knows that bit by bit, little by little, you're giving in to him. or more, the idea of him. you melt into his hold, whining a little at an attempt to show your frustration. but he just coos mockingly, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head. your right leg naturally hikes up against his hip, and he holds it in place with his vacant hand. "so good for me," his lips part and he kisses your nose. "such a good girl."

you can't believe this is happening. you're internally sour, trying to search for any reason left in this bottomless pit of lust you're drowning in. you can feel it rising inside of you, and it'll swallow you up eventually.

you don't think you've ever wanted him so bad. in fact, you don't think you've ever wanted anyone as badly as you do right now. you have to have him. otherwise it might just eat you alive.

"do you want-.." he's breathless, making sure your eyes never leave his. he's stuttering over his words, suddenly finding himself shrink under your gaze; it almost makes you smile. "uh- no pressure, by the way i-" your finger gently drags along the surface of his lip, deep red nail getting caught in the dip between them. you whisper softly, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "let's go."

sneaking away could have definitely been easier if hongjoong didn't always blatantly stick out like a neon highlighter in a tub of black markers. man of the hour or not, he can't help being stopped and pinched into conversations left and right and your patience is thinning. "hongjoong.." you mumble, and he nods profusely towards you in apology, excusing himself to his mates and bidding them a good night.

"aye! hongjoong, over here!" "hey guys!-" you pinch his elbow, pressing your lips to his ear. "go over to one more person and you'll get it." he feels himself twitch in his pants, but he just rolls his eyes and smiles at you with a satirising tone. "c'mon babe!~ it's 3RACHA! i can't just ignore 3RACHA!" he tries to shake away the thoughts nagging him to turn back in his head, releasing his arm from your wrist and jogging towards them. so much for not neglecting me. your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek, and you swing back around, making a beeline for the stairwell.

you're aware of hongjoong's strict rule of the second floor being prohibited during parties, but regardless of it you sneak past the numerous couples humping one another in the hallway, climbing the stairs up to his bedroom.

you exhale softly with your forehead pressed to the door, hand resting on the golden handle. you shouldn't be this nervous. it's only been a few months, you used to spend more time here than you did in your own apartment. but once you step into the room and shut the door, the overwhelming scent of him leaves you dumbfounded. your shaky hand drifts to the handle in a moment of diffidence, but you shake your head, and do nothing more than wipe your sweaty hands on the fabric of your dress.

you kick off your heels, feet dragging along the the off-grey carpet flooring as you trail over to his king sized bed. the satin sheets are cold against your lower thighs, and your hands gently grip the lush material. your eyes drift over his walls as you slip your arms out of the sleeves of your dress: his desk, his wardrobe, nothing had changed. however, what does catch your eye is a bottle of your signature perfume on his shelf, nearing its last millilitres.

you have your suspicions, bringing his pillow up to your nose. you sigh softly at the faint smell of your perfume lingering all over it. you haven't used that brand since you were last here all those months ago. you shimmy off the rest of your dress leaving you in your red lace lingerie, and you stride over to the shelf and pick up the small glass bottle. you flick the cap off with your thumb, and spritz the scented spray all over your body and the sheets.

laying back into the duvet, you feel your core throb with wanting and need as the aged memories invade your mind. your hands wander, just like his. they trace your curves the way he would, almost like it's muscle memory. "mh, joong.." you whisper to yourself as your back arches off of the mattress, unhooking your bra and tossing it to the side.

your hands fondle your breasts, and you let out the softest moan as your thumbs brush over your perky nipples. "hongjoong.." you whine the tiniest bit louder, hands hooking into your underwear and sliding them down your spread legs. sighing, your index and middle finger slip themselves between your folds, pushing them apart and lathering your wetness all over the digits. they slowly trace around your clit as you snatch your phone from the bedside table.

you would have never thought you'd be doing this again, but you open his archived chat left inactive for 5 months and click the camera in the bottom left corner. this was risky, and you'd be most likely to regret it. but nonetheless you begin recording, and whine softly into the phone. you feign innocence, pinching your clit softly between your fingers before you insert them both inside you. you gasp as you release an over exaggerated moan before hitting the send button.

you wait with a satisfied look on your face, watching one tick turn into two, from grey to blue. at that, your phone is forgotten, and your eyes flutter closed as you give your undivided attention to yourself.

hongjoong is becoming desperate. having to act like he didn't almost cream his pants at the sight of your wet pussy through his phone screen was tougher than he had originally imagined. he tucks his phone into his back pocket, trying to subtly adjust the baggy jeans hanging on his hips. while jisung and changbin eagerly talk to him, his eyes daintily drift to the side, catching seonghwa's gaze from the pool table.

seonghwa tilts his head, and hongjoong pats the side of his leg before tucking his index, middle and ring finger into his palm to form a phone sign. he holds it for two seconds before focusing back on the conversation he's having.

he thanks seonghwa indebtedly when it doesn't take much more than a blink of an eye before his phone vibrates in his back pocket. "sorry, i have to take this," he's apologetic, gesturing towards his phone. "have a good night guys!" he gives seonghwa a pat on the shoulder as he passes by, and seonghwa returns the gesture with a wink.

he can't resist himself as he walks through the hallway, opening the video again and feeling his cock throb violently in the confines of his jeans. he practically sprints up the stairs when you send another text: "you better hurry up or i'm leaving." it was a lie, obviously. hongjoong knew it too. but that didn't stop him from becoming overly eager.

he bursts through the door, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets at the sight of three fingers plunging in and out of your pussy, presented proudly out in the open for only his eyes to see, the erotic squelching sounds become apparent when he closes the door: "what took you so long," you sigh out accompanied by a breathy moan. "i'm sorry baby." he mumbles, already reaching for his belt as he kneels at the bed, unbuckling it and tossing it to the side.

"you should be," you pull your fingers out, using your clean hand to pull him into a sloppy, open mouthed, all teeth and saliva, kiss. "i'm expecting compensations." he pulls back with a grin, tugging his black tank top over his head. "of course, princess."

his knees straddle your hips, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck. with his jeans already hanging so low on his hips, your feet make a move to slide them off to his ankles, he finishes the job off, discarding them on the floor. the beautiful, overbearing scent of your perfume makes him shiver, and he grips the sheets on either side of you, striving ever so hard as not to completely lose control of himself. he wants to take this slowly with you, enjoy the moment of finally having you back in his arms again.

or at least that's what he would have liked, but it seems you had other plans. "so, you gonna fuck me or what?" you exhale, arching up into him when his lips find your pebbled nipple, suckling gently as his hand gropes your unattended tit. he supposes he could wait to take it slow another time.

"patience," he grins, drifting down to your pelvis, deciding this is where he wanted to leave his mark. "let me take care of you, sweetheart." he nips, sucks, kisses, littering red, lip sized marks all over your pubic bone, making sure they would last at least a few days. your hand reaches down to grip his gelled back hair, and he groans softly as you tug on the strands. your legs spread as he makes himself comfortable between them, and he swears he almost cums in his boxers when your ankle moves to the back of his head, violently shoving him into your wet pussy.

he moans out, arms wrapping around your thighs as his lips make contact with your clit. you taste better than he ever remembers. sweet yet salty, flavourful, delicious. "mmh, that's good.." you whisper softly, and the praise makes hongjoong ever the more motivated to pleasure you. "am i good for you baby?" you grin and nod softly. "so good." he smirks and coats his index and middle finger in your slick before pushing them into your already stretched out hole.

and you know the second that his fingers, longer than yours, push and curl into you combined with his tongue lapping away at your clit, that you won't last long. more of your slick drips out and onto hongjoong's hand; you can't remember the last time you were so desperate. "missed you so much baby." he whines out, unable to resist rolling his hips once, twice, into the mattress, trying to alleviate the aching in his boxers. "so- so good hongjoong- shit," you stutter out in between gasps and whines, feeling that familiar pit in your pelvis when his fingers drill themselves against your g-spot.

the long suck to your nub that follows straight after is what throws you over the edge. you're just tinkering on the edge of an orgasm, and you know it when your legs begin to shake. "hongjoong! hongjoong- please! oh god- oh fuck i'm cumming," you thrash around, legs wrapping themselves around his head and suffocating him in your pussy.

hongjoong feels his hard cock positively twitch and leak like a broken faucet as translucent, salty liquid leaks out of you and onto his stuck out tongue. he hums appreciatively, chest puffing up with pride when he realises he made you cum with just his fingers and tongue. faster than ever before, too. he makes the lewdest slurping sounds with his tongue, drinking you up as if he were a feral, famished man. at this point, he might as well be one.

"good?" he asks with a toothy smile, his sharp canines peaking out through his swollen lips. "so good. so good for me, joongie.." you whisper to him, running a hand through his hair before tightening it, curling and tugging him towards you. his lips meet yours in a kiss much gentler than any of the ones exchanged earlier, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. your hands reach down to feel around the wet patch of his pre-cum on the front of his boxers, and you make a fast move to tug them down his legs, tossing them to the side before pulling him into your arms. "think you deserve a reward, baby?"

he nods so eagerly, you swear you see a tail wagging behind him as he hums keenly. "yeah?" you croon, enjoying watching him become desperate to please you and himself too. he doesn't even make an effort to hide how eager he is to slip into you and fall into a deep abyss of euphoria, brain filled with nothing other than praise and pleasure - and maybe a little white noise too. "what does my baby want?"

"to cum.." he mumbles, leaning down to nibble at your neck while his cold fingers drift down to where he had left his bruises on you, tracing them lovingly. it was almost primal, to him. to see you marked up. it reminded him that you truly did belong to him. "wan' make you cum too- wanna cum inside.." he twitches when your hand comes to wrap around the base of his cock. "i'm so fuckin' hard.. i wanna fuck you so fuckin' bad, baby." he begs breathlessly, thrusting up into your hand for more friction.

"you're so lucky i love you," you mutter under your breath, and his breath hitches as his dick simultaneously twitches in response. his stomach erupts into butterflies, but he tries to suppress the mushy feelings for the post-orgasm conversation he knows he'll end up having with you whether you like it or not.

"you really are just leaking aren't you? so messy." you tease, thumb swiping over his slit and he curls into you with a hiss, eyes falling shut. "sensitive today, are we?" you mumble, twisting your fist around his cock head again to draw another reaction from him. "been hard all day," he admits, head falling into the crook of your neck. "wanted to wait so i could fuck you." you shake your head with a chuckle. "so bold to automatically assume i'd let you fuck me."

hongjoong honestly believes he sees the gates of the afterlife appear in front of him when he finally feels your wet heat press against his cock. you drag your folds up and down the base of him, using a mixture of your cum, slick and his leftover saliva to lubricate him. "w-well i'm here now, aren't- aren't i?" you sigh, guiding his tip to your sopping hole. "eh, i guess so." your palms rest against his back when you slam his hips down onto you in one harsh movement. hongjoong's breath is knocked out of him at the unexpected movement, and his fingers grip your hips as he whines loud. "oh fuck-!"

you've missed him so badly. skin to skin, lips to lips, heart to heart, you have him fully. you hum, head dropping back into the satin pillows. "that's it.. i've missed you, joong. missed this big cock so much." you don't think your cunt could ever get used to the delicious stretch his cock provides you with, with or without fingers beforehand. he just reaches that particular spot inside you that nobody else ever could, and it drives you absolutely mad with adoration.

but what snaps you out of your bliss is that you realise hongjoong has no plans of moving. his head just stays dipped into the crook of your neck, hands gripping your waist so hard the skin will positively bruise, panting hard. "hello?" you mumble, poking the side of his head. he grumbles out something unintelligible, and it makes you sigh, propping yourself up onto your elbows. "this pussy's not gonna fuck itself, is it?" your question is more rhetorical, but it makes hongjoong wince. "c-can't." his voice is strained, and you have an idea of why, yet you still choose to prod further. "what do you mean, 'you can't'?"

"feels too good.." he whispers, and you grin. admittedly, hongjoong is indeed, a very busy man. jobs, producing, lectures, dance classes, clubs, parties, he's everywhere doing everything all at once. but the most critical aspect of it all, was that he was loyal to you. he hadn't kissed, touched, or fucked a single other person since he last had you, holding onto that small slither of hope that he could win you back when the time was right.

that, however, now leaves him in a sticky - no pun intended - situation where he knows that if he doesn't pull himself together, he'll drain his balls within minutes of fucking you. "oh? poor baby.." you feign innocence, just for a few seconds before your legs wrap around his hips, beginning to grind up onto him in search of your own friction. "that's too bad."

hongjoong yelps, trying to ground himself by fisting his duvet into a death grip, little whimpers making it past his sealed lips. your hands take a hold of his hips, aiding you in your movements. "you gonna help me now, or what?" you grit out, and all he can do is shake his head frantically, bottom lip jutted out into a pout. "i- i'll cum baby- i can't!-" "so what? cum or not, we're not stopping until i do." he exhales shakily.

"so are you gonna be a good? or will i have to go find someone else who can fuck me right?" hongjoong grits his teeth, shaking his head and putting all of his body weight on you until you come to a stop, he experiments, thrusting up once, twice, before mumbling a soft: "okay.". you rub his back gently, whispering in return: "come on.."

the sudden snap of his hips catches you off guard. you squeak, hands frantically reaching for his biceps to ground yourself. "shit! th- that's it hongjoong! ngh-" he nods frantically, yanking your knees up to your chest to thrust even deeper. he groans, eyes squeezing shut as he tries not to focus on how gorgeous you look beneath him, or how slick the sounds between you are, or how good your pussy feels, or how badly he wants to fucking cum.

he sets a brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass with every deep, meaningful thrust into you. "atta boy.. ohh baby i-" you gasp out, feeling the pad of hongjoong's thumb press down on your clit, rubbing up and down in synchronisation with his thrusts.

he pants hard and desperately it's almost concerning, lips parted and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he buries his head deep into the crook of your neck. you arch up into him, breasts pressing flush against his bare chest. your rhythmic clenching, the borderline salacious amount of wetness inside of you, the raking of your nails on his back, it's almost too much for him.

the longer he pursues you, the more he realises that he in fact, cannot wait, and will cum. he had tried not to too early, truly! but he had been close the second he walked into the damn room, and the amount of different versatile sensations he has no choice but to feel drive him over the edge. "baby- i can't- i can't i-" your legs wrap themselves around his hips, locking him in. "it's okay baby. go on. cum for me. fill me up."

with that, he's gone. you don't think you've ever seen him behave this way in the years you've known him. "oh godd yes- yes yes yes-" he's lewd, and he puts professional pornography to shame. the way he presents himself is obscene, head thrown back, eyes rolled into them. a staggered groan escapes him as he comes undone, his seed flowing inside of you as he gently rocks his hips, knuckles whiter than white with the pressure he's putting on the pillows either side of your head. you guide him through his orgasm, petting his hair softly.

his back glistens with beads of sweat among the moles and freckles dotted along his shoulder blades, and they flex as his arms slowly yet surely move to wrap around your torso. he exhales, nuzzling into you as he catches his forfeited breaths back.

you supposed that if he were unable to continue, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. it was even between the two of you now, and you were both correspondingly satisfied. you reach down and grip the base of him that isn't enveloped inside of you, and can't even begin to attempt to suppress the grin on your face when you realise he's still hard. "not satisfied yet, are you?"

he's about to defend himself, promise you he's not as filthy as he presents himself to be. but there's no need for it, seeing as you give him no time to rest before you climb on top of him, and start rocking your hips. and honest to god, hongjoong has absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

he's being used like a toy, and he loves it. but at the same time he isn't sure if you want him to help you or if he should take it, so many thoughts rushing through his mind but in reality he's just trying to stall so he doesn't cum again. he's a ragdoll in your arms, the pleasure he had been feeling a few seconds ago returning in an instant with a new found sensitivity, your pussy even wetter with his cum. he ever so desperately wanted to take back the dominance between the two of you, he knew he could do it. but the most he could do to even voice a reaction was curse loudly, cry out and throw his head back.

he takes it back. completely. there was no way he could do anything other than accept it without any objections. it was everything he had ever wanted and more, there was nothing going on in his mind other than perpetual euphoria.

"fuck i'm close," you whisper, cursing in approval when hongjoong's index and middle finger work at your clit in time with your bounces. "c-cum for me? cum for me baby?" hongjoong's eyes brim with tears, a mix of sentimentality and overstimulation. you nod frantically, finally letting the knot in your gut come loose, letting out a wail as your orgasm washes over you.

he whines softly at the feeling of you gushing around him, and he cums a second time. he fills you up again with a groan through gritted teeth, in smaller spurts with less amount than the first. you pant, falling limp on top of him with a grunt. "that was good," you hum, hand moving to trace his collarbone.

hongjoong's arms come to encircle around your waist, pressing you close to his chest as he begins to soften inside of you, making no move to pull out. he kisses your temple, one of his hands moving to the back of your head, caressing your dishevelled head of hair. hongjoong has never felt such relief as he does holding you, your body feeling just right with his, and he can't help but think to himself..

"i love you." he blurts out. the confession is rushed, panicked and hesitant. you feel his body tense up the moment he registers he's said it, but you just smile against his chest, poking him in the rib. "you're okay i guess." not getting the answer he wants, he groans. "princess.." his tone is whiny, and you giggle, sitting up to plant a passionate kiss to his lips.

"i'm joking, joong. i love you too."

#⋆｡°✩ star's fics #ateez #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong fanfiction #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong hard thoughts #ateez au

120 notes · View notes

onlymingyus · 1 year

Note

MINGYU MINGYU MINGYU

You are so correct.

Sorry, another ask that has been in my box for a long time. I'm slowly working through them.

cw; kim mingyu x afab reader - unsafe link, smut (minors dni), rough unprotected sex, mirror sex, cream pie, dirty talk

You find it hard to catch your breath between moans and the feeling of your hips pressing against the cold bathroom counter. Only Mingyu's warm hard grip around your waist and his thick hard cock kept you grounded while he groaned loudly behind you.

The sounds of his hips smacking against your ass were almost deafening as they were lewd. The sound only muffled by his mouth when Mingyu kissed the shell of your ear breathing hot against it. "Fucking tight...when you are like this. Always so tight but like this I can barely move."

To you it didn't seem like he was having any issues at all moving. As hard and fast as he was thrusting into you stars were almost all you could see while your legs threatened to turn into jelly underneath you. "Gyu, baby you feel so good. I--I'm gonna..."

He could tell, like he said, you were tight and getting tighter around him. You were like a warm hug around his cock, pulsating with every hard thrust towards the mirror. His eyes traveled over your blissful face between your hair to the way your breasts moved so perfectly when he fucked into you so hard. He was close too, you were too perfect for him not to be.

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock? You want me to cum in this pretty pussy?" When you start to whine yes, Mingyu practically growls at how much of an effect he had on you. How pliable you were in his hands and around him. He wondered if he could pull you off his cock and tell you to crawl back to him, if you would?

A laugh falls from his lips at the idea simply because he knew how ridiculous it was. There was no fucking way he could handle that much less you. When you cum around him, milking him for everything he has Mingyu gasps your name into a low groan. His breath getting caught in his throat while you scratch at the countertop.

He watches you look up into the mirror at yourself only to see a smirk on your lips at what you see causing him to lose it right then and there. "Fuck!" A hard thrust towards the countertop makes you moan his name as he paints you from the inside out with his cum. Each thrust letting the mixture of cum drip onto your thighs.

Mingyu laughs again, a bit of tiredness mixed into the sound as he leans back to watch himself slowly fucking into you while he softens slightly. The cum coating his cock making him smirk and groan, his hand gripping your side hard.

"Baby, you are dripping all over the floor...get up on the counter so I can lick you clean."

---------------------------------------------------

tag list; @bangchanbabygirlx @just-here-to-read-01 @niktwazny303 @strawberri-uyu @yeritheloml @tis-niki @noraehey @hoohoohope @otterpopchan @xuxibelle @foxdaisy @smileysuh @vern0nsworld @synthetickitsune @enhacolor @pandorashbox @yeosayang @gyuhanniescarat @yoonguurt @jwnghyuns @xoxodino @sakurasangcl @woniewhite @fantasy2wonderland @midnightvalentines @junhui-recs @woozis-wife @cheolsbestie @sunnyteume @sakurasangcl @multi-kpop-fanfics @noseblowersanonymous @whyokoa @baldi-2 @misssugarlips @rubyscoups @httpswonwoosglasses @nikkell @midnightvalentines @onlywonus @raevyng @sstarryoong @dkakapizzaboy @noniestars @hoohoohope

please note that I am doing my best to tag all of you who have filled out the tag list form but tumblr won’t let me tag some of you. I think that is because either you have tags turned off or possibly a blank tumblr page. consider reblogging some of the fics you like from me or other writers. ♥

#mars.answers #dinosbestie #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svthub #svt smut #unsafe link #kim mingyu smut #mingyu thots #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader

918 notes · View notes

ohnoanalien · 9 months

Text

Glitch

STOP MAKING ME RETURN TO TUMBLR TO WRITE THINGS

Anyway @lunar-wandering has some great ideas and I'm absolutely spoiled by the LMK/JTTW community. I love his posts about Macaque and losing control of his powers when he gets emotional, so I tried to combine "Macaque loses control when he gets flustered" and "it's very cute when Macaque is treated like a king". This is post beach stuff-- I hope you enjoy, and good luck with college! Call this a congrats gift!

"Ummm...not that I'm ungrateful that you made this, it's just--"

"The eggs are plant-based! I know you're vegan now, idiot. Your little one-sided biography's been hanging around since the 16th century."

It’s strange, Macaque thought, how the light worked. He could alter every spotlight, walk under the brightest beam of sunlight, and yet no glow compared to the great centerpiece that casually sat across the kitchen table. He would constantly blind the three realms with his confidence and booming voice.

And oh, how he pampered and spoiled his own shadow nowadays.

He was always in the spotlight, over-protective over every little bump in the road. Grooming tattered fur after he returned from training with his successor. Reminding his old rival to eat and drink after dragging himself across the three realms, nearly skin and bones under his captor’s bidding.

All services fit for a king. The least he could do is return the favor. Sometimes.

"You tweaked breakfast for me? That's...thanks, I guess." Wukong looked down at his plate with a kind smile.

"Don't mention it." Macaque grumbled between bites. The shadow demon pressed a paw to his speeding heart, checking the reflection of the window to see if it wasn't fluttering as badly as his six ears.

His very visible, unglamored ears.

Before the Monkey King could look up, he bundled his scarf over his head.

"Everything okay, bud?" He leaned in closer, curiously searching his partner.

"Uhhhh." Macaque said eloquently, leaning as far back in his chair as he could go. “I’m just…a little cold’s all.”

Bad move. The Monkey King’s brow furrowed, absent-mindedly scratching an icy streak in his fur. He could practically hear the great sage’s mind turn, counting the number of blankets they had in their little temple. “How cold?”

Shit. Shit shit shit! If he left now to fix his stupid ears he'd just look suspicious either way. He scrambled for his own fork, ready to down his meal in three bites and make a run for it.

Taking it as a big, neon ‘do not touch sign’, Wukong sighed heavily. “Just…let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

The other only grunted, waving a paw of approval.

"To be honest, I didn't think we could pick up where we left off." The Monkey King hummed thoughtfully, gaze and mind drifting elsewhere.

"Mhm." Macaque reached for his mug-- freezing in place as a patch of thick white fur crawled up his arm. He quickly stuffed his paws in his lap, sewing on a slapdash glamor. All while the great sage continued his heartfelt speech, not noticing the struggle a foot or so away.

"--ut I think we're really getting better at it. At us, I mean. So what I'm trying to say is, maybe we should talk about…” He looked up, blinking in surprise at the way Macaque dropped his fork, elbows shoved in his lap, teeth clenched through a nervous grin.

“Hey, Mihou? Are you a hundred-and-ten-percent sure you’re okay? You seem, I dunno, distracted?" A peach-furred tail slapped the floorboards.

"Just got a lot on my mind! I'm listening. Promise." Macaque lilted.

"Sure, I gotcha. But if something's wrong--"

"Nothing's wrong!" He waved freshly glamored paws. Nonetheless, the king’s brow weighed with worry, eyes trailing to his old friend’s torso and back again. Apologies would just have to come later. "Just...ignore me. Keep going."

"Fine, fine. Whatever you say. So where was I– Oh, yeah!"

A sigh of relief passed the shadow demon’s lips. And while Wukong chatted away into his teacup, the breath of fresh air was short-lived as Macaque's eyes turned a deep purple.

"--dual mentorship might be a good idea too?"

"Y'don't say." The shadow demon stared very intently at his eggs, head bowed. His snow-furred tail lashed frantically, slipping itself down his pant leg before it could knock something over.

"--t's a big step, but I trust you enough now to--"

Wukong looked up, and Macaque scrambled to hide his face behind his own cup– choking on his tea when longer, sharper fangs clinked against ceramic.

"Mac?" Sun Wukong's head snapped up just as he straightened himself, grin threatening to tear his muzzle apart at the ends behind a paw. "You’re not getting sick, are you?"

"Listening!" His partner wheezed out. He tried not to panic as the glamor that coated his hands nearly popped like snowy balloons. "I'm-- kaff kaff-- I'm listening."

"...Uhhhh sooo...in short..." the Monkey King drawled, ever-so-slowly turning back to his breakfast.

A close call. Macaque bit back a gasp as the table suddenly met his chest, shrinking just a smidge taller than the average macaque– edge prodding his stomach on the way down. A new coughing fit blossomed, barriers completely broken. The second Wukong looked up, his old rival had vanished altogether.

"Mac?" The sage called, standing up to scan the shadier corners of the room.

"Just-- koff-- just dropped something!" Macaque answered from under the table, still trying to get. His illusions. Under control.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Call it bad luck or a bad omen, he desperately pulled at strings of magic, growing three feet too tall before shrinking again. He hit his head on the wooden surface with a loud bang, dishes clinking from the force.

He could practically hear the unimpressed expression on his partner’s face as he lowered himself. "Oh come on, don't be like that! We both know you're never going to talk unless I...I..."

He didn't need much light to see the X-shaped chunk of a scar that carved through a single, dead eye. Frozen in time, Wukong was unable to stop the shadow weaver from melting into the ground.

On one hand, portaling was the fastest and easiest way to escape any situation. A battle, a theft, a social conversation-- any setting could be an exit when sunlight hit the room just right. On the other hand, Macaque was not informed that his glamors weren't the only defective power in his arsenal. The shadow demon aimed for his old, abandoned dojo. Instead, the demon yelped as he caught on a flurry of branches, falling from the shadowy canopy of a familiar peach tree. Morning sunshine peeked from the rustling leaves. Peppered by flora and pale sand, he felt a stone paw wipe away at his eyes. And when the fog cleared, he was met with another pair that hovered above him, blinking back gold vision.

“Soooo…” The Monkey King drawled, “any reason you’re glitching worse than MK after a bad Monkey Cop binge?”

Macaque didn’t bother to grace him with an answer. Instead he pushed himself upright, face twisting at the fur coat he just groomed.

"Ugh, I look like a wreck." He grumbled.

"Don't sell yourself short." Sadness turned to hope, cupping Macaque's cheeks with his palms. "I, for one, think you look very handsome."

Mihou rolled his eyes, ready to pull away, when Wukong twirled him back into his arms.

"I'm serious." He bent down to kiss the nape of his partner's neck, "I love your beautiful ears. Your silver fur."

"Yeah, sure." Macaque snickered, "Come spring, all the fair maidens in your kingdom would swoon for a guy with fur that looks like dry bones."

"Well I certainly did."

Four simple words sent a shiver up Macaque's spine. The last glamor crumbled to nothing, and he hurried to bury his face in his partner's chest. For a moment, the pair stood completely silent.

Finally, Macaque took a shaky breath, mumbling into leather and silk.

"Pardon?" His king raised an eyebrow, "Something you want to share with the class?"

Six ears pinned back. Teasing turned soft and gentle, and Wukong began to rock the both of them into a soothing rhythm. "Don't sweat it. Take all the time you need, okay?"

A groan traveled down Macaque’s knotted stomach, "I said I...ugh..."

"You...?"

"I just. Agh, this sucks!" Just for a brief moment, Liu’er Mihou raised his head, namesakes revealing brilliant hues that flashed to his emotions.

A realization pierced The Monkey King through the heart, and he swore that he felt feverish. His flush nearly matched the shadow that latched to his waist. "...Oh."

Macaque stared openly.

"...What?" Wukong asked.

"That's it?"

"For gods' sake-- what do you mean that's it?"

Swearing to every level of Diyu, Macaque squirmed out of his arms and towards the waves. "You read me like a goddamn book--"

"'Oh'! It's one word! What do you want, a poem?!"

"--I spent all night learning to make that disgusting, watery abomination of an egg recipe--"

"Hey! Don't diss the diet! It's pretty good when you stick with it for a couple centuries!"

"--And I'm stuck with this stupid mess of a body--" A gnarled root caught Macaque's leg, and he fought to untangle himself with all the strength of an adult-sized monkey. "and it's all-- ugh!-- thanks to you and your stupid eyes– Oof!" He fell to the floor in a heap, sending a cloud of sand flying.

Wukong blinked. "What was that?"

Macaque’s blush dusted the tips of his ears as he ripped the root from his ankle, mussed fur fluffing up with rage. "I said I love your eyes!"

He threw up his hands, exasperated. "I love your stupid, goofy grin! I love it when you laugh so hard you light up a room! I love it when you wear those– those ugly Hawaiian shirts! I love it when you leave them unbuttoned! I love how much you've changed! Sometimes I even love how much you've changed me! And I want you to say literally anything else because now you know I'm in love with you!"

Heaving gasps slowed to a stop. The shadow demon swore that Wukong had reverted back to stone. Slowly, carefully, he unclenched himself. He took one step. Then another. Bending down, Macaque could see Wukong's eyes sharpen, studying every crack and tear in his partner's face.

Macaque swallowed. "Whatever. It's not important. Forget I said any--"

His thoughts-- and breath-- were stolen from him with a pull of the collar. Warm lips connected, the sage’s feather light and gentle.

Nope, not a chance. Macaque didn't pour his heart out just to get a few drops. He wrapped his arms around his king's neck, deepening the kiss-- and sending them tumbling to the floor. For a brief moment, the pair stared at each other, wide eyed and stunned. Macaque's shadowy body hovered over the Monkey King. Splayed against foam that lapped at their side, dazed and panting for air.

Macaque snorted.

Wukong giggled.

Their laughing fit traveled through the ocean breeze.

"Well well well!" Macaque's head rested on his palms, spread flat against his chest. His tail swayed in the air, grown fangs flashing. "I didn't take you for the shy type."

"Ugh, no fair! You cheated." The sage pouted, "I can't help it if all your glamors are dropped. Next time you kiss a goddess, you tell me how it goes!"

It only took three-and-a-half seconds for the walking, talking deity to realize his mistake. Annoyance faded into embarrassment, eyes widening and fur fluffing. “Oh no.”

"Let’s see." His partner smirked, twirling a patch of golden fur around his claw. "How did it feel to kiss a goddess?"

He hummed a contemplative note, as if he were tasting the words in his mouth before speaking. "Eight out of ten."

Wukong bolted up so fast he nearly knocked Macaque off his perch, "Round two."

Macaque bit back a chuckle, "Peaches."

"I should have broken that scale, Mac! I'm a twelve at LEAST."

#@lunar wandering #lego monkie kid #lmk #fanfiction #lmk macaque #lmk monkey king #shadowpeach

79 notes · View notes

maximwtf · 10 months

Text

“Sticking your hand where it doesn’t belong?”

Art by: ggracee (Tumblr) (pls yall go check them out, their art is the coolest !!)

Elias Bouchard x Reader

words: 1400

google docs pages: 3

Warnings: A burn, I think Elias should be a warning too, he’s kinda mean but that’s why I like him :"D

opening: You crawl back to the institute after trying to get a follow up on a statement, and ending up with a pretty bad burn on your hand. Hopefully it’s late enough so Elias shouldn’t be in his office so you could patch yourself up…

AN// Any pronouns for reader! I’m quite certain I’ve read almost every Elias fanfic out there and I’m getting desperate, so I’m writing some myself. (Also, any requests for Tim and I’ll be at it at the speed of light)

“Sticking your hand where it doesn’t belong?”

Maybe you had miscalculated something or perhaps preparing for getting the follow up would have been a good idea, but pondering those topics was no use anymore. The damage was done and all you could do was try and fix it.

Whoever it was that you had met, had most definitely not been the same person from one of the statements that had been assigned to you. If you could even call the thing that had burnt your hand a ‘person’.

It was hard to keep your thoughts away from the sheering pain that was coming from your right hand. Your left hand shook as it fiddled with the keys before finding the right one for the institute door. It was rather late, so you assumed no one should have been working anymore. At least no one from the archives, and that was enough to ease your mind.

You knew the closest first aid kit must have been in Elias’ office, remembering when you had been an assistant to him, your office hadn’t had one. Not that you had the original keys to his office anymore either, after being transferred to the archives. But you had gotten a spare made before that, which you had ‘forgotten’ to return. Whoops? But also because you never came across a time when you would have needed them, before now of course.

You climbed the stairs to his office, finding it hard to look for the old pair of keys from the bottom of your bag but there they were. Your shaky left hand reached to unlock the door in front of you, a sigh of relief escaping at the sound of it clicking open. With a gentle push the room behind the door opened up and even with a quick look inside you could spot someone. Elias Bouchard sitting at his desk, leaning on the familiar wooden table ever so slightly. “Ah, Y/n. A surprise to see you here so late?” His voice rang out, the expression on his face almost impossible to read. He was talking as if he had known you’d be coming.

You didn’t say anything at first, not even sure as to what to do. Run off? It honestly almost felt like you couldn’t, and even if you did…how could you bring yourself back to work the next day? “Elias.” You nodded politely as if to greet him, every muscle in your body trying to hide how uncomfortable you were. “Do you have a- uh-” You stammered with the words, feeling awkward as it was but the knowledge that he had basically watched you break into his office was making the feeling worse. “A first aid kit? Yes.” He finished the sentence for you, raising his eyebrow slightly at your expression. You didn’t even know why you felt so surprised that he seemed to know what you were looking for, surely he had just seen the state of your hand… “I- yes, that. Could I have it?” You asked, taking a careful step into the room. “Could I have the key you used to break into my office with?” He asked, seemingly calm but still so hard to read. Elias stood up and with his back turned to you, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and kneeled down a little to pick up the kit from a drawer. You bit your inner lip, placing the keys on the table. The silence in the room made the sound of the keys hitting the table feel like it was echoing. “Y-yes. Of course.” You could have just gone home and all of this could have been avoided, you thought to yourself while watching him turn back to you. “What happened?” He asked, but his voice seemed to be filled with something other than any real concern or interest. You wish you had an answer to his question, but even you weren’t sure as to what had happened. All it took was one handshake and it had felt like the blood inside of you had been boiling. “Not sure if I’m being honest. I’m going to talk to Jon about it tomorrow.” You sighed, struggling to open the red bag Elias had placed in front of you but managing to do so in the end. “Sticking your hand where it doesn’t belong?” Elias’ voice asked, but it sounded almost mocking. As if he was making fun of you for getting injured? Either way, you didn’t say anything of it, not that you even could. The burning pain from your hand was keeping your full attention on it.

Elias’ presence was always intense, but it felt even more so now. Now, that he was watching you pull out a bluish bag from the kit, snapping it against the table and watching the motion cause the chemicals inside form into ‘ice’. He didn’t say anything, not until you started to struggle placing the bag on top of the burn properly. A sharp sigh left him and you could have sworn he rolled his eyes at you. “Let me.” He said and almost instinctively you let go of the bag and allowed him to do it for you. While Elias’ other hand was holding the bag in place, his free hand took a cotton pad and a bandage from the kit. You had thought about doing that yourself later on, but doubted you could have done it with one hand so you had already dropped the idea. Was he doing it for you? Without him even giving you a look, he began to open the bandage. “I’ll be fine without it- I mean, I can do that at home. I was just looking for an ice pack or something.” But even this comment didn’t seem to bring his gaze upon you, he kept his focus on the bandage. “From the state of your hand, I highly doubt you’ll make it home without injuring it further.” He sighed again, but to your surprise he didn’t seem too bothered. As much as him not looking bothered said anything about his true state of mind.

Elias took the bag from your hand, making you miss the cooling effect it had given you, easing the pain. He leaned on the table a little while pulling you closer by the wrist, making you stumble. But you let him, no use in telling him no either. At least that’s what you told yourself was the reason for allowing him to do so. You felt almost dumbfounded, maybe from the exhaustion the day had caused but also because on top of all that, the last thing you had expected was having Elias, Elias Bouchard, your boss treat a burn on your hand.

He placed the cotton pad on the spots he had deemed as the worst, and wrapped the bandage around it all, covering it to keep it safe. “There. Perhaps next time, do a little more research on the people you meet, hm?” He said, tone still oddly calm. You had questions burning at the back of your mind, but the hand still hurt enough to keep you from asking any of them. “I- yes. Thank you.” You stuttered out before picking up your bag again. “I’ll…see you tomorrow.” You added, not quite sure what to say. Why was he so calm about all this?

No, none of that mattered now. The intense feeling around him had grown even worse from the start of this interaction, and you wanted away from it. “Good night, Y/n.” Elias’ voice rang from his office and down the first steps of the staircase as you descended away from him.

AN//I’m sorry if this sucks, I’m studying for my matriculation exams and wrote this in a hurry :”D

#the magnus archives #tma #elias bouchard #elias bouchard x reader #tma elias bouchard #the magnus archives x reader #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #tma x reader

136 notes · View notes

momentofch-aos · 7 months

Note

Trick-or-Treat! I have come knocking on your Tumblr door asking for a treat. You can answer with a meme, a bit of art/fic, a fic recommendation, pictures of candy, or something else! Then go to your mutual’s Tumblr door and ask them for a treat! Happy Halloween! 🎃👻 (don’t answer until October 31)

My apologies this is a day late and I have no idea if it makes sense for this. Just a little Drabble I’ve been thinking about. (“200 words” I said. Yeah right.)

On a rare night off, Daisy was grateful that their apartment building didn’t have many trick or treaters. Not that she hated the kids that lived in their building, in fact there was a little 2-year-old girl who was obsessed with Daniel that she had a particular soft spot for. But they were out of town this week.

The past month has been tiring so when she came home to find Daniel having fallen asleep reading on the couch, it was very easy to shuck off her jacket and boots and curl up next to him.

In typical Sousa fashion, he woke up as she settled besides him, opening the blanket for her to crawl under, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist as she curled into him. He dropped a light kiss to her lips.

“How was your debrief?” He murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Good. Mack wanted to get home to Faith and Flint. Ended it a little early. Faith is dressing up as Rey from Star Wars.” Daisy replied softly.

“From the sequels right?” Daniel asked rubbing his eyes.

“Yup. I told him I wanted to see photos.” As if on queue Daisy’s phone buzzed from where she dumped it on the coffee table. “I’ll get it in a minute.”

“I ordered dinner. It’ll be at 7. Mexican? You mentioned tacos last night.”

“Hmmmm.” Daisy agreed “Nap first.”

She felt Daniel chuckled underneath her as he pulled her closer. The feel of his sweater under her hand and his slow steady breaths pulled her into an easy sleep.

An hour later, they somewhat startled as the doorbell rang. Daisy had rolled off the sofa, as she was pulled from sleep, Daniel’s hand still gripping hers.

“Must be the food.” Daniel said smiling at his girlfriend who was still trying to work out how she was on the floor.

“Yeah I’m on it.” Half asleep still, she shlepped her way to the front door, looking through the peephole.

On first glance, there was no one there so, Daisy assumed the food had been left on the doormat. But when she opened the door, she caught sight of the tiny human she missed the most.

Alya Fitzsimmons bounced excitedly on the door mat, before flinging herself around Daisy’s legs.

“Auntie Daisy!”

“Alya?” Her sleep fogged brain seems to lift as she squatted to properly hug her tiny niece, swinging her into her arms as she stood up. “What are you doing here?”

From around the corner, Jemma and Fitz appeared and Daisy immediately wrapped her arms around Jemma, Alya squashed between them.

“We thought a visit was in order.” Jemma whispered as she hugged her tight.

“And I thought it would be a nice pick-me-up after your missions and meetings.” Daniel said from behind them, shaking hands with Fitz.

“Uncle Daniel!” Alya practically leapt from Daisy’s arms towards Daniel who scooped her up.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Cannot believe you all kept this from me.” Daisy looked around the group of some of her favourite people. “You too Fitzy.” She hugged him tight before leading them all into the apartment

“We were definitely due a visit. But I don’t think you’ve properly noticed who Alya wanted to dress up as this year. Hey Al, you wanna show Auntie Daisy?” Placed back on the ground, Alya stood proudly in the middle of the kitchen, hands on her hips.

For the first time Daisy and Daniel took into consideration what the young girl was wearing. A tiny Quake suit, complete with purple accents and tiny fabric gauntlets.

“I’m you!” She shouted, holding her hand out and mimicking Daisy.

Daniel was chuckling as Daisy dropped to her knees with her hands over her mouth. Her heart warmed as the smallest Fitzsimmons moved like she was quaking different objects around the room.

“You really are! Look at you. It’s such a good suit.”

“Yup Daddy made it, just like he made yours!” She was bouncing again now between Fitz and Daisy.

“Her daddy has been working on it for weeks. He had to get it just right.” Jemma said, rolling her eyes at her husband.

“Hey it had to be accurate. Otherwise what’s the point?” Fitz smiled down at his daughter. “Oh I picked the food up off the driver by the way” He lifted the paper bag off the top of her suitcase.

“Thanks Fitz, I’ve made up the guest room for you all, if we want to pop your bags in before we eat?” Daniel said, taking the bag Jemma had dragged in off her and leading the way as Fitz followed him.

For the second time, Daisy looked around at her people and wondered just how planned this had been. Grateful that she had people who knew exactly what she needed. Jemma leaned into her shoulder as Alya chatted excitedly about her new suit and how she wore it on the Quinjet.

And when Daisy suggested she pick up her suit from base in the morning so they could take some photos together the following day, the excited energy in the apartment only doubled.

She was still tired, but with every moment in the company of some of her favourite people, Daisy felt like she wouldn’t need to sleep for at least a few more hours.

#agents of shield #daisy johnson #daniel sousa #marvel #fanfic #dousy #fitzsimmons #alya fitzsimmons #quake #halloween #prompt #trick or treat #I’d like to think Mack would call Alya Tiny tremors upon seeing her all dressed up.

45 notes · View notes

kentuckyfriedsatan · 1 month

Text

Here is a little multi chapter fic I’m currently working on.

Basically Dewdrop is not dealing so good with the soon arrival of the new water ghoul. It brings him back to times before his transition. Will Rain and Dew ever be able to be friends, or even more?

Sunshine is a total badass and has to knock sense into literally everybody.

(Dewdrop is a trans man and uses he/him pronouns. Sunshine is transfem and uses she/they pronouns.)

I’m at chapter 6 right now, so you can read it up to there on AO3:

And I will do my best to post all chapter here on tumblr too, it will take a bit of time though.

Echos of Transcendence

Chapter 1

cw: gender dysphoria and a bit of depression because of it

Read it below the cut!

He looks at his reflection in the mirror. The long white hair Dewdrop normally cherishes is unkempt and greasyly hanging into his face, desperately needing a wash.

But for a week now he hasn’t really been in the mood for that. Copia had let him know about the summoning happening today at full moon a week prior. It wasn’t just any other summoning, it’s the summoning of the new water ghoul for the band project.

Something about the idea of a new water ghoul in their quarters makes his skin crawl. It reminds him of the time Dew himself was water, oh, and also important, a water ghoulette. He doesn’t hate who he was, but he more feels completely disconnected to who he was before his transition. It’s like his life finally began for real when he told his pack that he is transgender.

Since then he made adjustments to his body, taking hormones and getting top surgery. And even though that all helped him pass, the dysphoria never really goes away.

In front of the mirror he feels like his hips are too wide, he is too short with delicate hands and thin tail and he hates it.

And now he has to see somebody every day of the week, that reminds him of a time he was completely miserable and someone he could have been. Dew knew that this day had to come, the band needs to continue and is missing a bass player, but that doesn’t stop him from sulking.

He get‘s ripped from his thoughts when he hears knocking on his door.

“Dew! We have to leave for the chapel in an hour, are you nearly ready?“ Sunshine calls.

He gives no response. Dew doesn’t want to be seen by anybody. He is ashamed that he still isn’t over this. Why does he always have to be a problem?

“If you are in there and ignoring me, I will kick your ass!”

“Just leave me alone Sunny!”

Dewdrop yells back.

But she is not so easyly dismissed and knocks again just to signal her stubbornness.

“Come on,let me in! I know it’s hard for you right now, I just want to help. I’m your friend and I care for you!”

But why is it so hard for Dew? He transitioned years ago, he should have himself in check by now and not fall into a depressive phases as soon as a new water ghoul is only mentioned.

Sunny outed herself as transfem only this year and they don’t have the same problem it seems.

She is so much stronger than him. He is just pathetic. Everybody always has to help and comfort him, and he feels like he doesn’t deserve their kindness. He’s just weak.

“I don’t want your help! I will be fine!” Dewdrop says harshly.

He always reverts back to anger when he doesn’t know how to deal with his dark thoughts. He doesn’t want Sunny’s help, he will just drag her down.

“Nope, this is not happening! You are not shutting me out like this. I will come in now!”

Sunshine pushes the door open, determined to break through Dew's isolation.

When she sees his slumped posture in front of the mirror, they rush over to him. He registers their approach, but doesn’t try to move. Shame is rolling of him in waves. Her soft voice somehow breaks through to him.

“Come on firefly, can you look at me please?”

He slowly lifts his eyes. He doesn’t know why he expected to see disgust or anger in her eyes, but there is nothing but kindness and concern.

“Listen to me right now. I know what you are thinking, you are not weak and you are not a disappointment. We all like caring for you, you are our pack, our family and we love you. There is no such thing as needing to much help Dew. When you are not okay, you are not okay. And I am here to help. You care for all of as so deeply, let us return the favour please.”

He breaks down in sobs relived, shoulders shaking. Dew really needed to hear that to break him out of his downwards spiral.

“Can you maybe hug me?”

Before he can even finish his question, Sunshine has him wrapped tightly in her arms. He snivels a bit more, while they stroke his hair calmingly. Dew slowly stops his crying.

“Here we go. Do you want to talk?”

“I just feel so stupid you know? Dysphoria hit me last week so hard I couldn’t even shower, and all just because they will summon a new water ghoul. I shouldn’t feel this way anymore, especially because of such a stupid reason!”

“Don’t invalidate your feelings like that! I know it must be hard for you to always be reminded of the time you didn’t live as your true self. I will support you, I understand you and I will be there for you if you need anything. And if the new ghoul or anybody else gives you problems we will drag them back into the pit!”

Dewdrop has to smile and nods. “Same applies for you too of course. I will fuck them up if they say transphobic shit to you.”

“I know, thank you.” She smiles. “Now what do we do about this?” Sunshine vaguely gestures at his hair and overall state. Dew lets his head hang.

“‘m sorry for you having to see me like this…” he says shyly, tears rising to his eyes.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I have seen nearly every member of the pack in states worse than yours. And do you remember when I was first summoned and was afraid of the water from the shower for a long time? I must have been disgusting, but you still helped me get over it and even washed my messy hair. So really, you don’t have to worry.”

Dew then sniffles one last time and says: “I think I’m ready to shower now.”

“That’s good Dew! Do you want me to distract you?”

They ask.

Dew is really glad Sunshine offered a distraction or he knows he would spiral again as soon as he takes off his clothes. So he nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, that would really help me a lot.”

The shower wasn’t too bad, they turned off the light and Sunny let her hands glow just enough for Dew not to fall over in the shower. When they ran out of dad jokes to tell, she started singing the ingredients of different products lying around the bathroom. She wasn’t able to pronounce most of them correctly, but it obviously made Dew laugh, so they just continued until Dew was finished.

After he was dressed in the usual black uniform, Sunny and Dew both used their element to dry his hair and he let her brush it. It definitely calmed him down.

“Are you ready?”

Sunshine asks after glancing at her watch.

“As ready as I will ever be.”

#ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #fanfic #ao3 #dewdrop ghoul #trans dewdrop #rain ghoul #rain/dewdrop #raindrop #sunshine ghoulette #trans sunshine #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #swiss ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette

9 notes · View notes

atmilliways · 8 months

Text

Wrong On The Money (51)

part 51 of 55 | 1894 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Robin can’t believe what she’s hearing. That Eddie, who knows a thing or two (hundred) about being treated like a freak, who’d fought with them in the trenches of saving the world from unknown horrors, would do something like that. To Steve.

You'll notice I have at least an estimate for the final chapter count now. I always love seeing notes like this on other fics, where the author is like "Okay I think it's just one more chapter guys" and you glance up to the fic info on the Ao3 page and there's definitely like, five more. We'll see how well my optimism ages.

Anyway, have some protective Robin rage from her POV!

51.

The phone rings late a few nights after Starcourt, jolting Robin out of an uneasy sleep. She shoots out of bed, racing for it before her parents wake up. She manages to get downstairs and down the hall in just a few more rings and snatch it up.

“Hello?” she whispers.

“Robin?”

Her hands clench on the plastic handset at the sound of Steve Harrington’s voice coming down the line. “Steve!? What’s wrong, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“‘M fine,” Steve rushes to assure her, stumbling over his words. “I’m fine. I just. . . . I’m calling to say I’m sorry. For dragging you into this shit, 's my fault because you were working with me, and Dustin can’t talk quiet worth a damn, and. . . . I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

Okay, not so much stumbling as slurring. Okay. Steve Harrington is calling her drunk in the middle of the night. Sure, that’s a relatively normal thing to happen after . . . everything.

“Have you been drinking?” Robin hisses. “You’re drinking with a head injury?”

“I’m, ‘m drinkin’ by myself,” Steve mumbles, and he sounds so young when he says it. She wants to crawl through the phone line and hold his hand.

“Where are your parents?”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Steve says, “On a business trip.”

“Still? I thought you called them.”

“Yeah, they. . . . It’s an important trip. Meeting. Thing, I d’know.”

Robin chews on her bottom lip. On one hand, she barely knows Steve, really. She has no idea what his home life is like, but it doesn’t seem great that his parents know about his concussion, broken ribs, etc. but still didn't bother to come home and look after him. That’s what parents are supposed to do.

On the other, this is the guy who loudly drew the Russians’ attention so they took him for interrogation instead of her. And even if that was plain old sexism on the Russians' part, he’d still run his mouth even after being pummeled, insisting that she wouldn’t tell them anything. They’d almost pulled off his fingernails, for fuck’s sake.

“Steve,” Robin says firmly. “I can get to your place in fifteen minutes on my bike, okay? I’m gonna hang up and do that, and can you do me a favor while I do?”

“Of course Robs, anything,” Steve slurs easily, and goddammit. This dingus is going to end up being her best friend, isn’t he?

“Drink a glass of water for me while you’re waiting, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies. She can practically hear him nodding, which also can't be good for the already bruised brain knocking around in there.

She gets there in under ten, discarding her bike halfway up the driveway and darting up to the front door in case any of the neighbors are awake at this hour. It’s unlocked, and for a moment she’s frozen with terror at that fact—what if the Russians are back and they’ve tracked Steve down? What if they’re here?

But then she goes inside and finds Steve in the most bland foyer she’s ever seen, sitting on the carpeted stairs with his head in one hand and a half empty glass of water in the other. He looks up at her approach, eye and cheek and lip still swollen. It looks like he got chewed on and spit back out, and all she can think of is how small his voice had sounded over the phone.

Mr. Popular, Mr. Cool, cries on her shoulder while telling her how sorry he is again. He tells her about Nancy’s friend Barb and how she died in an alternate version of his pool because he’d thrown a stupid party. He tells her about bullshit and like we didn’t kill Barb and Nancy leaving him for Jonathan Byers until he’s hiccuping—

When he throws up on her shoes he apologizes for that too, and she womanhandles him upstairs to his room and the attached bathroom with her thoughts racing.

Steve Harrington used to be a total douchebag. She hadn’t been wrong about that. But this is a totally different Steve, stumbling and full of guilt and a hefty portion of his dad’s liquor cabinet. This is, actually, a lot like Steve on Russian truth drugs. (There’s even a bathroom this time too, Steve hunched over the toilet and Robin trying to keep his hair out of harm’s way.) This is the boy who doesn’t treat her like a freak for liking girls instead of guys. The only person she’s ever told her secret, and isn’t holding it over her head the way she’s always had nightmares about. (Her nightmares have plenty of new material to work with now, anyway.)

He’s all alone, and not taking very good care of himself when left to his own devices after a buttload of fresh trauma, from the looks of it. So.

Robin is going to be here for him as much as she needs. Not because she owes him or anything, but because this Steve deserves to have someone relentlessly in his corner. And since his parents seem to have abdicated that responsibility, that someone will just have to be her.

Robin can’t believe what she’s hearing.

That Eddie, who knows a thing or two (hundred) about being treated like a freak, who’d fought with them in the trenches of saving the world from unknown horrors, would do something like that. To Steve.

But there’s also Wayne Munson, who she knows now. Not as well as Steve, who looks more comfortable in this house than she’d ever seen him back in his parents’ place, but he’s a good person. A kind man, someone she can’t fault Steve for helping to save.

The two things don’t fit in her head, and she has to pace while trying to wrap her brain around it because otherwise she feels like she might explode.

“Okay,” she says, finally wheeling on him with a glare. “Okay. So you knowingly let some guy blackmail you, homophobically and hypocritically, because you thought he was hot and Dustin was sad?”

“Well—”

“And,” she interrupts shrilly, “you didn’t tell me. You hid not having enough money to eat—”

“I still ate,” Steve protests. “And I learned to make all those casseroles, you love those!”

Robin storms back over to the couch. There aren’t any decorative pillows like there had been at his parents house, because the Munsons don’t go in for that extra frills sort of shit. She snatches one of the cushions instead and thumps him on the head with it, making him drop his pizza in his lap.

“Aw shit, toppings side down. . . .”

“Steve,” she snaps.

He looks up, holding the rescued slice in his hand and licking a glob of red sauce he’d scraped off his jeans off his other thumb. “I didn’t tell you,” he agrees, voice heavy. “You would’ve tried to talk me out of it and I couldn’t just. . . . Not after Barb.”

“Just because Nancy said so doesn’t mean what happened to Barb was your fault, Steve,” Robin reminds him. She's about ready to throw the entire cushion at him in frustration because they’ve had so many talks about that now. Has none of it stuck?! “But guilt or not, that doesn’t make what Eddie did okay!”

“I know,” Steve says quickly. He’s got those big damn puppy dog eyes that all but bleed sincerity. “I know it’s not okay. And that it’s not my fault about Barb.” There’s pepperoni and veggies on his leg; he starts picking them up and putting them back on his pizza. “I didn’t know that if I’d done something different, she might not have died. But I knew that about this, okay? Eddie was working himself to death and it still wasn’t enough, and I knew I could help.”

The without getting the shit kicked out of me goes unspoken, but Robin knows his track record with that and can read between the lines. It’s almost definitely the easiest time he’s had saving a life since 1983.

But still.

"Blackmail isn't the cornerstone of a stable loving relationship, Steve!"

“I know.” Steve sighs, and goes to rake a hand through his hair before remembering just in time that it’s covered in pizza sauce and grease. “I know. . . . We’ve saved each other's lives though, Rob. And we’ve talked it all out, okay?”

She frowns, squeezing the couch cushion in frustration. “Not okay.”

“Come on. I know it was a shitty thing to do, and so does Eddie. You forgave me for years of being a douchebag, can’t you forgive him for this one thing?”

One thing. One thing, when said thing was threatening to out someone? Holding it against their throat, against Steve’s throat, like a broken bottle with actual intent to spill blood? How could she possibly, possibly not hold that against Eddie, when just the thought of it made her adrenaline spike and pulse race because being forcibly outed in Hawkins fucking Indiana is literally her own worst nightmare?!

Or, well. One of.

Steve is still giving her the damn puppy dog eyes. He looks so sad, whereas he’d looked so happy a moment ago, in a dumb, goofy, sappy way that she’d never quite seen from him about any of the parade of girls he’d gone out with since after Starcourt. It’s almost as though he thinks his epic quest to find The One (she can never help but crack a smile when she thinks of it as ‘finding his Suzie,’ and she’s upset right now, dammit, this is no time for grinning) has finally come to an end.

With Eddie Munson, who until ten minutes ago she would have said was a nerdy but perfect match for him.

And, okay. She doesn’t want to be the reason Steve looks sad. He’s old enough to make his own decisions, and if he seems happy with them then it’s not up to her to rip that happiness to shreds, even over perfectly reasonable concerns.

After a long moment Robin drops back into the couch next to him, clutching the cushion to her chest. “I still wish you’d told me. I would’ve shared my food with you. I would’ve known not to bum off of yours, and forced you to take gas money!”

“Robs, no,” Steve groans, then shoves a big bite of his messed up pizza slice in his mouth and keeps talking around it. “I told you a million times, I don’t want to be treated like a taxi driver.”

As if she doesn’t know for a fact that he threatens Dustin and the rest of the kids that he’s going to start charging for rides at least once a week. He’d explained to her once—after a night hanging out with Argyle and the rest of the older Hawkins crew, and everything had been hilarious at the time—that he doesn’t want the little shits to take it for granted and act as entitled as he used to.

Steve Harrington is too fucking good for his own good these days, even if he is a total dingus about it a lot of the time.

And she’ll deal with Eddie later. Right now she’s hanging out with her best friend, and that’s far more important than putting the fear of Robin into a skinny metalhead.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie #steddie fic #robin pov #protective robin #robin buckley #platonic stobin #steve harrington #somewhere across town eddie is definitely freaking out

21 notes · View notes

hazbinhotell0v3r · 2 months

Text

Look At that! (Hazbin Hotel tkl tumblr)

Before I explain everything thing, I wanna thank the people already supporting me. I’m learning the stuff so that my stuff will be more interesting for you guys. The original idea came from: https://www.tumblr.com/alastor-simp/739903161734660096/ticklish-my-dear-alastor-x-reader-oneshot?source=share

——————————————

Summary: As Alastor was walking down a hall, he passed by to check up on Charlie as she was in her room deciding a dress. Alastor give her some suggestions about which one she should wear. Helping Charlie zip up the dress of his choice, he ends up hold her sides making Charlie let out a squeal. Charlie tells Al how sensitive she is and Charlie quickly regrets it.

—————————————

In the evening, Alastor was going through the halls of the hotel on his daily dawn stroll. As he was walking, he heard some noise in Charlie’s room and decided to stop on by to check on her and see what’s happening. “Ugh! I can’t decide which dress to wear. There both so nice!!” Charlie groaned. “Oh, evening Al!” as Charlie saw her good friend from the corner of her eye. “Good evening darling! I hear some problems are going on. Is everything okay?” Alastor asked worriedly. “Oh I’m fine, I just can’t seem to pick what dress to wear today, Vaggie went shopping and she bought them for me, so I really wanna wear one! I just can’t seem to pick one!”

“Well, may I see them?” Alastor asked delightfully. “Sure! There’s a two piece, and a red dress with a cute head band. I have a little black neck tie to wear and they go nice with both!” Charlie answered in a bubbly tone.

“I think the 2 piece would look quite charming on you!” Alastor suggested. “Okay, I’ll go put it on and fix my hair. As Alastor waited, he sat down on an armchair looking at the wall of pictures Charlie had of all the fun times her and the crew had. “Okay, I put it on and I did my hair, how do I look?”

“You look like the princess you are!” Alastor stated. “Thanks Al! Oh, and can you zip the side of my skirt? It’s a bit far back and I can’t reach.” Charlie asked Al. “No Problem!” Alastor said as he walked over to zip up the skirt infront of the mirror. “Purfect my-“ Alastor was interrupted by a squeal that Charlie mad when she jumped. “Is everything okay darling, did I hurt you?” Alastor asked in a nervous voice. “ No no Al it’s just, just that my sides are sensitive.”

Alastor asked, “Sensitive meaning?” “Very ticklish.” After hearing that, Alastor stared wide-eyed to Charlie, “Ticklish?” he reapeted after Charlie. “Yeah…” After Charlie saw his face, she knew exactly what he had been thinking and she tried to run out the room but before she knew it, The Radio Demon had snapped her right back to her bed. Charlie could feel something crawling on her skin realizing that it had been Alastor’s shadow tentacles holding her legs down. “ALASTOR” she screamed angrily as tentacles caught her arms before she could throw a punch.

“Ahal, you don’t really have to do this. Rehembee when you said I looked like th princess I am?! W-well now IyAHAHAHAHAH” the princess couldn’t finish as the Radio demon already started to lightly scitter his claws against her sides. “I just got my claws sharpened, let’s see what they can do dear!” Alastor teased as he slowly went from his sides, to her belly. Charlie’s laughing, turned to screams of joy. “Look at that! Our young princess I squeamish when her belly is scratched the right way.” Alastor’s chuckled, teasing wasn’t very helpful to Charlie as her face was heating up from blushing.

“AHAHAL, IHIHTS NOHOHOT FUHUHUNHEY!!” Charlie scream in joyous laughter. Soon, he had only told the shadows to release her legs and go up and cover her eyes. “ALASTOR” is all she screamed once she saw nothing but darkness as the Radio Demon had stopped scratching her stomach. “Hmm, I wonder if these little hoofs are ticklish dear, don’t you?” But the only response he got was giggles siente he had been spidering from her hips, slowing down to her shoes.

“Ahahal, p-please don’t do this!” she said nervously as she felt the Demon pull up her one of her shoes. “3…2…” and before Alastor could get to while Charlie was pleading, he already started and she has been scream and blushing her head of turning her face away from the Radio Demon. “How adorable! Don’t hide you pretty face from me darling!” Charlie couldn’t even open her eyes, nor speak. She was so helpless and vulnerable, she hates how ticklish she was because it was a major weakness she had.

“Okay, I think it’s time I give you a break.” Alastor said as the shadows crawled away and Alastor slipped the shoe of the princess back in her foot” she was panting and could still feel the tingle of the giggles on her foot. “Seems like the princess had a fun time now, did you darling?” He chuckled and teased. “Yeah, totally” the Princess said sarcastically and rolling her eyes. “Well I have to go some work to do, I’m supposing that you’ll be in your way to the Radio Station?” Charlie smirked and walked out the room.

They both went there, Alastor who has been satisfied, and Charlie who had still been holding her stomach.

FYI: I don’t get any of my pictures of this app, I got it off google, so if I used your art, I’m very sorry.

Should I make a revenge story?

#hazbin hotel tickles #hazbin hotel #tickle #wholesome

8 notes · View notes

talesfrom-theupsidedown · 2 years

Text

Sink or Swim [Billy Hargrove x GenderNeutral!reader] Ch. 1

Summary: Working at the local Snack Shack at Hawkins Pool wasn’t your dream but it’s a decent summer job before college. It did come with a perk of being in proximity to the recent California transfer and resident asshole, Billy Hargrove. Having a nice view of the handsome blond was good enough, but when circumstances lead you to an encounter with Billy and then a chance to become friends, perhaps even more, you can’t stay away. Maybe Billy Hargrove isn’t such an asshole after all. [Canon with a variation]

Warnings: eventual mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol, sexual themes.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: I’m so freaking excited to finally be sharing this story! Please let me know your thoughts! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. :) I will also be adding each chapter to AO3 and Wattpad shortly after this posts, if you prefer to read over there. I’ll be posting under the username @avengerofyourheart , which is also my main blog here on tumblr. Love you!!

Part One Part Two>>>

Sink or Swim Series Masterlist

_________________________________________________________

The first official encounter you had with Billy Hargrove was unexpected, brief and…surprisingly sweet. Every one after that seemed to be moronic (on your part) and…embarrassing.

Naturally.

Getting a job at the Snack Shack at Hawkins Community Pool wasn’t your first choice, but it was just for the summer. In the fall, you were headed to college and would get to leave your small town behind. In the mean time, you would be selling junk food to your former classmates and their younger siblings every day. Awesome.

Billy got a job as one of the lifeguards, which wasn’t much of a surprise. From what you could collect through gossip floating around the high school, the mullet-wearing, muscled, Camaro-driving asshole was a former surfer from California, so the position fit him. And despite confirmation of his prickly personality, you weren’t mad about the sight of Billy in nothing but a pair of red swim trunks, sunglasses, and a whistle around his neck.

Hot damn.

Billy never knew you existed in school, since you were less than popular and ran in different circles. Not surprising. You saw him around, though, even sharing a few classes together. He seemed bored with school and didn’t really try but somehow still got passing grades. Billy was the athletic type, enjoying gym class but especially basketball. Or maybe it was just fun for him to mess with King Steve Harrington, and it was enjoyable for you to witness at times as well. Knowing Steve all your life, you agreed that he could stand to be taken down a peg or two. The bigger the hair, the bigger the ego and Steve’s had grown exponentially the past few years in both regards.

Then there was graduation and the idea of freedom and new beginnings. But first, you had to survive the summer.

During employee orientation just after school let out, you were there and Billy showed up late as one could expect. A few days of training followed with you learning all the equipment in the Snack Shack and which scoop was the correct portion for every item. Not exactly rocket science. At the same time, the lifeguards were getting CPR certification and practicing rescue drills. Looked like more fun than you what you were doing.

Billy tended to hang back from the group during the vocal instructions, sometimes smoking a cigarette when he probably shouldn’t be. But when it came to the practical learning, he was all in, practicing CPR on dummies and “rescuing” his co-workers during drills. His swimming was strong and for timed rescues he did the best. Huh. Perhaps he’s not so apathetic about everything as it would seem.

Once the pool opened, you were given morning shifts at first, which was fine but the Snack Shack was not that busy until kids started begging their parents for lunch. Time crawled when there wasn’t anything to do, but it did give you a chance to peek at the happenings at the pool. Swimming classes were early, before the pool opened to the public. Most of the time you were just setting up so hearing the gaggle of six-year-olds arriving had you glancing over to see what was up.

Billy Hargrove was quite the enigma. Given his reputation, yes, he could be an asshole at times. During public hours when he was in the chair, he had a tendency to blow his whistle and yell across the pool at the supposed offender, often threatening a permanent ban. Well, that’s one approach. It did seem to do the trick, though. At least they knew he was serious and it could be said that personal safety was a serious matter that justified a heavier-handed method.

During those early mornings twice a week, though, when Billy was surrounded by tiny kids in water wings and swim suits with little skirts attached, he almost…transformed. He spoke softer and smiled more than you thought him capable of. It was really sweet, watching him explain what he wanted the kids to do while on dry land before even getting in the pool. He forced the parents to stay across the way and out of ear reach, knowing that he could still get their attention should one of their precious little ones need to go to the bathroom or something. Billy didn’t seem to want the parents hovering, otherwise. Makes sense.

The little ones adored him, surprisingly. Listening to his softer, gentle instructions when one of them was crying or lifting them up to sit on the side for a short break. Being small and learning a lot of new, scary things at once could be overwhelming, you assumed. Billy gave each one of them a high-five at the end of lessons and a few even gave him a hug.

One morning, you had just opened the metal gate at the counter and turned around to grab some tongs when you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey.”

Turning to the sound, you were surprised to see Billy on the other side of your counter.

“…hi?” you replied, startled.

“So, I’m sure you’re not open yet but could I trouble you for a popsicle? I got a little girl with a skinned knee and parents on their way. I promised her one if she’d quit crying. I can’t handle crying kids,” Billy said gruffly. Although you had seen evidence to the contrary, you just nodded.

“Sure. Flavor preference?” you croaked out through a suddenly dry throat.

“Nah. Whatever you have. I don’t have my wallet with me but I can swing by later and—“

“Don’t worry about it,” you interrupted, handing him the frozen treat. “Emergency popsicles are on the house.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Billy offered a tight smile and walked away to a tiny girl seated on a lounge chair wrapped in a towel, the saddest expression on her face. She was trying to be brave but her body was still shaken by a sob every few moments. Billy crouched down to her level and handed her popsicle, now distracted enough for him to disinfect and bandage the skinned knee. Huh. So Billy did have a soft side, if maybe not for anyone his own size. Interesting.

A week or two later it was abundantly clear that whoever was closing up the Snack Shack was doing a shit job and it just made your job harder in the mornings. Nothing was properly cleaned and ingredients weren’t prepped like they should be. After a gentle mention to your supervisor, somehow the solution was that you would be switching to the late shift so the job would be done right. Because properly training and disciplining your co-workers was little too much work. Great.

You mourned the loss of the slow mornings and peeks of Swim Instructor Billy for a moment, but you got over it. Afternoon shifts were crazy busy and at least the time passed quickly. You hadn’t seen Billy come by since that first morning, but that was to be expected. Since then, you had your duties and he had his. Interaction with him just never really happened.

Until it did.

One night after the pool closed, you had pulled down the metal gate at the snack shack counter and were finishing the last of your clean up. Suddenly, music began to play from the direction of the pool. Peeking out the side door in curiosity, you spotted Billy with a boom box, music now blaring from the lifeguard tower. He climbed down and went about his evening checklist as the sun began to set.

Once the pool closed, the last lifeguard was in charge of cleaning the pool, properly arranging the lounge chairs even though they would be shifted within minutes tomorrow morning, and sweeping leaves off the deck. While many of the other lifeguards often bitched about the responsibility and would do a half-assed job, Billy seemed okay with it. Oddly enough, he did it well and without complaint. The music probably made the tasks more bearable.

Returning to your own closing tasks, you finished wiping down all the counters, washed the dishes to let them air dry, and the last item on your list was taking out the trash. You could dump it on the way out so you gathered your backpack and stowed away your apron and visor. So stylish.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, you tried to carry a rather heavy trash bag in each hand while also opening the side door and making sure it was locked. Once you stepped outside, though, a peculiar sight quickly distracted you.

To your surprise, the supposed asshole and lifeguard extraordinaire, Billy Hargrove, was currently lip-synching while using a push-broom as a microphone stand. Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” blasted from the speakers as the other Billy before you head-banged to the beat and pumped a fist into the air as the words “More. More. More…more, more more!” rang out across the empty pool deck. As the chorus ended, Billy raised his face to the sky and jumped in place, his handsome features sharpened by the blue light emitting from the pool. A wide smile stretched across Billy’s face as the makeshift mic stand became an electric guitar in his hands.

Entranced by the sight, you unconsciously shifted the weight of one of the trash bags and lost your grip, knocking over a stack of empty buckets. Smooth.

The sound caused Billy’s head to whip toward you and his posture stiffened, eyes shifting around for other witnesses. Gathering your senses, you finally let the door close behind you and raised your free hand in an awkward greeting.

“Sorry, I—“

But nothing else came out.

Dammit. Giving up at an attempt in human communication, you picked up the trash and hauled ass toward the parking lot. The short glance backward that you allowed yourself showed that Billy was back to sweeping, his head down. Your heart sank. For a split second you got to see another side of Billy. Maybe what everyone else has said was a ruse. What was Billy like when no one else was around? You sure felt free enough to be yourself in the safety of an empty space. Or that you thought was empty. Unintentionally, you had intruded on that and ruined Billy’s moment.

Sigh.

Maybe you could make up for it…

Tossing the trash bags in the parking lot dumpster, you walked over to your nearby bike, unlocked it, and rode home with the evening’s exchange running on rotation the whole way home.

_______________

A few days later, you got a chance to act on your plan when it was just the two of you closing up again. If your intruding on Billy’s post-work jams made him uncomfortable, then it was time to even the playing field.

By humiliating yourself.

Finishing up your inside projects first, you then headed outside to place the patio chairs on top the tables in preparation of sweeping your own area. Billy spared you a glance upon your appearance but quickly returned to his attention to ridding the pool of leaves and dead bugs. His boombox blared music once again, playing songs from the local rock station.

Heart pounding, you started to sweep and waited until a familiar sang came on. Soon the band Foreigner blasted from the stereo. Perfect. Abandoning your task, you bobbed your head to the beat as the first lyrics began.

“Well, I’m hot-blooded, check it to see

I’ve got a fever of a hundred and three

Come on, baby, do you do more than dance?

I’m hot-blooded, hot-blooded.”

Lip-synching in an exaggerated manner, you spun around with the broom in your hands and taking a page out of Billy’s book, chose to use it as a microphone. You jerked your limbs about, perhaps to be taken as dancing, and dove into the second verse.

“You don’t have to read my mind,

to know what I have in mind.

Honey, you ought to know.

Yeah, you move so fine,

let me lay it on the line.

I wanna know what you’re

doing after the show.”

Having gotten lost in the moment, you finally took a glance in the pool’s direction to see Billy standing in place, the pool net loose in his grip. Was that a smile you could see on his face? Bingo. You finished out the song with some air guitar and a windmill or two, leaning against a table to catch your breath as the last notes of Foreigner ended.

To your surprise, you heard clapping and you whirled around to see the sound coming from Billy. Now feeling the humiliation of your little show, you weren’t sure what to do now. Finally settling on an awkward bow in reply, you then ran back inside the Snack Shack to stow away your apron and grab your bag. Aiming to reach the parking lot and be gone by the time Billy appeared, you thankfully succeeded. You rode your bike down the street and around the corner just in time to hear the easily identifiable Camaro roar to life.

Perhaps your next encounter with Billy wouldn’t involve personal embarrassment. The possibility was unlikely at this point, but one could dream.

____________

The next week, you were having one of the worst days ever at your job so far. Some kid spilled a soda all over your counter and down onto the floor and the most you could do in the moment was throw down some towels. By the time you got a break in customers, you were left with a solid, sticky mess. Your manager also hadn’t staffed enough people for the weekend so you had to fend for yourself once again.

No one else had taken out the trash and had instead piled up bags by the side door so you were taking one of multiple trips out to the parking lot long after closing. Lifting the dumpster lid with one hand, you chucked one bag inside with the other but as you raised the second bag, a sharp metal edge caught the plastic and ripped. Of course it did. The 6 inch hole began to spill out its contents of half-empty soda cups and chip bags. At least it wasn’t the bag full of food scraps.

“God-fucking-DAMMIT!!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, dropping the bag to the pavement.

“Oh, shit,” you heard from you behind you.

Turning swiftly to the sound, you spotted Billy Hargrove with car keys in hand, fresh from a shower.

Perfect. It had to be him who was still around.

Once again embarrassed, you glanced at the mess around you, including a half-full lukewarm soda cup that was open and now soaking into your shoe.

“Sorry, I—“

Nothing else came out. Once again, you couldn’t progress in communication any further in his presence. Picking up the bag but upside down, you finally got it inside the dumpster and started collecting the trash that had fallen out. From your crouched position, you suddenly saw another pair of hands helping.

“You don’t have to do that,” you managed to squeak out.

“It’s no big deal,” Billy replied, tossing a few items in the dumpster and then holding the lid for you to throw in the last of it.

“Thank you.”

Finding the courage to meet his eye, you discovered you were only a few feet from Billy. You’d never seen him that closely. Damp curls framed his face with bright blue eyes catching yours and a cautious smile on his lips. Damn, he was cute.

“I’m Billy,” he said, offering his hand.

“Hargrove,” you finished his name. “I know. We had two classes together last year.” You almost accepted his shake but remembered what you had just touched and pulled away.

“Right,” Billy replied, sheepish. “Remind me?”

Catching on, you shared your name.

“Y/N,” he repeated. “Of course. Nice visor.”

The blond flicked the bill with one finger, unsettling the visor on your head.

You huffed out a laugh, tugging it back on. “Yeah, well. Not everyone can pull off the look. I consider myself lucky.”

Billy burst out a genuine chuckle, causing a warm, happy flip in your stomach.

“Well. I’ll see you around, Y/N,” he said, walking backward toward his car.

“Yup. Bye.”

You received the gift of watching Billy’s backside in motion for a few moments before you had the sense to stop staring. Time to finally finish this hellish workday and go home.

_______________________

Part Two>>>

______________________________________________________

Thoughts??? I just love a softer Billy, okay? He deserves all the good things, starting with maybe...a friend? I guess we’ll see. :D Also I know Hot Blooded was in a ~certain scene~ but I’m choosing to take it back, mmkay? I’d love to know your thoughts on this fic! Reblogs, comments, etc., are very much appreciated. You can even send me an ask if you’d like! I appreciate youuuu. :)

Also if you want to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

Billy tag list:

@every-dayiwakeup @feelmyroarrrr @someonehelpshit @ria132love @sebbytrash @withahintofpestoaioli @nogitsunbae @ickypuppi3 @prettybillycore

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x gender neutral!reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove #lifeguard billy #stranger things #stranger things fic #william hargrove #stranger things fan fiction #reader x billy hargrove #sink or swim fic #talesfrom-theupsidedown fic

147 notes · View notes

mitchelldailygames · 4 months

Text

Heroes of Song Devlog Part 12: Refining

Now that all the Exemplar Hero art has been revealed, I can get back to my main devlog series!

Here’s a picture with all the heroes. The alt text is a little brief on this one because I was worried about it being more exhaustive than the casual scroller was looking for, but reach out or look at my previous posts if you’re interested in more descriptive alt text. Art is by Warren Kennedy. Follow him on Tumblr, Instagram, and Twitter.

My design principles:

The heroes are cute.

Kindness matters.

The world is weird.

Sometimes you don’t fight. Sometimes you do.

Health is hearts.

I’ve made quite a few small changes and additions since the last devlog that I’m going to run through quickly. I’ll probably miss something, since I don’t really want to go back and comb through my edit history, but I should be able to hit the main points.

Exhausted

I’ve added a condition called exhausted which makes it so a character can’t add any of their positive Aspects to their rolls. Exhausted is most commonly a consequence for running out of Effort. If felt like there needed to be more of a cost to using all of your Effort to balance it with using Spirit and to make it feel like it matters when an ability is used to damage Effort. It also just gives me more conditions to work with for special abilities, both for the heroes and enemies. It hasn’t come up in play yet, but I think it could be pretty impactful.

Slippery Scamp

I changed the Scamp’s Life of the Party move to the Slippery move. I think the new move is going to be more useful to Scamp players and is going to make the Calling play more like people will be expecting it to when they choose it. In my most recent playtest (which I will give its own post later), it seemed to be a good fit. It basically means you can crawl, climb, and squeeze in and out of pretty much any situation.

In the Works

I have some dual wielding rules drafted up. I think these are going to mostly revolve around decisions about what to hold in your hands. The main downside for holding a sword and a dagger, for example, is that you wouldn’t be able to also hold a shield and neither has the damage output of a two-handed ax doing a power strike. What I initially drafted out is a little on the complicated side, so I’m thinking about slimming the system down a bit.

I also wrote up a couple more runes. One is a Deflect rune, which I think fits the Zelda-like genre well. The idea is that you could knock ranged attacks back at the attacker. The other rune I wrote before but didn’t include initially was the Hood rune which would block senses like hearing and seeing. Both of these are a little wordy as currently written, but I think have potential.

I also have a couple more enemies written out that I’ll probably drop into the doc soon. One is a flying enemy. Another is a lizard-person enemy called a scalikin (which will probably eventually be a player option too).

Why’d You Have to Go and Make Things So Complicated

Some of the new additions, plus mechanics already present like the dodge/perfect dodge and weapon moves, make me worry a little bit about a pitfall I often associate with OG Pathfinder. In Pathfinder, there is a system for everything and I love it. But, I also come by memorizing a bunch of numbers and being able to quickly reference things pretty easily. That’s not necessarily the play experience I want associated with Heroes of Song and it just isn’t accessible for everyone.

So, I could strip things way back and cut a bunch of features—many of which make the game feel more like its inspirations. What I think I want to do instead, while also being mindful of bloat, is find a way to encourage tables to start simpler and add mechanics to their repertoire as they go. This is how it is handled in video games where new systems are doled out over time with a tutorial to go along with each new mechanic. I’m not sure exactly how to work this into a game book, but I think some direction about how to start with less experienced tables would be helpful. I might note this in enemy descriptions (e.g. the hobkin is an “easy” enemy, both to run and fight, while a sawshell is “moderate” because heroes will need to know how to use the stun mechanics to take it on). I might also include some tutorial encounters to go along with different mechanics.

Anyway, I definitely have a lot of work left to do! Don’t expect a full release of this game any time super soon! But I feel like I got some momentum last month and am excited about how things are going.

I also have some other projects in the works, so there will probably be other game releases in the coming months.

The world is weird; kindness matters.

--Daily

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg #ttrpg design #ttrpg dev #heroes of song #ttrpg community #legend of zelda #indie ttrpgs

6 notes · View notes

that-foul-legacy-lover · 1 year

Note

The tag rambles in (the post about moth/dead!us fluttering around Foul Legacy) have given me even more random angsty ideas hehehe

Also, for a bit of size context, I personally would see us as an Atlas Moth (they're very pretty, just like everyone here <3).

"in an alternate universe Childe vanished and a sparkly moth started following you around" Ack okay but the simultaneous misery and nostalgia at getting a mini version of the big moth that we love so much. Honestly, I think that prospect would just break us, so here's a few ideas and whatnot: - Underside of the moth's wings would be sparkly, while the topside would probably be some sort of dark purple. - Antennae that look like Legacy's horns <3 <3 - Literal-moth moth would probably try to stick around our hands as much as possible - Unfortunately, we can't pet him like we could when he was mothman. Because, y'know, fragile creature and all that.

"ohhh if the moth gets hurt (because it's so easy for them to get hurt) Foul Legacy starts sobbing" - Moths can't fly again if a wing breaks, unfortunately ;-; - Frankly, I can indeed see Foul Legacy just end up sobbing at a wing of ours being broken (ooo that's a new idea, maybe I'll touch it later...) - Us, with a broken wing, crawling over and around both his claws and mask, also maybe nestling in his fur(hair)? - Uncertain if a soul moth (as I'm gonna call us) needs nutrients like a regular moth. However, if we do, then Foul Legacy may just stop by forests or something frequently in order to keep as as healthy as we can be <3

~ :D Anon (Sorry it took me so long, was busy with tests ehe)

Note: I removed the link, hopefully it'll send this time? If it does, then woop-

aaaa yeah tumblr asks can be very VERY finicky especially on anon for some reason??? once i tried to send one in and it wouldn't let me because i had too many commas, tsk tsk!!! (original ask here <33)

Foul Legacy little moth: !!!! oh my goodness imagine you're in that state where you're trying so hard to cling onto hope, trying so hard to seem fine so you don't worry your friends and family- and it seems like the little moth that started following you everywhere only helps you heal, or at least people think it should since it's a constant, comforting presence

but the moth knows the truth- it knows how you sometimes break down when you're alone in your room, no matter how happy you try to seem during the day. it knows how you cry into your hands, your sobs of "where could he be?" as you despair over your lost Abyssal monster, your missing Foul Legacy

the little moth can only perch on your fingers, fuzzy antennae waving in your face like it's trying to wipe away your tears, and despite your sadness you still find the energy to cup your friend in your hands and smile wearily- just as kind as Childe remembers

you little moth: Foul Legacy will break if his tiny moth companion gets hurt- even more so if it was by him, even on accident. his talons and armor is sharp, deadly to something so small and delicate, and he cradles the moth in his hands and weeps. the little insect flicks its antennae, almost as if it's trying to reassure him, but all he can see is the rip in the poor thing's wing

he doesn't know the moth is you, intent on keeping him company even after death- he simply knows that it feels familiar, that the creature is dear to him and someone to be treasured, for when else will a moth willingly become friends with a beast? he swears you keep you safe from now on, allowing you to snuggle into his fluff or hair, away from his claws and teeth. occasionally you'll go and perch on one of his horns, happily enjoying the breeze that you can't fly in anymore, at least not as well

on particularly peaceful days he tentatively allows you to sit on one of his claws, basking in the sun and looking awfully proud of yourself despite being a moth. you flutter your wings and he flutters his back, and Legacy can see you happily waving your antennae in the air

at those moments, Childe knows peace

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #chit chat #:D anon #this got long but that's ok because i looove this concept #don't worry about taking a while either!!! i also take a long time ehe #story time one of my relatives is scared of moths and one day i found an Atlas moth on a neighbor's doorstep #so naturally i went home and brought my relative out to see it #it was a fun day :)#short scenario #other's stuff #FAVE

27 notes · View notes

nyakuroji · 2 months

Note

🦮 "Tsubakura just wanted to do a simple experiment for their birthday, one Yabusame foolishly agreed to without question. The resulting transformation would turn into a series of increasingly horrid events."

hoo boy here we go, putting this under read more because it gets a bit long for a tumblr post

"Foolish, foolish, why did I think this was a good idea?!" Tsubakura thought, they stained their sleeve red when they brought it to their nose. The resulting explosion from the magical experiment they had just tried to preformed had knocked them back. Aside from the bloody nose and forming bruises they seemed fine, however they weren't concerned about themself. No the one from which the explosion came from was on their mind first and foremost. Smoke had obscured the room but they could still see a rough outline of Yabusame. Tsubakura winced as they crawled to them, but that didn't matter to them. Whatever happened to them couldn't have been as bad as whatever happened to Yabusame, as they had surely taken the brunt of the explosion. Tsubakura couldn't see well even as they found their hand on them, but they could feel their hand dampen. Tsubakura wasn't one to panic, even in the face of disaster, but the realization made them freeze. They brought their hand close to their face hoping they wouldn't see what they had feared. Blood. They felt dizzy but they shook it off, they were quick in lifting up Yabusame onto their back. They weren't steady, there wasn't a good way for Tsubakura to lift someone that much taller than them but they managed to bring them to their lab regardless. In doing so they could have sworn they felt something fuzzy brush up against their legs a few times, but they didn't give it much thought. They pushed the door to their lab open with their foot and quickly laid Yabusame onto their futon, they wished they had more medical equipment on hand in that moment. It was then that they finally saw how Yabusame was fairing after the experiment's disastrous end, they were stunned. What were they supposed to focus on? Their mostly bloodied clothes, the evidence of already healed wounds riddling their body, or the new cat-like features that adorned them? One of Yabusame's new cat-like ears twitched, they groaned, breaking Tsubakura out of their trance as they rubbed their eyes. Tsubakura wasn't quite sure what to do then, as far as they could see Yabusame had completely healed from their previous injuries. They simply sat by their side as they came to. "Hhng, huh? Tsuba?" Yabusame groaned, "You're hurt." Yabusame reached out to Tsubakura's face, they weren't sure how to react. "I'm fine, a little bruised but nothing bad." Tsubakura said. Yabusame looked at their hand, they noticed their sharpened nails. Their ears turned back as they turned their hand around trying to figure out why it changed. Tsubakura didn't know how to tell them what had happened to them, they didn't really even know what happened to them at all. Yabusame pushed themself off the futon they noticed their new tail, they lifted their leg thinking it wasn't their tail. But as they got up and turned to look at their back the reality of their new form hit them. "What happened?" Yabusame sounded more puzzled than concerned. Tsubakura told them, "Something went wrong with the experiment and something exploded, I don't know how but you seem to have these... cat-esc features now." Yabusame touched their ears, they furrowed their brow, "How?" "I wish I knew..." Tsubakura said. Their wasn't anything left to say, and they could only think of what to do next. One thing was for sure though, nothing would be the same after today.

#len'en #ask game #might put this on ao3 for archive reasons #tsubakura enraku #yabusame houlen

3 notes · View notes

vagueandominousvibes · 1 year

Text

Hey remember how I’m doing Febuwhump? I’ve now posted the first chapter on Ao3. All the first chapter does is establish the setting (a sort-of sequel to Silent Fog, though it can be read independently too), then I’ll build from that in February and tie the prompts together in a vaguely-coherent narrative.

If you want to read it on Ao3, it’s here!

Since Febuwhump is a Tumblr event, I’ll be posting the chapters here as well, so for anyone who prefers reading on Tumblr, you’ll find ‘Chapter 1: The Well’ down below!

The God in the Well

Chapter 1: The Well

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Blue grumbled, stepping over a rotting log and pushing a branch out of his face. Shadow and Vio were ahead of him, carrying the map and the photos from that stupid Old Norse manuscript Vio had come across in his research, which was the entire reason they were out here in Hylia-knows-where in the first place.

He paused to hold the branch out of Red’s way as Red hopped across the log and flashed him a smile. Blue’s insides warmed. It had been a few months since their Mountain Mishaps at Zelda’s family’s cabin, and they had been some of the best months Blue could remember. (Yes, that included getting to ride on the back of the ATV at one of his mums’ place of work when he was five and she did the feeding rounds. Watching the wolverines had been awesome.)

He released the branch in Green’s face.

“Hey!” Green gave him the stink eye.

Blue grinned, shrugged, and followed Red. “My point still stands,” he said as he caught up and took Red’s hand.“Do we really want to get tangled up in weird shit like this again? We don’t even know if this thing —”

“Mímir,” Vio said.

“— is still out here.”

“It’ll be fine,” Red said soothingly. “We have a map, and we know what we’re walking into.”

“We think we know what we’re walking into.”

Red squeezed his hand.

“You worry too much,” Shadow called back. “It’ll be fun!”

Blue snorted.

“You could stay back if you’d prefer to,” Zelda called from the rear.

“Oh, no, I’m coming along. But I don’t like it.”

“Duly noted,” Vio said.

———

To Blue’s surprise and disappointment, the well described in Vio’s manuscript was still very much there, spotted sunlight and everything. Some of the stones, slowly being reclaimed by the spongy moss, had fallen off, the wooden bucket looked too far gone to be of any use, and the rope had long since rotted away. Birds chirped in the branches.

“Well, well, well.” Shadow grinned. “Would you look at that.”

Vio rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his fondness. He put the photos away and approached the well.

“Wow, look at these!” Red tugged Blue towards a shaded patch of ghostly white mushrooms under one of the trees edging the clearing. He crouched down, already fishing in his pocket for his glasses, pen, and notebook. “They’re huge! This one’s at least twenty-five centimetres.” He leaned closer to poke the specimen with the butt of the pen. “They’re not supposed to be more than fifteen, give or take a couple.”

Blue knelt next to him. He saw nothing out of the ordinary about the cluster of mushrooms: white caps, curled in along the rim, and a gnarly white stems with rugged white socks. “What kind are they?”

“Destroying angels.”

“What?”

Red peered up over the top of his glasses. They had slipped down to the tip of his nose, and something about it — maybe the way the light caught in the lenses, or the way it made him look older and more experienced, like a golden curly-haired Indiana Jones of mycology, softer, but no less determined. He tried to picture Red in a white shirt, brown tweed waistcoat, and a tie, and yeah, okay, he would have to come up with some excuse to see that in real life.

He met Red’s gaze. Red was staring at him, a bemused smile on his face. Heat crawled into Blue’s face. He looked away. “Sorry, I got, uh …”

“It’s okay.” Red sat back on his heels and pushed the glasses up. “You seemed … distracted.” He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

Blue’s face burned. “You’re distracting.”

Red laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He placed a kiss on Blue’s cheek. “I was just saying that destroying angels are one of the seven deadliest mushrooms known in our country.” He rested his head on Blue’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. “In a regular sized one, a cap is enough to kill someone, though it takes hours to actually hit. I have no idea what something this large would do.” He trailed off. “The cool thing is we don’t have specific antidotes developed for it, either. Sure, we’ve got ways of improving survivability, but that’s about it.”

“Are you bringing a sample back to uni?”

“Nope. Didn’t bring gloves.”

“Damn.”

They drifted off into silence, and for a moment, it was peaceful: just them, the spots of warm sunlight that had found his back, and the overgrown destroying angels. Scenic, really.

Then Green yelped.

Blue turned, one arm instinctively flying up to wrap around Red. Zelda had stepped between Green and Shadow, Vio was staring at Shadow, and Shadow stood in front of the well, reading from one of the photos of Vio’s manuscript. His voice filled the air, sank heavy into the moss, and descended down into the well, as if every word was inevitable. His eyes burned. Smoke spiralled from the edges of the photo. It started to crumple into ash between his fingers.

The air over the well shimmered, as if a source of immense heat had materialised down below. In the shimmer, a balding head appeared. The grey skin sagged, thin and crumpled like tissue paper, around a crooked nose. Teeth, as moss-grown as the rocks of the well, jutted out from the open mouth. The beard protruded from the chin like whiskers, and the eyebrows curled up like horns. Long white hair dripped into the well. Below the neck, there was nothing.

Red made a strangled sound and covered his mouth.

The last ashes of the photo slipped between Shadow’s fingers. The fire in him went out and his eyes rolled back.

“Shadow!” Vio dropped the other photos. Between one breath and the next, he had darted forward and caught Shadow. “Hey, Shadow?”

Shadow slumped silently against Vio’s chest.

“Come on, wake up —”

The floating head exhaled. A long deep sigh, like a cold wind in autumn, rustled the leaves. Branches creaked. The birds had gone quiet.

Blue pulled Red closer to himself.

The floating head opened its eyes. There were no pupils. No irises, either. Where its eyes should have been, were black spheres cracked by time. With each inhale, fire flared in the cracks, like embers goaded back to life. With each exhale, the fire died.

The floating head studied them. “Who,” it croaked, “disturbs Mímir’s sleep?”

———

Chapter 2 >>

#four swords #not tagging the big one yet bc the event has technically not started yet #vio link/shadow link #blue link/red link #green link/zelda #fanfic #old norse myths #angst #hurt/comfort #modern au #uni au #all the characters are present i'm just. not tagging them #shout-out to red for making me google deadly mushrooms in my area #i know i said i wanted to finish the winter fae story before doing this but it was stressing me out #so i'll work on them both at the same time #nothing can go wrong :)#edit: replaced 'TK' with 'tissue paper'!

15 notes · View notes

filthforfriends · 1 year

Text

The Hybrid (Part 2)

deranged Omegaverse Thomas x Damiano

Word count: 7k

I originally thought this was too unhinged and graphic to post on Tumblr, which is it has been exclusive to AO3 until now.

He expected Damiano to be…well Thomas wasn’t sure exactly but he didn’t expect him to be busy with house work. Thomas was cooking one of the few meals he knew how to make well, while Dami marched in and out of the laundry closet with endless piles of blankets, clothes, pillow cases, and bedding. He seemed focused and not to be in much discomfort, so Thomas just let him be. He had dealt with an extremely difficult heat, so if washing every piece of fabric in the house made him content, Thomas wasn’t about to interrupt.

“Dami, cucciolo, it's time for breakfast.” Thomas stopped and listened for oncoming footsteps then tried again. “I’m not going to mate you on a calorie deficit,” he called. When that got no response, he went looking for Daminao and found him in his bedroom closet, extremely concentrated. He was arranging the spare comforter he kept in there, with the only linens he hadn’t washed, their dirty sheets. He kept tucking pieces of clothing in one corner, and Thomas realized they were the clothes he wore yesterday.

“What are you doing with my dirty clothes, cucciolo?” Damiano looked up, hair falling into his face, like he hadn’t heard Thomas come in. For someone crawling around in a closet he didn’t look very self conscious, maybe just apprehensive that he’d been caught.

“You can have them back, but I need them now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Thomas would.

“Whatever helps, sure…but, um, why?”

“Because,” he splutters, incredulously. Damiano sits back on his heels and Thomas can sense the wave of stress that rolls off of him. Maybe all that work was just him trying to quell his anxiety.

“Because they’re the only thing that smells good,” he professed. “In this whole fucking apartment. I woke up and everything smelled wrong, except you. Just, uh ew!” He makes a noise of disgust, face crumpling. “But now this spot smells right, with the sheets, and the clothes. So it’ll be okay after I wash everything.” Damiano takes a few deep breaths, trying to regulate, and Thomas decides that removing him from the only spot in his home that he liked wasn’t a great idea.

“Let me just get breakfast, okay?”

“Breakfast?” he chirps hopefully, looking up from rearranging. He's crouched down in briefs and a big t-shirt, in this nest of blankets. He’s nesting, Thomas realizes. In that moment he wants to wrap Damiano in bubble wrap and go ahead in time to murder anyone that might have a negative thought about his sweet little omega.

“Of course I’m gonna make sure you eat, cara mio.” Damiano bites his lip and his face breaks out in a full smile. “I made omelets and coffee.”

“Okay!” He seems to finally surface from whatever compulsion he’d been tending, surprised that the world had continued on, when his focus was elsewhere. His expression was so open and trusting, enthusiasm so pure. Thomas almost couldn’t stand to leave Dami when he went to the kitchen and loaded everything onto a tray. On the way back that aggression towards outside threats solidified itself, directed at Samuel, and any past mating partner of Dami’s. Thomas almost didn’t have perspective to recognize that this was textbook alpha ideation that should be ignored.

It wasn’t difficult to refocus when he rounded the corner into the bedroom, and found that Damiano had located his jacket and was integrating that into the nest as well. He was using it as a pillow case, scrunched into the same corner as the rest of Thomas’ dirty clothes. Their bedsheets smell like mating, but the scent Dami gave off is far more enticing to Thomas. Why have the two muddled together when he could get an untainted dose directly from his glands? Dami sat back on his heels with a sigh, proudly looking at the rumpled mess of fabric in the bottom of his closet.

“Do you like it?” he asked, obviously pleased with himself. Thomas’ first instinct was to say sure? However, his omega was beaming with so much pride he couldn’t do that.

“Yeah, it's great!” He set the tray down and sat on the bedroom floor, across from Damiano. Thomas knew omega’s were very particular about the scents in their nest, so he was careful not to disrupt anything. He took his coffee off the tray and observed Dami while he sipped. He looked deeply perturbed all of a sudden, and it could only be a reaction to Thomas.

“Is –”

“Get in,” he demanded. Thomas barely set the mug down in time for Dami to grab his arm and try to pull him inside the closet.

“Okay, okay,” he lamented, struggling to fit all his limbs in a nest barely big enough for someone half a foot shorter than him. Dami huffed impatiently until he settled, then somehow managed to fit his body against his like a puzzle piece. Thomas got the short end of the stick, having to eat only with his left hand, while his right was around Damiano’s abdomen. He couldn’t complain though, since he could literally feel the happiness radiating off of Dami. He alternated between taking huge bites, and nuzzling against Thomas, whose senses were so overwhelmed by Damiano’s pheromones that he couldn’t even taste his coffee.

It took him a minute to realize that Dami was scenting him. It felt a bit like smoking way too much THC way too fast. He was high, his sense of depth perception and body awareness fuzzy. Things calmed down after a moment and having the weight and warmth of another body helped. Sure kids fooled around with it, but scenting someone was a greater commitment then having sex with them. He wasn’t even sure if he should mention it. It may have been instinctual, not a completely conscious choice.

“Sorry, too much?” Damiano was looking over his shoulder at Thomas, whose eyes fluttered open then closed.

“Uh…” He really tries to form a sentence, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. Damiano leans forward and pulls a bottle of water from under the edge of the nest.

“Drink something,” he suggests, unscrewing the cap. Thomas takes a swig and chuckles.

“Everything tastes like you,” he mumbles, smiling. “Come back, I don’t mind it.” Thomas makes a come hither motion and Damiano sits between his legs, leaning against him, while his head rests on the wall. Thomas rubs Dami’s stomach absent mindedly, his other hand lazily playing with Daminao’s hair.

“You know,” he muses, “I’m realizing how weak my omega instincts are. Like I don’t nest or scent at all.”

“Really?” Damiano has started eating the blueberries brought from the kitchen, washed but still in the box.

“Yeah, my interactions with alphas have always been so,” he searches for a descriptor but ends up with “meh. Underwhelming, I guess. Like I never really cared…but with you,” Thomas squeezes Damiano and starts peppering his head with dramatic kisses. Damiano dissolves into giggles, wiggling infinitesimally closer to his attention.

“It’s different?” he prompts, doe-eyed and rosy.

“Yeah, it feels less unnatural,” he affirms. “I’m not really sure what to do with that realization. I mean, it explains why I can’t keep an alpha. I’m the worst lay of their life,” he chuckles.

“Well you could be the best lay of my life,” Dami counters. Thomas can’t help but laugh incredulously.

“Given I’m not an expert, even though I should be, but, don't omegas build nests because they don’t have an alpha? I am sitting in the evidence of my mediocrity, cucciolo. You shouldn’t need this.”

“That's not why,” Damiano counters, turning around and straddling Thomas to look him in the face.

“Then why?”

“Because, because I wasn’t sure if you were going to leave. I thought maybe this was an experiment for you.” He looks down at his hands, insecure. “There's a level of risk for you, and I know I wasn’t easy to deal with yesterday.”

“Cucciolo, I’m not going to leave,” he croons.

“Because if you’re going to leave, you need to do it now.” Dami’s jaw is so staunchly set that Thomas knows he’s holding back emotions.

“It’s not even an option for me, Damia. You can relax about that.” Daminao nods and rearranges himself back to the original position, but Thomas can feel his breathing is more labored.

“Cara mio, you really thought I’d just leave you after yesterday? I know my rut isn’t what you’re used to, but I’m gonna try my best to keep you satiated and comfortable.” Daminao starts scenting him again, in the place of language. “You should slow down if you want me totally conscious, cucciolo.”

“Oops,” he whispers, sounding small.

“Don’t worry, it's cute,” he affirms, affectionately. Thomas rubs his cheek on Damiano’s head adoringly, admiring how well it fits against his neck. It was so nice to have him tucked away and safe, to be receiving all of his focus. Thomas resumes cuddling and Dami continues munching, finally seeming at peace. A pleasant silence fell over them, and Thomas could never recall a time when he was both hormonal and comfortable with himself. It always felt like his skin was one size too tight, and he wanted to shed it and grow into himself, but there wasn’t anything to grow into. He would always be a hybrid.

“This is perfect,” he gushed. Damiano’s words interrupt Thomas’ spiraling. His instincts agreed with Dami’s sentiment, but his limbs were screaming in protest. His left leg had fallen asleep five minutes in and his right was bent at an awkward angle that had grown sore. Not that he would dream of moving with his mate so content. The fingertips of one hand stroked Damiano’s arm, raising goosebumps, the other on his stomach. His hair was soft against the scuff of Thomas’ cheek, and smelled delicious.

Damiano seemed to hum with satisfaction, letting himself be held so lovingly. It reverberated in Thomas’ chest, almost like Dami was vibrating against him at a very low frequency. The sound went from humming to this constant drone that came from the back of the throat. It was definitely positive, pleasurable, and also primal. The sound came in waves. It wasn’t until he let Damiano nuzzle against his neck, that Thomas realized what was happening.

“Are you purring for me, cara mio?” he marveled, trying to look at Damiano's face while he just nuzzled further in Thomas’ neck.

“No,” he playfully denied. The purring stopped when Dami vocalized, but then started back up again. He snuggled against Thomas, licking at his scent glands.

“Yes you are,” he cooed, voice dripping with affection. Damiano was trying to make his body as small as possible, using Thomas as a shield. “I can feel that you’re smiling, cucciolo, don’t lie to me.” Dami let out a giggle. Thomas massaged his scalp where it was pressed into his neck, leaving kisses.

“I don’t know what you expect, you’re scenting me,” Damiano admits shyly.

“I am?” Thomas exclaims. “They always said my glands were underdeveloped!” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.

“It's not overwhelming, but it's still really nice,” Dami murmured, sleepily. Thomas’ cheeks ached from smiling. He’d never felt this normal.

“So omegas purr when they get scented,” he said to himself, but Dami shook his head.

“No, it's ‘cause you.” Immediately, Thomas wanted to flood him with questions.

“Can you explain –?”

“Mm, mm.” Damiano shook his head, and Thomas realized he was regressing back into omega headspace. As he lost his ability to communicate verbally, his scent evolved, glandular signals taking over. Unfortunately, Thomas struggled to read his pheromones. It would be easier if they were bonded, or if he was an alpha, or if this wasn’t his first time mating someone in heat. He was entirely underqualified and inexperienced. Suddenly, they were speaking two different languages, and Thomas desperately didn’t want to misinterpret.

The question of how to conduct himself in this moment made his heart race. If I don’t understand him, how can I go about this responsibly? Is not doing anything at all irresponsible in and of itself? Does having to ask these questions at all mean I’m failing him? As soon as Thomas had worked himself up, the sensation of a weight pulling him back down to earth settled in every muscle. His heart rate slowed, he remembered to breathe evenly. His body felt heavy, but suddenly calm, and he smelled the sweetness of springtime. For a moment, he was swooning so intensely that he lost sense of personhood, and could feel the body leaning against him more than his own.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, trying to get his bearings. Lilac. That's what permeated the air: when the lilacs first bloom in June. He could finally pinpoint the scent of Dami’s pheromones, which means this sudden calm came from his glands. If he wasn’t panicking over his biological shortcomings, what Damiano needed was very apparent. He wasn’t using speech so, Dami was more omega than human, and that omega side of him needed to be satiated to bring his biology back to an equilibrium.

Thomas slicked up, even though he wouldn’t be receiving. It was his body’s reaction to arousal and it triggered Damiano to have the same response. This unnatural reaction was the reason alphas and omegas preferred to hook up outside their primary gender. They were the exception, because usually the pheromones just weren’t compelling. Damiano and Thomas’ sexual relationship wasn’t regarded as a red flag necessarily, but definitely seen as odd. They tried to limit it to friendship as much as possible, to perpetuate the idea that they were just a couple of bored, horny omegas. Thomas didn’t have a consistent alpha, Damiano and Samuel were together out of hormonal compatibility, not in a relationship, so Samuel fucked around too. The narrative that they were just a couple of petty omegas worked well, as long as no one found out just how intensely pleasurable and natural their sex lives were.

“Can I touch you?” Thomas' hand ventured lower, playing with the waistband of Dami’s briefs. His scent became oh so inviting, so Thomas started to rub his hard cock over his boxers. He refused to take advantage of the fact that Damiano was non-verbal. He bucked his hips up into Thomas hand and whined in the back of his throat. Thomas dipped his hand into Dami’s boxers and held his cock in a fist, not moving. He waited for some kind of response communicating consent: a yes, a head nod, even a guiding hand. Instead, Damiano, who was feral, horny, and desperate, bit him in retribution for stopping.

“Ow! Hey, no teeth!” Instead of apologizing, Damiano pulled his briefs down, kicking them off with his feet. He grabbed Thomas’ hand, brought it back down to his cock, and held it there in a vice grip. Even as Thomas stroked him, Dami didn’t let his wrist go, thrusting up into his hand. He was holding on so tight that the area became sore, and being in rut was not contributing to Thomas' patience.

“Too tight,” he warned. When Dami didn’t respond, Thomas gave him one more chance. “Too tight Damiano, you’re hurting me.” Damiano ignores him, lips parting in pleasure. As beautiful as the sight may be, Thomas feels a scathing irritation at his omega acting like he gets to control the situation. He rips his hand away and Damiano’s eyes fly open, pelvis jerking as he searches for stimulation. He scrambles to sit up, confused as to why his alpha would suddenly deny him sexual pleasure without communicating. He snaps his jaws at Thomas, who just scowls at him, giving him the silent treatment.

His glandular secretions weren’t strong enough for Damiano to read anything beyond anger. He sat up and pressed his face to Thomas’ neck, teething at his scent glands to get a clearer message.

“Dam, I swear to god if you –” The musk on his taste buds suggested submission, but didn’t demand it. Testing the boundaries, he nipped at Thomas' neck, and was immediately wrenched away from his body.

“Don’t fucking bite me!” Thomas shoved Damiano away, angry that he wasn’t listening. Daminao looked frustrated and confused, which was such an unjustified reaction that words failed Thomas and he let out a growl of frustration. This seemed to have some meaning, and it felt so cathartic he did it again. He had to manually combine the urge to make guttural sounds from the back of his throat and the emotions he wanted to convey. For a real alpha this was all just instinct.

Damiano ducked his head in submission, mouth trembling because this was so unlike Thomas. He’d never gone from nothing to yelling at Dami. At first he was silent, then so enraged the growl ripped from his chest. All Damiano needed was a little direction and now he was getting punished for not being a mind reader.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” Daminao watched Thomas’ face soften, and his lips move. Had he been trying to talk to Dami this whole time? “Can you hear me when I speak?” Thomas taps his ears, and Dami shakes his head. He tries his very best to assign meaning to the sounds leaving Thomas’ mouth, but the part of his brain that processes language has taken the back burner.

The guilt settled in the pit of Thomas’ stomach. It was a painful reminder of how limited his experience was. He considered that Damiano was intentionally hurting him before remembering that he could just be unable to interpret spoken words. A real alpha would have never made this mistake. Thomas let out an apologetic whine, and Damiano crawled back onto his lap, scenting him to show that all was forgiven. Thomas scented him back, because it was comforting, and affirming.

Damnaino focused all his attention on saying one word. He could visualize the way the letters looked, but his tongue wasn’t cooperating. Getting it to move and create the fine details necessary for speech was an uphill battle.

“Knot,” he slurred, pronouncing it with two syllables. Thomas nodded, trying to stand up and move to the bed. Damiano needed this to happen in his nest. With no other way to communicate, he bit the back of Thomas' thigh as he moved from a sitting to a kneeling position. Thomas whipped around and used a handful of Dami’s hair to wrench his back. Forcing him to look up as he towered over him, Thomas let a quiet, but vicious growl crawl from his throat, nose scrunched.

There was a beat of silence as Dami realized his mistake and whimpered apologetically, bowing his head in subservience.

Thomas took his time getting in a comfortable sitting position. The space was so tiny that if Damiano wanted them to mate in the corner of his closet, he could do all the work. He gestured to his briefs, as if to say “come do your job, then.” His scent drew Damiano in, welcoming like fresh cut cedar. He pulled the boxers down then crawled back up to be eye level with Thomas’ groin. Feeling the ego boost of rut, he spreads his legs and lets out a huff, waiting for his omega to find a good use for that busy mouth.

Dami’s instincts are happy for an opportunity to pleasure their alpha. Thomas’ slick has already soaked into the fabric of the nest, the scent marking it much to Dami’s approval. Somehow, it carried the smell of an alpha. Not as strong and salty as copious amounts of pre-cum, but extremely attractive. The musk of Thomas’ body made the slick drop down to Dami’s thighs as he took his cock in his mouth. Having an ass full and knotted brought satisfaction like nothing else in the world. However, the stretch of giving an alpha a blowjob was also pleasing to omega instincts.

Thomas doesn’t even try verbally directing his omega. Damiano was plenty proficient at responding to the signals of his body. When he’s had enough, he gently pulls Damiano’s mouth off his cock, and gives a rumbling hum of approval. Dami smiles coyly, pleased with himself while he shifts to straddle Thomas. They almost knotted this way last night, but Dami had changed position. Secretly, Thomas had grieved being able to watch the face of his omega so close. What they were doing felt sacred and he wasn’t taking it for granted.

Damiano was so focused with the task at hand, that he hadn’t even met Thomas’ eyes. His beautiful fingers wrapped around the base of Thomas’ cock, and stroked it a couple times to evenly disperse the pre-cum. Droplet glistened on the winding lines of ink marking his skin. Once he’d done the absolute bare minimum of prep, Dami sunk down onto his alpha’s length.

As soon the tip of his Thomas’ cock pushed into his anus, a rush of slick wetted Damiano’s thighs. His body’s response was so visceral that he trembled before he was even fully seated. His breath caught in his throat, the memory of yesterday’s desperation a bitter taste in his mouth. The idea of still enduring that today made his stomach turn. Thank god for Thomas, in many ways more than just this.

Damiano was shifting his legs to support himself properly as he rode Thomas cock, when a finger hooked under his chin prompting him to look up. There was a commanding stillness in his gaze, like the exhale of a steading breath. All of the beautiful green of his irises had been consumed by the black hunger of his pupil. Still, his eyes were kind and soulful, maybe just because all their years of friendship had impressed this onto Damiano.

Innumerable shitty interactions had left Dami, and all omegas, jaded towards alphas. The problem was Damiano was especially upetty, disruptive of social norms. Many joked that he was placed in the wrong body, but Damiano didn’t feel out of place in his own skin, just in his interactions with the opposite primary gender. There was a maliciousness that lay behind an alphas gaze, rooted in the knowledge of their ultimate power. Looking at Thomas felt like being held, instead of shoved to the ground and ordered to kneel. Damnao knelt before Thomas because he wanted to, when he wanted to.

Right now, the only thing Thomas asked of him was a kiss. He maintained eye contact in a way that communicated reverence, before leaning forward. It was merely a peck, such a stark contrast to where their bodies were joined, fluids causing their skin to stick together in uncomfortable ways. He pulled back, waiting until Dami’s eyes fluttered open to meet his own.Thomas cupped his face in both hands, pushing the hair back with his long fingers. He was so desperate to understand the moment, but all Dami could offer was radical acceptance, and that informed nothing.

Letting out a sharp breath, Thomas pulled Damiano back in, this time the kiss was deep and passionate. Maybe it was like a hurricane: the calm was in the center and he just had to brave the bit that threatened to sweep away his fragile sense of self. Damiano had no such reservations. He kissed Thomas with tongue, raising himself up so he could push open his mouth, testing the boundaries of his dominance. Daminao’s tongue explored the fragile tissue of Thomas gums as he bounced on his cock. He got a hand tangled in his soft, dirty blond hair, pulling a bit too hard on the nape of the neck which earned him a slight growl of warning. He kissed Thomas fiercely, lips molding together while he managed a sporadic pace. Desperate panting turned into moans as the exploration of tongue gave way to gentle nips.

Damiano had learned his lesson, and was very careful not to break the skin. Thomas was probably too trusting, but having his lips nibbled on by the man sitting on his cock was heavenly. Soon Dami’s nails were digging into his back, and his energy demanded a knot. Thomas got a good grip around his torso and met his thrusts. Finally engaging his hips started the process of perpetual motion resulting in a knot. It came quicker each time, and soon Damiano’s moans revolved into a whine, interspersed by grunts as he rode the knot.

Everything became hopelessly tense again, but Thomas was getting used to it, and could almost breathe this time. He felt another rush of slick soak the comforter below at the same time Dami’s stained his thighs. There were moments before orgasam so intensely pleasurable that it was totally unbearable, and yet they had to bear it, and held onto each other desperately, in an effort to survive.

“Relax, relax,” Thomas grunted, lifting his hips to collide with Dami’s.

“I can’t, I just can’t,” he whined. “You gave me a knot, I – uh, please,” he moaned. His nails dug into Thomas’ shoulders hard enough to leave crescent shaped bruises.

“Just try,” Thomas said through clenched teeth, the vein protruding on his forehead.

“No, no, no, no,” he repeats, shaking his head hysterically. Damiano sinks down slowly and an obscene noise rips from the back of his throat that isn’t even vaguely human, more like an injured hyena.

“Don’t make me give up the knot. Please, it's so good. It feels so good.” He babbles against Thomas lips, into what used to be a kiss. Damiano is using up too much air for that now, gasping as he tries to reach orgasam. His growl intends to sound assertive, but comes off as helpless. Thomas shushes him, trying to calm Damiano off of the edge of hysteria with a steady hand rubbing his back, but realizes this isn’t what he needs.

This is a really shitty position to get momentum from, so Thomas braces one forearm against the wall of the closet, and gets a tight grip on Damiano’s glute with the other. He pushes himself up into a kneeling position as Dami clings.

“I won’t. I won’t do it. You can’t make me!”

“Ssh, cucciolo, I’m not going anywhere. Just relax please.” They’ll definitely have to work on communication later. “Get your feet under you,” Thomas coaxes. Doing the horizontally would be so much easier, but there isn’t room and if he tries to transfer them to the bed Damiano will loose his fucking mind. Repositioning at least gives him something to focus on, and can deliver the stimulation he so desperately needs.

Thomas gets a vice grip on his hips and Damiano braces one hand behind himself on Thomas thigh and the other around his waist, frantic fingers digging into muscle. The first thrust makes his eyes roll back. It's a new angle, a deeper angle. Thomas tries to stay grounded, but it's such a small space with so much sensory input and he’s never felt Damiano so completely. The smell of slick, pheromones, pre-cum, and mating. Damiano, glorious as he rides Thomas’ cock, his olive skin seems to glow like an ethereal creature. Every undulation displays his features, every time more beautiful than the moment before. He grunts, putting so much hard work in, and Thomas cums immediately.

He actually closes his eyes. It's too much stimulation otherwise. He has to adjust his grip, the sweat making it difficult to hold onto Damiano, who put total trust in Thomas to support his weight. With his eyes closed, the noises from his omega become all the more impactful. Thomas tries to suppress his own moans so he can hear them. Damiano is enjoying the hot spunk filling him up more than Thomas is ejaculating it. He’s practically singing with pleasure. It's so primal and satiating that he doesn’t even notice when his own orgasam begins. All the overwhelming stimulation just blends together.

Damiano’s cum splatters onto his and Thomas’ chests, while he manically bounces on his cock, no rhythm, all desperation. Each time he bottoms out, Dami lets out a little grunt and Thomas opens his eyes just to watch his omega’s parted lips. He spasms with climax internally, and his alphas head falls back, hitting the wall. Thomas has to put every ounce of focus he can barely muster to support Dami’s upper body. The internal and external orgsams are not simultaneous, but it's close enough that Dami is fighting for consciousness.

Thomas gives him another knot before he has the chance to ask. It's intuitive. He slows the pace down to his own liking. Each thrust starts with his sit bones on his heels, bearing his weight for a moment of rest. Thomas pushes off with as much force as possible, snapping his hips into a plank position. Before Damiano can panic that Thomas has pulled out to the knot, his cock is buried as deep as possible. The slide against his walls is the best part. Thomas gets to feel his velvety muscular walls constrict in pleasure, Damiano gets every inch of pulsating cock, weeping with precum. Thomas' ankles are dripping with his own slick, but contradictory biology isn’t even on his mind. Damiano is.

Thomas mates him with everything he has. Dami tries to thank him, but it comes out as gibberish and devolves into a moan. Even as he struggles for breath, Thomas' chest feels more open, his body more invigorated. He wants to give into instincts, but his omegas comfort is more important. His head has lulled to the side, mouth open. He’s looking at Thomas’ body jolting with each thrust, like watching his alpha fucking him gets him off.

“You want –” Thomas isn’t even sure what to ask. “You okay?” It's such an ill fitting question.

“Heaven,” Dami whispers, corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. A rush of slick hits Thomas’ mid thigh, and Damiano’s hand that rests there slips. He transfers his grip to his lower back, but there's so much sweat they’re both fighting to hand on. Thomas sets into a rhythm only sustainable because he's in rut, a little faster than before, the way Dami likes. He doesn’t have to think about the mating, that part comes so naturally it's not even conscious. The more animalistic he feels, the more things fall into place. A knot, excruciating to produce yesterday, thickens without any effort pulling it forth.

Thomas is hyper aware of the muscles he's using: lower back, glutes, abs. Instead of lactic acid production his body skips to endorphins. The only issue is that things keep slipping. Dami is struggling to hold on and Thomas has to keep readjusting his grip. Damiano has another anal orgasam without warning. He whines all the way through it with his eyes rolling back in his head. There's no message intended, just an expression of pure pleasure. His body starts to tremble and there's so much sweat Thomas’ hand slips and he nearly drops him.

“That's it,” Thomas growls. He pushes the closet door wide open and lays Dami out on the floor halfway in his nest and halfway on top of the breakfast dishes. Thomas pushes them out of the way haphazardly. Something clashes then breaks. Neither of them wince.

For a moment things don’t fit together right. The ground is uneven, there's nothing to prop up Damiano’s hips with. Thomas slips drastically enough that he accidentally pulls out, subsequently losing the knot now that he’s no longer mating an omega. It's like watching Dami’s face in slow motion. One moment he’s focused on adjusting to the new position and the next his face is crumpling in panic, betrayal, loss.

“No, no! Come back, Tommy, please –” he wails. Thomas rectifies the mistake in only a couple seconds, but the knot being ripped away has triggered a fear response. Dami is panicking, even with Thomas’ cock fully seated inside him. He’s trying to force another knot to pacify him. Feeling Damiano’s chest shudder underneath him with a sob makes his own eyes sting, pain shared just as their pleasure is.

“Cucciolo, I’m so sorry,” he croons. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.” Damiano’s breath catches in his chest violently with each syllable. A shaking hand comes up to wipe his eyes. He brings his legs to his tummy out of habit, and Thomas carefully hooks Dami’s shins over his shoulders. He feels past the point of exhaustion, but also aware he has an indeterminate amount of energy left. His rut had never been this intense before, so Thomas was finding the boundaries as he experienced them.

“I don’t know, ugh,” Thomas growls, struggling with words. “How much I – I have,” he pants. “I can’t…can’t –”

“Everything,” Damiano answers. Give me everything. Okay. Everything turned out to be a knot that took all his focus and a handful of thrusts. Thomas collapsed, pushing Dami’s legs off his shoulders, so they could achieve some level of comfort. The sensation of Thomas' skin shifting against Damiano’s cock was enough to make him cum. There was very little actual spunk, but his entire abdomen spasmed during orgasam.

Thomas outright yelped in pain. He couldn’t cum again, after this level of athleticism there was no way. Yet, the perfectly lubed walls of Damiano’s ass constricted aggressively around his cock, and pulled an orgasam from him like his dying breath. Not only was it way too tight, but Thomas’ cock had been overstimulated 20 minutes ago. Exquisite torture. Instincts kept him in place, and Thomas couldn’t decide if this was the best or worst kind of excruciation.

“God, please relax, please,” he whimpered into Dami’s ear, a couple tears falling. One of Thomas’ hands found a grip on a bed post, trying to channel all the sensation into something, anything. He let out a growl of frustration. This wasn’t sustainable. How could the world expect him to willingly put himself in this situation over and over? It was as if he was having the life force squeezed out of him like a toothpaste tube. Slamming his palm to the ground, Thomas roared in anger. He felt Damiano twitch below him.

His omega was cowering, head tucked against a raised shoulder with his eyes screwed shut. His limbs were still curled around Thomas, but he seemed to be bracing. For what? Where had Damiano learned this behavior?

“Hey, cara mio, I would never hurt you.” Thomas lifts a hand to brush the hair out of Dami’s face, and he winces right before his hand makes contact. “Damiano, baby.” He seems to settle once he realizes the touch is loving, but that doesn’t stop Thomas’s stomach from sinking or the red hot rage that rips up to his throat.

“I’m going to hurt whomever made you scared,” he found himself pledging. “I’m going to make them scared too.” Sober, Thomas would never take on an alpha, but it didn’t matter if this promise was empty. Damiano was too far gone to register words. Which left Thomas to communicate in a language he only spoke accidentally, and never to good effect. Instead, Thomas scented. It seemed the only way to consistently communicate positive intentions.

This function had been much easier to pick up, he just had to focus on Damiano. After a couple gently nudges from his alpha, Dami relaxed and let himself enjoy Thomas’ pheromones. He looked blissed out, mouth hanging open. After getting his bearings, Damiano started scenting Thomas back, and finally relaxed. They both took a deep breath, which left Thomas in a wonderful haze, where all things unpleasant were dulled. It was the sensation of being high, but instead of separating each other as their senses diverged from reality, Thomas and Dami were brought together. Their partner was the only thing stimuli fully realized. At first Thomas struggled for clarity, but his omega ran a hand along his back, soothing. Somehow he knew to give into it.

“I didn’t expect you to do that,” the omega mused. Thomas had lost track of how much time had passed.

“What?” He propped himself up, instead of lazing on Damiano’s chest.

“Bonding. I’m glad though, I feel content now.”

“Right.” Having none of these experiences for himself made it difficult for Thomas to keep them straight in his head. “That's another thing I’ve never done, scented someone back. Makes it hard to bond, y’know.” Actually without mutual scenting and a knot it was impossible to bond, but Thomas used casual language to convince himself this wasn’t important. It was though, everyone else got so much more out of life.

“Yes you have.”

“What?” Thomas asks, bewildered.

“You have scented and bonded someone. Me, just now.”

“Oh, right,” Thomas smiles to himself, then so much that his sexy, little feral teeth are exposed and Daminao starts running his tongue across every one until Thomas closes his mouth and shakes his head.

“Eh! What are you doing?” he makes a noise of disdain, only for Damiano to dissolve into giggles, thoroughly amused with himself.

“So how does it feel to have your cherry popped?”

“Much more fun than the first time, but, em -” Despite Thomas’ best efforts, his expression must change, because Damiano’s face falls. “I didn’t realize the extent of the nonverbal bit, we need to create a system of consent for that. I felt like I kept unintentionally yelling at you in a language I didn’t speak.” Damiano chuckles, but there's no humor in Thomas’ face.

“I never want to yell at you, but especially when we’re mating, cucciolo.” There's so much tenderness in his tone. “Everytime I miscommunicated I felt like I was failing you because I’m not a real alpha. Like the thought that you were just being totally vulnerable with me and I yelled at you…” He trails off and swallows hard, tracing a finger down Dami’s profile who is looking up at him with untainted affection. “You’re not mad.”

“Not even a little bit,” he supplies. “It’s not like alphas are mind readers, that comes with time.” Thomas huffs and grimaces in thought.

“That doesn't matter. I’ll never be an alpha, and this will never work the same.” He sounded dejected, but instead of making Damiano sad, it made him angry. How could Thomas give up so easily?

“We don’t know that until we try,” he defended, attempting to rid his tone of any acidity. Thomas looked like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. Panic rose in Dami’s chest at the prospect of his mate not being there his next heat. He wanted to demand that Thomas pledge he would knot no one else, ever. On the other hand, Thomas saw himself only as Dami’s last option, not his first choice.

“You’d want to do this again?” he asked, bewildered.

“Yes!” Damiano gushed. “You tried to understand me more than some alphas who’ve been practicing canine dialect since their very first pubic hair.” This would be the time to bring it up. Thomas raised himself up to his elbows, dirty blond hair falling in a curtain around his face. Damiano’s legs squeezed around Thomas' hips, heels digging into his lower back to keep him close.

“Yeah um, I could tell from your reaction,” Thomas is looking at Damiano emphatically, who raises a questioning eyebrow in response. “I mean, just the way you reacted, it seemed…” As much as he tried to read his face, Dami’s expression only communicated confusion.

“It's par for the course,” he brushes off, lightly. Maybe the reaction was subconscious, like so many other things in this state. Thomas didn’t even know what he’d said. Flinching could be an instinctual reaction, like slick or moaning, something not notable enough to recall.

“You can’t just bite me when I do something you don’t like,” he redirects.

“Right, sorry,” Dami winces. “I just get a really strong urge with you, for some reason.” Damiano knew the reason. It was the same reason that there were moments when part of him regretted taking birth control while knotted by Thomas. Damiano didn’t want children, not with Thomas as anyone. It was the same reason he’d washed every scent bearing surface in the apartment of his previous mate. It was the reason he’d called Thomas instead of a different alpha.

He’d been far from celibate before Samuel. There were plenty of options. It was the reason he’d skip his mothers birthday before Thomas’ rut. The reason they had such a close friendship, why every time Thomas asked he would say yes, why he would never spill the hybrid secret even with a knife to his throat.

It was the same reason, that fateful night at 18, just before the tears fell, he wanted to say thank god. Thank god because I’ve been wracking my brain for ways our bodies could fit together. In fact, when you first walked in that door I wanted to propose something so desperately and barely held my tongue. What if I take off all my clothes, and you take off all your clothes and we lay in my bed, then find something that feels right and do it until we’re exhausted. I don’t even care how sex looks between us, as long as it exists.

So when that answer came, when your body said this is how it looks, I cried tears of joy, silently, so you couldn’t see. But if you hadn’t cried I wouldn’t have either. If you said I want to try something, now that I know, I would lay on my stomach, hands clasped like I was praying, slick running down my thighs. For a moment, I was blinded by my own narcissism, and didn't consider isolating how this’d be for you. I thought that here you were, the only omega made for another of their kind, so my instincts weren’t broken. Maybe I was made for you after all.

Notes: Not a new fic! This chapter is about a year old it just seems ridiculous to have “AO3 exclusives.” If this isn’t your thing (immensely understandable) you can opt out of both omegaverse and band member x band member on my taglist.

-Eden XOXO

Masterlist

Taglist (taglist removal)

AO3 (this and most other stories available)

@hiraetheral @iosonoarina @l0standn0tf0und @que--sera--sera @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @harryssshouseee @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn @idyllicbutterfly @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @gr8rainbowpunk @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem@weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @slavicgoddess13 @ursulalurks* @kammerstx

*idk what's going on with your blog name bestie

11 notes · View notes