#god bless the quick ball | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nichuuu · 4 months

Text

Lemon.

Word count: 13k+

You decide that you don’t quite like Balls (get your head out of the gutter).

Music: odd. Yes, it’s a fancy mansion—5 floors, the works… But you don’t know how to feel about the sole pianist in the centre of the foyer, the one that’s playing some classical piece that has the people around you murmuring about his technique and sound (whatever the hell either of those meant).

People: you don’t know a good half of them. Scratch that—it’s a sea of strangers

Drinks: strong, way too fucking strong for your liking. The drinks are free of charge, and the bartender clearly didn’t shake this Pina Colada well, but you have to drink it if you want to even try and get into the mood of the party. Around you, men in posh suits and women in flamboyant dresses skirt each other, talk to each other with placid smiles—hoodwinking each other with their highfalutin laughs and smiles to establish connections that probably won’t matter in a couple of days. The only person you’ve talked to tonight is the bartender, and that was just to order your drink.

This whole place stinks of capitalism, and you feel out of place in your cheaper suit and dress shoes. On your right, some guy is talking about how bitcoin and blockchain will make a grand return, some lady is gossiping about the latest Gucci handbag on your left. In front of you, a man and a woman are clearly flirting with each other, bashful grins on their faces as they hold their fancy drinks in their hands and talk about god knows what. You’re wondering if you should ask for a straw from the bartender just to dip your toes in social interaction.

Wonder why Cinderella was so hot on attending a Ball, thing seems pretty bland to me, you’re thinking, watching the tip of the ice that was shaped like an iceberg melt away and sink beneath the surface of your margarita. Some guy in a tux comes by, orders two glasses of Prosecco—one for him, one for the woman next to him. He’s talking loudly, disrupting your peace and quiet. Your solution: move seats.

From a distance—two chairs away from your original seat—you watch as he takes the two glasses from the hands of the bartender, hands one to the woman, then clinks his glass with hers. He’s preternaturally genteel, and you’d know because you recognised him as the guy that got slapped at the start of this whole thing because he grabbed the ass of someone’s wife. Impropriety, but it’s the behaviour of the newfangled rich.

Now he’s bragging about his car. Nissan GTR fitted with this engine, this ventilation, blah, blah… Whatever it is he’s saying, the woman’s having none of it. You’re no psychologist, but you can tell that she wants to get out of a conversation; her smile is awfully sweet, but you can see that she’s silently importuring him to shut his trap—her eyes give it all away. You pity her, silently sending her your best wishes as the man grabs her by the arm and leads her back into the sea of people. Personally, you’d be screaming if you were in her shoes.

(Off to your left, just at the edge of your vision, you see your boss talking to a woman. She’s getting touchy, really touchy and really flirty; her hand’s on his thigh, fuck me eyes out to play and on full display—A trite tactic used by these types of women to get lucky with a rich man at these type of events. Luckily for her, your boss is quick to bite on to such bait. God bless them both.)

For the record: you’ve never really enjoyed Balls or anything of the ilk, because quite frankly speaking, you’d much rather burrow up in your bed at home and binge Kimini ni Todoke till you were giggling and squealing like a little schoolgirl. Maybe I’m still young, I’ll learn to like these types of events later on, you tell yourself, I’ll need connections at some point, maybe I should start—

A sickly sweet fragrance crawls up your nostrils, truncating all thought. Perfume, you’re quick to identify, and then you’re aware of the presence of someone on your right. Your grip on your glass grows tighter in the slightest; you’re praying—Please just be ordering a drink, please be ordering a drink.

Frankly, you don’t know why you’d ever think anyone would talk to you, an unimportant cog that just tagged along with his boss because he had nothing better to do. Irrational fears are really a funny thing.

Sharp, clear, resonant—three words that came to mind when you heard the voice of the person next to you, the voice that delivered the simplest of orders: Yamazaki. I want it neat.

Your first thought is, Damn… Neat Whisky? Someone’s having a horrible night, as you turn your face away from her (if you couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be able to see you, right?). And just as you’re wondering if she’s gonna take her drink and leave, your question is answered by the soft creak and even softer rustle of shifting fabric from your right. You bristle.

The glass makes a sound against the wood as it’s gently placed down on the table.

(Now would be an excellent time for a subtitle to come in, one that states in square brackets: Awkward silence.)

You can hear her swirling the liquid around in her glass. Fuck, now this is awkward… You’re thinking, and then you’re wondering if you should just get up and leave, absquatulate, skedaddle—any word that can convey the act of disappearing in an instant—right out of there. But as you start to slide your butt off the chair, that voice rings out once more.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

She doesn’t know how her simple sentence has caged you in the most challenging position (to you at least). Now you’re sliding your ass back into the bar stool and you turn and face her—

(Now that you’re looking at her, your second thought about her comes in: God, she’s beautiful. Dark brown hair that falls just past her shoulders like velvet curtains, soft yet somehow piercing eyes, a smile that makes you feel fuzzy all over—probably one of the most attractive women you’ll ever meet. She’s the woman from earlier, the woman that you saw smiling and nodding placidly to that guy who got her the Prosecco. She must’ve found a way to slip away, and she has your full respect for that.)

—and you find that you’re drumming your nails against the base of your glass.

“Shy, huh?” she’s throwing out a guess, watching as the Whisky in her glass slowly swirls to a stop inside the chilled glass. “It’s been a while since I met a shy man. You’re a breath of fresh air.”

You shift in the stool, and your first instinct is to ask her if you two had met before. It’s only after that last syllable leaves your mouth that you realise how stupid of a question it is. You don’t know her, and judging by the fact that she hasn’t called you by your name: she doesn’t know you either. You let her decide whether to oust you as a fool as she scans you up and down.

(Update on your boss and that woman: She’s kissing him now, full on making out. It’s an unsettling sight to behold, and you attribute your queasiness to the fact that they’ve somehow found they’re way behind the woman you're talking to. Your boss doesn't see you; you choose not to see him. God bless them both.)

“Well… Considering that you don’t look the least bit familiar,” she sets the glass down, “and that you haven’t been introduced to me like some product by a crusty, old man… I think it’s safe to say that we’re.”

Now her eyes are on your drink. What are you drinking this fine night? She’s asking, using her chin to gesture towards your Pina Colada. You tell her exactly what it is, and she cringes slightly. They say Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, I say it doesn’t belong fucking anywhere. Oust it as a fruit! she’s telling you, making sure to add a little more emphasis on the word “oust” as she couches her firm belief, something you find rather hilarious considering that it’s your first meeting with her. She sips the Whisky, grimaces a bit, then sets the glass back down to say, we skipped past a lot of formalities, didn’t we?

And here comes the part of talking to strangers that you’re the most comfortable with—Introductions. You think that it is safe to assume that just about anyone would find saying hello and telling someone your occupation much easier than holding up a conversation, what more with a beautiful woman like her. You give her your name, tell her what you do for a living, the usual stuff. She listens, the gleam in her eyes that comes when you’re done talking ever so enigmatic and cryptic.

“Lawyer huh?” She’s playing with her glass again, “considering were we are right now, I really shouldn’t be this surprised… Yet I am. Little shy for a guy dealing clients on the daily, no?”

Somehow, by the grace of some supernatural force (you call it alcohol), you crack your first joke of the night—I know. The most I ever talked is in court—and you’re relieved that she’s kind enough to humour you (or maybe she really does find it funny. You’ll never know), and gives you an elegant chortle, one that makes your hair stand at their ends as your third thought about her goes through your mind: even her laugh is attractive. Is there anything wrong with this woman?

And when she tells you her name, you realise why she seems to be exuding this inexplicable aura; Minatozaki Sana, pleasure to meet you, she introduces herself with a generous amount of pizzaz. You’re scanning her up and down at this point, and only now do you take in the expensive dress that dons her slender frame, the same dress that’s accompanied by a glimmering necklace and earrings, 3 rings on her middle, index and ring finger respectively.

“You’re…” you begin.

“The host’s daughter? Yes.”

Now you’re at a loss for words. Well uh… It’s an honour to meet you, is what you plan on saying, but it comes out as a simple, more blunt manner: Oh damn. Sana’s giggling to herself, swirling her Whisky as she watches you struggle to find things to say to her.

“I take it that you don’t come around here often?” she asks. When you raise an eyebrow, she explains how her father hosts a Ball like this every other month to try and find her a “suitor”. Apparently, 27 years old is “too old” to still be single, so my Dad just gets a bunch of men together and parades me around, she’s carping. The glimmering chandeliers, the array of drinks and food, the vanity of all these people; the dazzling marble floor, the glass sculptures, the embroidered tablecloths; this event, in all its glory and prestige, is all about her.

Christ, you’re thinking to yourself, money really gets you to places, huh?

Now she’s explaining how some of the people here are frequent visitors. Mothers and their sons, fathers and their sons, young business men, old business men, middle aged businessman; whoever can afford to come to this lavish Ball—all of them frequent this mansion like moths to a flame, all looking for a chance to ingratiate with the Minatozakis so that maybe, just maybe, they get a chance to get Sana’s hand in marriage. It’s a glorified yet obsolete form of Tinder really.

(Your boss is nowhere in sight now, and you’re pretty sure that the two of them have gone off somewhere to get it on. Maybe this event isn’t just about Sana, it’s about finding a rich person that can spoil you for the rest of your life too. God bless everyone here.)

“So what brings a man like yourself here this fine night?” She seems oddly interested in you (and also very hot on using this fine night as well apparently). You give her the truth that carries your watered down emotions in your tone—My boss asked me to tag along. Apparently all attendees were to bring a male plus one.

Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.

“So Dad’s reverted to these tactics huh?” you hear her whisper before taking an alarming large gulp of Whisky. She swallows, then sighs, “wonder what he’ll do next… Maybe an arranged marriage?”

Past the frustration and utter disappointment, there’s amusement in her voice. It tells you: if I could, I’d kill my Dad. It’s more of an inference from your end than a message that you’re sure that she’s trying to imply. You always had a bad habit of reading between the lines—probably picked it up from your job.

Sana downs the rest of the Whisky in a flash, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. She scratches her nose, then turns to you and asks, “say, you don’t look like you want to be here, and neither do I.”

Behind you, you can hear the voice of a man approaching. He’s talking to someone—my daughter should like you very much, you seem like a man that suits her taste—and Sana bristles. Her father, you deduce, noting the way that the woman before you is searching around for an exit. Then you blink, and in that split second, she grabs your hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Just like that, you’re running through a crowd of people, spewing a million-and-one apologies as you jostle your way through the crowd, in tow behind a woman you've known for a grand total of 5 minutes.

A very unlikely start to a romance really.

Now the gears in your head are whirring, your stomach’s churning—there’s no other way to describe how you feel when Sana’s looking at you like that from across the table: small smile, a slight gleam behind those eyes, hand under her chin and fingers tapping against her cheek… She’s got you in perdition just with a look. You’re a guy of relatively taciturn nature, and the last time you went on a date was in university. That date went horribly, and now you’re wondering if this one was gonna go up in flames as well. Your brain urges you to say something to her, but your mouth seems to be sewn shut.

On the other hand, Sana’s poised as ever. “What’s wrong?” she’s cocking her head and pouting slightly, “nervous?”

You're not ashamed to admit that you indeed are, and that you’ve never really gone out on dates in a long time. Sana seems tickled by this—It’s been a while since I’ve seen a shy man. I like it, she tells you—and assures you that she won’t bite. In fact, she’s glad that you’re quiet and not rambling off about some business venture. She tells you, I don’t recall the last time I’ve been with a guy like you, though I’d appreciate it if you assist me in starting some conversation, and you’re slightly ashamed of your reticence.

There’s a gleam in her eyes when you start asking her some questions on her personal life, and she finds it congenial to gesticulate in a moderate manner as she answers your questions. Her outgoing nature leaves you flummoxed, and there’s barely enough space in your brain to remember everything she tells you about herself. Born in Osaka, likes yoghurt smoothies, likes to take walks in the park, likes this, likes that… You vaguely remember her telling you this on the night that the two of you escaped that event.

(To jog your own memory: She took you to the garden, where the two of you spent the rest of the night strolling amongst shrubs and other greenery that thrived in Spring. The Pina Colada in your system allowed you to hold a conversation, one that lasted long enough for her to take a liking to you. At the end of it all, she gets your number, you get her’s, and a date’s been settled in some french restaurant she patronises.)

“Now, I don’t expect you to remember all of this,” she’s watching the wine leave streaks against the glass, “but if you do, I believe you're entitled to some extra points.”

“Points?” you’re keen on inquiring, “we’re keeping a scoreboard?”

Sana simply smiles. For asking that question, minus 2 from you, is her answer—not a very good one if you were to be blunt. You can’t suppress a chuckle as you take a sip from your own wine.

Unwittingly, Sana has eased you into her presence. It suddenly feels like you’ve known her forever (if forever meant 2 weeks that is).

A smooth start to a relationship if you do say so yourself.

“Sana, there’s people out there.”

“I know.”

“They might hear us.”

“I know.”

“We could get caught.”

“We won’t.”

It’s the confidence in her voice that irks you really. The lack of hesitance combined with the sheer lack of shame towards the fact that anyone outside the changing room in this damn Prada store could easily raise a phone over the door and start recording. It’s not that she’s not cognizant of this, but more of the fact that she doesn’t give two shits if someone captures a video of her blowing you in this dressing room. Shameless, aplomb, obstinate, are the three words that come to mind when dealing with Sana at the given moment, but there’s no energy in you to convey this to her, not when she wraps her lips around your cock. The outfits that she chose remain untouched behind her, fabrics still in light while the person that chose them remains active on her knees.

(Almost a year. Almost a year the two of you have been dating. You thought you’d learned all there is to know about her, yet she’s hitting you with new facts and surprises every day, left, right, and centre. There are probably many more things that you have yet to figure out, but they’ll all come to light in due time.)

Really, it’s on you for not exercising due diligence upon entering the store; you should’ve known better from the moment you saw that look in her eyes while she was looking at a dress. But there’s nothing you can do about it now, not when she’s already enraptured you with that damn gaze—the one that exudes want and lust, the one that’s the leaven to your morality in her eyes. She knows that she’s got you wrapped around her finger when your hand rests itself atop of her head as she slowly bobs her head over your crotch. She’s taking her time despite the situation that she’s placed the both of you in.

“This has always been on my bucket list,” she’s letting her hand run along your shaft, spreading her saliva with each stroke of her palm. Her nails, freshly done just over 2 hours ago, glisten under the light—partially because of her spit and partly because of the gloss. “Everything about this is just so… Eroctic, isn’t it?”

Christ, she’s really into this thrill-seeking thing, you note as you choke out a reply: Not particularly, but whatever floats your boat Sana (obviously, it doesn’t come out as smooth as it should. No one would be able to get out a full sentence with phonics properly strung together if they too were getting blown in a changing room). She’s got a glint in her eye, but it’s covered by your shaft as she slides her tongue down your cock, nose brushing against the base of your cock, just behind her tongue. She knows what she’s doing, she’s given you head before; she’s building up the suspense and waiting for you to beg for more. You really don’t want to indulge her, you really don’t, but there’s not much you can do when she starts placing kisses on your shaft—base to tip in a fervently slow fashion. How far is she gonna go with this, you can’t help but wonder, but you quickly have your question answered in the next second or so.

“Unenthusiastic?” she quips, “minus four”.

She wraps her lips around you and pushes her head forward, and you almost let the people in the store know that something’s going down in here.

You figure that the feeling of her lips wrapped around your shaft will never get old, not when it sends electricity up your spine and makes your hand ball into a fist in her hair. Her eyes seem to glint as you let out a sharp gasp. Yes, you could be caught by an employee at any second. Yes, you could very well be caught on camera by a customer at any second. There were a lot of things to consider when assessing the dangers of the circumstances that Sana has put the both of you in. Yet, none of them take anything away from the pleasure she’s bringing you, not as she starts to bob her head in beat to the metronome in her head. There’s no point in trying to figure out her pace.

“Jesus… Fuck… Sana I…” Your voice is—somehow—hushed as you struggle to convey how weak she’s making you, but it’s not like you need to anyway—she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s loving every second of the havoc she’s wreacking upon your senses. The slight tug in the corner of her lips is the suggestion of a smirk, and the muffled noise that rises from her throat is the implication of a giggle.

There's a knock on the door and you bristle; Sana slows down, but she doesn’t stop. Past the door, the voice of the staff that led you to this very room asks if everything is alright in there, and you’re praying that her eyes aren’t set on the floor. Sana locks eyes with you, then darts her eyes to the door to tell you—Answer it goddamnit. Of course, she doesn’t make it easy for you as you open your mouth, applying light suction to your tip as you find the strength to say: Yep, just give us a few more minutes please, making you choke on that last word and sending alarms blaring in your head. Thankfully, the store assistant is kind enough to leave you with a take your time sir, and the shadow of her feet disappear from the gap beneath the door. It’s then that Sana pops your glistening cock out of her mouth.

“A few more minutes, huh?” She’s got drool on the corner of her lips as she rises to her feet. “Better make this quick then. You gotta keep your word as a lawyer, don’t you?”

Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.

(There are customers outside now, you can hear them talking to the store assistant. They sound vaguely familiar… Maybe you heard them at the restaurant? Or maybe they’re colleagues… No, that can’t be it, at least you hope so).

Now for the record: you’ve seen Sana naked on multiple occasions, be it voluntarily or not. The shower, the bedroom, even a public shower at the pool… You could name a lot more places where she’d shamelessly flaunted her nude body before you off the top of your head. “A body to die for” is a fitting expression for Sana; you’ve always wondered if you’d find her on the top of the Google image search if you were to look up “dream bodies”, and you figure that you can probably get her there if you could somehow take pictures with your eyes as she undresses before you. She’s more methodical than anything, straying away from her usual teasing nature for the sake of being quick (that’s what you infer from her behaviour, but really, she could just be extremely horny and desperate. There’s never a solid answer to Sana’s behaviour). Mini skirt, then top, then bra; she’s going through the motions that she’d usually drag out just to get a reaction out of you preternaturally quickly.

Why is she getting naked in a changing room? You have no clue. Your best guess: she’s doing it for the thrill of it. The thought of getting caught completely nude with her boyfriend speared inside of her must be sending lethal doses of adrenaline through her veins. A pretty solid guess if you do say so yourself. No time for anymore guesses anyway—she’s already brought your hand up to her right breast, and she’s closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of your fingers closing around the semi-firm flesh. Her top lip’s furling behind her front teeth, she’s letting her other hand rest on your arm. She’s telling you where she wants it—did you cum in my ass yesterday? Or was it the day before? Ah, whatever… Give me a fucking creampie—in this soft, low voice that sends a velvet chill down your spine. Then she's kissing you softly, sweetly, nibbling on your top lip as usual, all while pushing you to the corner of the room where your feet aren't visible to those outside, flushing your back against the wall. It’s an uncomfortable fit, but that quickly changes when she grips the middle of your shaft and lines you tip up with her slit. The hand on her tit is guided to that slim waist, your other hand quickly finding its place on that symmetrical, slim figure.

“I don’t care if I cum or not,” she drawls, trailing a finger down your chest, “I just want your load inside me, right here, right now. Just focus on that, nothing else.”

(Half request, half demand—give her an award for being so damn ambiguous. Subtitles that could translate what she truly means would be really, really handy right now. Alas, such a system doesn’t exist.)

Describing how Sana’s pussy felt would be doing her injustice. The feeling was ineffable. From entering her to hilting yourself inside of her, there was never a second of that process where you had an easy time breathing or thinking. You’ve never been so reliant on your senses to keep you grounded in reality, nor have you ever been so glad that Sana’s nails are digging into your shoulder. This position—facing each other, standing and fucking against the wall of (all places) a changing room—is a stranger to the both of you, but the sheer tightness of her cunt working hand in hand with the intimacy of it all has you welcoming it with open arms.

Your hips are moving on their own, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you start thrusting into Sana. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into Sana in a mindless, slow fashion, relishing the feel of her skin in your palms, the look on her face, the soft moans that are slowly slipping from her ever so slightly opened lips. Then your ability to think slowly returns, and you’re thinking like a damn neanderthal—tight, wet, hot, so fucking good—as your grip on her waist tightens. Your shaft glistens in the light of the changing room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her slick, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weak. Sana cups your cheek, lifts your head, and it’s now that you see how her eyes have been completely glazed over with lust and want. Her face, her figure down to the sounds she’s making; everything about her, about this, is the phantasmagoria of a wet dream.

If you were being completely true to yourself right now: You couldn’t care less if you got caught.

And as if on cue, the voices approach as soon as you finish that train of thought.

“Do you provide altercation services?” It’s the voice of a man, closely followed by that of the store assistant: Of course sir. After you try on the suit, you can note how you’d like it to be altered to your liking.

A shadow of feet appears at the base of the door. Sana cups a hand over her mouth as the door rattles—the customer trying to open it. You stop your movements, breath caught in your throat as the store assistant tells him to use the other fitting room. Sana’s breath is loud in your ears as a second set of footsteps approach, followed by a female voice that asks, “Is my husband in there?”

Yes ma’am, is the assistant’s reply. Of course, this is hardly the end of it.

Now, as the woman engages the store assistant in conversation right outside your door, Sana lets the hand on her mouth drop. She flushes herself against you as the store assistant answers, and she whispers, “Keep going”.

Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.

The logical part of you warns you against doing as she says. Sadly, there’s not much room for logic in your head in the given circumstances, not when your balls-deep inside your girlfriend in a changing room. There’s barely enough room for dilemma to occur; Sana’s the sole occupant of your mind, rent-free, free-hold, and really: she’s the only thing that matters right now.

She almost, just almost, lets out a cry when you spear yourself back inside her. You didn't expect to start so soon, and neither did she. However, catching her by surprise is a novelty to you, and you relish in that brief rush of smugness before you restart your movements. Her mouth is frozen in a silent scream, but her eyes say all that she wants to: smug asshole, I’ll kill you later. You reply by letting your index and forefinger slip into her still-open mouth.

“Personally, I enjoy the Italian selection more…” The store assistant’s voice is barely audible to you over Sana’s small, muffled moans that manage to skirt your fingers and Sana’s closed lips, and as the lady starts talking about trench coats, Sana coats your fingers with a fresh layer of saliva, turning your fingers slick and slimy with her tongue as she looks you dead in the eye, as if challenging you: Is this the best you can do? Is this the riskiest you can be?

Every question from her deserves an answer, and your’s is to remove your saliva-slicked fingers out of her mouth, draw a circle with her spit just above her collarbone, then whisper right into her ear: I’m gonna mark you right there. The involuntary gasp that she lets out tugs the corner of your lips up into a perverse smile. Slowly your lips drift down to the glistening spot, and you wait just a moment to build up that sweet-sweet suspense. It’s a split second, but it’s a second too much for her to bear—the way her body tenses when you finally make contact is the clearest indication you will ever receive. And when you start sucking, God does she almost drive you over the edge: she tightens, she gasps, she starts twitching; she loves it, every second your lips stay locked around that sweet spot of skin is bliss to her.

You can hear the door to the other fitting room unlock, and you hear the man’s heavy footsteps as he walks out, no doubt in that suit he had earlier. The compulsory question comes: how do I look?

There’s a brief moment of silence, and you’re almost fearful of the fact that maybe, just maybe, their ears are picking up on the ragged breathing and slightly audible squelching coming from the other fitting room. All consternation dissipates when the woman starts to comment on how she looks, but Sana seems to have an answer to his question as well: So good. So fucking good. Harder, let me feel all of you, fuck me harder. Oh fuck, you’re so fucking deep.

You look dashing honey. The pitch of the woman’s reply harmonises with Sana’s soft whine as your lips leave her skin, the same patch where you’ve left your purple artwork on. I think we can afford to alter the pants—

Sana crushes your lips against hers, hot breath filling your mouth as you feel her lift her leg. You hold the back of her knee (like the gentleman you are), bring it to your side, hold it there. She bites your lower lip, hard enough for her to pull and tug it as you start losing yourself in her: her scent, her breath, her skin—all of it’s so deliciously addicting. You can’t get enough.

Then she’s going straight to moaning into your mouth, letting those muffled cries permeate in the small space and hopefully not outside the fitting room. She’s wet, she’s tight, she’s everything you need right now. You want, so badly, to pull her apart, ruin her till you can’t put her back together, get her begging at the top of her lungs for you to fuck her harder and harder.

And you’re almost on the verge of calling her a slut. There’s no need for that though, she knows what she’s made of herself.

—so that they’re a little shorter. I think we could also try—

Sana’s figured out the best way to moan: straight into your ear. She’s not letting up with them, and she’s giving you one hell of an array of sounds. There’s the common ah, the not so common, oh, and the very common shit, fuck, fuck me and so good. Her phonics are so loosely strung together that they’re just a jumbled mess, and you're perfectly ensconced with that; you love hearing those lazy, sloppy cries, and they only seem even more melodic at this volume, at this moment. Fuck, record them and play them as white noise as you sleep.

—changing the colours of the buttons? Ooh! Maybe we could even change the stitching around—

She tilts her head back, and you’re peppering her neck with kisses. She loves it, you know she loves it; all this attention, all this adrenaline, all this carnality she’s invoking—all of it for her. Each time you grunt, she knows that she’s the damn reason for it. Every time your fingers dig into her thigh a little more, she knows it’s because of her. Every kiss on her neck, every inch of her pussy you fill with your rock-hard meat, all of it’s for her. She isn’t vain, nor is she a pick me girl, but she sure as hell knows how to make you treat her like she’s the only girl in the fucking world, and you’re more than happy to give her what she wants.

Because it’s always like this with Sana: if she wants it badly enough, she’ll formulate a stratagem to get it, nip her cravings in the bud before they turn into desires that she can’t control. Mind you, she’s not dissolute; she’s just “riding the highs of life” as she calls it. Pretty bullshit and circumlocutory, but you always let her off the hook.

—the pocket area? That’s my two cents. What do you think darling?

Another moment of silence follows, and Sana seizes the opportunity to nibble on your earlobe. Her leg’s sweaty, slowly slipping from your grasp and trembling from the pleasure that’s giving her voice this lilt when she says: Carry me. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Pleasure, coursing through your veins, makes you comply in an almost servile manner. It’s precipitous, even fatuous to pull such a stunt in a fitting room of all places, but when your hands are supporting her by her ass and her legs lock around your waist, there’s no turning back.

And as the man starts going off on his own preferences, Sana’s wrapping her arms around your neck, letting you get a look at those bouncing breasts as you reach new depths inside of those slick, warm walls. If she could cry out, she would, but those damn customers outside are placing her in a box here, and it’s clearly frustrating her. If you were at your place, her hands gripping your sheets and her juices messing up your quilt, she could moan, mewl, cry and cuss however loud she wanted. In a way, it was funny to watch her hold back, but at the same time: you so badly want to make her scream, undo her right here and now and make her a mess in your arms, but you’ll settle for what you have right now. What the two of you have created is controlled chaos, and should it be released past that damn changing room door, God knows what will happen.

Now it’s the store assistant’s turn to speak, and she’s giving them a rundown of the pricings. Outside, they’re talking about the possibility of a discount; inside, Sana’s talking about how deep you feel inside of. Outside, the man’s trying to guilt-trip the store assistant by saying how exorbitant the price is; inside, Sana’s exclaiming and pleading in a hushed voice—Own me. For the love of God, fucking o-own me!—as each thrust you make into her pussy sends her further and further down this rabbit hole of pleasure. It takes guts to fuck in a fitting room, but it takes the guts of Minatozaki Sana to be this needy while fucking in a fitting room. The risks of being caught are high, the risk of being heard even higher, but neither of those affect her ardour. At a controlled volume, she’s pleading for you to fuck her harder, faster, unravel every single bit of her being while she tries to keep herself together. It’s one hell of a show, and it’s one hell of an experience too.

(The sight of her perfect body flushed against yours as she’s fucked in the air, the smell of her sickly sweet perfume, the feeling of that divinely tight pussy wrapped snugly around your shaft like a damned glove, the way those sonorously soft moans filter into your ears. Add these together with the fact that the people outside could hear you at any second, and you’ve got one hell of a recipe for a voyeurist’s wet dream. You’re no voyeurist, but everything about this moment is making you feel like one.

Right now, this is everything to Sana. Having you this close to her, feeling that cool Prada air conditioning against her bare body, listening to you grunt and sigh as you piston yourself in and out of that slick, wet slit… All her needs are being fulfilled, all of her senses heightened and primed, aware of every movement you make inside of her pussy. Sometimes, you feel so good and oh fuck, or maybe even oh god isn’t enough to convey how she feels, so she just opts to let out this strained, strangled gasps that tells you everything you need to know—a maelstrom of emotions and expressions compressed and compacted into one simple “hngh” is enough for you to know that you’re doing something right.)

“You like this Sana?” you find yourself whispering. “You like being fucked like a damn slut with people just outside, don’t you? You like everything about this, don’t you?”

Right now, she doesn’t have that capacity to reply. Of course, you know this, which makes you feel all the more smug as you watch, watching as she slips into a state of complete, utter bliss: her mouth hangs open, her eyes are unfocused, she’s barely holding on to you. The purple mark that your lips have left on her neck sears itself into your sight, and it’s joined by the breathtaking view of her breasts loosely bouncing each time you drive yourself into her. Loose strands of hair are flying, neither of you have any hands free to fix them. Her legs are quaking around your waist, neither of you want to stop just so that she can be back down on the floor. Her eyes are closing, you can feel her heartbeat in her pussy, she’s begging, pleading, fucking imploring you to keep going.

Christ. You want her to moan as loud as she can for you.

It’s hard not to get turned on by the sight of it, and it’s even harder to keep yourself controlled under the rapidly tightening grip of her cunt. Her breaths are shallow, her head is almost completely limp. She may not seem to be aware of it, but you sure as hell are more than cognizant of the fact that the both of you are about to hit that peak that you’ve been chasing for the past God-knows-how-many minutes.

“Sana.” Uttering her name is all that’s needed to bring her back to the real world. When you have her attention, you give her the sentence that she’s been waiting to hear for so damn long: I’m gonna fucking fill you, and It’s like the air gets heavier when she softly whispers, pleads for you to fulfill her new desire; cum with me. I need it so bad.

Controlled orgasm would take strength to pull off, and you silently pray that you have that strength as you send one final thrust between her shaking legs. Your cock twitches, spasms and the first rope of your warm seed that’s sent into her waiting walls is enough to send her over the edge. She bites down on your shoulder, quick enough to muffle the cry that escapes her throat. The tightening of her walls seem to coordinate with each spasm of your cock, and they sync up, working together to get every last drop of cum out of you and into her. She lets a soft moan escape her lips with each spurt, as though welcoming it, as though each one were something she long wanted and needed. You let out a single, soft grunt, as though thanking her, as though every twitch of her walls that sends a shock down your cock is a treasure to be relished.

So the scarf that she brought in to try is no longer just an ornament like the rest of the outfits. Even after adjusting her outfit, the fabric still can't seem to cover that hickey you left on her collarbone. The simple solution: Sana waits there, you buy the scarf, hand it to her, she puts it on and the both of you walk out of the store like nothing happened, like the both of you really were in there to try on some clothes, then leave.

It’s unsuspecting, it’s smooth. The store assistant wishes you a good day, and Sana smiles and waves to her, looking exactly like she did when she entered, plus a scarf. The only difference in Sana’s entrance and exit from the Prada store is the load between her legs.

But that’s a secret for the two of you.

“Hey. Could I talk to you about something?”

In your two years of dating Sana, never have you heard her this nervous in your life. The fact that your client isn’t responding to you a day before his trial plagues you no more, and your laptop is shut before she can close the door.

Your posture—arms crossed atop the desk and back straight—is all she needs. The message is implicit: I’m here, all ears, and she smiles softly as she walks over to the bed. The frame creaks a little as she settles down.

“My uh… My Dad is organising another one of those damned Balls again.” The way she intonates her words tells you that the Ball is the least of her concerns at the moment. “It’s gonna be at the usual time.. Usual place… Not like we can move it anyway.”

You offer her a chuckle to assuage her, diffuse the tension a little. She manages a half-forced giggle at her own joke. Is this a transitional opening? Or is this legitimately the subject of her conversation? you’re thinking, and as you sip from your cup, that subtle shift in her posture is shifting the atmosphere of the room.

She’s scared, but of what?

“I was wondering,” she drums her nails against her knees, “could I… Introduce you to him tomorrow? M-My Dad I mean.”

And now you suddenly understand why she’s on edge. She’s not scared for herself; she’s scared for you. The head of the Minatozaki clan, Sana’s father—you heard much about him, partly because of the stories that Sana tells you and partly from the things you heard through the grapevine at work. In your firm, there’s a whole box dedicated to storing suits that have been opened by him on the intern’s table (it’s a hilariously off-putting thing to say out loud), and from what you’ve heard: there’s another two in the storage room. Personally, you’ve assisted a colleague in one of his lawsuits, and the emails you billed weren’t pretty. You’d be throwing out a fib if you ever couched that you never once thought: It’s a pretty bad first impression of the man, could he maybe… You know… Stop suing people? Please? but you’re not going to let a mere few boxes and one night of reading through emails determine your perception of Sana’s father.

And hopefully, he won’t judge a book by its cover too.

“I have a trial tomorrow Sha,” you remind her, but it’s not like you actually expected her to remember this; you whispered it to her while cuddling on the couch a solid week ago. “I don’t know when I’ll end. It might be a little tight for me.”

It's undeniable that she sighs in relief. The blush that follows the breath is a clear indication. She’s glad, too glad. You can't help but ask: What’s up? Think I’ll flub everything when I meet him?

Sana does that thing where she wants to answer, but doesn’t know how to: her mouth opens, closes, opens again—longer this time, then closes again. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about; what your father will think of your partner is never not a touchy matter. All touchy matters should be discussed in comfort (Sana knows that you strongly believe in this, that’s why she’s situated herself on the bed), and you join her on the mattress.

“WIll he feel that I’m not enough for you?” You’re prodding, all while you gently reach for her hand and grasp it in your own. It’s cold, really cold. You’ll warm it up with your palms, keep them there while she replies, “it’s not that… I know that you’re more than enough for me, that’s what matters to him… At least I think so.”

She’s staring down at her hand, the one that’s slowly heating up via the warmth of your hand. Then what’s making you so worried? you’re asking. She folds her bottom in, past her front teeth. You rub her knuckle with your thumb.

“Yea I… I don’t know what’s making me so worried either,” she finally muses. “Guess I’m just… New to this practice. Never had to do it before...”

Because all the men that have tried to win you over have never lasted for more than a week, you complete in your head, smiling as she lays her other hand over yours. It’s cold too—that won’t do.

And as you set another hand atop hers, she’s asking you for a kiss. Luckily for her, obliging her wants is your specialty, and your lips are quickly travelling that small gap between the two of you. Connection is made, and you physically feel her relax. You know. You know that she belides a truth that she’s not ready to divulge. It’s in her kiss, it’s in her hands, and that’s fine with you. You can infer that it’s not something that’s going to be detrimental to your relationship, and whenever she’s ready to speak about it, you’ll always be available.

Now the kiss is done, she’s asking for fried chicken. You counter-ask if the kiss was to soften you up so that she could ask for her Famichiki. Of course, you get a classic Sana reply: a “maybe”, followed by that mischievous grin. You rise from the bed to grab your coat.

You're glad that the Konbini is just next to your apartment. Sana’s glad that she gets to be close to you as you walk through the snowy street.

“You know,” she’s whispering, “I really won’t mind if you propose to me one of these days.”

You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead.

In your head: you note to start looking for a nice ring.

Money can get you to places, but it can also get you a private soundproof karaoke room in a club. Three and a half years of dating—that’s all you need to know: you can bet your left kidney that Sana is taking full advantage of that room.

The bottle of Whisky that she opened to get the room is hardly the main event; Sana, slowly slipping out of that tight black dress she’s wearing, foreground to the default music that’s on the TV, has your unwavering attention. The smile on her face could've been mistaken for a sweet one if it weren’t for the fact that she’s getting naked, and the lack of a bra really doesn’t help with her case either.

“There isn’t a time limit to the use of this room, right?” You know the answer to that is no, the lady at the counter told you so. The question is more of a gauge, an instrument that’s helping you assess her plans for the night.

“If you’re trying to know how long we’ll be here for,” she slings her dress onto the couch next to you, and in her stockings and panties, saunters over with a sultry sway in her hips, “my answer is a secret.”

“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”

“Too bad. Call in sick.”

She picks up the glass of Whisky, raises it to her lips. When she drinks, she lets some of that amber liquid trickle out past her lips, down past her chin and onto her tits. In the light, her wet skin glistens and shimmers, and you once again find yourself in absolute awe with the woman before you. And as she straddles you, glass in hand, the way she uses her fingers to tilt your face up to the light tells you that she’s in control. She takes a sip of the amber liquid, swallows it, then brings it to your lips.

“Be a good boy,” she’s tipping the glass as she speaks, a strong way to convey that there’s no room for disobedience, “say ‘ahh’ for me baby.”

The glass is cold against your lips, the liquor even colder on your tongue as it flows into your mouth at a manageable rate. When she stops pouring, you take the cue, and you swallow all of it in one gulp. The burn in your throat is oddly rewarding, probably because Sana’s smiling down at you, stroking your hair and telling you how obedient you are as you swallow. Then she makes you open your mouth again, pours another portion down the hatch.

How does it taste, she’s asking, cupping your right cheek as she swirls the glass. You give her a short honest review of it: It’s good. The answer pleases her, and she sets down the glass in her hand to pick up the bottle from the table next to you.

“Yamazaki, 12 year old single Malt.” She’s letting you see the bottle under the light, though you have to admit that her tits right next to the bottle are a horrible distraction. “My personal favourite.”

She unscrews the cap and takes a swig straight from the bottle, swallows it without even flinching. She’s always been able to hold her alcohol well, and you know for a fact that she can probably outdrink 5 of your colleagues and maybe, just maybe, your boss too. But you’ll never have a fair gauge on how well she can drink in comparison to your peers; she only drinks around you.

Your face is back in her hand, and she’s got some more things to say—Drink it neat, on the rocks, add it to another drink, it tastes great no matter what—as she starts to lightly grind herself over your throbbing shaft in your pants. But you know what the best way to drink it is, she asks you. She’s not looking for an answer from you, just finding a way to transition from the Whisky to whatever it is she has in mind—you can tell because she leans down to capture lips right after she throws out the inquiry, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. The smell of Whisky is so damn strong on her breath, and the only thing hotter than the burning sensation in your throat is the fact that she’s using one hand to play with herself, the bottle of Whisky in the other. You can hear it slosh next to your ear as she raises it.

And as she breaks the kiss, the thin strand of saliva connecting the two of you doesn’t stop her from providing the answer to her question—it tastes the best when you drink it right off my body—as she straightens herself. The next second, still playing with herself, she’s bringing the bottle to her lips, tipping it just before it touches those red-tinted lips to let the golden liquid flow down her chest and breasts. There's no time to admire; you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. Her skin glistens with the Whisky on it. It looks like gold in the snow. She smells like lavender and lust.

Your tongue, saturated with Whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Sana gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples—roughly, hungrily. You could say that she’s wasted some perfectly good Whisky, but you say that she’s added complex flavours to an already exquisite meal. The blend of alcohol and Sana’s skin is not something you never knew you needed, but now you do. The novelty of it, the sheer lust she’s emanating, all of it makes her tits taste better than ever, and you find yourself leaving marks on her cleavage, the right side of her left breast, the left side of her right breast; every centimetre of skin that can be reached is marked and tasted—your attempt at dipping your toes in a little control in this karaoke room that is Sana’s domain.

Maybe you’re a little over-indulgent in her, maybe you’re just unaware, but you certainly can’t feel her slipping your tie off your neck. By the time you’re aware of the sudden feeling of freedom at your throat, she’s already wrapping your wrists, securing them together with an intricate knot. You know damn well that even the boy scouts couldn’t untie this one, even if they sent their best member. The theory is only enforced when Sana asks you to try pulling your wrists apart, and it feels like they’ve been superglued together. Satisfied, she feeds you some more Whisky off her body, then it’s time for her fun.

Palm flat against your chest, eyes flaring, wicked smile; Sana pushed you back against the couch with graceful authority—something that only she is capable of. Then it’s onto your shirt, and he’s unbuttoning it with practised dexterity: unfastening, pulling—motions so fast that she has your reverence for mastering the art. She takes a moment, parts the fabric covering your chest and runs a fingernail down the centre of your torso. The nail—painted black with little Sakura flowers adorning it—stops at your belt. It isn’t hesitance that keeps her finger there; it’s the innate cheekiness that makes her linger there a little longer, that makes her smile softly as the other hand joins in and starts undoing the clasp of your belt. Not a word is uttered as she pulls apart your belt, then goes straight for the buckle of your belt.

Then it’s back to kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing as she runs her fingers through your hair. The Whisky on both of your breaths mingle. Admittedly, you’re feeling a little floaty, engendering a pleasant tingle on your skin as she starts placing kisses on your cheek, then on your jaw. Next thing you know, she’s sucking hard at the nape of your neck, marking you with those lovely lips, as if she’s placing a wax seal on you, declaring: you are mine and mine alone. And when she successfully sears the shape of her lips onto your skin, she traces the slick outline with a finger, whispers softly, You have no idea how much I want to own you right now.

The excitement is palpable, the tension even more so. She’s whispering all sorts of things to you—most of them entailing what she’s about to do with your cock—all while she starts to slip your briefs off of your legs. Your cock springs out of your pants, slaps against her ass and twitches on the rotund flesh. The smile grows wider, devilish dimples appear. And for the record: no, she’s not gonna blow you. She’s gonna make herself cum before anything else happens, and she’s going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

She slides off you, gets back up on her feet. With her back turned to you, she bends forward at the waist, shaking her ass while she uses her thumbs to hook onto the waistband of her panties. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. Her pussy glistens in the light, flushed pink and folds tantalising as ever puffy and swollen with excitement.

She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.

She wiggles her ass at you, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“Bet you wished,” she gets on her back, spreads her legs to get the spotlight on her slit, “that you could absolutely own me like this right now, don’t you?”

She’s so cocksure. It’s driving you crazy. You swallow, your voice barely audible as you utter her name. She crawls to you, sits up, her face in front of yours, so close, so hot. Her hand touches the back of your head, her voice barely a whisper as she grips the base of your cock—but you can’t, and it’s so damn frustrating, isn’t it?—and rubs your tip between her dripping folds, lathering her juices all over your head and smiling all the way through.

And when you least expect it, she turns and sinks down on your cock.

You throw your head back, groan, the sound of her wetness as she takes your cock into her pussy loud and clear over the music. Your head falls forward again, watching her sink further and further, taking more and more of your cock inside her with every passing moment as she lets a long, drawn-out moan float through the air. When her crotch meets yours and you are fully embedded inside her, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure that leaves open lips. You meet it with a sigh of your own, somehow tearing open your own shut eyes to watch the expression on her beautiful face as you fill her.

Christ, fuck and god—just some of the words that you want to cry out as she starts to slowly grind herself against you. The ride she’s about to take is one that’s of perverse nature; it’s not going to be a slow, pleasant ride. Naturally, her habit of jumping straight into things leaves her unprepared for what she’s about to experience, so now she has to slowly slowly adjust to your size, like striking the flint over and over next to the fireplace as you hope to get a flame going. Usually, this would be a time where you’d caress that beautiful body, run your hands over that unblemished white skin and pepper kisses all over the places that she loves to be kissed. But she’s not in the mood for that, not when she has this room and you at her disposal.

Then the fire ignites, and it is merciless, a force of nature—untameable, unrelenting. In your bonds you are unable to resist. You never would’ve in the first place. She begins to move, her pussy tight and slick around your cock. She rides you like she was made to do this, like a pro. She rides you fiercely, roughly, taking you in and out of her tight wet heat, caring little for your comfort or much of anything aside from stuffing herself over and over with thick, hard meat. Throughout it all she is digging into your thigh, crying out like her life depends on it as she goes up, down, up, down—a lewd seat on a merry go round.

Yes, yes, yes—she throws her head back, auburn hair flying like streamers in the wind as she has her way with you—o-oh fuck I need this! I need this so fucking bad! The rhythmic, repetitive motion, her unbridled desire to be filled, it sends you reeling. The pressure on your leg is forgotten, the slight discomfort in your arms pushed out of the way. You can do nothing but watch her ride you. You can do nothing but marvel at how good you feel inside her, how the tightness of her pussy massages your shaft, how the way she takes you so completely into her folds, how you stretch her and make her quiver and quake.

A part of you wishes the mirror were visible from your current position, so that you could watch as Sana impales herself over and over on your cock. You want to watch the expression of pleasure wrangle her cute features, want to watch her full, round breasts bounce up and down, want to watch every muscle of her long, perfectly shaped legs work to throw her body again and again against your cock. But you’ll have to content yourself with the almost equally alluring view of her sweaty back (not that it was a particularly difficult position to enjoy. How could you call it “bad” with the view of her round, full ass as she slams it down against your crotch?). It’s not like you can change anything about this anyway. No—the only thing you can do is sit back, watch, and savour how her ass jiggles as it crashes against your crotch.

Oh fuck, oh yes! I’m so fucking full! I’m so stuffed with this cock!

You lose yourself to the sound of her voice, the feeling of her pussy as it swallows up your cock, the sight of her back arching and her hands shaking. As much as you try, you find yourself unable to move, as though your own pleasure has been drained out of your body, and you are just an observer. You watch as she pushes herself down further on your cock, impaling herself with every thrust of her hips, her voice growing louder and louder as she gets into that dangerous rhythm, the rhythm that makes you think she’s on Acid. Well-formed breasts bounce, you see them past her slender figure. Her shapely, luscious ass ripples. Long legs work overtime, cooperating with the stamina of the girl who is using them to drive herself over the edge like it’s her be-all and end-all. It’s exhilarating. It’s thrilling.

It’s so fucking hot.

Oh god. You’re stretching me out so good. This cock feels so damn good!

Two things are getting you at the moment: (1) The sweat glistening that’s building up on her back. (2) The fact that she’s pushing your thighs apart to get more of you inside her. The former sight is a breathtaking process really: beady moisture on that well built back, pooling at all the best places and making her skin glow as some of it slowly trickles down her spine. The latter’s no grain of sand either mind you, maybe even hotter than Sana’s sweaty back if you dare say. Freshly done nails sit just outside the insides of your thighs, the palms that they’re connected to pushing down against the flesh beneath them. They’re indenting the muscles of your thighs, it’s uncomfortable, but only for a second at a time.

I don’t wanna stop. I don’t wanna fucking stop!

In your restraints, your hands grasp at the flesh that’s so close yet so far, the skin that’s rippling and slapping against yours. Her ass taunts you, tempts you, teases you. It’s so frustrating yet so erotic; you aren’t sure if you should welcome this mix of emotions or reject it before it folds its wings and nestles itself in your chest. The mix of desire and vexation, exasperation and ecstasy—any two emotions that shouldn’t go together are mixing, blending, forming these bubbles in your chest that you can’t explain.

One woman; innumerable sensations.

You need more. More of everything. More of her.

You wish you could touch her.

You wish you could fuck her.

But all you can do is watch, watch as she starts going down harder, crying out even louder.

Her body, so flawlessly feminine, is in deadly motion, working you over from the inside like you’ve never experienced. The air is filled with the wet, lewd sounds of her pussy sucking you in your hips slapping against her ass, her moans and groans, her curses that seem to go on perennially, blending in perfectly with that shitty synth in the background.

And you’re just along for the ride.

You have no idea… How good this is.. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And she wants you to see it, she wants you to watch her—it is exactly that kind of attention that she is basking in. So you watch. You watch her, the way she looks back at you, the way her eyes flare as she takes you in, the way her hands claw at your leg. The way she's moaning with that lilt back in her voice. Everything about this spectacle seems like it’s been scripted for some porno, and her body is certainly making you feel like you’re in one. The only grasp on reality that this situation offers is… Well, nothing. And it’s not that there really isn’t anything for you to root yourself in this real world, rather you’re choosing not to make that mental effort to do so; every little corner of your mind is being bled with whatever colour the image of Sana bouncing on your cock is. There’s no room for reality, and it's addicting, enthralling.

Fuck. You can't get enough of her, and you probably never will.

So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!

Your breath is ragged, and it takes every bit of control you have left in you to not cum right then and there. It takes every ounce of focus not to simply give in to her, not to simply melt into the couch, not to lose your mind to the sensation of her tight, wet slick as it swallows you in, pushes you out; fucking itself over and over and over again on your rock hard shaft. You don't know how much longer you can hold out for, and as if she can tell, Sana starts to move faster, her movements getting even more aggressive. The slaps of her ass against your crotch are louder now, and the wet smacking sound of her pussy's getting faster and faster. Her fingers are digging into your leg, her moans more frequent and more desperate. You can feel her tightening around you, the way her walls clamp down, the way her legs are trembling, the way her voice is going up in pitch.

(It’s the moments of privacy that really get her going; the moments where she can scream and cuss and moan like there’s no tomorrow are everything to her.

Yes, she likes fucking in public spaces for the thrill of it, but she likes it better when she can hold you freely as you fill her, not having to care for the fact that the way her body’s positioned engenders any discomfort or risk of being heard.

Yes, she likes it when there’s the chance that someone can walk in on the two of you, but the prospect of being able to own your cock, uninterrupted and unheard, thrills her like nothing else in the damn world.

Yes, she likes to see if she can hold in her cries while you’re rearranging her insides in a bathroom stall, but she prefers it much more when she can slam herself down on your cock—be loud and be proud of the fact that she loves every inch of meat that fills her till she can barely breathe.

Bottom line: she likes chasing that thrill of being caught, but she loves those moments where she’s alone with you in private even more. Now is one of those times, and God… She’s barely herself anymore.

She is a storm of pure, unfiltered lust. And you must say: it’s fucking sublime.)

Then the game changing sentence comes from her, and it's beautiful.

"I'm fucking cumming!"

The words ring out, clear and loud. And she doesn't stop; she keeps riding you, taking you into her wet hole and milking your cock, using you to bring herself off. It's not until the final second that she slows down, her back arching as she lets out the most satisfying scream that you have ever heard in your entire life. It is all that you can do to watch as she slumps forward, breaths ragged and body twitching as you hold yourself back. It takes everything—every fibre, every cell and every last bit of will—to not cum in her right there and then. And when the final spasm has passed and the shuddering has subsided, when Sana has collapsed against you, your cock still buried inside her, she turns to you.

There are no words spoken, just a mutual understanding of what comes next. She slips off the couch, takes your slick shaft in her hands. A few pumps are delivered, and they’re considerate and slow; she’s good at building tension.

“You’ve already marked my tits. Might as well cum on them.” She’s still got some cheekiness left in her, and that smile is really doing everything for you.

“Fuck, Sana, I—” “Do it. Paint me.”

You feel the semen gather in your balls before coursing up your shaft and erupting from its tip, landing in thick, wet, warm ropes upon Sana’s creamy skin. Your tip is directed between her cleavage, and the first spurt of cum shoots itself between those wonderful mounds. It’s quickly followed by a second rope, and the third lands on her upper chest. With grace, she manages to direct your spurting cock by the base so the fourth and fifth ropes cover the front of her tits, then the rest don’t matter anymore.

The last ropes of thick, warm semen land upon her face, staining her soft, blushing features with creamy white cum. Some of it lands on her cheeks, on her forehead and onto her open mouth and the thirsty tongue within it. When you finally open eyes you hadn’t known had closed, the picture of Minatozaki Sana, face and chest painted with your warm, thick cum, is one you never want to forget. And as she scoops up your seed with her fingers, she’s got a thing or two to say.

“Excellent load,” she whispers, watching as the cum slithers down her palm. “Plus two to you.”

Just two? Is your reply of false bewilderment. Sana chortles.

Maybe if you can give me a load up my ass, I’ll consider adding another three points.

Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket.

Sana’s father seems more imposing than he should for a man his size, and looking at the Yamazaki bottle on the desk, you can tell that Sana gets her liking for Whisky from him.

“I’ve never met you in my life,” he begins, “and now you come here like a friend, asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Sana’s head is bowed. In the corner of the office she sits, hands clasped over one another as she listens in silently. No amount of trials or oral submissions could ever prepare you for this tension.

“Mr Minatozaki… I understand that all of this is sudden,” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a raised hand.

“You know boy… You sure do talk like you know everything about the situation.” His voice is nowhere near threatening as he speaks, and it’s absolutely terrifying. “For a lawyer, you sure do sound quite the fool. Guess I shouldn’t have been expecting much considering your background.”

And it’s that very statement that has you on tenterhooks. You’ve never met him, never even seen his face, yet he knows your occupation which you never even touched on, and from the sound of it, knows what went down in your family. Sana’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she watches her father produce a file from under his desk.

“It’s not the suddenness,” the air quotations he uses hold more weight than they really should, “that doesn’t sit well with me dear boy. No, no… It’s more than that.”

The broad leather chair in his office grows constricting. As he rises from his seat, the foam that holds your butt up seems to depress. And as he begins—if you sauntered in here as just a lawyer, I would’ve let you take my daughter in a heartbeat!—his explanation of what’s grinding his gears, you start feeling uneasy. For context on the severity of this feeling: the last time you felt like this was when you first met his daughter.

But you’re not just a lawyer—he’s opening the file in his hands, flipping through its contents—you’re a disgrace to this very world. You shouldn’t even be in this damn house right now.

Into the file his hand reaches, and out from it: two mugshots. You bristle; Sana gasps (and it’s not that she didn’t know, rather because she was shocked that her father knew.)

So it’s the next sentence that seals your fate. Frankly, you kind of expected it, but it still doesn’t take away from the sheer bedlam that goes down in your head when Mr Minatozaki waves the mugshots of your parents before your face and shrieks at the top of his lungs.

This isn’t the way you pictured this going.

Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.

“Do you seriously think for a second that I’d let the son of two druggies—two disgraceful, repugnant, filthy, druggies—marry my daughter?”

It’s hard to forget what she told you over the phone after your talk with her father (if you can even call it that): we’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out.

Money can get you a nice fancy Ball, some nice Whisky and a private Karaoke room. Naturally, it can grant you a means to keep the son of two convicted drug abusers that hung themselves in their cells away from your daughter.

So not even 12 hours after that fate-sealing conversation did you get a phone call from your boss. Next thing you know, you’re uprooted from your workplace in Osaka, transferred to the branch in Nagoya; Sana’s number mysteriously changes itself, none of your letters ever reach her.

It’s over the payphone, months after all of this, that Sana finally reaches you, and she’s ugly crying over the phone.

We can fix this, we’ll figure something out. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out.

In a way, she ended up being right.

And in your suit, you smile as you watch her walk down the aisle. She’s beautiful as ever, and you feel like that white veil over her face is doing her the biggest disservice ever. The little boy carrying the wedding rings seems a little confused, but it only adds to his adorable aura as he stumbles behind Sana. The flower petals are being scattered, the crowd’s on their feet. They’re clapping; you’re crying. Have you mentioned that she looks beautiful?

Oh? You have? Odd…

But just in case it slips your mind, you tell her how beautiful she is in your head, all while she walks right past you and continues to the stage. It feels like the ring boy’s acting stupid to taunt you for being the fool here.

In a way, she ended up being right. If “We” referred to Sana’s father and that man on the stage, “We” did indeed end up figuring things out. The invite broke you, and this wedding is breaking you even more. You know that this invite wasn’t sent by Sana—she isn’t cruel. This has the fingerprints of her father all over it: the seat close to the aisle, your wristband to authorise your access to the venue holding the same serial code as your father’s prisoner ID… All of it is him.

But there’s not much you can do about it is there? You chose to come, you chose this for yourself. There was the option to not come, to tear the invite up and go cry in your apartment in Nagoya, but you bought the Shinkansen ticket here, didn’t you? You walked through the doors of this damn place and took your seat, didn’t you?

And the Yamazaki doesn’t taste as good as it should, and the Spring air is sharper than it should be at the afterparty. They’re over there, congratulating the newly weds and wishing them all the best; you’re over here, sipping on your neat Whisky behind a bush as the music roars on.

It really shouldn’t be a question on how she finds you; she knows you too well to know where you’d go at a place like this. And in her wedding gown, she stands where she is, this look of a god-knows-what mix of emotions simmering on her face. You rub your nose with a thumb, sip on the bitter Whisky as your remedy. No words are spoken, not even a “hey” or “how have you been”—both of you know that there’s no use in starting a conversation here. It’ll go sob, fast, and this isn’t the place for it.

There will never be a place for it.

So why not substitute words with actions?

So in her bare feet, she hikes up her gown, runs over to you, lunges to close those years of separation between you two to hug you like she used to. The Whisky is knocked out of your hands; you’re knocked off your feet. And in the grass, she buries her head into your shoulder and weeps.

You always thought that only death would make you cry, but now as you hold her for what may very well be the last time, you realise: you're not as tough as you think.

Like a Lemon, the realisation that comes is bitter, and it has you bawling.

Cause maybe in a world that wasn’t so cruel, you could’ve been the one on that stage.

(Then the two of you could be in love, happier than ever.)

#minatozaki sana #twice smut #sana smut #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut

971 notes · View notes

yourstrulyrika · 3 months

Note

Hii, can you write about sub Leon Re2? Anything would be good and I would be so glad if you do it, thank you :)

ofc !! i love sub leon omg. also thank you for your confession nonnie love u sm! sorry it took some time but here it is!

no warnings, fem!reader, sub!leon :3 had re2r before raccoon city in mind for this one.

In RE2, Leon is the definition of a sub. this, or the softest of a dom, one where he gives you everything.

he is obsessed with your pussy, to say the least. eating it out, being buried deep in your walls, he loves it all. he loves when you use him the most though.

leon just gets so whiny, so loud when you sit on his face and use him for your own pleasure. there’s just something about it that makes him feel so good, being surrounded by your scent, your slick, your warmth. it drives him crazy.

when you sit on his face, he wraps his arms around your thighs, making sure you put all of your weight on him — he doesn’t care if you complain about suffocating him. he’d love to die this way truth be told. the second your clit is against his lips, he fucking loses it. his cock gets rock hard at this moment, but he ignores it because he latches to your pretty cunt, wanting to drown in your juices. he moans against your clit, nose brushing against your entrance.

his cock is leaking, dripping with precum because he’s just so fucking horny it’s aching for relief. he doesn’t say anything, he’s too focused on eating you out, lapping at your juicy walls until you see white. he’s flicking your bundle of nerves with his tongue, sucking greedily as he makes you grind against his nose. long and slow, short and quick movements of his tongue making you go absolutely mindless. your clit is swollen, heat pooling in your lower back because it feels so good. your thoughts blur together, unable to focus on anything else other than your boyfriend devouring your fluttering walls. honestly? his head gets empty, too. he’s thinking about pleasuring you, wanting nothing than you suffocating him with your thighs, god he loves it.

you notice him thrusting his hips in the air, whimpers leaving his lips when you squeeze your thighs. he grows hypersensitive, and you notice. when you finally touch his clothed length, giving it a testing squeeze, he lets out a heavenly sounding moan. his fingers tighten around your hips, the pleasure he’s feeling impossible to describe.

you decide to roll his pants and boxers down, his dick instantly springing out. it’s so easy to make him cum when he’s in this state, and even when you’re in a state like this, unable to think any coherent thoughts, you know what to do. you start pumping his cock, cupping his balls. he thrusts into your hand, pouting and whimpering at the touch. his cock is just so sensitive, it takes a few minutes for him to cum in your hands. he always cums fast when both of you are like this, but he makes it up with making you cum multiple times.

when in this state, Leon is on autopilot. when he cums, he rolls his eyes, almost crying at the feeling. despite that, he still makes sure you feel good. he wants you to cum too. he only speeds up his movements, flattening his tongue before thrusting into your slick hole. you flutter around his tongue, moving his tongue in and out of your cunt until he feels you tightening up. he pushes you against his face more, burying his face in your pussy. and when you finally cum, your creamy slick leaking out of your walls, he swallows it all, drinking it almost greedily.

when you lift your hips up and turn your head around to check if he’s okay, you notice he looks like man blessed. drool trickling down his chin, mixed with your sweet nectar he loves you so much. his hair is disheveled, messy, eyes hazy. he only forms a big grin on his face, already tugging you so you lay down on top of him, with him wrapping his arms around you and placing his head on top of yours, mumbling sweet, loving words before going to shower.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon kennedy smut

143 notes · View notes

uchihaharlot · 15 days

Note

im in LITTERAL obito hell. Can i please get hcs for obito w total sub fem s/o. God, i really need therapy bc how much i need a man like him 😭

Nonny,

We all are in Obito hell, especially when he's balls deep slapping your ass to the rhythm of your moaning.

Obito is a weird mix of a sub/dom himself, he’s going to need to be shown the ropes, idk why but he's aggressive in a tender way. 🙈🙊😇

NSFW; both y'all getting fucked stupid; there is no way around it; Obito likes to be owned too; (lightly edited because its late asf.)

It’s kinda cute actually. 🥹 His s/o is such a patient woman!! Has no issues with forcing his aggression on her. But HOLY, once Obito is in charge.

Babygirl, you're fucked. In every sense of the word. He's not super fond of tying you up because he really likes when your nails dig into his skin. Obito, bless his little Uchiha heart, can't really feel much on his right side due to nerve damage. So you can freely bite and claw your way up his arm and throat. For the love of god, leave those delectable red marks in the shape of your lips. Hickey's are his love language, and Obito won't hesitate to consensually leave you a handprinted necklace. A testament to how a bit you both are unruly and unhinged in the heated throes of sex.

He's so shy, but easily warms up to it. Especially when you look that gorgeous stuffed with his cock in your mouth. He loves loves loves when you hum from the base of his shaft and up to his tip, sucking there just a little harder than the rest of him. Please press a kiss there too every so often, the tender aspect of it makes him whine. You sucking him as the slut he's always needed just drives him bonkers, and may make him cum fast. And that's usually embarrassing for some men, but when you both are really in the mood for one another...this is just the starting line. You haven't even been stretched around him properly.

His absolute favorite thing is overstimulation. For both of you, he particularly enjoys cock warming in your mouth until he's hard and ready again. It goes without saying, but most Uchiha have a really quick refresh rate (breeding kink checking in). And, this is just my two cents, I love all the Uchiha men, but Obito is built like a damn semi truck, ok? Cock, balls and fuck if I don't love good thighs on a man. Powerful enough to just keep going and going and going... So have your fun now, because you're getting railed faster than the 'midnight train to anywhere.' Your pussy will be crying and raw by the end of the next two hours.

Obito might not even go soft if he's sucked deep enough in your throat. The muscles in the back milk him so damn good. Of course Obito's ideal woman swallows his cum whole, but he understands if you didn't like it coming out your nose like last time. Regardless, once he's been worked good enough, you better grip the sheets and expect to be flipped on your stomach. I truly believe that Obito's favorite position is face down, ass up. He loves to see you shudder and writhe, how each thrust ricochets through your lithe frame.

It gives him the most intimate view of his beautiful cock filling you too, seeing how deliciously you swell around his girth that first thrust in. You being a whimpering mess is an added bonus, even if you try to be quiet, you're not. Not really. Probably don't even remember half the shit you moan out when he's busy fucking you this way.

'Gods Obi...just like that..' or 'Please, I need to cum.' He really enjoys edging you, and then once he does allow you to cum, fucks you into oblivion until you can't stand it anymore.

His large palm pressing your face into the mattress as you stare up at him with glazed eyes, his other hand gripping your ass. He's not thrusting himself into you, he's thrusting you over his cock. The perfect little sleeve, and you glide so easy over him. In and out, the delicate tap tap tap of his cock head against your sensitive cervix just is so good, you cum so fast within the few minutes of being conquered this way. He doesn't mean it if it hits too hard, his cock is just that divine and long. Several orgasms leave you drenching his shaft, but Obito is far from cumming fast this time.

Expect to be thrown into every position known to mankind, and ending with every Uchiha males favorite. The mating press. Oh it's so so so hot, looking into those dark onyx eyes this way. He's incredibly one of the best Uchiha to watch when they cum. His eyes gleam with the impending orgasm that makes his cock twitchy and thicker. Hand at your throat, squeezing every time he feels the dull throb of your pussy sucking his cock in more and more. Each gentle swell of your overused walls reverberates up and down his aching need.

'That's right babygirl, you love to cum all over me.' and all you can do it moan more, words are beside your minds ability to function other than thinking about how full you are.

I know this is supposed to be a dominate situation for you guys, but Obito can't help but be a tender dom. Asking you if you're gonna cum all over his cock again, begging you to cum with him. You both are babbling little fucked out idiots here. And the moment that throb in the depths of your cunt shoots through you, making the both of you pant over each other's mouths. His hand tightens around your throat the second you moan his name for the hundredth time tonight, that undeniable sound of gratification and satisfaction as you cum hard all over his cock. Shaking, twitching and incapable of breathing due to his grip. Adding another layer of your juices to his balls and thighs, the bed is a damn lake from the two of you and it probably is reaching up your back now.

A final groan in your neck as you feel your orgasm coaxing his to fruition. Obito is a softie when he finally cums, it's just so hot to him when you want him to use you this way. Its the best offering for a man who was deprived of basic human touch. Being milked for all that he is worth in the most beautiful manner. SO much better than all those solo years as a 'handy man.' His cum, like most Uchiha, is thick and warm. Coats your insides and each subsequent thrust thereafter your mutual climaxes causes some of it to seep out around your raw opening.

The time you two take to come down and actually gather your senses is euphoric. Obito traces your skin, and rubs your aching thigh muscles when he finally sits up.

All in all, he's down to please you however. Maybe next time he'll wear that mask you always ask about...

#uchiha clan #uchiha headcanons #obito uchiha #uchiha obito #obito headcanons #obito x reader

55 notes · View notes

jamesdeniscouldnever · 8 months

Text

Alright, so hurt/comfort won the fic vote, so here we go! Written on mobile since my laptop is broke, so forgive formatting errors. Yall, this is so long. I got carried away. This is part one of a two parter, the other will take place in act 3.

Them. pt 1.

Summary: When Rolan fails to stave off the shadow curse after leaving to find his siblings in the shadowlands, he ends up more than a little bruised and lost. So, of course, it had to be them who showed up to save him again. It just had to be Tav.

Rolan wasn't quite sure where he was. Where anything was, now that he was thinking about it. The shadows and darkness that obscured the land around him made it hard to see if he was anywhere near moonrise towers or if he was truly hopelessly lost. He could feel frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away and squared his shoulders, reminding himself of the whole reason he had come out here - Lia and Cal. He *Would* find them if it was the last thing he did.

He set off down the path once more with renewed determination. He would move the Heavens and Hells to find them. He would cast himself into Avernus once more if it meant they would be safe. If they could be saved...if they weren't already dead. What if they were already dead?

The thought has him stopping in his tracks and clenching his first. Damn this. Damn Thorm for taking them. Damn Zevlor for freezing on the group. Damn himself for going after the children first. And damn that stupid cretin Tav for playing hero at the grove and then leaving them to the darkness. If they had stayed with the group of teiflings, would they be in so much trouble now? Would it have changed anything? Would Lia and Cal be safe?

Rolan aggressively wipes away a tear that's escaped and is rolling down his cheek. He takes deep breaths to try and hold back a sob and looks around once more. He's stopped under a lantern, like the few that seem scattered around the area. Probably left by those long gone. Selúne's blessing keeps him safe from falling to the curse, but he's still grateful for the light. It gives him a moment of comfort. One that is quickly cut short by the sound of inhuman shrieks and groans. Rolan quickly whips around, a cold shard of fear running through his spine. Shadows.

4 of them, to be exact. And they're quickly inching their way closer to him, not willing to step into the light but also unwilling to let him escape. He immediately conjures the first cantrip he can think of - a ball of fire - and without thinking, launches it at the nearest shadow. It shrieks and evaporates into itself, leaving three still staring at him with their featureless faces. He grounds his feet and readies himself to take them on or die trying, anything but being dragged off into the shadows.

His focus is broken when the shadows move in, enraged by the fall of their compatriot, no longer afraid of the mere light of a lantern. Before he can even move necrotic claws are ripping into his flesh, horrifying shrieks and screams fill his ears. He's desperately trying to focus, to conjure something, anything, to free himself long enough to have a chance at a fair fight. But as the shadows advance and drain him of any hope he had left, he begins to give in. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be with Lia and Cal again. Maybe he could stop constantly running for his life...

Just as he's about to finally stop fighting and let go, a blast from somewhere up the hill sends the three shadows flying back. Not yet defeated, but away from him. Rolan lifts his head. When had he bowed it? When had he fallen to his knees?

The first sight he's met with is *them*. Tav, in all their glory, advancing with both weapon and magic, a look of furious determination on their face. They make such quick work of the shadows that had almost taken him that he's almost embarrassed to have fallen to them. As the last shadow falls they whip around, immediately making for him.

"Rolan! Thank the gods, you're alive! Are you hurt? What in the nine hells are you doing out here alone? I heard you yelling, thank Selúne I found you in time."

He had been yelling? Their hands are flitting over him, not quite touching him. Their face holds concern, their brow pinched with worry. Why were they here? Why the hells did they follow him? Why couldn't he do anything for himself anymore?

"Damn it! Damn you. All I came here to do was to look for my family, and I can't even do that! Not without needing you to swoop in to save me," his voice catches and his shoulders hunch, his will finally leaving him, "and if I had that much trouble just walking through the woods...they're dead aren't they? Lia and Cal are dead."

Bitter tears leave his eyes before he can stop them. They had come all this way, survived so long! And for what? Just to be taken by shadows and monsters. To be taken by what resembles a child's nightmare. He's about to scream every foul word he knows when two hands cup his face. Tav now kneels in front of him, having joined him on the ground. They stare into his eyes with stallworth determination and care.

"Rolan, Lia and Cal are back at the Last Light Inn. When you told me where they'd been taken I set out immediately. Lied my way into the dungeon and snuck them out of a hole in the back of their cell, the others who were taken too. And some other friends of mine. We got back, and you were gone. Umi said you'd set off into the dark alone, and I immediately came looking for you. Gods, how awful would that have been? To get them out only to lose you?"

This whole time, they've been holding his face, trying to get through to him. He was vaugley aware of their thumb stroking his cheek. He wondered if they knew they were doing it. He felt a sort of numbness spread over him. Lia and Cal were safe. They were at the inn waiting for him. His family was alive. He doesn't speak, merely tries to struggle to his feet so he can run back there as fast as possible and strangle those two idiots for worrying him and then cry on their shoulders later that night in the privacy of their room. However, as soon as he puts weight on his feet, he finds himself falling back to his knees, Tav scrambling after him.

"Rolan, stop, stop! You're hurt. There's blood everywhere. Gods, have you even noticed? Those claws shredded you like an owlbears lunch!" They're fussing over him and trying to pull him back, now searching through their pouch for something.

Now that they've mentioned it and the adrenaline is wearing off, he's keenly aware of pain blooming over almost every part of his body. The blood soaking his robes, too. Fear strikes through him once more. Would he get back to Lia and Cal after all? Just as he's about to let doubt creep in, tav places one hand on his shoulder and holds a bottle to his lips.

"Drink. It's a healing potion. It's not enough to heal all your wounds, mind you, but enough to get you back to Last Light."

Rolan drinks without another word, the bitter taste sliding down his throat. The pain lessens. Small wounds mend themselves. He let's out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Thank you." Is all he can utter. Tav helps him to his feet and braces one of his arms over their shoulders. Slowly, they begin their trek back to he inn. Back to safety. Something feels odd as they walk. And it suddenly hits him what it is.

"Where are your friends? I've never seen you travel alone. are they okay?" He questions, wondering if their found family had fallen the way his nearly had.

Tav's face flushes just a little, along with the tips of their ears. Rolan worries for a moment that he's upset them, that their friends really are gone, before they pipe up in a voice that is laced with embarrassment.

"They're fine... they're at Last Light still, I imagine. I, uh...I wasn't kidding when I said I ran to find you after Umi told me you were gone. I don't think any of them were able to keep up with me." Tav's smiles a little sheepishly at him as they walk, and he feels his own eyes soften at them. They really were such a hero, weren't they?

They approach Last Light so much more quickly than he'd thought they would. He hadn't been very far at all...damned shadows must have had him walking in circles. Despite his embarrassment, he feels himself trying to pick up the pace as the lights come into view. He wants to see Lia and Cal for himself. He wants his siblings.

Tav complies, and they quickly approach, nodding at the guards who recognize them and moving straight to the main building. Sitting at the back of the room at the bar, he spots his brother and sister, looking just as worried as he had mere hours ago. Lia sees him first.

"Rolan! There you are! What in the hells were you thinking?! What happened to you?" She's a mix of angry and relieved, he can tell, and he wraps her in a hug before she can scold him and more. After a moment, he releases her and moves to grip his brother in the same manner. A bolt of nervous anger overcomes him he wasn't truly mad, but when someone scares you in such a way what else can you be?

"You're okay. What is wrong with you two?! I was worried sick, I thought you were dead!" He begins to bark in return. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see Yav giving him a look.

"I was expecting a bit of a warmer reunion." They say with an eyebrow raised. He growls at them.

"I thought my family was DEAD. But... You're right. This isn't the time. I... thank you. For everything." He sighs before turning to his siblings once more, "Are you okay? Do you need anything to eat or drink?"

Cal smiles at him and grips his shoulder.

"We're alright, we promise. We're just glad to see you." And Rolan can't help but sigh, his bluster gone.

"I know. I know. I was just so worried about you."

"And we're still worried about you. Look at you! Covered in blood and bruises! You need to get that taken care of. Is there a healer in this camp?" Lia cuts in, angry little sister that she is. Tav smiles, that same kind smile they always have.

"There's not, but I know a bit about medicine. I could take care of it." They say calmly, as if afraid to trigger more yelling. Lia only smiles in relief.

"Could you? We'd be so grateful."

"Now hang on a moment, I never-" Rolan begins before a wuthering look from Lia shuts him up. He sighs and simply nods along, knowing she won't be pleased until he's well. Tav chuckles quiet before putting a a hand on his back and guiding him to one of the few bedrooms in the inn.

"Little privacy, yeah? I'm probably going to have to get your shirt off to bandage you up." Tav says with quiet encouragement. Rolan nods and finds himself sitting on the bed, pulling his robes over his head. Tav pauses when they see him, and for a moment, he swears he sees tears in their eyes. He looks down at himself and finds deep bruises and gashes covering his abdomen. He truly looked like he had been cast back into Avernus.

"What? Don't I look as handsome as ever?" He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Tav blinks a few times, fighting the watery feeling in their eyes and smiling sadly.

"Of course. You always look handsome." They say it with such earnest that Rolan feels himself blushing with heat. Thank the gods for red skin. He goes silent and allows them to look him over, applying salves and bandaging cuts where they need to. They work with such gentle hands and a feather-light touch that he wonders at them. These same hands cut and slice enemies down without hesitation. He's rarely seen These hands not covered in blood. And yet, in this moment, he could mistake them for the touch of a healer or a nurse maid. He sighs despite himself when Tav's hands caress over a particularly sore spot on his shoulder blade.

Tav gives a gentle smile and laughs quietly, their fingers smoothing over the ridges in his skin without judgment. They finish and pack up their healing items and give him a gentle smile.

"You should rest now, okay? I'll get your brother and sister and send them up. Let them keep an eye on you." All while saying this, Tav is gently pushing him to lay down and drawing the blankets over him. He nods without complaint.

Tav smiles again and leaves the room. Moments later, Lia and Cal appear, fussing over him and continuing their scolding. They stop, however, when Rolan begins to cry in relief. His family is alive. He is safe. And it's all thanks to that stupid hero. His hero. Tav.

They hush and talk and jabber on as the night goes on, until eventually he falls into a peaceful half-sleep. He can hear the voices of his siblings but not discern what they're saying. His relaxes in the moment and welcomes the oncoming sleep. He thinks he hears a door opening and a third familiar voice joining the others. Who is that?

He is too far gone to wake and check for himself, but when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a cool hand gently pressing against his forehead as if checking for fever, he knows. Its them. He finally let's go and allows himself to give into a full sleep, but swears the last thing he feels before all fades to black is a mouth gently kissing his forehead. Them.

@illidariiii @potato-dragons @miwn8 @tieflingteatime

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 tav #rolan x tav #rolan #tav

187 notes · View notes

soft-persephone · 4 months

Text

An Easily Avoidable Accident (But I Needed it so Bad)

Sub!Nick Miller x Black!Fem!Reader

I do write with Black Women in mind, but my fics can be read by any woman.

AN: Thank you to my friends that helped me with this fic! It means so much to me and I am so grateful for your generosity! I truly hope you all enjoy this final product!

MDNI // Rating: Explicit // WC 3.8k // Warnings: light Sub!Dom vibes, mild exhibition kink, biting, marking, thing for sounds, extra light hand kink // masterlist

Nick and You had the entire loft to yourselves.

That meant you two had time for anything. No prying eyes and no need to be quiet or fear of being caught by anyone.

Naturally, that meant they had a no pants day.

Nick could free ball it in his boxers and you could wear that little tank top you liked to sleep in and walk around in your underwear.

“I’m pretty sure you were a man in your past life.” Nick joked as you excitedly shimmied out of your sweats and threw them on the other side of the couch.

“There is nothing wrong with me wanting to do this as bad as you! This is normal for all human beings!” You defended yourself with a huff.

“Yes, lots of people enjoy wearing less clothes at home, but you are excited about it in a man way. I can’t explain how, I’m just saying. . . It takes one to know one.”

You smushed his face with a hand and walked past him to the kitchen.

“Fuck you,” you playfully scoffed, “what do you want for breakfast?”

The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful. As the day went by and the evening wined down, Nick had put his loose sweats back on.

They were old, thin, and ratty. He definitely could not wear them in public anymore.

“You might as well just not wear any pants.” You smiled at him, more out of shock than anything else. You weren’t sure what to think about such a horrible piece of clothing.

“They’re house pants!”

“Your dick is right there!” You yelled back. “It’s like if boxers came in pants size!”

He threw a pillow at you and you threw one back before he wrestled you onto the couch.

Excitement aside.

He was in his favorite spot on the couch, but in an even better way! He could prop his legs up and lean back as comfortable as he wanted to be.

He was a fucking king on his throne and he couldn’t be happier.

You were still walking around in your skimpy underwear and tank top.

He would have wanted you to go throw some pants before the guys come back, but hopefully it was one of those nights where they all found some women to hook up with and stay the night, or just fuck off somewhere.

Instead, he was too comfortable with your ass on his lap and you laying the opposite way on top of him, on your stomach, typing away on your laptop and shifting a hoard of papers to and fro, taking the moment of spare time to get ahead on some work while he lazily watched the game.

Or at least tied to.

God bless them, but he didn’t give a fuck about the Lions and who they were playing.

On any other given day he would have, but it’s hard to remember his love for sports when your hips keep sliding back and forth on him whenever you sit up real quick to get a better look at a paper, your hips pushed forward, right over his dick. Once you finally highlight or read whatever you were trying to read carefully, your hips moved back toward his chest and over his dick once again, leaving him to think of nothing but of how sexy you were.

It wasn’t hard to imagine a more intimate setting.

Hell, even at this moment.

You two in this loft alone, on this very couch in this very moment, naked for no one but God to see, you riding him just like this giving him no choice but to take whatever you gave him.

He brought a hand to his mouth and bit his finger, hard. Willing himself to stay still and not thrust his hips up onto your clothed pussy.

He needed a distraction, but football wasn’t working. You moving your hips and shuffling every five minutes wasn’t working either. Why were you suddenly moving your hips up and down on him like that?.

You slid your hips forward before sighing in frustration and moving them back until his dick was crushed under the weight of your stomach.

Were you trying to kill him? Did you somehow not notice his growing erection?

You sat up, quickly dragging your hips forward, again! But this time it wasn’t where he needed it. This time he needed you on his cock, desperately at that.

“Nick, you okay?” You turned your head back, putting down a paper. The movement causes you to push your glasses back on your nose.

Fuck, you were cute. He hoped you ran out of your contacts forever.

He cleared his throat and rubbed at his chest to hide the sound of his moan.

“Nick?”

“Y—yeah.. yeah I’m good. . “ he managed to mumble out.

Solid cover dumbass.

He couldn’t help going back to the thought of you both naked. You turning around to look at him with a different look on your face.

“You got so tense all of a sudden.” You continued before turning around back to your work. “And I know you don’t care about the Lions losing, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything serious.”

“N…no.”

Oh, he was just making it worse, but you were a bigger dumbass than him, apparently. He says it lovingly, but how did you not know?!?!? Were you that into your work?

“Well, just let me know if anything changes.”

You give a quick wink before you turn around, and he moans.

His hips cant up with such force you bounce up and back down on him, and he couldn’t stop the whimper in time.

He covered his face, letting the sounds come out.

“Nick?” Your voice was in a fucking panic and it was embarrassing to say the least.

You try to move but he quickly grasps your hips. His nails are almost digging into your skin.

“Nonodontmove!” He slurs, his voice rising at a higher octave that makes you throb. “Stay,” he was panting now, his chest rising and falling as you put your hands over his,” please,” he openly whined, not holding back or caring anymore,” stay.”

Oh fuck…

You licked your lips and fought against the panic. “Yeah?”

“Can you just wait a little bit longer for me? I Promise to do something as soon as i'm done.”

“Okay,” he licked his lips, his eyes growing full and watery in such a way you wanted to hold your breath.

He looked at you with such adoration and emotion you swore you would die if you didn't look away. They were softer now, much softer. He looked more calm. A stranger to how desperate and wild they were seconds ago, but you weren't fooled.

No, there was a deeper, more sinister side to this yearning gaze.

While he saved putting his heart on his sleeve for rare tender moments, it was also a fucking weapon. A weapon created for your own demise. You fought the urge to give in, to throw her papers aside and everything she’s been working on to give him whatever he wanted.

But you couldn't. No matter how bad you needed it, you couldn’t.

You were emailing back and forth with a client and Xaiviar was cc’d on it as well. He was the lead lawyer on a case and you were helping him with it. The client was about to drop the case altogether, but you managed to find some evidence that would ensure the jury was siding in her favor.

If she was patient and held out, she would get everything she deserved and the bastard that hurt her could pay.

You just needed some fucking time!

Nick found a documentary about gorillas.

Nice!

As much as he loved them and tried to bring up the essay he wrote on them one morning after doing a bunch of mystery pills that he took one night, he could care less about them right now. He loved you just a tiny bit more.

He bit his lip and tried to let his better nature take hold of him.

Nick's hands were gliding across your skin. Smoothing and kneading the plump flesh of your thighs before coming up to rest at your hips for while, but it didn’t last. He soon became antsy, needing to touch you.

Hoping that just the feel of you in his hands would be enough to distract him from how hard he was. That it wouldn’t make anything worse for him.

But it was making it worse for you.

You could hardly concentrate.

After rediscovering every curve and dip of your body. Every scar, bump, and blemish of your smooth supple skin. It always held a subtle glow, bringing attention to your more than lovely over and undertones. He wanted to put you on display so everyone could see this much of your skin.

The world deserve to know how beautiful your skin was. How beautiful you were.

He decided to test puting his hands on your thighs to see if that would help. His fingers gently graze against your inner thighs. Going up and up until he was too close to your center, daring not to get too close, and moving them back towards your knee. He couldn't stop.

It was mindless action, hypnotizing even.

“Nick,” your tone was bitter in your mouth, sounding harsh to your owne ears, “stop it.”

You snapped around to face him with a glare.

Where these emotions were coming from was a mystery to you, but the foreign feeling twisted your stomach with anticipation.

Nick's eyes were half lidded and struggling to stay open. He gurgled out a moan, the action making him cover his face with his hands.

“Nick. . .” You absentmindedly licked your lips, “let me see your face.”

Nick's chest had been moving up and down erratically since you turned around. His soft pants spurred you on.

Your mind was racing with what to possibly say or do next.

Nick slowly placed his hands on his chest, rubbing at it in circles with his left hand. A sign that usually meant he was anxious.

Every part of him was strained in concentration towards you as if the mere thought of looking away would hurt too much. His eyes were dark, wet, and needy.

Your mouth fell open in a silent o, and you ground your hips down in one fluid motion causing you both to moan.

You both were so fucked.

A wave of something was washing over you. It crashed and crashed against your entire being and the anxiety bubbled in fear of it taking you under, whatever this was. The foreign lightning of it all cracked and crackled in your veins.

Your laptop quipped out a short sound. Then, and only then, you notice how quiet the room was.

You momentarily turned, checking the message in your email.

Dear Ms, I am sorry for getting so indecisive at such a crucial time in the case. Everything has just been so stressful. I wanted it all to be over as quickly as possible, adn i got in the way of you adn your firm doing the job that I, myself hired you to do. I am so terribly sorry. I would liek to see this man put behind bars for good or worse.

Thank you again for everything. I leave my fate in your hands.

Thank, God!

You said a quick prayer, and emailed your client back, making sure to cc Xaiviar.

You closed your laptop and shuffled your papers back into a bifold, tossing them along the further end of the couch, but not so far that they’d fall.

Keeping your position, you turned slightly, moving Nicks shirt up as high as it could go. You eyed his chest, the wide expanse of hair there you’ve obsessed over from time to time, the happy trail that was also a favorite of yours.

Nick’s body moved with the flow of your hand.

“Please,” his voice was higher and strained as stuttered the words out, “please, I’ll be so good please. Just please.”

You ground your hips on his, masking are you were positioned in just the right spot. The feeling of him through your underwear just felt to good. Your movements were slow and steady. Just enough to drive you both crazy, but not nearly enough for either of you.

The anticipation of it was thrilling. Your heads grew headier and headier with each sound he made. With every stutter, pant, and moan he made

The door clicked and you both froze.

“What pray tell is going on in here?” A voice boomed.

Nick cleared his throat and put his hands in a more casual position at your waist. Squeezing lightly just to keep you still.

“Hey, Coach.” It came out gravely but natural.

You were surprised, thinking about how he sounded like he was going to explode just a few moments earlier.

“Don’t, “hey Coach me. You weirdo.” He scoffed. “Go have sex in your room like the rest of us! Just because you're having sex with the same girl every night doesn’t make it okay to play exhibitionist!”

“Nick and his girl is doing what!” Winston slammed the door. “That’s disgusting!”

“Mhmm.” Coach sassily added.

“Oh. My. God.” Nick covered his face with his hands.

Needless to say. All the sexual tension was sucked out of the room. Sitting like this on Nick‘’a lap was starting to make you feel overexposed and awkward.

He reached over and stretched to pull the blanket usually strown accross the couch to cover your body with. You silently thanked him, and avoided looking Coach or Winston in the eye.

“You,” Coach pointed at you,” I am very disappointed in.”

“But, Ernie—“ you pouted.

“—No!” He interrupted. “No Earnie! From now on you call me Coach just like everyone else!”

“Bu—“

“No buts! You have to earn your way back up to calling me my name! “ he shook his head at you with so much disgust it felt absurd.

He was really mad at you. . .

“Now you two go to your room and think about what you did!”

“Mh mh mh.” Winston shook his head with an equal amount of distaste.

Needless to say you both retreated into Nick's room for a very awkward and short walk of shame.

“Please. . . Oh, wait. . . Fuck.” Nick moaned before whimpering out your name.

You made him cum with your hand twice, then three times with your mouth, and one more time after that because you just couldn’t help yourself.

His hands were gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles were white.

You had your hands braced against his chest and you slowly sat on his cock. He was stretching you wide with how thick he was. In this new position, it felt even thicker, making it harder than normal.

“Please,” his voice several octaves higher, letting you know just how close he was. “Let me help. Let me touch you.” He strained out before gritting his teeth.

“I.. got it.” You had to fight your instinct to tense your whole body once you had finally taken all of him in. He was so big and thick you could just feel him pressing against your spot already, making you breathless in the process.

You massaged his chest. Starting with his shoulders, and moving down to his pecs. You squeezed them, reveling in the feeling of his pliant flesh in your hands. In another time or setting you would have liked to bend down and suck on one. Biting and relishing the feeling is him in your mouth, so hard he’d bruise for weeks, fading until stray marks of your teeth were implanted into his skin.

Keeping your hands there for balance, you slowly rose up until only his tip was inside before grinding down slowly until all of him was inside of you again.

“Your doing so good baby.”

His cock twitched inside of you at the praise, making your mouth fall open in a silent moan.

You quickened your pace ever so lightly. Nick’s hands fisting the sheets. Each one spurred you on further, filling you with an unbearable heat. It seers through every pore of your body. Opening up every space of your skin, consuming every part of Nick as possible.

His whines, his pants, and his moans. The way his skin turned an angry red all over. Proudly displaying the evidence that you both were on fire.

“Touch me” You moaned softly.

He was on you in an instant. He pushed himself up by his elbows. His hands, his massive warm hands roamed every inch of your skin. Burning you in their haste to feel your waist, the expense of your back, and the peaks of your breast. He pulled, squeezed, and tweaked them until you had to push his hands away.

“Not nice is it?” He huffed in your face with a short laugh. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours. Where his began and yours stopped was indistinguishable as you both panted in the sliver of space between one another.

He leaned in for a kiss, and you pulled your head back slightly out of his reach with similar amusement.

“I never gave you permission to kiss me.”

His eyes grew wide and blown out. His brown irises drowned in the pools of his pupils as he looked at you with such reverence.

He quickly pivoted and moved to mouthing at your neck, biting you hard as he whined into your flesh.

“You're such a good boy Nick,” his hips thrust up into yours, hard. “Oh, you're so so good.” He did it again this time before squeezing his fingers into you. His nails were sure to leave little moons into your skin for weeks.

You laughed. It was breath, trained, and cruel.

“Ah, ah, ah,” You grabbed his hair tightly, pulling his mouth off of you. “I wanna hear you baby. I thought you were my good boy?”

“I am! I am, please!” He whimpered into your skin, keeping his head underneath your chin, his mouth open and close to you. Because if he couldn’t keep his mouth on you, he’d find a way to get as close to it as possible without disobeying you.

“You gotta let me hear every sound that comes out of your mouth baby, okay?”

His fingers adjusted their grip on your hips, pulling and stretching at your skin as tight as it could go, making hissed in response. Even when his brain was fuzzy with arousal and he was overwhelmed with praise or reprimand from you, he could still do the little things that drove you wild. Whether he was in control or not, he could bite, mark, and rough you up in all the ways you loved.

He’s going to drive you mad. You're sure of it now.

“I need your help baby?” You moved so you both would be eye to eye with one another. “I need you fuck me now.” You cupped both sides of his face. “I can’t get us both where we need to be.” You kissed him all over. His cheeks, his forehead, up and down his neck, before you bit down in several places, sucking harder than you ever had. He let out a soft meek sound you didn’t think was possible. Almost gentle if his voice wasn’t such a low raspy thing. Almost gravely sometimes when it wasn’t smooth and addicting.

The closest thing you could describe it as would be a mewl of some kind. It was a sound only you could pull out of him. A side of him only you were privy to. No one else.

Your walls clenched around him at the sound. He did it again.

“Fuck, baby.” Your chest heaved. “I’m not gonna last much longer, I need you to fuck me, now.” You pulled his hair for emphasis.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He rutted his hips into yours at a hard, brutal pace. And with every high pitched murmur of good boy, your so good, your so perfect for me, he thrust up into you harder.

“Love you baby,” you nibbled into his ear, “love how good you feel inside me. It's like you were made for me.” You kissed him as hard as you could without getting lost of how he was sliding in and out of you. The loud wet slaps of his hips hitting yours were filling the room, driving you both crazy. “You're mine. My baby boy, so good for me.”

He whimpered again, mewling into your ear as he cradled your neck with one final grip as he came. Filling you up. It was so so much. Your legs grew tight, your muscles squeezing past their limit before you followed him soon after.

He pulled out laying you down on your back. Peppering your skin with soft kisses.

“You're amazing!” His eyes sparkled.

“Was that really your first time doing something like that?” You grabbed at the sheets to hide your face. It was hot and burning even more so after the sex you just had. You did not want to talk about it.

“Hey, hey,” he uncovered your face and moved to straddle your lap. He grabbed your hands and put them over your head. “Please,” he looked into your eyes again,. “Don’t hide from me. I really want to know.”

It was what you two did.

When things were too tough to talk about. . . Or weird and embarrassing. Eye contact just worked. It made you both feel safer and calmer to see the other person wasn’t judging you. That they were genuine in whatever way they wanted to support you.

You nodded weakly. Not trusting your words.

“Well you're a natural.”

“Nick we gotta—“

“—Don’t worry. I will buy a planb for you tomorrow. We got a little carried away and forgot about condoms.” He waved his free hand in dismissal before smiling. “It’s okay. I got it handled.”

“I was going to ask if you could let me go now.”

“Let you go.” He tightened his grip on your hands. He still wore his charming smile, but his eyes were growing dark and cloudy, pooling with desire. “Now why would I let you go when I have to pay you back for every time you wouldn’t let me kiss or touch you.”

He suddenly thrust his thick very hard cock into you, still wet from both of you.

“I'm not done with you yet.”

Tags: @notapradagurl7 @megamindsecretlair @headcannonxgalore @cottonpuffmouse @crispysublimecupcake @jellyreblogs @blowmymbackout

Please let me know if you ever want to be tagged on my fics! It’s no trouble at all and I would be honored to do so!

93 notes · View notes

kimbapisnotsushi · 11 months

Text

happy birthday to the absolute love of my life iwaizumi hajime!!! have a medley of timeskip hcs bc i barely do those and the only way i can confront being an adult is with characters who became adults alongside me :))

i think no matter where oikawa and iwaizumi are in the world, oikawa always sends a birthday text right as the clock strikes 12 in iwa's time. even if it's four AM on oikawa's side he vows to always be the first to wish iwaizumi a happy birthday :))

(it started when oikawa left for argentina, because that would have been the first birthday they'd spent apart from each other. it's the least oikawa can do, in his eyes. it's the least he can do for not being there.)

do you ever think about the moment where two characters who have never met but have a previous connection to each other via another character find out about said character after meeting. bc i do. a LOT

bonus points if that "someone" is kageyama or hinata or karasuno as a general nuisance

anyways this happens when kuroo and iwaizumi meet and it's HILARIOUS

"what do you MEAN you got your ass whooped by them in high school I got my ass whooped by them in high school too!!!!"

this is a freakishly common occurrence in japan's professional volleyball circuit. there's a support group chat for it and it's got over fifteen people

(there are a few exceptions - komori's really just there for the kicks)

speaking of which. i don't think komori ever stops being a megafan of yaku's. when he hears that they're going to be playing side-by-side on the national team he IMMEDIATELY dials sakusa and just screams into the phone for like a solid minute

hyakuzawa was really shy with everyone at first bc he never really knew them much before, but at his first practice match hoshiumi slammed a ball onto the floor so hard it ricocheted and hit atsumu in the face and, without missing a beat and while atsumu was yelling for hoshiumi to eat shit through a bloody nose, hoshiumi turned to him and went "see that? that was a lesson on what NOT to do" and hyakuzawa knew at that moment that he was in a safe space

sometimes ushijima and iwaizumi will talk about irvine like it was some secret dreamy romantic getaway between starcrossed lovers from medieval times

iwaizumi: "man i remember that one night we drove to the desert to stargaze. that was so cool. really pretty. i forgot my jacket and ushijima was kind enough to lend me his" ushijima: "it would not have done for you to catch a cold, we had a meeting with my father the next day to ask for his blessing" everyone else: "what the actual fuck"

the blessing was to see if utsui could take iwaizumi on for an internship

okay wait quick break from national team shenanigans bc i was thinking about this for a while but i think romero is soooooo impressed when hoshiumi, kageyama, and ushijima tell him that they all know hinata personally. i think he asks them to help ask if hinata can do a favor for him

"you want hinata to WHAT" "i want him to throw me like a paper weight!!! so i can show my son!!!"

hinata's like "OH MY GOD NICOLAS ROMERO WANTS ME TO THROW HIM???" like he's SO honored. he thinks it's an honor to be able to throw romero and romero thinks it's an honor to BE thrown by hinata it's so stupid i love them

and then romero calls his son and is like "SON GUESS WHAT. NINJA SHOUYOU THREW ME LIKE A PAPERWEIGHT TODAY" and sends him the video and little romero is SO hyped

in general i think hinata AND hoshiumi would be able to bench press like 99% of the adlers and the jackals and like. maybe the whole pro league

hoshiumi wants to try so he goes "hey kageyama c'mere for a sec!!" and kageyama is all "?? okay sure" and he just scoops kageyama up, tosses him in the air, catches him and puts him down like "okay thanks, you can get back to what you were doing now!"

i think kageyama actually looks up to hoshiumi a whole lot and it's super cute

okay sorry back to national/all-stars teams squad shenanigans

suna has the newest phone within the canon timeline because his old one broke when hakuba spiked a volleyball into it trying to do a trickshot

suna wasn't even mad bc they DID land the shot it was sick as hell

nobody was really familiar with iizuna aside from, like, sakusa and komori and MAYBE yaku and ushijima so when he joined the all stars match all cool and calm and capable and hot like 90% fell in love. and then he wrestled sakusa into a headlock within five minutes of sakusa being a little bitch and they fell in love even more

this part here was supposed to be a fun little bit about the all-stars team dynamics bc it's funny as hell but it was getting WAY too long and i severely underestimated how insanely complicated having people with grudges like ten years running would be on the same team so like. expect another post soon i guess?

ANYWAYS

they always try to do something when everyone is in town for training or some kind of promo exhibit like the all-stars match bc otherwise it's really really hard to hang out since they're scattered all over the place

imagine if they went to the beach. like. imagine if you were just the average beach goer and you went one day and all of a sudden there is a whole ass group of twenty or so incredibly powerful men who all look like they could kill you with just one hand and they're all screaming their heads off playing beach volleyball. and you look at them and you think they seem vaguely familiar but you don't know why. and then you go home and check twitter and your beach is trending and THAT'S how you find out that the entire goddamn national team took a day trip to visit the beach

256 notes · View notes

storiesbyrhi · 11 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Death is here. 3051 words.

Notes: As per canon, Max is in the hospital. Argyle left Hawkins once he dropped Jonathan, Will, and Mike off, at the urging of Jonathan – who did not want his friend to be hurt. Maybe headcanon that he went back to Suzie’s place in case they needed her expertise and also because, ya know, Eden.

1843

Left in the sunlight, a vampire would not explode nor turn to ash and float away in the breeze. They would burn, blister, and shrivel until their body lay twitching and immobile. This provided a very brief window of respite from their evil; as soon as night came or shade was provided, the vampire would begin to heal.

Whatever damage, they could heal. Sunlight’s scorch. Blessed blades’ cuts. Holy water’s burn. Nothing could kill a vampire. A witch could curse a vampire to trap them in places, times, and forms; but ultimately, it had always come down to a fight.

At the beginning of the 18th century, a witch from a Romanian coven wrote a spell. It would allow a conjurer to summon a ball of sunlight to wound the vampires. The wounds would linger, fester, and scar their marble skin. Ripples in an otherwise perfect complexion. The Romanian witch had to offer her life in exchange for the gift of the spell to bless all of her kind.

And so, “lux solis urere hic malum,” became the witchfire war cry.

By 1843, the vampires had been hunting the humans your coven protected for seven years. The sunlight spell helped, but it was no longer enough. Your coven’s strongest wordsmith, Penelope, had been at work, spending days… months… years… on end hunched over her alter and communing with The Witches Who Came Before.

It was a bitter morning when Penelope’s magic worked for the final time. Frost bit at the tips of leaves and even the most hardened farmers took an extra minute to get out of bed, while she worked to ensure not only the protection of humankind, but the freedom of all witches.

Through bloodletting, she poured herself into a bucket, a witch’s sacrifice the last ingredient in a potion so strong, a single drop was death to an entire colony. Your aunt painstakingly soaked paper in the potion, let the sheets dry, then ground them up into a matte powder. She went into the night, her fist full of dust, and blew into the face of the undead.

The vampire had forgotten what it was like to breathe, but as quick as the feeling returned, it was taken away, and he clawed at his throat for air. He screeched until he shredded his own throat deep enough to sever his vocal cords. Then, not by God nor sword but by a magic woman’s hand, he was no more.

…

1986

Little witch echoed in your head.

You tore your gaze away from Eddie and blinked off the haziness that had overcome you. Change the subject, change the subject.

“So…” you started, but lost your intended sentence.

“So,” Eddie repeated.

“I don’t… I don’t know what we’re meant to do now…”

He rolled his shoulders back and considered his options. There was an urge to run, to abandon you and leave the doomed Hawkins. Go to the cities, feed, make more vampires. It was his first thought, primal and defining.

Eddie didn’t know if was all those years in bat form or if he had been patient in his forgotten life, but he was willing and able to wait on his primage urges. While his memories weren’t returning, his personality was, and he personally found it very amusing that a witch had knowingly brought vampires back from extinction.

That’s what he was telling himself. That he was not moving from your couch because he was entertained. That it wasn’t the feeling he got calling you ‘little witch.’ That it wasn’t a familiarity he couldn’t place. That it wasn’t your smile or smell.

You wondered what he was thinking. It occurred to you then, that he was probably sizing you up. “Do you remember what it feels like?” you asked. Eddie’s eyebrows rose. “The witchfire?”

His naked body had been in front of you enough for you to know the witchfire scars run along parts of his torso, and it covered his arms. Part of his neck, jaw, and cheek had been marked too.

“No,” he answered, holding a hand out and examining it. “Remind me?”

Hesitating, you thought about it. The burning smell. “Um… It would burn, like the sun. But concentrated. You couldn’t heal from it fast. Couldn’t wash it away with darkness,”

“It disturbs you,”

“No… Not… Not the vampire part. It’s the rest. Everything that happened around the vampire part.”

Eddie nodded. “Show me.” Your puzzled expression made him grin, fangs and all. “Witchfire. Show me,”

“You might not remember the pain, but assure you it definitely hurts,”

“Then hurt me,” he replied.

“I liked you better as the bat.”

Eddie laughed. “You spoke of witchfire first. You want to show me you are not weak. So, show me.”

Huffing, you crossed your arms over your chest. It only made him happier. You tried to pretend you weren’t loving it by standing up and walking a few steps away.

“Come on, little witch. You did not go to all that trouble to get me here, just to not play with me now.”

You knew you shouldn’t.

Muttering the spell under your breath, “Lux solis urere hic malum,” you held your hand out, palm side up, and let a ball burn into existence. Without nurturing it, it remained the size of a tennis ball, floating just above your skin. As you turned and walked back to the couch, you watched the witchfire reflect in his dark eyes, getting brighter the closer you got.

When you sat, Eddie moved closer still. He looked at the orb in awe rather than fear. “Your magic is…” He shook his head softly. “Remarkable.” He slowly held a finger up to the fire, you pulled your hand back, extinguishing it.

“It will burn.”

Eddie didn’t move. His sly smile did not falter. He waited.

“Fine…” And you repeated the spell and brought the fireball back to him.

Eddie’s eyes grew wider as he got closer, then as the tip of his finger touched the flames, he hissed and flung himself back so hard he rolled off the side of the couch.

Cackling with laughter, you clapped your hands together to kill the fire.

His face popped up over the armrest glaring at you, then in a literal blink, half his body was over the side coming towards you. He froze, timing his movements with your blinking. You didn’t see him change positions. It was terrifying. His arm looked twisted somehow, or maybe it was the sharp angles he was holding himself in. Spiderlike. Murderous.

You held your breath and tried to wait it out, but the trailer’s air wasn’t clean enough to let you stare for long. When you blinked, he was instantly halfway across the couch.

Terrifying, but exhilarating.

It would take one more. Less than half a second. A single blink. He’d be on you.

Eddie’s pupils were wide, dark, void of emotion. His lips were in a twisted smile that let his sharp teeth show just enough. Nails clawed into the plush of the couch. A monster, no doubt, but somehow still so profoundly beautiful that you couldn’t bear to look away.

Through his complete stillness, Eddie listened to how quickly your heart rate began to race. You were breathing through your mouth, audible and shaky. Like his, your pupils were blown. Although he couldn’t recall when or where or to whom, Eddie knew he’d played this game before. It wasn’t like this though.

You closed your eyes with purpose. He was silent, but you felt the weight of him as he climbed over you.

Eddie waited for you to open your eyes, or push him away, or conjure witchfire, or any number of predictable things. Instead, you short-circuited his brain when you giggled. A happy sound. Carefree. Unafraid. Then, with your eyes still closed, you slowly laid back.

One of your legs hung off the side of the couch, while Eddie straddled your other. He held himself above it but you could still feel him there. His hands were still clawed into the fabric, one on the backrest, the other next to your head. As you laid yourself back, he followed you down, letting his weight distribute on his knees.

When your eyes opened, you were looking up into a soften expression. You could see the chocolate brown of his eyes. The ghost of freckles he earnt as a human and couldn’t shake as a vampire. His expression – a gooey combination of confusion, curiosity, and something else.

“I told you it would burn,” you whispered, turning your head and taking the hand next to your head. A mortal man would have collapsed, unable to maintain the position, but his nimbleness prevailed and he remained still. Eddie watched you study the finger he’d held the flame. It was a raw wound, but it would heal.

Without thinking it through, you kissed it. He let you. As your lips touched his skin, the hunger roared through him. Suddenly, he was at the door of the trailer. You scrambled, standing up.

“I must go,” he said.

“I can’t let you-”

“I will return,”

“You-”

“I won’t,” he assured you as if he was reading your mind.

“Promise me,” you demanded. “Say it,”

“I’ll return to you,” Eddie swore. “I won’t harm any of your humans.”

You hugged yourself and frowned.

Eddie said your name softly. “I will return to you.”

The trailer door slammed and he was gone.

…

Steve Harrington died in pain. There were no memories flashing before his eyes. No warm bright light to follow. Just agony. The feeling of his bones snapping through his skin. His eyeballs squelching inwards just before it all stopped. Then, he was gone.

There was no time to hold Steve or to carry his body to a safe place. Nancy Wheeler screamed and thrashed against everyone as they tried to pull her back. It took the brawn of Jim Hopper to hold her tight and carry her to the car. The group sped away, reeling from another loss.

Steve made three. Murray Bauman and Dmitri ‘Ezno’ Antonov died a week prior, on the Party’s second ill-fated attempt at taking Vecna down.

Nancy and Robin held onto each other in grief-stricken desperation in the back of the truck. El Hopper, not a witch but magic nonetheless, blamed herself.

“What are we gonna do…?” Joyce Byers’ small and scared voice asked from the front. “How are we going to keep them safe?”

Nobody answered.

The ride to where the Party was held up was void of conversation. They’d taken up in the empty lakeside house of one of Hawkins’ currently incarcerated drug dealers. Hopper, assumed dead but still a cop, knew Reefer Rick wasn’t going to come home anytime soon.

Inside the house, Dustin Henderson was the first to notice Steve’s absence.

While the children cried, Hopper and Joyce huddled in the corner. They were both pale with shock. Joyce shook her head. “We can’t keep doing this,”

“We’re getting them out of here. Sue and Charles were right to take Lucas and Erica. I’ll drag Henderson to his mom. Get them out of Hawkins. Mike too,”

“You think he’ll leave El?”

“Won’t give him a choice.”

Nancy, forcing herself into stoic resolve appeared. “I’m not leaving,” she asserted.

“Nancy,”

“No. We have to end this. For Will. And El. For Steve. For everyone. We have to end this.”

Within hours, half the Party was on route to evacuation, leaving Joyce and her sons – Will and Jonathan, Hopper and El, Nancy, and Robin. Like Nancy, Robin refused to abandon ship; vengeance was on the minds of the teenage girls.

“He’s getting stronger,” Will said. They were all sitting around Reefer Rick’s kitchen table. Will’s skin was tinged a sickly blue. His connection to Vecna and the Upside Down had never truly been severed.

“We cannot fight him there,” El added.

“So, we need a hometown advantage? How do we get him up here?” Hopper posed.

There were no suggestions or solutions at first. Then, Nancy thought out loud, “We need help. Maybe if we go back to Victor, to his dad…”

“Help!” Robin yelled suddenly. “We need help!”

Everyone watched her. “Erica. Erica’s leg should not have healed that quick. And it wasn’t just a sprained ankle. That was… that was Vecna magic poison shit, right? So, so, the girl that helped. Erica said she was weird. What if she’s like…” Robin gestured at El. “You know, superpowers weird? What if she can help?”

“Where would we even find her?” Joyce asked.

“Yeah, I don’t know, seems like a-” but before Nancy could finish, Robin interrupted.

“A shot in the dark?!”

…

When a knock on your door woke you up, you tripped over your feet to get there. It was as you opened it you realised Eddie wouldn’t have knocked. You’d learnt the hard way vampires did not need an invitation; they’d carefully cultivated that myth themselves.

Standing on your doorstep was a group of people. Although you recognised them, it was only Robin who recognised you.

“I told you we shouldn’t have all come,” one of them mumbled. Jonathan.

“We need your help,” Robin said. “We know you have superpowers. We know you did something to Erica. You have to help us,”

“She means ‘please.’ Please help us,” Nancy corrected.

Pure desperation.

Utter grief.

Abject misery.

“Come in.”

They told you the story, beginning in 1947 when Henry Creel was born. The Lab. Papa. Eleven. Will Byers going missing. The Upside Down. Barb. Demogorgon. Dr Sam. Demodogs. Bob. The Mind Flyer. Kali. Billy’s possession. Russian invasions. Starcourt. Hopper’s not-death. More Russians. Vecna. Demobats. Kate Bush. Max Mayfield lying in a hospital bed. Murray. Enzo. Steve.

“So, now it’s your turn. What’s, ah, what’s your deal?” Robin was pacing, nearly manic. Only Steve had ever been able to focus her energies, now he was gone and she was lost at sea.

“You’re not like me,” El said. She was sat between Hopper and Joyce on the couch. Will sat at his mother’s feet. Nancy perched herself on the barstool while Jonathan stood against the kitchen bench next to her.

You blocked Robin from taking another step, taking one of her hands and holding it tight. Her eyes welled up with tears. “When this is done and if we survive, I will help you talk to him. You are owed a farewell.” You turned to the group. “You of all are.”

Robin dropped to the floor and folded in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking. You let her self-soothe.

“The first thing you need to understand is that involving myself in this could make it worse. Vecna is a parasite. He has his own power, but he feeds off others’ too. The other world, the Upside Down, he draws power from there. From you, Eleven. Even you, Will,”

“But he’s just a boy,” Joyce said sadly.

“I don’t think he is… You’re something else. But… nothing that can help us now. My point is that if gets a hold of me, he doesn’t just get my magic. He’ll find a doorway to all witches. That’s… Well, it’s almost endless power. He will not be stopped. He will take this plane of existence. And, he might find ways to the others.”

There was a stunned and pensive silence.

“So… It’s, it’s a gamble,” Nancy concluded.

“And we’re betting… literally the entire world…” Jonathan said, looking at her. She nodded.

“What if he already knows about you?” Will asked, voice quiet.

You sat down on the carpet on the opposite side of the coffee table. Eye level with Will, you studied his face. “You feel him…” Will nodded. “And he feels me?”

“No,” Will replied. “He saw Erica, after you healed her,”

“Are you sure?” Joyce asked him.

Will shook his head. “No… But… he might.”

Cutting through the tension like a chainsaw through salted butter, the phone rang. Nobody was spared from the jolt of fear.

You jumped up to answer it, knowing the few people who had your number. “Hello?”

“You need to get out of Hawkins,”

“It’s fine,”

“No. It’s not,”

“Kelsey, whatever the news is saying-”

“You don’t understand. It’s not on the news. As far as the humans know, the clean up of Hawkins is going well and there hasn’t been any more casualties – injured or dead.” There was something worse than panic in Kelsey’s voice that you hadn’t heard in decades.

“What’s going on?” you asked, skipping over the obvious ‘that’s not what’s happening’ and rhetorical ‘how do you know about what happened?’

“The Witches Who Came Before. They’ve given a warning to the coven.”

Your blood ran cold, so cold it felt like ice, like all the red had frozen solid in your veins. Kelsey didn’t continue, maybe too afraid to tell you, maybe wanting to give you a chance to bail from the conversation if you wanted to go entirely rogue.

“Karhu. What’s the warning?”

Kelsey hadn’t heard her first, her ancient name, for centuries; she wanted to sob. She remained stoic and delivered the mystic caution. “He knows. He knows you’re close. He doesn’t know what you are. He can’t find you like he can find the humans. But it’s only a matter of time.”

Divine timing.

“And the coven? What are they going to do?

“Ah, well, they-they’re gonna set up a border. Around Hawkins. He-he shouldn’t be able to cross it. And his power shouldn’t be able to, you know, get through. But, um…” Kelsey was nervous, stuttering as she anxiously reported.

“But what?”

“They haven’t worked out if… If it’s better that you… Uh…”

She didn’t have to say it. “If it’s better that I’m trapped in here with him. Right? ‘Cause if I run, he’ll come after me,”

“Yeah,” Kelsey whispered. “I’m sorry… I tried-”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. You haven’t done anything. And don’t try to… Don’t fight the coven on my behalf, okay?”

Kelsey was crying.

You looked back at the terrified faces watching you intently.

“He’s powerful, but he’s just another monster. Just another leech. We have outlived famine and demons and war and witch hunts. Henry Creel is no match for a witch.”

End Note: I personally feel like the 1843 section of this chapter slaps so hard. Grimoire updated to include witchfire, and the timeline has been updated too.

You know the drill. Tell me your thoughts and feelings! I need them! xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie #Vampire!Eddie Munson

176 notes · View notes

vylad243 · 2 months

Note

first, a sincere apology for this MONSTER of a prompt to come — bless my random half-conscious 4am thoughts for sending me down this downward spiral — BUT: we all know how protective/absolutely fucking feral Alastor is over any implied threat towards Vox’s safety: one can only imagine how horrible a fate would befall the poor, foolish folk who have the balls to ACTUALLY try to harm the Radio Demon’s mate.

Like, imagine Vox just going about his normal every day routine, taking precious baby boi Vark on his early morning walkies when he’s suddenly jumped by a group of very brave, very stupid sinners who either 1) want to get to Alastor through Vox and are SEVERELY underestimating the capabilities of the older overlord because he’s (in their minds) a “washed-up has-been fossil playing guard dog for the princess” who’s gotten soft because he’s in love (barf); or b) are hoping to take down an overlord out of sheer hubris, completely forgetting that Vox is literally a living power grid for Pentagram City, if not the entirety of Hell itself. Either way, f in the chat for their courage I guess. Since this attack is premeditated, our hapless captors made through work of trying to clear this specific area — a shortcut through an alley because not even Vox is immune to horror movie logic at times — clear of any cameras or electrical devices that could ensure an easy getaway and blocking off any potential exits they can.

Naturally, Vox — not being some helpless damsel in distress — puts up a damn good fight, at the cost of constant power shortages throughout the next hour or so. Eventually, however, he gets overpowered/taken by surprise and boom! Realm-wide power outage. Now, the gang at the hotel were already wary when the lights began flickering and the internet cut out during breakfast; their fear only intensifies when a sudden blackout strikes and they can hear a VERY pissed wendigo demon barreling down the stairs. Maybe even they find Vark on the hotel doorstep, visibly distressed and even a little injured (only a LITTLE, because I’m not a monster), with a crudely-written ransom note taped to him. Charlie can barely get through the first sentence before Al is out the door — a fifty ft tall, at the very minimum, mass of tentacles and sickly green static illuminating the pitch black streets, uncaring of those foolish enough to end up in his path.

It takes less than an hour for Alastor to find the dingy warehouse they took his mate to: these gentleman are not only bold in their stupidity but sloppy as well. Thanks to the blackout, he slips in undetected with his shadows and makes quick work of finding Vox. The overlord in question is more annoyed than anything else, bound in an uncomfortable position with angelic rope and put on mute (his captors’ egos couldn’t handle his viscous verbal roasts after he already fried them up pretty bad), but otherwise unharmed. Of course, this is Alastor we’re talking about: so much as the sight of his lover in pain, with a crack on his screen and his clothes visibly tousled is enough to spark a raging fire in the seething Radio Demon that would put the fear in God in anyone foolish enough to trifle with him.

Speaking of foolish, our intrepid group of attempted kidnappers are too busy trying and failing to restore the internet to try and broadcast their Very Spooky Hostage Negotiations stream (they rehearsed it and everything! Brad brought the costumes and eerie mood lighting!) to notice the horrifyingly wholesome lovers reunion going on literally right behind them. Alastor wastes no time in doing away with the bindings and making sure Vox is as comfortable as can be before teleporting him to a safe location outside; his lover is slightly irritated at the prospect of being left out for now, but is placated for now with kisses and the promise of watching these insufferable fools burn for their transgressions against Hell’s most ferocious power couple. Because of this, Vox waits outside for the next hour and makes a point of NOT restoring the power yet as he listens to his amazing and powerful mate torment the sinners psychology: the sounds of screaming are just all the more beautiful and crisp without the distracting noise of traffic and the nagging electric current constantly running through his veins distracting him from the most simple of pleasures.

Eventually though, by the two-hour mark, he gets bored of playing games on his phone, restores the power, and teleports back inside to tell Alastor to wrap things up because he actually has things to do today and he still hasn’t gotten his morning coffee yet, damnit. Al relents, teleporting the sobbing and trembling group of would-be kidnappers to the shadow realm, immediately showering his mate with kisses, cuddles, protective bites, the whole routine. Vox is slightly embarrassed at the entire ordeal (mostly at his own actions that led to him ending up here in the first place) but the assurances of Alastor that he did nothing wrong and the confirmation of Vark being alright soothes his guilt. He even allows Alastor to carry him out of the building bridal style as the warehouse burns down in a beautiful show of green fire and blue electrical fire around them (he thinks the view is fucking hot, literally in this case)

Naturally, Al and the rest of the hotel staff are on protective watch for almost the entirety of the next month — not because they think Vox is incapable of managing himself just fine, no; they just fear the consequences of what would happen Hell-wide if he were to go missing again. Vox can’t bring himself to be annoyed because he, more than anyone, is aware that Alastor would fistfight Lucifer and the entire order of Hell itself to ensure his safety. Not that he’s complaining anyway: his attention-craving ass is VERY much reveling in the almost 24 hour cuddle sessions and kisses, and Vark very much appreciates Al accompanying them during their morning walks now because he gets double the treats.

And the sugar on the cream comes later on in the week after the incident, when a VERY special, extended broadcast of Alastor’s radio show goes live on air, featuring a VERY special guest star: the media overlord himself, who would like to send a little message to the denizens of Hell that overlords are not to be messed with and are in power for a REASON. Alastor let’s him take the reins like the good, supportive partner he is, of course — any fool who dares to touch HIS mate has earned the cruel fate lined up in store, especially those with less than savory intentions (and sue him if he thinks the sight of his lover reveling in the suffering of those who dare cross him is more beautiful and poetic than the stars and moon and oceans combined)

Despite her usual preaching of going for as little violence as possible, Charlie makes an allowance this one time; in fact, she’s their first caller. After all, these sinners are her family, and woe betold you when you mess with the Princess of Hell’s family. Vaggie is only slightly perturbed by this reaction, but the soft look of pure adoration on her lover’s face as they listen in on the broadcast with the rest of the gang, languidly giving a stretched out Vark in their lap head pats, is worth the future nightmares, she reasons.

I didn't do the whole prompt, but I did my best! I hope you enjoy it, anon ^-^ I also included it in my 'A Month In Rut' series so it's vague enough to keep it spoiler-free of any unreleased chapters!

#hazbin hotel #anonymous #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #radiostatic #a month in rut

30 notes · View notes

kazyurmao · 3 months

Text

𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮: 𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

Diluc Ragnvindr x Female Reader

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

⚘ Synopsis: A young noblelady is convinced to attend a party that is being held by the House of Ragnvindr

⚘ Synopsis for chapter: Entering the manor of the Ragnvindr, you are quick to notice that it is impossible to not avoid the gossip of the nobles.

⚘ Warnings: Slow–burn. Fem-reader, Social Class.

*Clarifying: both the prologue and first few chapters of this series take place before the events of Diluc's father dying. Hence the reason for both the reader and Diluc being the age of 14 as of right now.

⚘ Word Count: 2,6k

⚘ Previous Chapter: 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮 :𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

⚘ Key: (F.N) = Father's name , (F.L.N) = Family's last name , (l.n) = Last name

⚘ 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓘 :𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

A peaceful, friendly gold, luminous ray surrounded the outside environment of the manor. Giant windows decorated the House of Ragnvindr—displaying the grand party for the Duke’s son. A line of carriages parked near the circular driveway, and butlers and maids stood in line to bow their heads to the rich.

It was a cold evening. The breeze was gentle—letting its guard down. There were no blades of sharp wind that could spear through the lungs of the nobles.

Indeed, the god of the wind is blessing the young and future Duke—Diluc Ragnvindr. The party was to commemorate his fourteenth birthday, alongside his uprising of becoming the Calvary Captain at such a young age. His father, Crepus Ragnvindr, clearly wanted to brag about his son. But who wouldn’t? When the young boy has a prosperous future ahead. Everyone craves power, and it is clear that Diluc Ragnvindr—despite his age—is the most powerful noble.

The party was, well, extravagant—the sight of calla lilies is what captured your attention. The whole great hall was decorated with the white bulbs and their signature orange—ombré—red, truly a remarkable flower. Entering the house of Ragnvindr felt like you were entering a magical place—a realm of its own. It almost felt…like you had become a princess. It was weird. This very manner felt like your true home—it almost felt acquainted, as if you were once here.

Déjà vu was a foe of yours. You were led from the corridor to the main living area, where the party was held. You immediately felt the eyes of all the nobles. They were perplexed. The daughter of Duke (F.N) at last made her first appearance.

“Is she finally debuting?” one older noble lady hid her whispers behind her overly decorated fan, “How—How—preposterous! Debuting at a time like this! Is she not shameful to appear right now when the party is clearly about the young future Duke of Ragnvindr!” Another—older—lady spoke. They both complained when a third party interrupted their rant, “Are you both not ashamed to make those remarks around the young lady? For all we know, her father could’ve forced her! The (F.L.N) don’t have shame! I take pity on the young lady.” A much older man—with a gruff voice—began to shame on her family.

You mentally groaned at how they were all shameful, to not only begin gossiping in front of you but also badmouth your family! The whispering of those nobles, who keep a tab with the latest gossip, drives you into insanity—well, close, but you aren’t quite there yet. Soon, and you know this, the gossip would turn its attention to Diluc Ragnvindr. You can’t help but feel a twinge of pity toward Diluc. Just knowing that there are nobles out in this world who overindulge in petty gossip is enough to drive anyone into isolation—you know this since you have isolated yourself from the noble life.

Cheers break loose, and the sound of palms hitting against each other echoes through the ball. The star of the show had made his big entranced; his face was decorated with a confident smile. The squeals of young ladies also infiltrated the lively scenery. As he stepped into his party—that had been dedicated to him—he bowed and shamelessly waved at the group of ladies who hoped to be married to him. You had separated yourself from the large group of people since the commotion they created at the sight of Diluc was too loud for your ears. Of course, you still weren’t used to the public lifestyle.

Weirdly, you were a bit thankful to your father for convincing you to attend this party. In the future, you knew you had to be acquainted with this type of scenery; if you didn’t practice your skills right now…it would only lead you to be estranged from the rest of the nobles. You watched, from afar, the way Diluc was the happiest boy. Who wouldn’t after being named the most powerful noble in all Mondstadt? His soft features, in all honesty, did not match his position. He looked way too innocent to fit the title of Calvary captain.

Rumors were not wrong—the boy who stood afar from you appeared to be the gentleman—but then again, everything is an act. For all you know, the man who acts like a gentleman in public could be prideful and overly cocky. You watch all the nobles line up to greet and congratulate a child. If the church were to witness this very sight, they would have deemed it blasphemous for nobles to worship a young boy.

You were on the brink of leaving the party to explore the magnificent gardens— that were just decorated for the occasion. However, your eyes somehow meet the ruby eyes of the boy, who is the same age as you. When you stare at him, something feels so familiar, as if you had met those eyes countless times. They—his eyes—felt so welcoming, so familiar. It was like you had entered heaven. You quickly look away—-this—this is such a familiar yet foreign feeling. This is your first time meeting him, so why does it feel like you have met him before? You wonder if he feels the same. From your perspective, his eyes held an endearing soft look, as if he had known who you were at first glance. When you had looked back at him—his eyes had drifted back to a conversation he was having with Duke Gunnhild. Have you been making all of this up? Was your imagination toying with your soul?

You were quickly snapped back into reality; you remembered that your purpose was to avoid him. You knew that you had failed to prevent the noble society from gossiping about you, but if you were caught stealing glances with Diluc Ragnvindr…everything would go downhill. Despite your goal being engraved in your mind, you knew you had one flaw. No matter what, you couldn’t avoid the birthday boy. It was your duty as the daughter of (F.L.N) to be polite—to be able to greet the host. Your family might be influential, but the family of Ragnvindr is more crucial for the industry of Mondstadt. Being the tycoon of the wine industry in the nation of freedom, nobody can compete with their title. It would be impossible and even deemed monstrous for not greeting him.

You quickly and gracefully drink the sparkling water given to you by a kind maid. The water runs down your throat, and you can feel small pops against your esophagus. You make a mental note of how much you hate sparkling water.

You start walking towards the Calvary Captain. On your way, you can feel your heartbeat race exponentially. The heart that allocates inside your body had never felt this way. A mixture of anxiety and adrenaline consumed your body. Your fingers even shocked each step you took. It was apparent now that the room was cold—extremely—cold. The room felt more unwelcoming. The glances of the nobles and your incompetence to be confident engulfed your paranoia. Everything you thought was plummeting down. The more you moved closer—the more dread you felt. But that quickly shifted as you seemingly moved closer toward the young Ragnvindr. Instead of shivering cold, you felt the warmth build-up. It got to the point where it was excessively scalding to move further closer to him.

It was as if an invisible barrier was preventing you from meeting him. “Oh? Greetings, you must be (y.n) (l.n), the daughter of House of (F.L.N). A pleasure is to meet you, my lady.” While you clung in your small world and reflections, it appeared that Diluc Ragnvindr had taken his initiative to greet you. He snapped you out of your worries as you heard his soft, friendly voice greet you. You looked up at him, staring at him with amazement—it was as if he could read your mind. His ruby-red eyes did not hold the gaze you saw when his eyes captured yours. It was more of a friendly, casual greeting. One that he gave to everyone. Perhaps it was, indeed, your imagination.

“Good evening to you, Lord Diluc Ragnvindr. I wish to congratulate you on your accomplishments.” Politely responding to him, a polite smile adorned your face. You raise your fan closely to your mouth to cover your face, “I hope your grace likes the gift from the house of (F.L.N). My father sends congratulatory sentiments to the young lord.” With a small courtesy bow, you signal your lady-in-waiting to hand him his present. “We used the finest jewels out there; we hope it is up to your standards.”

You close your eyes, afraid he might react badly that his gift isn’t up to his standards. However, your ears are graced with a peal of laughter, “My lady, I appreciate the gift. There is no need to be too formal. We are the same age, of course! So why should we act like we are adults?” Your eyes widen…he’s not being formal…

You wanted to scoff. He has the luxury of not caring what others think since being the sweetheart of this nation can give you a free pass. As much as you desire to lash out in front of him, it would be too rude and scandalous to act how you wanted. You understand he meant it sincerely. After all, you both are just children. He isn’t wrong. A tiny laugh was released from your lips, “Oh my…that would simply be too impolite to address Lord Diluc in such a manner.” Feeling miniature drops of sweat form on your forehead—you weren’t sure if it was just you, but it was intensely hot. “My…” you mutter under your breath.

Diluc is the Calvary Captain of the Knights of Favonius. Of course, he can read people’s expressions quite well. He didn’t hesitate to laugh at your expression, “I apologize. I didn’t know I would be this happy today. It seems like I can’t contain my emotions.” He sheepishly stated. You can see how he scratched the back of his neck with his right hand. He slightly opens up his suit near his chest, taking out a small object that is illuminated red, “Ahem…this is the source of warmth—I can tell you’re…erm..sweating.” Hearing his throat clear and hearing him state how you were sweating made you embarrassed. You quickly cover the entirety of your face and turn around, “I’ll excuse myself. It seems as if others wish to see you, my lord.” Leaving immediately, you began to walk faster towards the gardens. So the source of the scalding fire was his vision…

Wait vision?

At such a young age, he has an elemental vision. No less, he possesses a pyro vision! He, Diluc Ragnvindr, is truly blessed by the gods…

That shameless man! Claiming to be a gentleman, yet he dares to emphasize the obvious (you sweating.) You make your way towards the gardens, feeling shaken by the interaction. You can’t quite place how you felt when speaking to him. It was…rather an interesting yet humiliating interaction. Though you must admit that his smooth voice is quite soothing, it was rich—a bit authoritarian—yet caring. You…can’t describe it. No. No, you can’t when he speaks. His pronunciation is elegant—it is almost angelic when he speaks.

You can tell how his chest rises when his stentorian voice leaves his silky pink lips. When his voice reached your ears, it almost felt like—like—you…,

“I shouldn’t think of this…” you stumble with your words—you try your best to balance your breathing pattern, yet it seems futile. You had sped walked towards your destination, and your mind had plagued itself with the thoughts of him. He, Diluc Ragnvindr, is a bewitching creature, indeed. Leaving you, more like leaving him, for you to only think solely about him.

At last, catching your breath, you gather your thoughts, walking around the well-kept garden that houses the native flower of Mondstadt. The flowers are freshly watered; you can even see the petals drip the droplets of moisture. You roam around the foreign setting for an unknown amount of time. You admire the beauty, yet you can’t help but feel like the garden that you created was better. A small bench presented itself—it sat facing the lake that acted as a border from Liyue. The anemo crystalflies beautify the scenery, giving you a source of light to guide your vision towards the stars.

At a glance, you thought everything was perfectly fair. However, you had failed to realize how you were slowly dozing off. Your eyes were swift to shut themselves down. It was a quick swoosh of the wind, and soon, your consciousness took you to an acquainted setting. Your arms molded into the hands of a stranger, but you knew who this stranger was since it was the same man who held you dearly. His hands traced towards your face; you felt a smallish tingle on your right cheek—he had pinched your cheek. Again, this stranger had seemed to move his lips—yet—to much of your disappointment, his words were blocked out. He entangled his fingers with yours, and you couldn’t help but feel his fingers having slight cuts. Frowning instantly, you looked up towards him, “Why…why must you hurt yourself?”

Your words seemed to bear deafness to his ears as the man never responded to you. He wrapped his muscular arms around your waist as his face nuzzled against your neck. Feeling the firmness and his breath gently puff against your neck, he oddly smelled and felt a speck of familiarity, yet you couldn’t precisely point it out.

It was as if you had fallen while you slept—that’s precisely how you could describe your situation. You felt a gravitational pull drag you down south; your heart dropped the instant you felt a shiver travel all over your body. You were in shock. You wake up to find yourself lying on a relatively comfortable bed. Graced by the soft—dark—blue hair, a young boy stood with his eyes wide open. He seemed to be a couple of years younger than the young lord (Diluc). Perhaps one or two years younger? You couldn’t guess.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed. He seemed to be relieved that you had woken up. This brought you into confusion. What happened precisely…? And why weren’t you back in your manner? The nerves in your body quickly transmit a signal to your brain, and you instantly hiss at the pain you are receiving. You were about to get up, but the boy shoved you back into the bed, “I’ll inform father that you woke up!” You held your hands near your forehead. Why was he shouting? Perhaps he is thankful that you woke up from this slumber. Your head nodded weakly; you looked back at the young child, and it was quite an adorable sight. His little hands latched onto the mattress, and his figure leaned towards you. Immediately, you noted that his eyes had the shade of a cute periwinkle. So this must be Duke Ragnvindr's adopted son.

You saw how he dashed out of the room; you assume he was directed towards the Duke’s office. Left alone, you can’t stop thinking about what exactly led you to this point.

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

Miffyur’s note:

Hiii, happy belated Valentine's day! Well this was originally supposed to be uploaded by that time, but it's 11:47, which means I failed to upload this on time D:

I had writer's block for awhile, and it honestly caused me to not want to write. Things happen! (a lot) , hopefully eveything sails smoothly from now on.

(If you want to be tagged for future updates, please let me know! I'll make sure to tag everyone <3)

Bye Bye!

Miffyur (\_/)

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

#genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x female reader #genshin diluc #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x you #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x you #diluc fluff #diluc fanfic #genshin impact x female reader

33 notes · View notes

the-chosen-fanfiction · 8 months

Text

Jesus | Blinded To The Truth | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “You really like making things difficult.”

Requested: Yes

After inviting you to listen to His meditation at Synagogue, your childhood Friend Jesus makes the boldest of claims.

“Hey, you’re cheating!”

“I am doing no such thing!” you quip, throwing the small ball towards Rafi in the hopes he will not catch it–

–He catches it with his left hand and you huff, preparing yourself to get it hurled back at you in return. However, Rafi tosses it with a firm movement of his arm towards Jesus, Who misses it by a hair. The ball falls to the grass and Rafi cheers, causing you to roll your eyes. Aaron lets out a sigh of defeat.

“I win!” Rafi exclaims.

You place a hand on your hip. “Fine, you win. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get myself some snacks to comfort myself at this incredible loss.”

“Nah, (Y/n), you are just being sarcastic now even though I know quite certainly that you are upset.”

“I’m not! It’s Rosh Hashanah, I will not allow myself to sulk over something like a game.”

Jesus chuckles at your response and runs a hand through His hair, sighing deeply. “You did better at this game than I did, (Y/n),” He reassures you. You smile at your childhood Friend, Who heads over to you. “I will join you for that comfort snack, okay?”

You nod in agreement and both of you head for the nearest platter of sweet treats. You scoop a whole load of honey onto a slice of apple and give it to Jesus. He thanks you with a word of gratitude and waits for you to get one for yourself as well.

“Hey,” Jesus begins as the pair of you bask in the sunlight, enjoying the fruit. “I am going to give a Torah reading tonight at the synagogue. Would you like to attend as well? You’re a good friend of Mine, so I would appreciate it if you were to–”

“Of course!” you say without hesitation, “I knew that You were a Rabbi now. Your mother told me about Your ministry.”

Jesus hums. “I don’t think she told you all of it.”

You frown in puzzlement. “What do You mean?”

The Nazarene gives you a look. “You’ll see.”

Trusting Him enough to not ask, you decide to not press any further.

“Time for a rematch?” you suggest, nodding at Lazarus and Rafi, who are still gloating in their victory.

Jesus nods in agreement, polishing off the honied apple. “Let’s go.”

In spite of the heat outside, the synagogue is cool and dark, apart from some light drifting in through the small windows above. The village of Nazareth has gathered and you’ve taken a seat with two women who introduced themselves to you as Martha and Mary, whom you’ve started to mingle with in anticipation of Jesus’ reading. You’re curious to see what He will choose to read.

The crowd’s chatter falls silent when Rabbi Benjamin walks up to the pulpit and stretches his arms in a way to lead everyone into prayer. You bow your head and close your eyes.

“Blessed are You Lord our God, King of the universe. Who has kept us alive and sustained us for another year. Who bestows kindness, restores and redeems. Praise to You, Adonai our God, sovereign over creation. Who has chosen us from all the peoples. May Your blessings be all who seek You earnestly. Bring joy to Your land and gladness to Your city. In Your mercy, bestow on us a prosperous year, a bountiful harvest, and the promised arrival of Meshiach. Your anointed One, the Son of David.”

The congregation replies with an agreeing ‘amen’ as the sound of the shofar fills the room in a few quick puffs of noise. Goosebumps litter your skin at the sound like it does to you every time, and you smile, watching Jesus across the room.

“Thank you for the call to repentance and rest.” Rabbi Benjamin comments. “And now, for the reading and interpretation we have with us Jesus bar Joseph. He was one of my students in Torah class and we’ve heard reports–” he turns to Jesus, “Some of them very positive, of His rabbinic journeys.” Jesus and Lazarus chuckle a bit, “Jesus.”

Jesus heads for the pulpit and smiles. “Thank you, Rabbi Benjamin. Ah, please.” He gestures for the person carrying the scroll to lay it out for Him.

“You know, it’s not easy to share in front of Nazareth’s most pre-eminent Rabbi, but I will do My best. And I’m certain that if I miss a word or two, one of you at least will speak up, huh?”

A few of the men make sounds of agreement, Lazarus leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed. “Oh, don’t worry.”

“I wonder who it will be,” Jesus murmurs in amusement before turning to the scroll.

“A reading from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah.” Jesus announces, then lifts His eyes upwards for a few silent seconds. He unfurls the scroll and takes the yad to point at the text He is reading to follow along.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me. Because the Lord has anointed Me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted; to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight of the blind. To the opening of the prison for those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

With bated breath, you watch as He steps away from the scroll and rolls it up, handing it back to the assistant before taking a seat in the chair placed in the middle of the room. For a moment, He locks eyes with Lazarus, then with you, until He opens His mouth to speak.

“The fulfilment of this Scripture as you have heard it is today. This is the year of the Lord’s favour. This is a year of jubilee. A year the poor, the brokenhearted, the captive and the blind are offered redemption.”

Your heart stutters inside your chest. Are you hearing this correctly?

Rabbi Benjamin’s posture stiffens.

“Here. Now.”

Jesus pauses for a few moments, and Lazarus speaks up. “We are here with You,” he remarks, “Keep going.” He seems just as interested in Jesus’ words as you are. “Not bad for a carpenter’s son, yes?”

You cannot fight the small laugh that escapes you, and Rabbi Benjamin gives you a sharp look.

“I mean, especially Joseph…” Lazarus continues, “May he rest in peace…”

Rabbi Benjamin has a stern look on his face when he speaks up.

“Jesus, please explain why You stopped the reading before Isaiah spoke of the day of vengeance of our God? Especially during a time of such oppression.”

A few silent moments as you keep your gaze focused on Jesus, anxious what He will say. You have never heard this interpretation before, and you’re only hoping that Jesus will not say anything that could get Him in trouble.

“The day of vengeance is in the future. I’m not here for vengeance. I’m here for salvation.”

Rafi and Aaron’s brows furrow, as does Rabbi Benjamin’s. “You’re here for salvation?” the Rabbi mutters, “What are You saying?”

Over her shoulder, Mary looks at you with a delighted look on her face. Your expression resembles confusion as your heart hammers inside your chest. “It’s Him…” Mary whispers, “He is trying to say that He is… You know…”

You swallow thickly. Thinking of the rumours that have been going around about Jesus, and now… Could He be…

“You know what I am saying.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“And this year of jubilee, this year of the Lord’s favour, is not about release from financial debts. I’m here to provide release from spiritual debt.”

“We are the chosen seed of Abraham.” Benjamin darkly sounds, “We don’t have spiritual debt!”

Jesus purses His lips and looks away.

“Jesus,” Aaron starts. “We’ve been hearing about the signs and wonders, and now this? Are You claiming to be more than a Rabbi? More than even the Baptiser?” Aaron has the exact same question as you.

The room is tense and you lean closer towards Him, not wanting to miss a single word.

“No doubt one of you will quote me the Proverb; ‘Physician, heal yourself’. The things we heard You did in Capernaum and in Syria, do here in Your hometown, yes?”

“Why not?”

“I get it.” Jesus counters. “It’s always easier to accept hard truths and even greatness from strangers than from those you know well, especially those you knew as awkward teenagers or even as adults as some of you saw earlier today. Laz here would make a more believable prophet.”

You grin as the two chuckle, until Jesus’ smile falls.

“But this brings up an important truth. No prophet is acceptable in his hometown.”

Around you, people start to mutter amongst themselves.

“Be careful with what You call Yourself.” Benjamin growls.

“This should be easy to prove!” Aaron says, “Dinah and Rafi, you say you saw it, yes?”

Rafi nods. “Yes! Yes, we saw it, but… He did not claim this…”

“A true prophet from Adonai would not deny His own people signs and wonders.”

Jesus takes a sharp breath. “Listen carefully. When a great famine hit Israel during the days of Elijah. Three years and six months. There were many widows, yes? And we know how the Father cares for His chosen people, especially widows. But Elijah was sent to none of them… Not one.”

You drink in every single word He says, your mind spinning with questions and clarity at the same time.

“Instead he was sent to a widow in Sidon, in Zeropath. A Gentile woman. Martha, what happened?”

Jesus turns to her and for a moment, He locks eyes with you. It is as if He can read your mind - your soul - and He nods. He nods to answer the question bouncing around in your skull, and you have to prevent yourself from gasping.

“She gave up her last flour and oil for one more cake and gave it to Elijah.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Elijah told her the Lord said to do so.”

Jesus turns back, “Yes. The Lord said that He would make it so that her flour and oil would never run out. And she believed. A pagan Gentile in a pagan land. And she was hungry enough to know that she needed God and to obey Him. And so, God sent Elijah to multiply our food forever.”

He shortly pauses to let the words sink in.

“What about Elisha, and Naaman? There were many lepers in Israel during this time, but none of them were cleansed except Naaman. Only a Gentile, a Syrian soldier and enemy of the Lord’s people. But he was so desperate, he trusted Elisha, and his leprosy was cleansed.”

The tension in the synagogue rises with every word that falls from His lips, and your throat runs dry at the expression many hold on their faces; deep, unadulterated offence.

“You may be the chosen seed of Abraham, you may be the people of the covenants, but that will not bring you My salvation.” Jesus’ eyes are shimmering with both sadness and persistence, “If you cannot accept that you are spiritually poor and captive, in the same way that a Gentile woman and a Syrian leper recognised their need–”

He pauses, the words getting stuck in His throat as He pinches together his fingers to emphasise the message. Across the room, you see Aaron shake his head slowly, and Rafi’s expression is conflicted.

“If you do not realise that you need a year of the Lord’s favour… Then I cannot save you.”

You can hear a pin drop as the hostility in the room advances, your heart almost leaping out of your chest in fear as Aaron slowly stands, his brow knit together in rage.

“Who do You think You are?!” His voice drips with malice.

“This is what Hannah talked about.” Martha says in front of you, making your chest tight with anxiety for His safety. “That He even called Himself the Messiah!”

Rabbi Benjamin takes a step in Jesus’ direction. “Are You claiming to be the Messiah, or are You merely claiming to speak for the Lord as a prophet?”

Jesus, turned away from the Rabbi at first, slowly pivots in His seat.

When He opens his mouth to answer, your face pales.

“Yes.”

For a moment, you lock eyes with Lazarus, who looks from you to his sister Mary, who has a certain sparkle in her eye that makes you convinced that she believes, too.

And so do you.

Something within your spirit puts you on edge in a way you have never experienced before. It reels inside your gut in a strange way, as if everything in your soul is teetering on the edge of interfering, but that same spirit holds you back from doing so, convinced that He knows how to handle this all.

“You are a false prophet!” Benjamin accuses.

Mother Mary gasps in shock and you put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her immediately. Lazarus reaches over to put a hand on the elderly Rabbi’s shoulder. “Woah, that is quite a thing to say! Jesus, maybe we should leave.”

Aaron interrupts: “Lazarus, you’re His friend, you cannot be involved! You know what the law of Moses says–”

“We are all His friends, Aaron,” Lazarus counters. “We cannot say things like this!”

“Jesus, stand up at once!” Benjamin orders, but Lazarus tries to fan the flames.

“Rabbi, please. Rafi, come with Jesus and me, we will leave, and you can all continue the service.”

Slowly, Jesus rises from the chair.

Rafi clearly draws his own conclusions. “Rabbi Benjamin has asserted false prophecy and I cannot argue it.”

Lazarus will not have any of it. “You said you saw the miracle!”

“He’s saying only He can save us!” Rafi bites.

“He did not use those words–”

“–It’s what I meant.” Jesus quips, earning Him a glare from Lazarus.

“Jesus, you’re not helping!” Lazarus pleads.

Deciding to intervene between your bickering childhood friends, you stand and make your way down to them. “Rafi, are you deaf? And blind? Have you not heard the stories of the miracles? Have you not tasted the wine?”

Aaron scoffs. “Those are just rumours! You’ve got no evidence, and people can say whatever they want. As long as enough people tell the same story, you’d believe anything, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)? Always so gullible…” He shakes his head almost pitifully.

You let out a noise. “And you, not even considering the words of a Man you know to be trustworthy, even though He makes things so clear right now! You really like making things difficult!”

Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder and you turn to Him. He smiles at you softly, His gaze containing a certain kind of warmth that fills you with rest. It is the briefest of moments, but intense nevertheless.

Rafi points a finger at Jesus, breaking the moment of eye-contact. “He’s saying we are not the Holy One’s chosen!”

“Now, He did not say that!”

Rabbi Benjamin’s voice is like ice, full of fury, unlike anything you've ever heard before. It makes the hairs of your neck stand on end. “In words, the book of Moses; ‘But the prophet who presumes to speak a word in My Name that I have not commanded him to speak, that same prophet shall die.’...”

As Lazarus leans closer, he lowers the volume of his voice. Jesus’ mother seems distraught and anxious. “Rabbi Benjamin, I beg of you… Not this…”

“Lazarus,” Jesus calmly hums, “It’s fine…”

“Jesus they’re going to–” Jesus leans closer to His friend and whispers something in his ear for a few moments. As soon as He pulls back, Lazarus stares at Him rather nervously.

“Yes?” Jesus acknowledges, and Lazarus reassures Him.

Before you can speculate, Lazarus locks eyes with you, and nods towards Jesus’ mother Mary, whose eyebrows are furrowed in fear of her Son’s safety. You immediately understand the hint, rushing over to her and crouching down to take her hand in yours. She gives you a grateful glance, but it soon focuses back to her Son, Whose safety she so desperately fears.

“Jesus…” Benjamin utters, “If you do not renounce Your words, we will have no choice but to follow the Law of Moses…”

You can hear your own blood rush inside your ears as the strain within the synagogue reaches its breaking point. The Messiah steps closer to the Rabbi, His eyes filled with heartache.

When Jesus speaks, it is the straw that breaks the camel’s back:

“I AM the Law of Moses.”

Benjamin staggers back, gasping in indignation. Before you can truly process what is going on, Jesus is grabbed into His tunic by Rafi and Aaron, who shove Him towards the exit. They yank off the tallit that is still draped over His shoulders and Mary reaches out. You can barely hold her back to keep her from harm, but Lazarus soon assists you.

Before He is pushed outside, Jesus has a moment of intense eye-contact with His mother, but then, He is forced out.

As Jesus is led out of the synagogue by the angry mob, Mary starts to sob. You can barely look at what is happening, your entire being frightened and shaking, but you cannot follow the crowd to see if there is a way to save Him. All you can do is comfort His mother, who accepts your embrace as you pull her into your arms. Her form trembles in agony.

“Jesus promised that He’d be alright,” Lazarus reassures both His mother and you as everyone pours out of the synagogue, “We will meet Him after sundown on the outskirts of Nazareth, where His father is buried. Mary, you know the place, right?”

Slightly calmed by the words, Mary nods meekly, but her demeanour remains distraught. And who could blame her? Although she trusts that her Son’s word is true, and that He will be alright, a mother’s instinct is ever so strong.

“It will be fine, Mary,” you whisper, yet still filled with questions. “Is this all true? Is He truly the Messiah?”

Mary nods, her lips trembling as fresh tears brim on her eyes.

“He is.”

Your mind spins with everything you feel in this very moment - confusion, happiness, relief, fear. “Then why do they not accept Him? I don’t… I don’t understand. The signs and wonders…”

Mary slowly shakes her head, sniffling a bit, seemingly calming down. “I do not know,” she whispers, “But what I do know is to trust Him on His word.”

“Always, Mary,” you reassure her, “Always.”

You remain in the synagogue until the sun has fully set.

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #x reader #chosen x reader #angel studios #the chosen jesus #jesus x reader

60 notes · View notes

saphirafoxgirlspost1 · 3 months

Text

(Open Rp) Valentines Day Story in "Wishs Upon a Dragon ball"

In the Beginning of time, Many Many Of Universes was Created by the Lovely Celestial Goddess Name Uni Known as "The Mother Universe". Uni was Loved by All the gods..including the God of Saiyan himself Name "Yamoshi", He and Uni is a Lovers of all the universes…Until.. Moro The God of Corruption, Hunger, and Majin who was Obsessed with Uni's beauty and grace, he wanted her for himself..but He is Wicked Jealous of Yamoshi and wanted to Destroy him with his corrupted Poison…But When he try that..Uni Stopped him..as his poison Hits uni by The Heart..she was in pain..but angered..She punished Moro For eating the planets and Harming the goddess..She trapped Moro inside of the Enchanted tree and saved the universe..but..she was Dying..She wanted to find a new uni quick..until..her friends, Shenron and Inari decided to help her..and inari the kitsune goddess..told uni that she found someone who will take her place..She shows Uni the New Born Half kitsune and half Human Princess of Sakutopia..Name "Saphira lorraina Fox", Uni Couldn't help but smiling, She believed that She'll be blessed..so..She, Inari and Shenron Decided to Blessed saphira with their Gifts…Shenron Gave Saphira Half Of His Powers so she can be Powerful and strong, Then Inari Give Saphira an Immortality and beauty so that way..anyman will love her..she'll never grow old or die..and last..Uni..She began to give her everything Including the companions and guardians..and told her family..that She will be taking her place and Have a reverse harem..as the new Uni..when she died..and began to went into Saphira's body…Saphira's hair, ears and tail became white as snow…and then change back to brown and blue…as For Yamoshi, He decided to tell The Saiyans the Prophecy That The new uni Will come to their planet and saved them from the hands of the Changling (which is frieza's race) and the 3 Champion will become the lovers of The New uni…The Savior, the prince, And the legend himself..Then..As time passed, Saphira grew Up beautifully Like an angel…Until one day Saphira saw the old Saiyan pod as she cautiously approach it and then It opens slowly and She looked inside and there's nothing there…but Suddenly..when she got inside..it close quickly and began to power on..and began to launch from the planet earth…Saphira was screaming bloody murder while holding on to her dear life..until..heading to the Wormhole..She close her eyes..she went back in time..and Landed on the Planet Kanassa..then the pod Opens as she comes out and began to look around after it opens and said," ok…where am i? umm…" She began to looked around..and then head into the city..but all she sees is the creatures that look like when it came out from the movie "the creature from the black lagoon"..and then suddenly..She Looked at the building as she began to transmission herself and looked around and said* yessh..that i Ughh…I mean ughhh! "She sniffles as she was about to sneeze and she did," aaachooO!! what the? gasp I- ahhh! " She turns and raspberry sneeze on the great ape which is she didn't know. She opens her eyes and saw the great ape looking straight at her and she said With a sheepish tone," Excuse me pardon me." Then the great ape roars at her face and saphira Jumped and scream when she flies off fearfully..and she turns and saw about 4 oozarus..then Saphira runs like hell..and try to advoid them..and then..one of them said..

#Open rp #Romance #Drama #Valentines day #Dbz

41 notes · View notes

malleusthehammer · 9 months

Text

Humanity and Gods playing baseball!

Tee hee i got this in a dream :3 anyways this is just gonna be a silly little thing with my more favorited Gods/Humans just cuz :3 Hope u enjoy!! (i’m sorry if some of these r ooc -~-‘) Also it’s divided by yk humanity vs gods so yeah. Also if you enjoy this, my requests are open!!

Jack the Ripper

This gentleman is very hesitant going up to bat. I’m telling you. Bro is SHAKING in his boots but won’t say anything.

Def closes his eyes when he swings. like GGGGGSGSGGAGS

This mf IS FAST AS HELL THO.

Won’t Can’t slide for shit

More than likely right or left field. He’s fast and quick on his feet so he seems like a good outfielder.

Please tell him to keep his cap on. AND DONT LET HIM PUT IT BACKWARDS.. i love this man to death but he has A HUGE forehead (god bless ~<~)

Okay let’s say he doesn’t wanna play- he bat boy ong. He be getting those bats.

BEST TEAMMATE EVER

he is the best comforter when u get down on urself for striking out or missing a ball (me)

this dudes number is 18- idk why he just seems like an 18 guy

in other words this man has my heart.

Buddha

Mf chill as hell. Bro will be slacking but yet be an amazing player like HUH?!

Wears his cap backwards 100% so that like one strand of hair is out like always

Bro is always sneaking candy and the blue calls him out on it.

2nd or shortstop. Since he can see how the batter is gonna swing he can already predict where it’s gonna go so he’s like on his feet all the time

Bro hits the ball and just watches it before taking his time walking the bases (i mean technically you can do that)

He looks HELLA GOOD in a baseball uniform

mfs number is probably 69..

LAUGHS SO HARD when someone messes up

overall he’s just a hell of a good player like dayumn !!

Kojiro Sasaki

lowkey a good player

bros title is literally “Worlds biggest loser” So he swings at everything. I mean ik he’s can predict battles or whatever but i’d feel he’d have a harder time predicting pitches

He’s and old man. that kinda speaks for itself. so he kinda slow/pos

First base man. he’s tall- flexible and yeah- 1st base bro

HE STICKS HIS PONYTAIL THROUGH THE BACK OF HIS BASEBALL CAP ITS SO CUTE

THAT OR HE BRAIDS HIS HAIR OMGG

this man LOVES sunflower seeds like absolutely (who wouldn’t?! Buddha..)

slaps people on the back REALLY hard when telling them good job

Hates cleats. just hates them for no reason

Very confused on how to swing a bat but gets it in like 2 tries

THIS MAN CAN SLIIIIDDEEEE

if he isn’t playing 1st- he’s probably centerfield :3

DEADASS HE’LL LET YOU DO HIS EYEBLACKK!!

bros number is like in the 70s. more than likely 72 idk it just feels right lmao

sometimes wears his jersey open? like not buttoned >:3

I LOVE SASAKI SM HES AWHEHEGSFSG

Qin Shi Huang

Bro is the pitcher. nothin else.

still wears his blindfold on the mound obvi :3

BRO HAS AN ARM.

can slide decently

Hella fast like Jack.

Clean up batter? yk he be hittin it then just bringing all the ppl on base in

He’ll strike someone out then be like “Hao!!”

Slaps people on the back like Sasaki

my man is just and overall vibe so like mmhmm

The teams biggest cheer leader

I’m feeling like.. 59?

Dude he thinks he looks so good in the uniform and he does

sometimes since yk “The road is where i lead” he just starts walking around the bases randomly.

random as hell but he has like really sweaty hands

PLEASE PLEASE DO THIS MANS EYEBLACK. PLEASE.

just overall a silly little goose :3

Nikolai Tesla

THIS MAN IS GOING TO WALK UP TO TJE PLATE AND TRY AND EXPLAIN HOW THE FUCKING VELOCITY AND SPEED OF A BAT WORK.

totally not a sucky hitter..

3rd base- he’s quick quitted and 3rd doesn’t call for too much movement

his glove has those damn tesla coils n shit

bro spent ages like making his own glove and shit

THIS MAN. THIS MAN LOOKS SO FINE IN UNIFORM.

Jogs around the bases.

I’m feeling like.. 47 for his number

Dude will be pondering on second base when he’s running, thinking of anything BUT baseball at that time sooo

Dude would be AMAZED at pitches

someone would be like “SWING TESLA” and he just does the thing where he tuts them and shakes his finger and goes “No, non, nem, nein..”

He’s just.. a lot to handle.

Don’t ever take him to a baseball game. he’d get hella bored and just leave.

His hair is like- LUCIOUS in the sunlight

dude can not stay still in the dugout he’s always pacing

Yeaahh that’s it :3 i’ll probably do a Gods version later but my asks are open! so feel free to ask abouttt rn im mainly doing RoR but i’ll dip my toes into somethin new soon!!

#record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnorak #record of ragnarok art #ror x reader #ror buddha #record of ragnarok buddha #Record of ragnarok sasaki kojiro #kojiro sasaki #nikola tesla #buddha record of ragnarok

114 notes · View notes

koqabear · 2 years

Text

Know Your Place.

requested: here ❁

Summary:

Friends can be affectionate, right? Wrong! Watch Hueningkai go absolutely ballistic as your friends take sharing is caring a bit too far— they do remember that you’re dating Hueningkai, right…?

Hueningkai x afab! Reader

Genre: established relationship, smut, absolute filth

Word count: 3.9K

Warnings: mentions of food and alcohol,pet names, jealousy, dom! Hueningkai, sub!mc, exhibitionism/voyeurism, masturbation, oral (fem receiving), fingering, size kink(?), brief spanking, dirty talk, cream pie (as expected…), overstimulation, aftercare (lemme know if I should add anything!)

Notes: oh my GOD i was so hesitant on posting this bc what?? Why did I go in this direction?? An absolute monstrous request, rewrote this bitch like four times before I let my brain rot loose. Let’s all take a moment to imagine a world where hueningkai would find the balls to actually pull something like this— god bless fanfiction.

Feedback is always appreciated…. Enjoy <3

“Huening, please,” you mutter, putting your hand on top of Hueningkai’s as a way of warning. He listens, his hand frozen on your thigh as you try to ignore the way his eyes are digging into your skin, his fingers toying with the hem of your skirt.

“___, try this— ahhh,” across from you, Soobin is feeding you a piece of meat, the two of you talking idly as you laugh, opening your mouth and leaning in to accept the food. You hum happily, seemingly unaware of the way Hueningkai can only tense at the scene.

You haven’t even spared Hueningkai— your boyfriend— another glance as you laugh at Beomgyu’s joke, reaching across to steal a piece of shrimp from your friend’s plate as you miss the way Hueningkai’s jaw tightens at your actions.

“Baby, try this,” you say, and Hueningkai can’t help but turn red at your words; he’s still not used to hearing you call him such pet names. For a second, his anger is set aside, his shy eyes flitting away as you prompt him to open his mouth so you can feed him. He doesn’t miss the way the rest of your friends take this chance to tease him, comparing him to a teenager due to his behavior.

It irks him— they can’t seem to take him seriously.

His anger and annoyance only comes back stronger as the boys turn to tease you instead, making comments on how you’re always the one to initiate things with him. He’s not sure what’s worse— the way they seem so sure of their statements, or the fact that you haven’t denied anything. You can only laugh along and cover your mouth as you eat, the rest of them coddling you with their food as if you hadn’t gotten your own plate in front of you.

This really wasn’t the time to address these feelings, Hueningkai realizes, but he can’t seem to care as he wraps his arm across your waist, sliding closer to you and bringing you in to him, unable to take his mind off the way you were leaning into Taehyun subconsciously during the conversation, his naturally quiet voice making it harder for you to follow along with his words.

You shoot him a questioning look, tilting your head as the rest of the table catches on to the movement quickly, the conversation stopping momentarily to tease Hueningkai further. You’re quick to ignore them, moving instead to feed him once more, an action that your boyfriend gratefully accepts as he leans into you.

And even as the conversation shifts and everyone has taken their eyes off you, Hueningkai can’t help but let himself linger in your space, unsure of why he becomes so on edge everytime Yeonjun turns his attention to you, his eyes narrowing as he teases you relentlessly.

“Shut up, you’re worse,” you grin, covering your mouth instinctively as you continue eating your food. Yeonjun laughs, your eyes widening triumphantly as you watch him bring his hand to his face, jumping up as you eagerly point it out.

“See! Hypocrite!” You laugh, leaning forward as Yeonjun swats at your hand, grabbing onto it jokingly as you continue to point a finger in his face. Hueningkai tries to not let his eyes linger on the action, his lips pursing at the way Yeonjuns hands encase yours, having yet to let go even as you stop fighting his hold.

He’s sure you mean no harm, but he can’t help but feel the irritation bubble hotly as the night goes on, unable to enjoy his food as he suddenly becomes hyper aware of the way everyone interacts with you— With every joke, every lingering glance, every touch, Hueningkai can’t help but try to make his presence known more— his presence as your boyfriend.

And even when the night goes on and you’re all headed to your place to drink, Hueningkai is sure to keep you close to his side, unable to hold himself back as the sight of Beomgyu pushing you around cutely brings about a sudden bout of recklessness.

You try to hold in your surprise as he pulls you to the side last minute, bringing you in for a quick kiss that has your head spinning and your heart beating as you’re left to get in to the backseat of the car, unable to keep your cool as you’re left cornered by Kai once more.

“What was that about?” You say, leaning into his ear as the loud music and the noise that pours in from the windows that have been rolled down allows you to have a (somewhat) private conversation.

You’re practically pressed against the door with the way Hueningkai is caging you in— that, and the fact that there’s currently four of you squeezed in the back— making you feel small as he gives you an innocent look, his hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his head curiously.

“What was what about?” He asks, tilting your head up as he smiles, leaning in to give you another kiss that is left unseen under the covers of the night. You can only gape at that, hands grasping onto his jacket as you try to keep yourself from giving in and making out with him then and there.

“You— you’re—“ you can’t seem to get the words out of your mouth, but Hueningkai is definitely acting differently. It’s easy to say that usually, you’re the one that’s flustering him— the one that’s always acting affectionate in public. So for him to spring this onto you— whatever this was— was absolutely cruel.

“I literally wiped the floor with you last time!” Your tense moment is interrupted as your friends get out of the car, the sounds of Yeonjun and Beomgyu arguing bringing you out of your daze. Your eyes meet with Hueningkai’s as he flashes you an innocent smile, reaching over you to open the door, acting as though nothing had happened.

“No you didn’t, I was just letting you win,” Yeonjun retaliated, ignoring Beomgyu’s protests as you brought out drinks for the group, cracking his knuckles nonchalantly as Hueningkai had already begun to set up the console in the living room.

“Best of three, right now,” Beomgyu says, patting the floor next to him as Yeonjun sighs, handing him a shot before he takes the controller from his hands.

Without another word, the rest of you settle on the couches, making secret bets on who you think would win— your money was on Beomgyu.

♡♡♡

“Beomgyu you fucking loser I can’t believe I actually rooted for you,” you grit out, face scrunching up at the feeling of the alcohol coursing through your body, your grip tightening on the shot cup that you were given. You’re on the ground now, leaning over the small coffee table in a sad attempt to stabilize yourself, Hueningkai watching fondly from his seat on the couch.

“That’s on you,” Beomgyu retaliated, much more wasted than you were as he leaned towards you, poking at your chest roughly as he said, “He totally cheated anyway. Game’s rigged.”

And just like that, Hueningkai was pushed to the side once more as Yeonjun joined in, hours of drinking gone into everyone’s heads as they began to argue, leaving you in the middle as you helplessly tried to defend yourself.

It was too much— it felt like everyone was after you, unable to take Hueningkai seriously as they let themselves toy with you, pushing you around and teasing you as if you didn’t have someone attached to you.

“___, you know I’m better, yeah?” Yeonjun said, drunkenly squeezing your cheeks as he moved your head up and down to agree with him, letting out a soft “yesss” in a tone to mock your voice. You could only laugh, the fact that you had yet to push him away annoying Hueningkai beyond belief— he was right there watching, why couldn’t you stand your ground for once?

“Nah, she likes me better, she was cheering for me in the first place,” Beomgyu says, pulling you towards him and wrapping his arms around you as he tried to hide you away from Yeonjun.

Hueningkai couldn’t believe it— The sight of Beomgyu wrapped around you, encasing your body in a way that only he should be able to— it drove him mad.

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol in his system, or if he’s simply had enough, because Hueningkai quickly finds himself pulling you away from Beomgyu, kneeling down on the carpeted floor with you as he’s pulling you in for a kiss, the rough feeling of his lips and the aftertaste of alcohol filling your senses as you’re left wide eyed and frozen.

You could hear a pin drop— well, you probably couldn’t, but what you could hear was the way the room fell silent, all eyes on you as you melted into Hueningkai, the feeling of him on you leaving you even dizzier than you already were.

He’s reluctant to pull away, a new fire lit in his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the sobered expressions of his friends. Yet, there’s something else in their eyes; an undeniable curiosity, lighting through and giving him the confidence to turn to you and say his next words.

“Honey, how about we give them a show?”

It’s all up to you; you can see written on your boyfriend's face, the words “we’ll stop if you want to” practically ready to come out of his mouth. But there’s something drawing you in, taking away the hesitation as you take in the new fire in his eyes. And sure, the hungry gazes of the rest of the men in the room were nice too.

“I… okay,” you breathe out, and before you know it you’re being pulled back to the couch, tossed on it like nothing as he towers over you, glancing back at his friends one last time, only to roll his eyes at the way they’re all frozen in their spots, eyes wide as they watch you.

“Leave if you want,” Hueningkai says, kneeling down before you as he begins to caress your skin, planting soft kisses as he slowly makes his way up your thighs, “But remember your place.”

Taking a second, Hueningkai waits— teasing, disgust, awkwardness, anything— but nothing comes.

“Fuck,” you mutter out, leaning back against the cushion as you take in the intensity of it all— the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you, it was too much. Your breathing is slow and deep as you reach to entangle a hand in Hueningkai’s hair, tugging on it softly as you resist the urge to open your legs crudely.

And with that, everyone is hooked, watching intently as the fabric of your skirt rides up and bunches prettily around your hips, your soaked panties being revealed to the room as they try to ignore the way their pants suddenly became too tight, too uncomfortable.

Hueningkai is quick to please, his hands reaching to tug your panties down, groaning softly at the way your arousal coats the fabric. You can feel your body growing hotter, attempting to shrink away from everyone’s curious eyes as Hueningkai spreads your legs further, wrapping his arms around your hips as he pulls you closer to the edge of the couch.

You’re practically melting against the couch the second he puts his mouth on you, the feeling of his tongue circling on your clit bringing out a low whine from your lips, the sound only stirring up more arousal from the men in the room. They can only watch, mouths dry and eyes eager as they take in the sight of you slowly falling apart, thighs tensing and your hands pulling at Hueningkai’s hair as you bring him closer to you.

“Shit, feels so good,” you cry out, hips bucking into your boyfriend's mouth as you lock eyes with Yeonjun, his gaze dazed and mouth parted as he watches you, a new wave of pleasure washing over you as you find yourself unable to look away. Your eyes linger on his form, catching onto the way his hands fidget on his thighs, unable to miss the bulge of his jeans.

The feeling of Hueningkai’s lips wrapping around your clit brings out a sigh from your mouth, your eyes squeezing tightly as he begins to suck, the teasing feeling of his fingers on your slit making you fall apart with need. Opening your eyes, you find yourself lingering your gaze back to your friends, taking in the way they seemed to be tense and awkward, not sure what to do with themselves as they try to ignore their own arousal.

Your eyes flick back to your first victim, biting down on your lip when you find his eyes solely focused on the sight of Hueningkai between your legs.

“Junie,” you whine out, mouth agape as you try to keep it together, the feeling of Hueningkai inserting two fingers inside of you making your mind go blank for a second. His eyes widen and you can see the way he flusters, the sound of his name coming from your lips in such a way almost making him cum then and there. He gulps, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Touch yourself for me, yeah?” You say, the familiar feeling of your incoming orgasm making you grip onto Hueningkai tighter, glancing down at him to make sure that he was alright with your request. He could only groan as your eyes met his, pulling his fingers out and taking a moment to delve into your pussy, the feeling of his tongue inside you making your hips buck from the pleasure.

Looking away from him, you couldn’t help but let the sly smile take over your lips as you were met with the sight of Yeonjun running a fist up and down his cock, finding the rest of your friends beginning to loosen up as well. Your eyes flicker over to where Taehyun and Soobin sit, finding them unable to take their eyes away from you, their lidded gazes meeting you as they try to memorize the sight of you begging Hueningkai for more.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you mumbled out, throwing your head back as Hueningkai sped up, attaching his lips back to your clit before you felt his long fingers slide back into you. His fingers curled inside you, pressing expertly against the spot that had you whining for more, your hips rolling onto his face as you tried to follow the rhythm he made for you. There was no one else that could do what Hueningkai did— he knew your body like the back of his hand.

Feeling yourself cum on his fingers, you felt yourself tense up, your thighs closing up on his head as you bit at your lips to try to keep your noises down. He never stopped, letting you ride out your orgasm as the burning gazes of your friends burned into your skin. It was almost like they were trying to memorize this sight— your chest heaving up and down, a light sheen of sweat coating your skin as you finally came down from your high, your eyes slowly fluttering open as you took in your surroundings.

To you, it was just you and Hueningkai— nothing else mattered as you pulled him up, bringing him up for a kiss as you could feel the taste of yourself on his lips, the sight of your glistening pussy left out in the open as the others groaned at the sight.

“You were so good for me princess,” Hueningkai mumbles against your lips, biting at the flesh softly as he takes in your fucked out state. You hum softly at his words, the heavy feeling of both the alcohol and your recent orgasm leaving you weak against his grip. He towers over you, tilting your head up to face him as he leaves another kiss, letting himself make his way down the column of your neck as he leaves marks all over.

Your eyes take in the way everyone is still watching you, eager and waiting as the heaviness of alcohol and lust clouds their eyes, taking in the way you let yourself be taken over by your boyfriend’s touches. Feeling him pull away, you sharply inhale as you feel him teasing your entrance once more, his fingers circling your slit immediatley drawing the attention of your friends.

“I think she deserves a reward, right?” He says, addressing no one in particular as you take in his words, whimpering softly at the thought of what might follow. He grins, and before you know it, you’re being flipped over, your cheek pressed against your couch cushions as you’re left to Hueningkai’s mercy.

It isn’t long before you can feel Hueningkai teasing your entrance, rubbing his tip up and down your slit as you let out a whine, trying to not move your hips to chase his cock. He can only laugh at the way you’re reduced to a pathetic mess, placing a hand on your waist to still you as he looks back at his friends, a cruel look on his face as he continues teasing you.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she hyung?” He mutters, startling Soobin as he looks away from your flustered face to meet his younger friend’s eyes, cheeks reddening as the sudden attention makes him stumble on his words.

“Ye— yeah, she is, fuck,” he says, unable to keep his cool as he can feel his hand start to palm at his bulge, unable to hold back the moment your doe eyes peek at him from the couch. He looks at you, taking in the position you're in, and he can’t help but wish that he were the one ruining you instead.

“Don’t be shy, I’m sure this cock whore wouldn’t mind seeing you touch yourself,” you yelp as Hueningkai’s palm comes in contact with your skin, the sharp sting of the impact leaving you to whimper as your hands grab onto a pillow, your nails digging into the fabric as you feel him spank you again.

“Isn’t that right baby?” He waits for you to come to your senses as you look up at Soobin, a pool of heat bubbling up inside you as your eyes meet with his, knowing that your boyfriend expects you to answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out, and you can’t help the way that your eyes move to Taehyun, taking in the way he tenses at your gaze, “Both of you, please— I wanna see it…” you can’t help the way you slur your words out, the feeling of Hueningkai slowly easing the tip in catching you off guard as you’re digging in your face into the cushions to muffle your sounds.

You look to the side, your eyes locking with your last victim as you feel Hueningkai’s hands lock onto your waist, his grip bruising as he can already feel the way you clench around him desperately.

“Gyu, you too— fuck…” your eyes flutter closed as the stretch of Hueningkai’s cock against your walls leaves your mind entirely blank. Hueningkai was big— in both length and girth. And while that usually meant him taking his time to stretch you out and become accustomed to him, you couldn’t help but let yourself enjoy the new feeling of him roughly going inside you, the hot stinging pleasure from the size of him leaving you to whimper and whine uselessly on the couch.

Huenignkai could feel himself losing control as time went on— you were so warm and soft around him, the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock bringing out low groans from him. The sight of you beneath him, falling apart from him merely entering you only made things worse, so before he knew it, he felt himself pounding into you roughly, the need to chase after his pleasure taking over his mind.

This was so stupid— he wasn’t sure if he had gone absolutley mad, or if his friends had driven him to this point, but he couldn’t really care less as the clear desire of every one of his friends only became more prominent at the sight of you getting ruined by him.

But that only made him swell with pride— after all, he was the only one who could do this to you.

“Such a pretty pussy, taking me like this,” he muttered, feeling the way you could only clench at his words, your mind long gone as you let him use you. He could feel everyone’s intense gaze on the two of you, taking in the way you were being driven to the edge by Hueningkai’s cock, their own orgasms manifesting the longer they watched.

“And all mine too,” you weren’t used to him speaking like this— so possessive, so needy, yet, as you met eyes with your friends around the room, you couldn’t bring yourself to care— you could see that he had been driven to this point.

It was never your intention to make him jealous; your relationship with everyone had always been this way. But fuck, if this is what it led to, then you’re not too against making him a bit jealous more often.

“Huening, fuck,” you cry out, the feeling of him thrusting into you so roughly making the tight coil in your stomach tighten, your hands scrambling on the couch to try to find something to stabalize you.

You couldn’t help the way you cried out once Hueningkai’s fingers began to circle your clit, the tight feeling inside of you falling apart as you felt yourself fluttering and gushing around Hueningkai’s cock, your body going slack as you let him continue to fuck you roughly.

“Just a bit more, I’m almost there,” he says, taking in the way you try to keep up a brave front, nodding as the feeling of overstimulation tears you apart. He watches fondly, unable to take his eyes away from you as everyone in the room seemingly melts away, and it isn’t long before he can feel his end approaching too.

His hips stutter and his rhythm is lost as he bottoms out inside you, groaning as the feeling of him filling you up makes you clench around him once more. He’s still for a second, panting quietly as he tries to regain his composure, surprised to find everyone else equally fucked out and hazy.

“Enjoy the show?” He mocks, the adrenaline still in his system as he takes in the way no one can muster up the courage to respond. Slowly, he begins to move his hips once more, fucking his cum back into you as you begin to whine, shaking your head softly to try to get him to stop. He can only laugh at that, playing with the fabric of your skirt before he’s pulling out, hissing softly at the feeling.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, tucking himself in before he’s picking you up, ignoring your protests to put him down as he leads you to your bathroom, not bothering to spare a glance at the rest of his friends that remained in the living room, far too shocked to do anything as the reality of what happened begins to set on them.

Hueningkai couldn’t care less of the consequences to all this— afterall, he’s sure that the others won’t be able to tease him anymore.

It was about time they learned their place, anyway.

549 notes · View notes