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usedpidemo · 2 years

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Awards after-party affair (Itzy Yuna)

Like a ringing bell at the top of the hour, the signal is loud, instant, and right on time. One eager attendee catches the first van roll onto the red carpet entrance. He makes the call like it’s routine, alerting everyone else for an invasion—a visual attack is about to happen.

“They’re here!”

You’re no different from the rest of this eager crowd. You stop whatever you’re doing—in this case, fiddling with your handheld camera—to redirect your gaze in the same direction as everyone else. Despite how little in common you share with these people, you’re all in perfect sync, like this has all been practiced and choreographed a thousand times. From the front seats come out two imposing men: one serving as driver and the other as manager/bodyguard. The driver slides open the door. Though they’re only silhouettes, shadows that are unassuming, it’s enough to make the masses scream their lungs out.

See, you’re not a fan. To you, you’re only doing a job. It pays remarkably well and creates jealousy to anyone whenever you bring it up in conversation. At this point though, you’re completely callous to the experience and share the same amount of displeasure as an average joe working a 9-to-5. The ordeal of covering numerous award shows, red carpets, and press junkets from week to week—sometimes two events in a single day—serve as more of an endless assault on your senses and test of patience with everyone, and this is no different. Sure, it’s a rare privilege to meet all kinds of larger than life stars, but dealing with their bitchy PR managers is a whole other affair.

It’s late in the afternoon, the sun at its apex right before descent, without a single cloud in sight, and you’re fucking dying of dehydration. It doesn’t help that there's cafes perched on nearly every corner you look, and an iced drink never looked so mouthwatering. Even if you wanted a teeny-tiny sip, you can’t. You have no power to, because as trivial as it is compared to other events you’ve attended, everything’s on the line. Your editors need the scoop to regurgitate the same old content produced by almost every other media outlet patiently waiting in line, too.

The truth is: it’s always been the same old same old since day one. Really, there’s little that crosses the line from both the interviewer and interviewee. It’s always the safest option, the cleanest question. Nothing goes beyond that; no one’s willing to step beyond that arbitrary boundary, even if it’s to spice up the headlines once in a while. No wonder your publication, along with many others, resorts to shady gossip and misleading articles with poor, if not any supporting evidence.

Still, you’re already there, and there’s nothing to lose in the long term—except a few hours of your time.

One by one, both actors and idols alike hop off their black vans, wave to the crowd, speak to a few junkets in line, then head inside. Extra time willing, they take a couple of pictures with the screaming audience or some lucky fan. The entire process moves by in a robotic and formulaic way, it reinforces the negative stereotypes critics have about the industry—and you’re quietly one of those detractors. Nevertheless, you put aside your personal judgment, and follow along, the several dozens of photos you’ve taken of every star on the carpet as proof of your professionalism.

The endless stream of appearances from both small and big names continue for at least another hour. Celebrity vans line up bumper-to-bumper to continue dropping more off; it might as well be a delivery store of people’s dreams. Out comes the next anticipated set of stars, another indistinguishable five-member girl group, all dressed in black. Your trigger fingers take as much as they can, as fast they can. The end result is several individual and group shots added to your camera roll, probably some of your best so far, as they are conveniently positioned right in front of you—at the center of your lens—compared to almost everyone else. Take another look at a few of the pictures you took, and you notice they’re staring right at you.

Even as the red carpet wraps up, you don’t really think much of it. Inside, you’re called backstage, along with your fellow media representatives, where it’s basically a rinse and repeat of what happened outside, with longer, more forgiving intervals. At least you can finally rest your tired legs, and unlike the red carpet, where it’s a nonstop barrage of action, commercials actually give you, and the other journalists by extension, more room to breathe—the only positive ads will ever have for humanity.

Similarly, winners line up backstage after claiming their trophy and giving their typical, routine speech. Arriving at a room filled with nothing but media, they answer a different but familiar set of sanitary questions, then go back to their seats. The pacing difference between awards proper and red carpet is night and day, like hitting traffic at rush hour. Most of the time, everyone’s eyes are glued to the widescreen television while the show plays out, and it’s no different from a viewer watching at home. The energy inside the cramped room is laid back and relaxed; at times you forget you’re at an awards ceremony and not your local bar.

Really, it’s only the celebrities themselves who are in a hurry, speaking to the press like they’re rapping, tapping their feet like they haven’t stopped dancing, clear in their intention to leave in a hurry, which is the most relatable they can be with their audience. Most winners appear only once, with a few exceptions. The seven boys you see almost everywhere in Korea, even more so globally—make the most frequent returns, even closing out as the recipient of the grand prize, and their exit means everyone in the media is done for the night, too.

You should be going home by now. It’s getting late, and you’re practically done, except not really. As is tradition, there’s always a few afterparties being thrown around in celebration, and to your annoyance, you have to attend one. To make things worse, you’re not there to have fun and get wasted—not in the slightest. You’re there to take some more photos and get additional quotes, according to your superiors’ orders. There’s no added incentive or bonus in return for a few more hours of your time that could have been spent in more productive activities or resting for the next day, but you still power on because your job is never truly stable. One missed opportunity, one stolen scoop, and next thing you know, you’re being shown the door.

The lounge you end up going to might as well be a goddamn rave. Flashing lights, bodies crowding up the dance floor, deafening bass-boosted music blasting through the many speakers—it’s the most torturous parts of the job crammed into one colorful, insufferable hellhole. It’s less of a place where celebrities hang out and more of a grimy hangout where needy, desperate mad men and women look to get fucked. Before entering, you check the address and location on your phone. Perhaps there’s been a mistake, and you were given incorrect information. Nope. The text you receive from your supervisor reconfirms the location. Inside, you also find a few other journalists suffocating under the same toxic air like you.

Squeezing between drunk bodies, mindlessly dancing like there’s no tomorrow, you sneak to the spacious bar, a temporary reprieve from the ear-splitting, soul-crushing madness. Whipping out several paper bills from your pocket, you slide them forward on the counter, mumbling to the barista your desired drink. At this point, you’d take anything, as long as it makes the rest of the night bearable.

“I’ll take two of what he’s having.” A feminine voice interjects, more bills than yours twirled between her fingertips, and the barista accepts her payment instead, overturning yours and sliding your money back.

From the blurred reflection on the counter, you swing your gaze to the right. A cute, young woman in a black, slinky dress takes the unoccupied seat beside you, flashes you an eye smile and cheeky grin back.

“Sup,” she says, casually, like you’re two friends hanging out together. “Didn’t expect you to show up here as well.”

“Wait.” With furrowed brows, you point a finger at her. She looks awfully familiar, but you can’t really tell her apart from the countless well dressed people you’ve been seeing for hours on end. “Aren’t you from—”

“Oh? You interviewed me earlier!”

Her answer doesn’t provide a single hint or narrows down who. You’ve taken countless pictures of different girl groups, and your lack of investment towards any of them means they’re basically indistinguishable in your eyes. Still, she looks young enough to be a member from one of the more junior groups.

“Yeah, none of this is adding up.”

“Yuna? Shin Yuna? Does that name ring a bell to you?”

“Oh, of course it does!” Her name rings a few bells, but still, you’re not confident enough to confirm, and it shows in your tone. “Itzy, right?”

She nods positively, brimming with joy at the mention of her group’s name. “Yep yep!”

“Well, congrats on the award again,” you reply, reaching out your hand as a friendly gesture. You don’t really remember what award her group won or how many trophies they won, nor do you have the willpower to care, but a little kindness goes a long way. “You had a great performance as well.”

“Thanks!” Smiling toothily, Yuna bows while reciprocating your motion, meeting halfway for a respectful handshake. Her grip tightens for a brief moment before quickly pulling back. “I appreciate your comment.”

Timely. The barista returns to you with two drinks you forgot you ordered. She takes them both, hands you one, and you both raise your glasses to the sky before clinking them together.

“Cheers.”

With hearty spirits, you take a little sip from your drink, while Yuna downs a quarter of her beverage. The sweet taste elicits a cheery, wide smile on her lips, compels her to down more. After only the second swig, half of her drink is gone. Both of you can’t be more different when it comes to enjoying alcohol; you’re one to ease into it slowly, while she rushes into the feeling. Then you take note of the fact that she looks quite young—she’s the youngest of her group, in fact—having just come of age, and drinking appears to be a fresh concept to her. No wonder she looks so enthusiastic and pumped about indulging liquor.

“So,” Yuna places her glass on the counter with an audible thud and peeps you with comically wide, childlike eyes. “What brings you here?”

“Not much,” you say, casually, as you stare at the stainless glass and the yellow liquid contained within. Its bubbliness fascinates you, captures your scrutiny like it’s the most interesting thing around, like a work of art in an exhibit. “I should be the one interviewing you, and to get some more information.”

“Information about what?”

“I don’t know. Something to fill up the paper, I guess.” You inch the drink closer to you, inspecting it from top to bottom like some type of rare artifact—something to occupy your idle, bored mind.

“You make it sound like you’re spying on us,” retorts Yuna, playfully resting her chin against her clenched fist leaning on the table. Her eyes take a cursory look, examining you from head-to-toe, finding something around your chest that intrigues her. “I mean, good try though.”

“It’s not that kind of information,” you reply, aware that it’s spoken with hyperbole, but still, there’s a difference between safe, journalistic reporting and straight-up criminal stalking.

“You’re really terrible at this tabloid job, you know?” mocks Yuna, poking her finger at the camera partially hidden behind your coat. On her lips is a cocky, teasing smirk, with the clear intent to toy with you. She’s leaning closer, eager to watch your expressions crumble little by little. “It’s like you’re begging for information.”

If only she weren’t so cute and innocent in how she goes about it, you’d probably wave the white flag, give up halfway, and profess—or straight up leave.

“And is that supposed to dissuade me?” says you, flatly, completely unbothered. Your eyes make contact with hers, staring at her with a piercing leer. Instead of being intimidated, her smile widens, and her shiny teeth are blinding; she knows she’s caught you under her trap, slowly pulling on your most sensitive strings, and her words have a subtle effect on you.

“If it could, yes,” replies Yuna, peering through your gaze with widening eyes, looking at you with heightened intrigue, unfazed by your shallow threat. “But since you’re so determined and stubborn to get some information for that shitty paper of yours, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“Do tell.”

Suddenly, she tears her gape away from you, turns her head left and right for any crossing sign, then back at you with a wider, suspicious smirk. “Not here.”

—————

You expected her to take you to a peaceful location, like the back rooms or one of the many uninhabited private booths. For someone like her, a K-pop idol, surely there’s a van waiting for her outside, ready to depart on call.

A bathroom stall was far from it.

The moment she stood up, walked away, then looked back with a different, expressive glance, that was an open invitation for you. Forget about the fact that she’s an idol and a celebrity first; in those caramel eyes was a glance that was forbidding and scandalous, but alluring enough to draw you in without a moment of hesitation. Not once you questioned where she was leading you. You trailed closely behind, drinking in the young starlet’s hourglass figure, perfectly shaped for a skintight dress that made her stand out from everyone in the crowd. With such dreamlike beauty walking in a sea of commoners, you thought all eyes would be on her, as usual, but the opposite happened—it was you who became hypnotized by her.

Eventually, you both sneak past everyone, which proves to be relatively trivial, locking yourselves together inside an empty bathroom secluded on the club’s second floor. Yuna looks around the spacious restroom for possible occupants, only to find every one of the five available stalls completely unoccupied. Despite how hidden you are from the rest of the party, the music echoes loud enough to pass through the walls.

“Perfect,” she says, taking another scope then to the widescreen mirror, possibly referring to the setting, and to herself. She looks at her reflection with a confident, proud grin, and your suspicion is proven correct. “I’m pretty sure you know where this is going, right?”

“Mhmm,” you reply, nodding. Two people, alone in a bathroom. You know damn well what’s about to happen.

This isn’t the first time a star has offered themselves to you behind closed doors. It’s an industry secret, but open news shared among most publications and certain names that get around. It’s these private affairs where most of the money comes from. Each incident generates revenue in exchange for keeping such filthy secrets classified and hidden. Can’t say you’re clean or innocent in the issue; you’ve had a few experiences with some of Korea’s biggest film stars in exchange for money too, but this is your first time with a K-pop idol, and they say they’re the ones who are deepest in the circle.

“Good, I guess I don’t have to tell you how fucking horny I am,” says Yuna, casual in her delivery of such shocking filth. “And the rumors are true,” she continues, flashing you a flirtatious wink. Her fingers play with the straps holding her dress together, dragging them along her shoulders.

“That you’re a slut?”

“We’re all sluts, baby,” she replies, approaching you with a seductive gaze that can render anyone paralyzed, and you’re no exception. With a cute, fresh face like hers, It’s unbelievable and quite frankly dumbfounding how leisurely she says it, like it’s the norm for everyone in her profession—and it’s sufficient evidence to prove that case. Then again, she’s still a teen, and you’re on the edge of a really dangerous line. Sure, having sexual favors with anyone in the entertaiment industry is already a line crossed, but this is a whole layer below with far more grave implications, and here she comes, forcefully dragging you far beyond the point of no return. Really, with your line of work, this was bound to happen eventually, but you never expected it to come from such an unexpected person—a Korean idol, your least favorite kind of celebrity.

But this is the moment where all of that changes.

“Still have some battery left in that camera, right?” Yuna points at the handheld camera dangling freely on your chest again. “Go and take some.”

You incorrectly predicted her to jump right into the action, but you’re not bothered in the slightest. You were already taking a gallery’s worth of mental pictures of her sexy body, made hotter by her deliberate, seductive teasing, but having a physical reference for future personal use is helpful too.

So you pull the camera from its strap to take photos of the frisky maknae while she does many poses for you. Even behind a lens, her beauty is so ethereal, it doesn’t compare in the slightest to looking at her with the naked eye. She exudes a perfect balance of cute and sultry, a trait you’ve rarely seen among the many actors and actresses you’ve met before. Perhaps this is the greatest strength of an idol, and you’re left wanting more.

Yuna then approaches you, occupied taking as many pictures you can of the idol, running your remaining memory dry. She drops to her knees, looks at you with those wide, inviting eyes, and her fingers wrap around the edges of your pants.

“Don’t stop,” she says, pouting her lips upward, in the direction of your camera to emphasize her command, and you know you can’t do otherwise. Photography isn’t in your skill set, yet she trusts you with her life—her career—and there’s pressure beginning to amount in your head. Surely she’s not that desperate to the point where she’s asking a random journalist to get her quick fill of excitement.

The spark in her eyes, the determination on her brows, and the carefree smile on her lips—this isn’t her first rodeo, and it certainly won’t be her last.

Yuna turns her attention away from your curious, troubled gaze to your pants, unzipping the hindering garment down while you continue capturing every still, every frame of the young woman in such a vulnerable, lewd position. These photos would spell disaster should they ever leak out of this room, and it’s even more dangerous when it’s a young group, a rising name who has a stake on the global stage. Even so, you continue snapping photos at her request, fingers pretty much playing a single repeating key on the trigger, you might as well have glued your index to the button.

“I knew it,” she murmurs, the erect tent on your groin area poking into view. Seconds later, your boxers join your pants on the floor, springs your cock free from its clothed prison. “I’m gonna have a lot of fun tonight. I don’t know what the other girls are doing, but they’ll regret not being here. It’s fine, I don’t feel like sharing this.”

With your hard cock next to the pretty, demure idol, your involvement can’t be any more obvious. Yuna immediately notices the sudden quietness of the camera, so she looks up at you again, notes your flushed cheeks, the little beads of sweat forming on your head, and giggles.

“Really now?” she says, lifting a puzzled eyebrow, fingers slowly gripping around your shaft. You try to resist, show a little opposition, but it’s superficial; before long, you can’t hold in the jolt of pleasure coursing through your nerves and utter a low, muffled moan. “You’re perfectly fine with taking sensitive pictures of me, but you’ll say no to this? You’ve said it yourself. I’m a slut—a slut for good cock.”

Her soft, dainty tongue latches onto your tip, rendering you more speechless. Can’t say she’s wrong, and telling her otherwise would make you look worse. Bodily ecstasy makes your senses go haywire; your hands struggle to hold the camera, but you manage to save all that important material with one hand and let the other wander down to caress and stroke her long, auburn hair. Your eyes flutter shut, unable to take in the sight of Yuna kissing and pumping your cock, and the knot in your tongue loosens, releasing delicate, breathy moan after moan.

It’s clear that Yuna’s done this before, experienced with the art of sexual pleasure, like it’s her primary line of profession, and she knows all the tricks and weaknesses to get to the core of any man or woman. At this point, you’ve practically neglected her demand, but the soft, intimate kissing sounds she makes as she revels in your cock give you a solid reference point to take more mental pictures of her. The camera in your grasp has been set aside on the sink. Both of your hands grip on the young woman’s brown locks, straddling a line between gentle and assertive as she gradually takes your length into her mouth.

“F-fuck, Yuna—” you mutter, having difficulty to formulate words, forcing your brain to resort to moans and grunts like a baby.

She doesn’t react or budge in the slightest; she only works harder and harder. The idol remains steadfast, filling her mouth up to your base, generously coating your shaft with her saliva. Her fingers dig into your thighs, pressing you harshly against the sink as your moan turns into an echoed groan. The quick burst of pain you feel is overtaken by the continuous pleasure flowing throughout your veins, like sexual indulgence is the only thing your body understands.

You try to fight your overwhelmed senses, hoping to catch even a tiny glimpse of the beautiful woman giving you the best blowjob in the world, and it proves to be an intense struggle. Not once are you cognizant about tossing the idol’s head back and forth, even with the audible, echoey plop plop sounds raising several warning flags saying you’re too aggressive. Eventually, you manage to lift one eye open to see Yuna, completely immersed in her own pleasure, diligently sucking your cock while mixes of drool and precum splatter on her chin, her collarbones, and down to her black dress, leaving even more apparent hints for everyone to see.

In the end, it’s only you who gets to look at the different, ruined side of Yuna. Here’s a popular star, larger than life in the eyes of many, down on her knees, subservient to the most human and primal urges, just like anyone else. A wave of cum gushes into her mouth right as she releases your cock like spilled milk. Your burst of seed waterfalls, filling her chin and her dress with a dirty, sticky coat of white. Her eyes pop open, surprised at how filthy she looks, and how early she made you cum.

“Oh God,” says Yuna, pressing a hand on her glistening chin, then to her dress top. Gooey strings connect her fingers and the expensive, messed up fabric. “I made you cum early didn’t I?”

You’re catching heavy breaths, looking up at the ceiling, staring at the blinding lights like you’re seeing heaven. You might as well be; she ripped your soul out of your body with only her tongue.

“Shit, Yuna, I—”

Returning to her mischievous ways, her laughter echoes throughout the bathroom, poking fun at your overwhelmed state, like it’s the first time you’ve had sex. She’s proud of herself for making you cum with a mere blowjob, and she flicks her digits to coat them with more of your seed as her reward. Lapping them up into a sizable sample, she takes her fingers into her mouth for a taste.

“Yeah.” She rises to your level, licks her fingers clean, decorates her pink lips with your seed with a wide, charming, cheeky grin. Your marks are prominent on the grooves of her lips. “You’re so yummy.”

Lowering your gaze back down to earth, you finally see the ravaged mess you’ve done to Yuna. Spurts of white on her face, neck, and many puddles that have stained her dress. Seeing the utter disbelief in your expressions, she plays into the naughtiness by pressing her cum stained fingers on her inviting, visible cleavage.

With a free hand snaking down to your crotch, she pumps you back to hardness, holding a steady gaze of lust with you, the fire in her loins freshly renewed. “I know you want more. I want more.” Her other hand reaches to one strap, pulls it further down her arm, then does the same with the remaining cord, freely exposing her sizable breasts, drawing your eyes toward her chest. It’s difficult to look away, especially when someone like her knows how to captivate with a face like hers, natural with how expressive she is, only because she allowed you to stare elsewhere.

You gasp and sigh under the tight duress Yuna puts on your groin, giving her more confidence and a stronger hold on you. Grasp her bare shoulder with one hand, wander around her waist with the other, carefully crossing the lines of fabric and skin until you reach her surprisingly round ass. Her features slowly melt and eyes widen as she leans her face close, breath tensing up in anticipation, lips repressing her groan, practically whispering to you, “Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Yuna’s eyes pop out, caught unawares as you take her body and flip your positions around. She's now pressed against the bathroom sink with you assuming control. Her hands hold onto your shoulders, still fixated to your eyes like she sees stars within them. With the strength of your hand gripped to her ass, you lift her up partially so that her feet no longer touch the ground, and her legs slowly part, giving you an opening. Your other hand ruffles through her short skirt, digs into her tunnel, and she winces.

“Oh, fuck—” Her nails dig into the fabric of your shirt as you feel a slick, wet sensation on your fingers. Her features are so expressive, they’re best actress worthy. She shudders, teeth gritting intensely as you withdraw your digits. In an instant, her calm, confident attitude fades at your slightest touch, and she grows impatient and desperate. “Give me your cock now! I need you to fill me—”

You capture her lips in a passionate, fervid kiss, shutting her up as a distraction while you line your erect cock between her sopping cunt. She whines into the smooch, tries to break away, but you pull her in, let your tip run up and down around her wet entrance, and she hums musically. In turn, she pushes you as close to her as humanly possible; you might as well be practically inside her. Her lips curl into a frown as she pushes her dress further down, bunching it with the bottom of her skirt, her now naked, sweaty midriff pressed against your shirt.

Drawing your face away from hers, you take a second to admire the spry starlet, once dolled up to near perfection, now as filthy and human as the typical clubgoer. She doesn’t reciprocate your adoring gaze, annoyed at the small amount of time wasted, when that time could have been spent already impaling yourself deep inside her. It’s not like you’ve spent the whole day salivating and taking pictures of her.

“Wait.” Avert your eyes from the idol to the camera you’ve forgotten for a moment. She kisses you madly, showering your cheeks with wet, soppy marks filled with lipstick and sticky cum, but it doesn’t faze you in the slightest. You know simple distractions don't bother you by now.

Camera pointed at you both, you return your attention to her, finally giving her what she wants without any further delay. With a single smooth stroke, you plunge your cock into her wet pussy, and it flexes right back in a brief move of resistance, but you push deeper into her heat and it takes the breath right out of your lungs.

“F-f-fuck, Yuna, you’re—tight.”

The spry woman lifts her head back, exposes her smooth, flawless neck, uttering a long, breathy sigh before it turns into a pitched whine. Her nails poke into your nape, clutches deep into your skin, body sliding up and down along with your cock as you acclimate to the suffocating tightness of her cunt. There’s no sense of rhythm or pace in the manner you pound her, only focused on chasing that sensual high, using her model figure as canvas for your pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, that’s—” Yuna whines with each slam of your hips, slack jawed and drooling, eyes completely shut, enveloped under the gripping force of your cock spearing her tight, sensitive hole. “Your cock feels so—”

Her sentence fades into another series of whimpers and cries of bliss. Seeing her tits bounce and ripple with each rock of her body arouses you, and they draw you in, more than any other part of her. Yuna’s body was an open invitation for you to take, which you gladly do.

Bury your face between her chest, cupping her soft, creamy flesh within your grasp, then take her taut nipples into your mouth, going back and forth between both breasts, giving them the equal amount of attention they rightfully deserve.

You continue to fuck the maknae into submission, giving the camera a good show, already more entertaining and exciting after only a few minutes than a four-hour-long awards ceremony. The artist is treated way better, and so is the cameraman by being an active participant in the action, dictating the pace the way he sees fit. As it goes, you push yourself quicker and quicker, trying to wrap up the show, plunging deep into her constricting walls, drenching your cock with more of her wet juices.

The many expressions she makes as you touch her and ruin her are award worthy; they can belong in a fancam reel and it wouldn’t be any more different. Hell, she’s more provocative and intense than her typical routine music performance. Her features curl into almost every emotion a human can experience, from pain and pleasure, evoking a strong, unforgettable image, another mental picture to save in your memories, more detailed than any photograph.

Then there’s the sound—the music is as loud as ever, blocking out the endless stream of cries she makes. Yuna’s tone is high-pitched, moaning out a blissful song as you stretch her pussy out, with the little flap of wet skin against skin backing her up, and it tickles your ears in all the right spots.

You slide a finger from her breast to her crotch, feel the surging wetness coat your digit, then lower her to the floor—but only for a moment. While Yuna remains staggered in ecstasy, you turn the woman around, facing the mirror, before you reacquaint your cock inside her drenched cunt, and it’s like you never stopped fucking her. She moans, and moans—and moans.

“You’re so fucking hot, Yuna,” you whisper in her ear. Her back arches as you wreck her from behind. Staring at your reflection, you note your smug expression. For once, you look really good in the mirror, especially with the woman in front of you.

Her expressions say it all: she likes being fucked. The way her smile briefly flashes before melting between thrusts, she knows her body is built for sex—perfect for a slut like her. Even she can’t help but look proud at how drop dead gorgeous she is, especially in that lewd, erotic position.

Using her expressive, satisfied face as motivation, you piston quicker and quicker, glancing at the young idol flaunting her many charms off like she’s in front of the cameras, like the bright lights are on her, like an audience is watching her. Your mind is centered on her too; in fact, she’s the only one in your thoughts, with each thrust intended to make her sing, make her perform, make her act.

“Gonna—gonna—” she cries, hoarsely, barely able to muster up the strength to formulate coherent speech.

“Cum on my cock Yuna,” you say, whispering in her ear again, pulling on her triggers. “Cum on my cock.”

The words are more than enough to set her off. Yuna’s mouth goes wide, forming an ‘O’ shape, her body going rigid and quaking as she loses control of herself to her bliss. She orgasms; it’s powerful and lengthy, dragging you further into her inescapable whirlpool, and really, it only accelerates your own forthcoming climax, and you fuck her as she rides out her peak, savoring the remaining time you have left before you drown in your own high as well.

“I can feel you throbbing hard for me,” she says, completely washed over by her own dwindling orgasm. “Cum in me. Cum for this slut. Don’t ever think about pulling out of this wet pussy meant for you!”

Gripping your hands between her dirty chestnut locks, you try to resist a little more, show that you can last longer than she initially thought, but ultimately give in for a second time. On a deep, violent stroke, you make a lengthy, incomprehensible sound that might as well be the relief you feel after holding in that burning sensation in your loins. You release hot spurt after spurt into her pussy, her name dripping from your lips like you’re thanking God for release, and you feel a sticky, gooey tingling on your thighs.

Eventually, your hips wind down along with your orgasm, until they come to a full stop. You rest your head forward, laying on the sink beside her, still embedded inside her. The moans that filled the room fade in the background of the club’s thunderous music, but both of you are oblivious and tired to hear anything except for deep, heavy breaths.

After an uncertain period of time—could have been a few minutes or a few hours, you have a timely day off tomorrow, so it’s the least of importance—you come to your senses first and check on the camera you’ve set on the side. Yuna follows shortly after, washing her hands clean, but it doesn’t cleanse her of her filth.

“So?” she says, trying in vain to look neat. She looks at the camera in your hand while you scan through the reel. “How do I look?”

You present the gallery to her, showing her every single ilicit and raunchy photo you’ve taken of her, until you get to the part where you reveal that you’ve recorded yourselves having sex. It’s crude, it’s pornographic, it’s perfect.

She pouts her lips, gives an approving nod. “We look so good together. I need you to send me these via email.”

“Of course,” you say, nonchalantly—like this is a completely regular exchange—like she’s not an idol and you’re a journalist with an integrity to uphold, but all that’s thrown out the window now. “When I get on my computer tomorrow.”

After you both clean up to the best of your abilities, Yuna gestures at you to wait as she unlocks the bathroom door, then slowly turns the knob. Not once has it knocked and distracted you. Maybe you’ve missed a few, but still, it was probably drowned out by the music and the moaning. As a result, you were left unbothered the entire time, so perhaps Yuna’s plan was foolproof right from the start—

“Hey!”

Yuna’s eyes grow wide in shock, followed by yours. On the other side of the door are four women waiting, well dressed as she is, who look just as surprised as both of you.

“Who’s that guy you’re with?” asks the woman with dragon-like eyes, tone expressing disappointment at her member. Her gaze is similar to Yuna’s, studying you from head to toe like she did.

Then they all say in unison, “And why weren’t you sharing him with us?”

(A/N: Yuna looked incredible in that dress she wore for The Fact Music Awards, and the fact she's sharing so many pics makes it even better. Surprised there's nothing based on this material, but I understand why. Boys Like You is really good, go stream it! Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #itzy #yuna

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wri0thesley · 2 years

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hello. i am back. with more thoughts. i am very sorry hfhfhr but 😩😩😩 genshin men happening upon you masturbating?? esp to thoughts of them?? Diluc's so flustered and caught off guard but he's more than happy to assist. Childe would pounce you on the spot without wasting a second, Kaeya would endlessly tease and lovingly mock you before assisting, and Ayato… Well guess he has to show you how to everrrything doesn't he? And then very sweet Thoma will immediately assist you, doesn't matter if it's not really in the job description, he loves to serve and assist you... Ok you can throw me out now i'm sorry

ahem. always a favourite trope for me to think about. i never get sick of writing these ones fdgnkjbngfkj. if anyone would like to ask about any of the boys who did not make it into this little post, please feel free . . . i just didnt wanna make it too long fgbkjngknfj.

cw; afab reader, no pronouns. not sfw, minors dni. being caught masturbating. characters included: diluc, childe, kaeya, ayato, thoma.

Diluc doesn't know what to do at first. He's been taught to be a polite young gentleman, always; and the proper thing to do would be to turn on his heel and immediately leave the room, perhaps even before you've noticed he's slipped in. But you're . . . just so lovely. He promises himself it will just be a moment; for him to observe the sheen of sweat on your forehead and the flash of your bare thigh - but then, your fingers move just so and your teeth bite into your bottom lip and you sigh out, in a soft voice that has him achingly hard in his trousers; "M-Master Diluc--", and how is he supposed to resist that?

Your door closes and you start, all big frightened eyes at being caught, already trying to stutter out apologies for being so forward - and honestly, seeing you also flustered soothes him a little. Reminds him that for as pretty as you look and for how much he wants you, you are just a mortal too. He smiles at you, his face flushed, hides a cough behind a gloved hand.

"I heard you calling my name," he says, his wine-dark eyes travelling over your bared skin in a way that's nervous but appreciative. "I . . . ahem. Do you, by any chance, require some assistance? I've been told I'm . . . rather good with my hands."

Childe, indeed, doesn't waste a second more than it takes for him to parse exactly what's going on. He hears his name fall from your lips at the same time as your hips stroke upwards in rhythm with the way you're toying with your clit, and he's on you like a jaguar in search of prey. He's been flirting with you since the moment he met you, and he's certainly made a note of all the sexual tension - tried to push it further and make you break. He does wonder how many times you've done this - how could you be so silly, when he's been happy to give you a helping hand all of this time? Childe is dangerous, and you barely even notice he's moved before a hand is fastening around your wrist and pinning it beside your head.

"You don't seem to be getting very far with that!" He says, grinning down at you, wild, hungry light making his blue eyes seem to glow even brighter in the low light of the bedroom. The hand not holding your wrist down travels down your collarbone; strokes over your bared breast, the feel of his gloves on your sweat-slicked skin making you shiver as he tauntingly stops at the apex of your thighs. "Need some help? All you have to do is ask, you know!"

Kaeya stumbles across it quite by accident, but despite the Cavalry Captain's current lack of equine companionship, he's still never been the kind to look a gift horse in the mouth. You're trying so hard to hide it the minute you see him, your pretty face all screwed up in horror, the title 'Sir Kaeya--' dying on your lips . . . Kaeya simply closes the door and walks towards you, a smirk on his unfairly handsome face.

"You said my name," he says, in a dangerously excited tone. "Did you need me for something?" Your hands are still trapped between your thighs, and you squeak as he takes an overly casual seat on the bed next to you and stretches out his arms as if nothing is wrong. "You know that I'm always willing to lend an ear when you need to talk, sweetheart! You don't need to whisper it or be ashamed . . ."

He's made it very clear, in his way, that he's more than willing to take an active part in what you're doing - delights in the little shiver that runs through you when he rolls the pet name around on his tongue. But Kaeya wants to tease you. Kaeya loves having the control.

Kaeya isn't going to actually help until you admit to him that you want him.

And then, after that . . . well. Suffice to say that next time you whimper out Kaeya's name, it will quickly be muffled by his hungry lips upon your own.

Ayato knows everything that happens in the Kamisato estate - and, unfortunately for you, that does include the times you've muffled your cries of his name into your pillow with two fingers inside of you and frustration that it's not the Commissioner himself pounding you into the mattress. But Ayato also enjoys biding his time - making you desperate for him. Standing a little closer to you, smiling a little darker with half-lidded eyes, dropping his voice just a shade lower until you're practically having to stop your thighs quaking in want.

It's after one of those times that he follows you to your little bedroom; at a distance, naturally. Shoos away anybody who wants to follow him or know where he's going; he's simply seeing a . . . private interest of his through to the end, that's all. He's right outside your door when he hears your breath hitch, the whimper of his title . . . and that's the time he chooses to sweep into the room.

He doesn't give you time to try and hide yourself. He doesn't give you time to do anything before he's got you caged beneath him, smiling that inscrutably polite but terribly hungry smile.

"I think this is the fourth time this week you've touched yourself to thoughts of me," he's practically purring in your ear, staring down at you, watching you squirm as you try and desperately think of an apology that will get you off the hook for your wholly inappropriate behaviour. You're utterly mystified when, instead of immediately dismissing you, he simply continues to smile. "Go on, then," he says, amused. "Why don't you tell me what you were thinking of me doing to you? Hmm. If I like it enough, perhaps we can even see about translating your little fantasies to real life."

Thoma is service-oriented above all things. And it's not like he hasn't fantasised about you! Quietly. On his own. Hoping nobody finds out. So finding you touching yourself with his name on his lips feels like a dream dropped directly into his lap - what you have done, to the Fixer of Inazuma, is dropped a problem right into his lap.

You want to be touched. You want to come. You want him.

And what is Thoma, if he can't fix three such little problems?

He asks, of course! Says your name, all bright and excited so you don't get the wrong idea, and immediately follows it up with; "I can do that for you. Don't tire yourself out!"

Thoma is straightforward about that; dropping onto his knees, looking up at you with eager puppy dog eyes as he kisses your thighs and shuffles forward and waits for permission to be able to touch his mouth to your most intimate part, his heart beating loud in his chest because he can't believe he gets to help you this way, finally. Thoma only has one request.

Kiss. Suck. Lick. Quietly, his breath hot against your own slick core, Thoma murmurs;

". . . Will you say my name again?"

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #childe x reader #childe smut #diluc x reader #diluc smut #thoma x reader #thoma smut #ayato x reader #ayato smut #kaeya x reader #kaeya smut #not sfw text

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buckyscombatboots · 2 years

Text

Monstertober Day 3:

The Scarecrow walks at midnight

Pairing: Scarecrow!Ari Levinson x Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, serious Non con, death, mentions of blood, asphyxiation/choking, bruises (not the kinky kind), Beefy!Ari (6,8ft), size difference, held down, chasing, p in v

Nicknames: Song bird, birdie

Word count: 2.3k

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🎀 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

AN: My apologies that this is a bit late, I had some health issues yesterday which really messed up my whole day. I ended up changing it from Headless horseman!Bucky to Scarecrow!Ari, because I had such bad writers block when trying to write it. I hope y’all enjoy and like all the Goosebumps references ♥︎

You pull up to The Stanley's farm, you’d know the Stanley’s for a long time. Everyone in this town knew everyone, that’s how it always been. Which is why, when Natasha sent you texts saying to come find her in a corn maze. You knew this was where she was talking about and despite the fact that it was technically closed right now, you knew the Stanley’s wouldn’t mind. You hopped out of the warmth of your car and into the autumn night. You loved the countryside, but you hated the fact that there were no lights. You only had the stars and the moon to guide you as you stumbled across the rocky path towards the corn maze.

It wasn’t far, you could see the sign, but you could also see a foreboding wooden cross standing outside the corn maze that you’d never seen before. You stopped in front of the wooden cross, running your fingers across the red paint chipping off the splintering wood. There’s nails with shreds of fabric still tangled around the posts; there was something hung up here at some point, a scarecrow more likely than not “The shity neighbourhood kids probably ripped it off” you huff “Always ruining everything, they threw paint in the plaza fountain only last week.” You drag your hand to the apex of the cross, it’s warm. Peculiar. You brush it off, despite your uncertainty, and look back at the text Natasha sent you.

I’m in the corn maze

Bet you can’t find me, scaredy-cat 👻🐈‍⬛

She had some nerve calling you a scaredy-cat, who in their right mind wouldn’t be scared to go alone into a bloody corn maze at midnight. It was pitch black, aside from the piercing light of the moon that parted the slate clouds that drifted across the inky, velvet blanket of the sky.

You stand infront of the en tree dance of the corn maze. It’s marked by an ornate metal sign, with chipping discoloured paint ‘Stanley’s Corn Maze’ it said in a faded orange paint. It felt like the beginning of a horror movie. Two friends enter a corn maze at night, now you just need a killer.

“Natashaaaaa” you sing “where are youuuuuu?” You’d been walking for what felt like forever, your phone was only on 4%. Nerves were starting to prickle in your belly “Come on I can’t find you! I give up okay so let’s go! I wanna watch a scary movie. Oooo maybe we can watch ‘Stay out of the Basement’ that’s meant to be good.” You hear the rustling of the dying corn leaves being pushed aside behind you, but still no reply from Natasha “Nat, if you’re trying to scare me it ain’t gonna work. I can hear you.” You spin around on your heel. It was not Natasha.

It was a man, he looked to be well over six foot tall. From where you were standing he was an Adonis; a halo of blonde hair and bulging muscle. He stepped closer, you remained still.

In the moon's pale light you could see the dirty blonde hair, tousled and scruffy with loose bits of hay and dirt tangled in his locks. He had a thick beard and moustache, but the glow from the moon still allowed you to see his prominent cheekbones. His firm chest strained against the thin fabric of his red, plaid shirt. You could see the contour of his torso and arms, he was covered in muscle and towering over you. As he stepped closer, further into the moonlight, you could see his face clearer; there were two messy stitches on either side of his mouth, clotted blood surrounding the punctures and strands of hay protruding from his skin. As he neared closer. You stumbled backwards. Fresh blood coated his thick, veiny arms all the way up to his sleeves rolled at his elbows, the cloth of his sleeves stained and dripping “Where are you going little bird? I want you to sing for me.” The stitched corners of his lips stretched into a smile as he lunged forward at you, his heavy body's ungraceful movements allowed you to dart past him into the thicket of corn. Your hands guarded your face defensively as you dashed through the corn, the brown, aged husks and leaves whipping at your exposed skin “Birdie! I’m gonna find you!” His bellowing voice pierced through the deafening sound of your blood rushing in your head.

You paused as your foot treads on something squishy, yet firm, you turn your gaze to the floor. Natasha. She’s beaten and bloody, clothes torn and her head appears to almost be severed from her shoulders “Nat…” you whimper, her eyes are still open. You hear the jostling of corn. You have no time to close them as you take off again, the bleak night air drowning you as you gulp it down like a fish. The burning tears dripping from your eyes burn your icy skin, you turn your head back to try to see him. He’s not there. You practically jump out of your skin as you hear a loud crack of thunder rumble around you, then cold drops of rain begin to fall. The drops that sprinkle across your skin send goosebumps across your skin, your hairs prickling to a point as you shiver.

You need to keep running, despite your exhaustion you find it within you to keep going. You can hear the corn rattling around you from every direction, you were so disorientated. As you jogged through the maze you reached down to your pocket to search for your dying phone, that’s when all hope drained from you. You’d dropped your fucking phone. The rain began to pick up, turning from a light dusting to harsh, thick droplets that fell with such speed that it hurt your skin. You came to a halt in a patch of newly formed mud, what were you meant to do? You felt doomed, you could no longer restrain the sobs that left you, lip wobbling as you choked on your sorrows.

One second you're standing, the next you’re tackled to the ground. Your shoulder collides with the sludgy earth and air catches in your lungs as you let out a choked yelp. You smash your hands into the Scarecrow's strong chest as you writhe against his fierce grip, he only needs one of his hands to overpower you and pin your hands above your head. You’re forced to look at him atop of you. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat and the moonlight causes the thin sheen covering his skin to glitter like tiny diamonds. He bends closer to you, hot puffs of air from his heavy breathing suffocating you. He presses his face into the crook of your neck; the bristly hairs of his beard scratching against your neck as he licks at your neck, he shoved his nose into your hair and takes a long deep breathe in “Smell so good birdie, better than other woman. Ari’s gonna give you pleasure now.” You thrash against him kicking at him, he ignores it and bends one of your legs over his shoulder, “Lie still, Song bird, gonna make you feel so nice.” He grunts as you kick at his face, catches your ankle in his free hand and squeezes. His grip strength is inhuman. You shriek as you feel your bones creaking against the pressure he applies, your bones threaten to snap.

“Stop! Stop! I won’t kick you please!” You scream, the agony sending shocks across your nerves and to your brain, a dull ache lingering in your skull. He lets go of your ankle and lands a powerful punch to your gut, grit your teeth and grunt “Oof!” acidic sickness rising in your throat, you swallow it.

“Other girl wouldn’t stop screaming. Squeezed her too hard. Always squeeze too hard, it was an accident. Not gonna squeeze as hard with you, Birdie, like you, like your voice, like your scent. Want you alive.” His large hand tears your shorts and panties with one pull, the display petrified you but it also made your pussy drip. He ran two fingers through your fold, collecting some of your slick and bringing it to his mouth. He sucked his fingers clean of your cream, releasing his fingers with a loud pop “Taste so good. Need to fuck you.” Ari grumbled, undoing his jeans, releasing his member that slapped against his clothed stomach. It was long and ribbed with a thick purple vein running up the shaft and patch of pale blonde hair dusted his pelvis.

You moved your hips away from him. He hooks his calloused hand under your knee quickly and pulls you closer “No riggling, Birdie. Don’t wanna hurt you.” The fear freezes you in place and he takes the chance to thrust all the way inside you, smashing into your cervix causing you scream out and thrash as his dick crams uncomfortable inside you, he’s too big. You can feel the rubbed texture of his cock as your walls clamp harshly in an attempt to push him out. He pistons his hips without a care, unbothered by your body's feeble attempt at rejection. Your shrieks appear to fall upon death ears until he lifts you slightly by your wrists and then slams you back into the ground. Your brain rattles in your skull as your head hits the floor; a pounding pain throbs across the back of your head, and you look at him with a bewildered expression.

“No, Birdie, you’re meant to sing nicely. No screaming, or I’ll squeeze.” His scratchy knuckles brushes away the tears flowing down your cheeks. You nod and whimper, fighting the pain and letting out soft ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s as he continued his brutal pace, bending closer to you pushing your legs into you, angling your hips so he could thrust even deeper. Spearing you all the way to the hilt of his girthy length, you let out a guttural cry as he grunted and groaned in response to his own wild thrusts. Heat spread across your back as his pelvis rubbed against your clit “Tight.” He growled, pressing a kiss to your temple, he smelt strongly of hay and dirt, but underneath that strong scent of petrichor was a uniquely manly musk. Your pleasure was interrupted as his hand released your wrists, he slammed his fist into the ground, snarling as he thrusted. The hand holding your knee squeezed extremely tightly, you could feel bruises forming under his touch.

“Ow! Ari! Squeezing too tight!” You yowled, he was going to snap your knee. You dug your nails into the back of his neck, his pace slowed; his hips stuttering as he came to a stop entirely.

“Sorry, SongBird. Won’t squeeze anymore.” For a man…Scarecrow who was raping you he was being surprisingly considerate. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against your reddened cheeks soothingly before pulling out all the way to his tip before ramming back into you, hard enough for your body to slide around in the mud below you. Your lungs burn and your throat is raw. You bite back a scream when his bulbous tip collided with your cervix once again “Close. So close. Sing! Sing for me Birdie!” You whimper and let out an involuntary moan as his cock rubs the sweet spot within you. His barred teeth soften into a smile at your moans, his free hand comes to neck and he begins to squeeze. You remember Natasha, the way her head laid in a pool of blood. How you could barely see any remnants of her neck. You began to thrash once again, Ari ignored you, lost in his own pleasure. You could feel his cock twitching inside, in your mind you pleaded for him to come. For it to be over. His thrusts quickened even more, his hips bashing painfully into your ass. The sound of his balls slapping against your skin overpowering the crackle of thunder. He threw his head back and let out a full bodied groan, which resembled a roar as he came inside you. The ropes of his come were cold, just like his whole body-ice cold, the amount of his spend was unrelenting. He released your neck, you let out a series of cough thanking God for answering you as took deep breaths of air. You’d never been so grateful to be able to breathe.

Ari still hadn’t pulled out, he was still hard. Your pussy was rubbed raw from his pubic hair, and your clit ached painful from the force of his pelvis colliding with it. Then his thrusts continued. He wanted to go again. You clawed at him and he pinned you again “Bad Birdie, not done yet.” He murmured. You stared up at the moon as it mocked you, moving so freely through the sky. You curse the moon for letting him come alive. Your thoughts begin to fade as you just gaze up at the moving clouds heavy with more rain.

Resistance was futile. So you just laid there taking it. You close your eyes, your head was heavy from the adrenaline crash. You hoped sleep would take you, and it did.

The orange, pink tinge of sunset colours your vision as you open your eyes. Your ears are ringing, a piercing static reverberating in your skull. Your eyes sting and your throat is strained and scratchy. You push your hands beside you, they sink into the mud slightly as you sit up. A dull pain radiates throughout the apex of your thighs and legs, the bruises that litter them clear in the garish glow of the orange morning sun. You look around you, there’s hay scattered across the ground and beside you is the Scarecrow, face down in the mud your phone beneath his freakishly human hands. The baritone sound of his voice echoes in your mind as you pull your phone out and turn it on. 1% battery…Better call the right person.

Tag list: @alina02 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @cevansgurl @getwellsoontana @bval-1 @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @flamefoxxrecs @savstranger @sojuxxi @cjand10 @sweetwrathoflilith @adoreyouusugar

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catkyunie · 9 months

Text

The Flicker of A Flame ♡

Happy Mingi Month Day 2 of 31 ✧˖°.

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: After passing away in a fatal accident, your ghost lingers. Watching as Mingi falls apart at the seams, you do everything you can to try and reconnect and help your beloved remember what it means to live.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: song mingi x fem!reader

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: a whole bunch of angst

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): car accident, ghost reader, reader death, established relationship, anxiety, depression, grief, alcohol consumption (if I missed any please let me know!)

𝚠𝚌: 4.1k

What surprised you the most about dying was how weightless you felt. That's the thing with death; no one can ever really know what to expect when that moment happens because no one ever truly returns. This wasn’t a case of seeing any light at the end of a tunnel or having a reel of your entire life play out for you in a moment that seemed to last an eternity. This was instantaneous. One moment you were alive, breathing, anchored down by the weight of Mingi’s hand on your thigh. The next, you were gone, snuffed out as quickly as a candle flame. In a blink, you went from basking in the warm afterglow of an evening with your beloved to the incredible expanse of space that left you levitating in what felt like the deepest pool of water with no beginning or end. There was no pain or clear memory of what had happened. Flashes of light quickly played behind your vision, and you could hear the scrape of metal on metal. And then, with another blink, you were standing in the middle of an intersection.

An accident had left both cars mangled and fusing into an amalgamation of twisted and gnarled steel. Pedestrians had begun to gather on either side of the street, some vehicles stopping to assess the damage, far-off voices calling out to anyone who may have survived. In the distance, you could hear the wail of sirens as they closed in on the scene. Try as you might to peel your eyes away from the tragedy, despite the confusion and terror that seeped into your bones and rooted itself at the base of your spine, a detail kept you transfixed. The car that had received the brunt of the impact was the same make, model, and color as…

That’s when you heard it. What played the most clearly for you, like the chime of a bell down an empty hall, was Mingi’s scream. It rang and reverberated in your bones, penetrating your very spirit. You had never heard that sound come from him. And the only thing he repeatedly howled into the apex of the fused vehicles was your name. Over and over and over, he called for you, each iteration of your name becoming more desperate and helpless than the last. Finally, you peeled your eyes from the accident scene and looked down into the palms of your hands. The appendages felt alien to you as you watched the way they trembled like leaves in the wind, here yet not entirely. You knew with certainty that they were your hands as you turned them over, your eyes landing on and fixing themselves to the ring that adorned your left hand. That’s right. You and Mingi had been on your way home after a team dinner, which he had orchestrated under the guise of business to assemble your closest friends and members to ask you to be his bride.

No. No, no, this couldn’t be right. This had to be a dream. There was no way. You felt your body begin to move before you were even sure of where it was going, your voice passing through your lips like a whisper. You were stumbling your way to Mingi, his wails of panic still just as gut-wrenching and blood-curdling. He was being pulled from the wreckage as you approached, the firemen trying their best to calm your partner’s panic while also attempting to restrain him, informing him that the more he fought them, the more he could exacerbate his injuries or even spring new ones. But Mingi was in blind hysteria, his eyes never leaving the passenger seat, a mixture of blood and fresh, hot tears contorting and twisting his face into the very definition of pain.

“Mingki, jagi, please, I’m right here! Look, I’m fine!” you babbled, in desperate spurts, your hands reaching for him.

You needed him to see, to understand. It was a dream. He had to wake up. Stepping to his side, then, you made the mistake of following the line of his vision and was greeted with the source of the mania he had become so lost in. In a mess of flesh and steel, your head lulled over on one shoulder, eyes sparkling with tears and happiness only an hour before, now lifeless and cold. While the scene itself wasn’t necessarily gruesome, it was the hollow expression that colored your features, the pale stretch of skin over your cheeks that were usually so vibrant and brightly colored, that genuinely sealed your fate. This wasn’t a dream. This was very much real. There, in that intersection, somewhere on the streets of Seoul, you had died. And so did Mingi.

____________________________________________________________

The first two weeks were the hardest. Having Mingi within arms reach, extending a hand and running your knuckles over his, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his muscled back, and feeling his heartbeat, yet knowing he could feel none of it. The methods in which your physical touch had comforted him prior were now doing nothing. It left you feeling hopeless. There had been a few instances where he would respond to your touch, a subtle turn of the head, or a questioning gaze that lingered too long on your general direction to be a coincidence. But, each time you felt your chest blossom with the silent wish that you had made that connection, he’d simply turn away from you and fall back into his stupor.

That was the hardest. Death, in comparison, had been like the dream you had so desperately wished it to be. The death of drive, motivation, and will of your partner made it real. Seeing how he sunk in on himself and became a shell of the man you envisioned spending your life with hurt the most. Immediately following your death and with the guidance of his manager, Hongjoong, Mingi went on an indefinite leave of absence from their company. The only time he ever left the house was when he was left with scraps of food, and even then, that was only after his team members and best friends had stopped frequenting your home with delivery and takeout. At least once a week, someone from the team would come by to check on him, usually either Yunho or San, and sit with him. Words were rarely ever exchanged. It was mostly extended periods of silence with the occasional break in the form of your friends commenting on their current business proposals or the change in weather. Only once had they made the unforeseen mistake of mentioning you.

It was a few weeks following the accident. San and Wooyoung had both visited, bringing over beer and soju. It was the first time that Mingi had done more than sit idly on the sofa, tea going cold in his hands as he stared at his reflection in the strained liquid. He was engaging, albeit quietly, and had said more than hello and goodbye. As the night continued, with more booze being introduced into everyone’s system, Wooyoung had chosen to break the silence with a thought.

“You guys remember that one night we had taken y/n out for her promotion within the company?” he mused, eyes transfixed on the last sip of alcohol that he swished lazily at the bottom of his glass. San’s eyes immediately shifted to Wooyoung, observing him and listening closely as the younger of the two continued. “She had maybe two drinks and was already flushed and giggling at every stupid joke we told. Even the bad ones.”

“Woo…” San spoke cautiously, his gaze now jumping between the two men seated on either side of him.

“Even you don’t get drunk that quickly, Sannie.” Wooyoung laughed, throwing his drink back and finishing it with a quick gulp. “I’m convinced she played all of us for a fool at the team dinners and took water shots instead of soju.”

San reached around Wooyoung then, feeling the tension as it began building in the room, his hand finding and pulling the bottle of booze away from Woo’s reach.

“Alright, buddy, I think you might have had enough–”

“You remember, don’t you, hyung?” Wooyoung said quietly.

A beat of silence permeated the room before he continued, eyes glassed over and lost in a memory. “She clung to every word we said. You could’ve told her you hung the moon, and she’d have believed you.” He turned his attention to Mingi, who had gone quiet, head lulled forward and lost at the bottom of his glass. “Then again, y/n didn’t need to be tipsy to believe that. She loved us fiercely, even when I felt we didn’t deserve it.” You had watched from Mingi’s side, your hands clinging desperately to his own, tears stinging your eyes and threatening to spill forward. What Woo said next, though, caused the thread to snap.

“But that was nothing compared to how much she loved you, Mingki.”

Slowly, Mingi set his drink down on the table and rose from his seated position on the floor. With a stiff bow, he thanked San and Wooyoung for the company and drinks and exited the main room. Sidestepping into your bedroom, he slammed the door behind him with enough force to shake the picture frames hanging along the walls. Without a word, San gathered up Wooyoung, whose cheeks were now stained with tears, and they saw their way out. You followed closely behind them, choking on your sob, wanting so desperately for them to understand how much their friendship had meant to you, how much it still meant to you. The exchange between them as they put on their shoes and shuffled out of the door stopped you dead in your tracks.

“I’m sorry, Sannie. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, jagiya.”

“I miss him. I miss her. It feels like we’re mourning both of them.”

As San helped Wooyoung with his shoe ties, he thought carefully about his following words before speaking them out into the space between them. “That’s because we are, Woo.”

Mingi stopped accepting visitors shortly after that.

____________________________________________________________

The weeks had bled into months, the seasons changing and soon sweeping out the hot weather and introducing the cold. And with the warmer days went your confidence that you’d ever be able to bridge that invisible limbo between you and Mingi. Every night you had curled up beside him, holding him as best as your phantom limbs would allow, clinging to him and the life eddying out of him increasingly with each passing day. Admittedly, some days were better than others, especially when he resumed working with Hongjoong and the team. Any mention of you or your time with them was left strictly to quiet conversations amongst the men, clear of earshot from Mingi, which seemed to serve him just fine. He was falling back into his routine, pouring most of his time into his continued work and finding ways to keep himself busy when he didn’t have a project he was overseeing. He had started to spend more and more of his free time with the guys, once again opting into team dinners and evenings spent at someone’s home with drinks and games. But, despite the leaps and strides he made to appear as ‘normal’ and put together as he could, there were still times that the mask would falter, and he’d find himself breaking down and coming apart at the seams. It could be something as small as the smell of a woman’s perfume that he passed on the sidewalk, the brand reminiscent of the scent you favored, or the sound of a voice across the restaurant close enough to your timbre to have him snapping his neck with expectancy. While everyone noted and played into the charade that Mingi had painted for himself, every one of you knew that, eventually, the facade wouldn’t be enough to keep him together. He still refused to talk about the accident, let alone mention your name. And every night, once the quiet had settled over him and he was left alone with an empty apartment and his thoughts, he would still cry himself to sleep, clinging to the pillow that had long lost your scent. But, unbeknownst to you, and even Mingi, the falling of the year’s first snow would bring the pivotal turning point in his story.

It was late October, a week before Halloween, and the members had decided to celebrate the end of another work week with drinks and budae jjigae at Hongjoong’s apartment. Mingi had been tasked with collecting the ingredients needed for the hotpot, as he would be the first one leaving the office for the evening. Begrudgingly, he had agreed and bundled up accordingly before grabbing his suitcase, and the scribbled list Wooyoung had put together. The walk from the office to the supermarket was relatively short, but the time he would spend collecting the food needed for the evening would give the others time to reconvene at Joong’s place.

It was as typical an afternoon as any. Your new normal had consisted of following closely behind Mingi, amiably existing in his space as he went about his day-to-day tasks. You had long given up on the idea of him ever being able to see or feel you and, in doing so, had allowed yourself to be content with the opportunity to simply be an apparition that tagged along and watched over him. Stepping into the market with a quick bow to the attendant at the door, you walked beside him, arm crossed delicately around his, as he began pursuing the shelves and filling the small basket he had acquired. It wasn’t long before Mingi wandered into the produce aisle, bent at the waist and closely inspecting the quality and prices of the enoki and king oyster mushrooms they would need for the hotpot. As he did so, you looked around at the sea of people as they shopped. While most wore masks and weren’t necessarily decipherable from one face to the next, one woman, in particular, had caught your eye. Her stature was similar to yours, and she wore her hair long and down, bangs curtaining her face in a way that you found lovely. Absently, you reached up to your bangs and quickly fixed them, though you knew it would matter to no one but you. It wasn’t until she turned towards you and Mingi that you felt your heart drop to your feet, your fingers midstroke across your forehead. Mingi had corrected his spine then and had turned to face out into the store, and his eyes still focused on the pack of mushrooms he had selected when a quiet voice called out timidly, “Song Mingi?”

Instantly, his head whipped up in response to his name, and it was at that moment that you knew he had recognized the young woman that stood before you. A shy smile played at the corners of her mouth as she bent forward in respect, her hands gripping the basket she held between her fingers tightly. As she corrected herself, a quick flick of her chin caused her hair to fall away from her face as she said affably, “It’s been a long time.”

You could only watch in awe as Mingi bent at the waist and returned the bow, the tremor in his hand not passing your detection. Nodding as he stood straight, he quickly threw the pack of Enoki into his basket before responding with a clear throat, “Yes, it has. How, uh…how have you been? Are Omma and Appa doing well?”

“I’ve been well, thank you. And yes, they’re in good health. They’ve already started preparing for Christmas if you can believe that.”

With a chuckle, Mingi replied,” That doesn’t surprise me.”

There was a pause of awkward silence that filled the space before the young woman dared to take a step forward, her dark eyes cautious as she continued. “Have you been well?”

With a quick shrug of the shoulders, Mingi pulled his attention away from the woman and began scouring the shoppers. You could sense from his body language and the way his eyes darted that he was looking for an out, for any excuse to escape and avoid this conversation.

“As well as I can be,” he said simply.

“I see. And the members?”

“They’re in good health.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

You could feel the tension as it teetered on the edge, knowing and anticipating where the conversation led. He couldn’t run from it. Not this time.

“We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. With the holidays approaching, we wanted to extend an invitation for when we visit y/n’s gravesite.”

And there it was, the shoe you had been waiting to drop. You watched as Mingi swallowed down the anxiety you knew had been bubbling and building in his chest. It was one thing to avoid and sidestep conversations with the members and their shared friends. It was another to evade your older sister.

Bringing a trembling hand to the back of his neck, Mingi averted his eyes and chose instead to take a particular interest in his shoes, doing whatever he could to avoid the kind gaze of your sister. “My apologies, Noona. It’s not long since I’ve returned to the office, and Hongjoong hasn’t given me any real room to breathe with the projects we have coming up.”

A nod in understanding, followed by,” I understand. It must be challenging to balance everything now with what you’ve been through.”

“Yes…it has been.”

Another beat of silence passed between them before your sister’s shuffling drew your attention away from Mingi. You watched the bag over her shoulder as your sister retrieved a small tea candle pack and extended it to your partner.

“Omma poured these for us to burn for y/n over the holidays. She had poured you a set, as well. Take these, in case you aren’t able to make it.”

Pulling his eyes from the ground and finally meeting the sympathetic gaze of your sibling, Mingi’s brown eyes flitted to the pack of hand-poured candles she held outstretched to him. You stood with bated breath, your hands tangling in and fisting the cardigan that hung loosely at your sides. You knew the weight those small tea candles held for you and Mingi. Accepting this kindness would mean accepting what had happened. It would squarely place him face to face with the reality that he had spent these months so desperately trying to escape, even though it followed him in every aspect of his life. The reality that you weren’t coming home. That this would be his first Christmas without you. You weren’t there to comfort him after a hard day at work or on the nights when his anxiety had reached a particularly cataclysmic point. You weren’t there to join him and his brothers for nights of drinking and reminiscing, to laugh at their poorly times jokes. He could no longer outrun a past that included you. He had to face the present and accept that he had had a life with you. And that that chapter had ended.

Reaching forward, Mingi took hold of those small candles and finally allowed the tears to break the well that had been collecting. He didn’t try to swipe them away or hide his vulnerability or pain at that moment. In the middle of that grocery store, face to face with the young woman that so closely resembled you, he accepted her kindness and allowed himself to feel the heaviness of it. Clutching the candles tightly to his chest, Mingi bent at the waist in a deep bow.

“Thank you, Noona…”

___________________________________________________________

Mingi didn’t utter a word of his meeting with your sister to the boys as they progressed with their evening. As usual, he went about their time together, enjoying drinks and laughs with everyone as they gathered around the table to enjoy their dinner. There was a palpable difference in how his body moved, his limbs looser and his laugh more vibrant than they had remembered hearing it in recent weeks. None of them commented on the change, though, and reveled in the refreshed version of their brother that they had been blessed with. As the evening drug on, Yeosang and San stared out over the glittering lights of Seoul while the others took their respective turns on whatever game they had loaded up. It was then that the oldest of the two stepped forward and pulled open the sliding door of the balcony, Yeosang’s voice light as he exclaimed,” Looks like we get snow early this year.”

At the mention of snowfall, heads flicked over to the pair, Jongho and Yunho abandoning their places on the floor to join San and Yeosong out on the balcony. Eventually, all but Hongjoong and Mingi had assembled on the deck and sipped from their drinks, taking in the sight and simply choosing to exist in the moment. Your head rested easily against Mingi’s shoulder as you watched on, a content smile playing at the corners of your mouth when you heard Hongjoong speak from your partner’s other side.

“Maybe this is a sign of good fortune to come.”

Mingi was quiet as he looked on and simply nodded in agreement as he watched his brothers sling arms over one another, Wooyoung sticking his tongue out to attempt to catch a snowflake or two. You felt him shift beneath you shortly after that, adjusting your body into a seated position as you watched him reach around the table for his bag. Digging into the depths of it, your breath caught as he pulled forward your mother’s tea candles. Joong watched him now, not daring to speak as Mingi turned the packed candles over in his hands a few times, contemplating them. Standing then and stepping into the kitchen, Hongjoong returned with a small pack of matches and an extra glass and set them softly on the coffee table. It was an offering he would not push his brother to take but one he felt the need to extend.

After another beat, Mingi carefully peeled the plastic away from the first candle and set it on the table. Reaching for the box of matches, he quickly struck the wooden stick against the side of the box and watched as the fire licked to life and cast shadows over the planes of his face. By this point, everyone had turned their attention to the young man, the excitement of the snow paling compared to what they were witnessing. Carefully, Mingi navigated the tiny flame to the wick of the candle and waited for it to catch fire before pulling it away and flicking his wrist to extinguish it. He reached for the open bottle of soju to his right, pouring a shot into the empty glass and waiting. A moment of reflection, you realized, as all eight men watched that tiny flame dance along the candle's surface, the booze in the glass catching and refracting light back as it glittered over the table.

To your surprise, Mingi was the first to break his silence as he lifted his glass in a toast, the lining of his eyes burning with a molten shimmer as he breathed the words you had silently wished for.

“To y/n.”

“To y/n,” they all parroted in quiet unison, tipping their glasses back and finishing their drinks.

The remainder of the evening felt like it had been pulled directly from your memories. Direct references to times you drank together, each of them taking their time to laugh, cry, and remember the bonds you had forged with each of them individually. You realized then, as you found yourself lost in the sounds of their friendship, your eyes only leaving that tiny flicker of a flame to gaze at the face of your beloved contentedly, that it wasn’t up to you to reconnect with your betrothed or even the brothers that sat around him. The connection had never been severed. It had simply been tangled along the way. Their patience and guidance and a single act of genuine kindness are what it took for him to find his way again. Finding himself at a crossroads and choosing to walk the path you had forged together, even if it now meant having to traverse it alone. As you leaned into Mingi’s side again, the flicker from the candle dancing behind the deep color of your eyes, you silently agreed with the sentiment Hongjoong had stated before. This was a sign of good fortune and much more fortune to come.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: Hello everyone! Day 2 has defintely taken a deatour from the fluff I introduced in Day 1 but I am very pleased with the structure and how this one-shot came together. I hope you enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with more fluff and happy Mingki! this particular fic has not been proofread✧˖°.

#song mingi x reader #song mingi x y/n #song mingi #song mingi one shot #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #song mingi angst #mingi angst #paige writes #ateez #ateez fic #ateez one shot #mingi one shot #mingi #happy mingi month #catkyunie fic

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specialinterestshows · 8 months

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If it’s okay to request, would you be willing to write dom!Liv (IZombie) where she makes you be quiet? 👀 (gn!reader is completely okay)

You got it, beautiful!

I present my very first iZombie ficlet, a dom!Olivia Moore x genderneutral!reader story:

Don’t Say Moore

It had been an unusually tame week in Seattle, leaving the SPD morgue about as lifeless as the few corpses kept cold there. Strolling in, you set your coat down on a nearby chair before quietly creeping up behind a man you’d gotten to know well enough with to startle.

“Got you!” you declare triumphantly as Ravi Chakrabarti jumps at your touch on his shoulder.

"Another busy day going out of your way to harass hard-working medical professionals, I take it?" he asks you, feigned irritation in the undertones of his East London accent.

"Yup!" you reply cheerily, "One down, one to go."

"I believe your second victim is rummaging around the supply closet somewhere," Ravi said, a mischievous grin on his face as he watched you quietly turn the corner.

It was your turn to be startled as the supply closet door swung open, revealing the exceptionally pale, blonde woman you had been seeing for about a week now. Olivia Moore had saved you from a close encounter with a zombie and the two of you had gotten close in the process - as close as a human and a zombie can get without becoming two zombies, anyway. The way she was looking at you today was different: the hunger that you usually saw deep in her eyes as she scanned your body - that definitely-too-sexual-for-work longing glance - seemed to instead have been replaced with the genuinely ravenous stare of an apex predator.

“Babe, you look like you haven’t slept!" you exclaim, surprised to see dark circles around her eyes. Then, upon seeing her shoulder, you began to panic, "Is that a bullet wound? Wait, when’s the last time you’ve… eaten?” your voice gets softer as she walks past you. Despite not having been together long, the two of you had already had your share of arguments about the realities of her investigative work. You had honestly expected more of a fight.

“Rough night helping Clive. I’m handling it," Liv grunts, setting out the medical supplies she had taken from the supply closet and missing the questioning look you gave Ravi, whose eyes seemed to plead you to change the subject.

“It’s just... the detective work you do is so dangerous," you continue, ignoring the doctor's animated grimace, "I know you want to help people, but you're already a medical examiner, right? So do you really need to keep putting yourself at risk doing this detective thing?” You look over at Ravi to back you up, but he stands up suddenly.

"I’ll just go update Clive on our progress, then. Be right back,” and with that he ducks out, looking for all the world like he couldn’t exit the morgue fast enough.

“Babe, I worry about something happening to you all the time-“ you start before Liv interrupts you.

“You don’t have to worry about me dying," she said bluntly, "I'm already dead."

Liv keeps her eyes on the supplies as she keeps talking, "Just a shambling zombie dealing with a slow week at the morgue. If I've learned anything working here, it's that the people of Seattle don't usually stop murdering each other for very long."

“Liv, I care about you. How am I supposed to not worry when you’re putting yourself in danger all the time?” you put your hand on her shoulder, wishing she would turn around and look at you - only to regret it. Her head whips around, eyes turning red before letting out a growl and putting her hand around your throat.

“Shut. Up.” she spat, pinning you down onto one of the empty exam tables. Knowing her nails were one small movement away from taking your humanity, you kept yourself as still as possible and your breath as shallow as you could manage under her grip.

"Say another word and I won't have to wait for a murder to get my next meal," she snarled, inches away from your face. Your own heartbeat pounded loudly in your ears and you had a moment when you were sure you were about to pass out - then, Liv's eyes shifted just as quickly back to their usual muted shades and she let go of you. Gasping to get enough air again, you clutch your chest before feeling your neck for scratches. Thankfully, you seem unscathed. Looking up, you notice Liv is smiling now and decide not to say anything that might change that.

[end]

#izombie #olivia moore #liv moore x reader #dom!Liv #gn!reader #ravi chakrabarti #request #beckylymchs #i had a lot of fun writing this!#specialinterestshows presents #don’t say moore

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pangolinheart · 8 months

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FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 18 - FISH OUT OF WATER

Z'rhiki finally gets invited to an Ishgardian ball, but finds it's not exactly as she expected. Luckily, encountering a friendly face lifts her spirits.

(Disclaimer: I'm going to go back and edit this later, but I'm exhausted right now. It might read a little rough for the next day or so.)

Rating: General Genre: Fluff, romance(?) Characters: Stephanivian de Haillenarte, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Relationship(s): Stephanivian/Warrior of Light Word Count: 1,763 Content Warnings: None

So this is an Ishgardian Ball, Z’rhiki thought in wonderment. Her eyes traced the ballroom’s stone arches, climbing with them to the apex of the vaulted ceiling overhead. From there they slid down the chains of the elaborate chandeliers that dangled above the proceedings. The crowd beneath them was a shifting mass of colors; exquisitely dyed silks and velvets in rich reds, vibrant yellows, deep blues, and vivid greens swirled in front of her. The throng expanded and undulated in time with the delicate orchestral music wafting through the air. Under the sound of the violins and cellos, the low murmur of quiet conversations, punctuated by clinking glasses the occasional dainty laugh, blanketed the hall. In many ways it was just as she had imagined such galas would be when she was a girl.

She had been floored when Edmont had extended the invitation to her. She rarely ever got to attend such refined parties. She enjoyed the raucous, drunken celebrations of adventurers, of course, but there was a small, frivolous part of her that had always wanted to attend something so fancy. As the Warrior of Light, she was invited to congratulatory banquets and diplomatic functions, but those were work affairs. She was typically expected to wear her armor – albeit her shiniest, most decorative set – and spent the majority of the evening being used as a prop by the Scions or other attendees: someone one could introduce to visiting dignitaries, or point to as an illustration of heroic deeds past and valiant efforts yet to come. She wasn’t there to have fun, and she had stopped expecting to. This, though, was different. Edmont had invited her as a friend and guest of House Fortemps, not as the savior of Ishgard who had quelled the thousand-year Dragonsong War. He had encouraged her to wear what she liked and enjoy the night’s festivities. It was exactly the sort of invitation a young Rhiki would have dreamed of.

What differed the most from the picture she had painted in her head long ago, though, was her place in the scene. She had always envisioned herself dancing among the other guests, chatting and laughing and sharing drinks with friends and strangers alike. She had always been the friendly, outgoing sort – the type of person who could strike up a conversation with anyone she met. So why was this situation so… different? She felt uncomfortable, out of place. It wasn’t just the dress she was wearing, though even she had to admit it didn’t fit her perfectly despite having been hurriedly altered for someone of her stature. Everything felt ill-suited to her. Almost everyone in the room was at least a foot taller than her, with the exception of some children she had seen scurrying about the edges of the dance floor and a few of the hyurian staff members who dipped in and out of the party as unobtrusively as possible to refill glasses and refresh plates of h’ors d’oeuvres. She wondered how many of the other attendees even noticed her, with their natural gazes so far above her head. She knew none of the coordinated dances, and just when she thought she may have memorized enough steps of one to attempt it, the music would change, and a new dance would begin. Other than Edmont and his two sons, she knew almost no one in attendance. She had hoped that at least Aymeric might be there, but it seemed his duties had left him either too busy or too tired to make an appearance. She had been about to ask Emmanellain to teach her one of the dances (despite any other failings he was, at least, a skilled dancer) or perhaps to introduce her to some of his friends. But as soon as he had heard that Laniaitte de Haillenarte, who had returned to the city on leave from Camp Cloudtop, was planning to attend, he had disappeared into the sea of guests. She had shadowed Edmont for a while, and he had made some polite introductions on her behalf, but eventually he had been pulled into the orbit of some old friends and she had left him to reminisce with them.

Now she stood awkwardly, drink in hand, near the tables where plates of canape and finger foods had been laid out for peckish guests to indulge in at their convenience. Were this a tavern or a marketplace she would have no trouble chatting up another bystander, but when she considered taking a similar tact here, she realized that she had absolutely no idea what Ishgarian nobles usually talked about. Eavesdropping had rewarded her only with unfamiliar names and incomprehensible inside jokes. She sighed and stared into the depths of her glass. She supposed she could drink enough to make a fool of herself. That was always entertaining. But, no. Edmont had been kind enough to invite her and she didn’t want to embarrass him or besmirch his reputation.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Z’rhiki is that you?” She heard her name and looked up to see…

“Stephanivien?”

She almost didn’t recognize him without his manufactory attire. Even if she hadn’t, though, the device in his hands would have immediately betrayed the man’s identity.

Hearing her acknowledge him, he closed the gap between them with long, unhurried strides. “I thought the prospectometer had detected an unusually glum mood, but I would never have imagined I would find it attached to you.” He glanced down at the readings on the invention’s screen, then back up at her face.

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, covering her mouth with her free hand to stifle the giggle. “You know, sometimes I think that machine doesn’t actually do anything at all, and you just make up whatever you say it tells you.”

He frowned, though thankfully not in earnest offense. “What? Perish the thought! I am wounded that you have such little faith in my genius! And when you yourself have wielded my creations in your own two hands!”

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right.” She waved the hand that she had been holding in front of her mouth. “I’ve no doubt the prospectrometer really does… whatever you designed it to do.”

With a smile, he tucked the device under his arm. “Indeed, it rarely steers me wrong. And, in this case, I can confirm the accuracy of its readings with my own eyes. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you with such a forlorn expression. Whatever is the matter?”

He was staring at her with a blatant earnestness she had grown unaccustomed to seeing from others, and she suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze. Shifting uncomfortably, she found that she had somehow managed to feel embarrassed about being embarrassed. “It’s nothing serious,” She assured him. “I was just feeling… a little awkward is all. I’ve never been to a party like this before, at least not in Ishgard, and I guess… I feel a bit out of place. Like a fish out of water. I have no idea what to do or who to talk to. So, I’ve just been… standing back here, trying not to embarrass myself.”

Stephanivien regarded her thoughtfully. “I fail to see what you have to be embarrassed about! You’re an invited guest just as we all are, are you not?” He had a point, and she nodded. “However, I suppose Ishgardian high society can seem rather impenetrable, especially to those from outside the city’s walls. To tell you the truth, I’m not very good at talking to them either. This will surprise you, I’m sure.”

She allowed herself a small smile. She had certainly witnessed the disputes between he and other members of the high houses, including his own father. Despite his effusive and agreeable disposition, it wasn’t hard to imagine that he might find himself regularly at odds with some of his peers. “Thank you, Stephanivien. Really.” She paused, finally looking back up at him. “Actually, what are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Truthfully, the possibility that he might be in attendance had never really crossed her mind. She knew he was a son of House Haillenarte, but he looked so at home among the steel and steam of the manufactory that it was hard to picture him anywhere else.

Stephanivien turned his head to look back out at the dance floor. “Well, while I would certainly prefer to while away my hours tinkering in the workshop, my father insists I show my face at formal events every now and again. You know how he is. In this matter, at least, I don’t mind indulging him. As long as he doesn’t start urging me to take up the lance again, though it seems we’ve finally laid that quarrel to rest.”

“That’s good to hear,” she hummed. Personally, she thought Count Baurendouin should count himself lucky to have a like Stephanivien, knight or no. He was brilliant, after all, but also industrious, fair-minded, and ever enthusiastic. She really was glad to hear that his father was starting to appreciate these qualities as well.

They stood there quietly for a minute or two, watching the rest of the guests sway in time to the music, before Stephanivien suddenly extended a hand to her. “Would you care to dance? Though, if you prefer to stand here and brood mysteriously, pray do not let me interrupt.”

This made her laugh and shake her head. She took a last long gulp of her wine and set the empty glass to the side. “I don’t really know how,” she warned him, though she had already reached out to accept his invitation.

“Well, then I shall simply teach you,” He said, leading her towards the dance floor. “You were a quick study with a carbine, so I suspect this will pose you very little challenge.”

He paused, halting several feet short of the crowd. Glancing back at her, he raised his eyebrows, his smile taking on a sly edge. “And, should you find dancing not to your taste, we could always sneak out and return to the manufactory. You haven’t been by in quite a while! So long, in fact, that I was starting to think you were avoiding us. I’d love to show you some of the spectacular new creations I’ve been working on! You strike me as a woman who enjoys… explosives.”

She grinned, and marveled at how quickly all of her troubles had melted away under his attention. “At least there’s one other person at this party who knows how to have fun!”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #stephanivien de haillenarte #stephanivien x wol #rhiki tag #auggie writes #i can barely type I'm so tired good night all #zzzzzzzzzzz

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umbralrosa · 13 days

Text

Sakuyoru's Dead By Daylight Verse

This verse is made with Sakuyoru as both a Killer and Survivor. Majority of Killers in Dead By Daylight have their own Survivors involved with their story, but for Sakuyoru, her only enemy has always been herself. This is made clear by this dual positioning.

Sakuyoru as a Survivor dresses according to her Modern Verse, whereas Sakuyoru as a Killer dresses according to her Default Verse.

Killer Subverse:

Darkness and misery has clung to Sakuyoru Xin-Fang since the moment she was born, if not perhaps, before. Molded by the judgement and warfare of her father, whom is the sole reason for her life being as cursed as it is. Her mother could only do so much to support and put back the pieces of a child constantly fracturing from every sharp tone and survival tactic.

She would not know such love and support after the age of seven, when her father killed her mother in the midst of midnight. Ever since then, she was an orphan. Living alone in the wilderness, surviving from the lesson her father enforced. Every waking moment, she feels something sinister in the background, and assumes it to be her father manifested as mental torment. Every time she tried to sleep, only nightmares and terrors came to her, and would awaken to nothing but darkness as her cold blanket in the night.

Sakuyoru should not have been able to live so much as a year on her own, but she was not human. Not entirely. Her mother's predecessors run through every sinew and cell of her body, the evolutionary connectedness of human to nature through the plants that surrounded them. Though, she truly is cursed: Meant to both maim and mend, despite the Fang Family being exclusively healers.

She is the last of her family, both by blood and lineage. She has always been alone, and she has used it to thrive off of, in tandem with vengeance and rage. Every time she should have been cut down, shot through, dismembered... A strange presence made itself known, observing the way she would slowly get back up when she should have bled out or succumb to her injuries. Every scar was a reminder of her perseverance.

In adulthood, after murdering her last remaining family members, she exploited her biological manipulation for her own machinations. She could no longer age, she could not have children, and all of her internal systems were remade and given different roles for living. On the outside, she seemed normal, but every cell and fiber of her being on the inside was far from that.

It was on her 100th birthday that she put her curiosity toward the presence she had assumed to be her father's shadow. The Unnamed One could never be put down so simply as she thought at 16. When one night it appeared again, Sakuyoru exited her abode and sauntered toward the tree line, staring into the darkness – and it stared back. Whatever it was, new she would not be swayed so simply. Her father sowed the seeds of every little thing to keep her from reacting. She was like a still porcelain doll.

It used Sakuyoru's inquisitive nature against her, and she knew what it was doing. The fog that swallowed her forests made every single shadow darker than it normally would be at this time and season, her roses did not react to this presence – giving enough clues as to what this constant stranger is.

Like an apex predator, she stalked forth into the deep fog, where the Realm would come to know The Achromatic Despot.

Killer Perks:

1. Hex: Hypervigilance

Surviving alone has made you one with nature. You perceive everything. Nothing can run, nor hide.

While a Survivor is inside the 8/16/24 meter radius, they suffer from the Exposed Status Effect. While Exposed, the Survivor can be put into the Dying State when hit. This lingers for 5 seconds when the Survivor leaves the radius.

If this Hex Totem remains during the Endgame Collapse, the radius becomes 16/24/32 meters, and grants the ability to kill all survivors within the radius upon being put in the dying state, akin to a Memento Mori.

When the Hex Totem is cleansed or blessed, all Survivors suffer from the Exposed Status Effect for 5 seconds.

2. Apex Predator

You are above all in the food chain – be them prey or hunter alike.

When in line of sight of a Survivor in the Injured, Deep Wound, or Dying State, you gain the Haste Status Effect for 5/7/9 seconds, moving at 5.5 m/s for the duration.

Apex Predator enters a 10/15/20 second cooldown if a Survivor is out of sight for 5 seconds.

3. Despotic Vengeance

You persevere through all trials and tribulations brought upon you. Make them pay.

You cannot be stunned, hindered, nor blinded. If a Survivor attempts to Stun, Hinder, or Blind you, the action's effect is inflicted upon the Survivor instead.

Survivor Subverse:

Life for Sakuyoru was almost like any other. Her mother stayed at home in one country, and her father in the one she was born in. The separation was necessary, but not enough. The Yakuza he had been formerly aligned with were not the honorable kind, and tracked down his family to England. The quiet morning would cease the silence with the sound of gunfire coming through the wooden door, only hitting the adult woman inside. Her pale hair stained red, and yet despite the traumatic ordeal, died almost peacefully. Only because she died knowing her youngest child in the home was safe.

Sakuyoru; however, having witnessed the only loving human in her life be taken from her, was subject to mental illnesses brought on by the event. Her albinism was already prone to bullying by peers, but her mental troubles shown through her behavior. All of which was far from supported and tended to by her father, who moved his children back to Japan to reside in his estate. It was just her that stayed within predominantly, so loneliness was her only company while her father kept to his businesses, and her older sibling Gods know where doing who knows what.

Sakuyoru had a tendency to respond to her harassers in public school in a far from healthy manner. Many children who thought she would be easy to mess with would find themselves with broken bones and nastier bruises. Her demeanor toward any person around her was filled with distrust, her only 'friends' being the animals that would come to her willingly. Despite her misanthropic violence, was kind and gentle with plants and animals – they did not judge her, they did not harm her, particularly the crows that would sit by her every day. Watching with their black lightless eyes.

She was known as The Pale Girl by the student body. Faculty knew who her father was, and were always at the ready to help if she needed it – afraid of what would happen if they weren't satisfactory to Sakuyoru. She never asked for anything, though. She had to learn in adolescence how to take care of herself. The only thing her father did in her life was set her up for schooling and therapy, but was rarely physically present.

Sakuyoru only split from her father's estate when she learned of why her mother had been taken from her so early in her life. She resented her father. Refused anything he had to offer. By this time, she was done with college and capable of living on her own, and that's exactly what she did. Wherever she went, the crows followed. She considered them her new family.

Once at her new home, it was meticulously kept and quiet, save for the caws of crows outside on her balcony. All was some semblance of new normalcy for her, at least for almost a year. It was her 21st birthday, October 30th, and Halloween was on the horizon. She spent her favorite holiday with dark and gothic decor, her home smelled like apples and spice, and dried autumn leaves hung on string around the doorways.

That night, after everyone had finished their celebrations, she set up a ritual dedicated to prosperity and peace for the remainder of the year. A neat circle was in the middle of her bedroom, with candles lit and a small bell at the end of a silk string in her hand.

The energy in her room was heavy, and what light was cast from the candles dared not reflect off the walls. They flickered violently, but Sakuyoru would not know this, as her eyes were shut. Only opening in alarm when the candles were swiftly snuffed out by the darkness encroaching the circle in a deep black fog. All she saw before being vanishing, was a single black crow – staring back at her. Knowingly.

All was cold. Awakening on her back in the middle of dark forests, where in the distance was a campfire, and a few shadows of people surrounding it. She did not approach to join, nor ask questions about where she was and how it came to be. Even in this place, far from home, the crows flocked to her. Like always, she kept to herself. Always quiet, and never made herself readily known. She stayed on the outskirts, just on the border of what was safe and what wasn't, but can see the campfire clearly.

Strangely, she found this place more comforting than the world she always knew.

Survivor Perks:

1. Boon: Hypervigilance

An affliction of anxiety claims you - you trust nothing and no-one, not even yourself.

Press and hold the Active Ability button on a Dull or Hex Totem to bless it and create a Boon Totem.

Soft chimes ring out in a radius of 24 meters.

All Survivors and the Killer benefit from the following effects when inside the Boon Totem's radius:

An aura of 8/12/16 meter radius around the totem conceals Survivors inside from Killer Instinct and Exposed Status Effect.

This lingers for 5 seconds after leaving the Boon Totem's range.

While inside the Boon Totem's radius, all sound from Survivors, and the Killer's Terror Radius, become muffled.

2. Introversion

Working with others puts possibility for risks. You work alone, live alone, and die alone.

When around no other Survivors in a 9/6/3 meter radius, you gain increased Action speeds in Repairing, Healing, Sabotaging, Unhooking, Cleansing, Blessing, Opening, and Unlocking.

You gain the ability to heal yourself without a Med-Kit, but is significantly slowed when around other Survivors.

If you are the only survivor alive, all Action speeds increase to 110%, and gain 4.5 m/s without suffering from the Exhausted Status Effect.

3. Boon: Improvize

You are intelligent and resourceful, able to create with what you have.

Press and hold the Active Ability button on a Dull or Boon Totem to move or hold it.

If there is an active Boon on the carried totem, soft chimes ring out in a radius of 24 meters.

Press and hold the Special Ability button on a Dull or Boon Totem to move and/or hold it after a Difficult Skill Check. While holding the Dull or Boon Totem, you cannot run for 6/4/2 seconds. If you lose a health state while holding the Dull or Boon Totem, it will break.

#玫Dead By Daylight [Verse]

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springfallendeer · 4 months

Text

Predawn 001

Just a silly little thing I wrote, featuring a lesser-used AU of mine ("Predawn", aka, space dinosaur AU). Briefly features @pulsarsatellite's Aberrant, who I adore.

Written largely in the style of a nature documentary.

The sun shines brightly in the morning sky, breathing the first breaths of life into the icy landscape.

Spring has only just made its return following a particularly harsh and unforgiving winter. While it has finally started to get warmer, winter has given the landscape one last cold front with its dying breath.

The freshly fallen snow brilliantly glitters as the light dances across it. By midday, it will be gone and the fresh spring grass will emerge. But for now, the snow is here. Cold, crisp, and white.

It masks the smell of nearby predators, while easily giving away the location of the local herbivore herds.

Centrosaurus. These three ton Pre-Dawn ceratopsians are relatives of the Dre-Dawn Triceratops, after which this family alien of dinosaurs is named. They are easily distinguished from others of their family tree by the look of their bony frill.

The outer edge of the crest is lined with many small horns, which wear down from vigorous use as the animal ages. Four larger, but still relatively small, hooked horns grow around the apex of the arch. One set rests on the edge of the crest, whereas the other can be found beneath them. These horns line up with the eye, and curve inward towards it; with the innermost set curling so far downwards that they can sometimes go on to pierce the frill itself. On the males, there exists an extra set of horns that grow just above each eye. These additional horns are used for combat; particularly to puncture or gouge out the eyes of their opponents.

The herd has gathered here in search of food. They use the long horn on the end of their noses to disrupt the hardened sheet of snow. Once the ice it broken, they then bow their heads further to then scrape the remaining snow away using the bony protrusions on the sides of their frills.

When the snow is removed, slumbering blades of grass can be found underneath. This is exactly what the herd is after. They go about their business seemingly without care, as if blissfully unaware of how their every move gives away their location.

Every action of the grazers disrupts the dense ice. With each footstep there comes an audible crackle as the frozen layer cracks and gives way beneath their immense weight. Likewise, the ground crunches as the hungry creatures scrape the ice away in search of tender foliage.

Just one of these bulky herbivores would create a ruckus with its early morning foraging. But a whole herd, numbering nearly a hundred, creates a chorus.

That chorus in turn acts as a sirens song. The sound is completely irresistible to any predators who might be looking for a meal.

Unfortunately for the herd, there are multiple predators in the area; and due to the harsh circumstances of the previous winter, not one of them is willing to pass up the opportunity to obtain a meal.

A trio of Pre-Dawn Albertosaurus; likely a family. This species is a smaller relative of the planets Tyrannosaur. Both of which drastically differ from their extinct Earth counterparts, despite their many similarities.

These alien theropods are currently blanketed in a thick layer of downy winter feathers. These feathers primarily exist to insulate the animal in order to fend off the bitter chill of winter; but thanks to their largely white coloration, they also double as camouflage.

This last blanket of snow has given them the perfect opportunity to make one last cold-weather hunt, before the changing of the seasons sends them into an awkward transition to their summer colors. This will likely be the last time that camouflage is fully on their side for the next few weeks. They cannot allow this opportunity to slip away from them.

The carnivorous beasts move silently, in comparison to the noise created by the herbivore herd. Their camouflage makes them near indistinguishable from the surrounding snow, when standing still. To make use of this, the predators move at a snails pace while hunting in the snow. At least right up until the last possible moment.

Thanks to the cold air and the lack of a morning breeze, their scent goes unnoticed by the oblivious herd.

The same cannot be said about the Albertosaurs, whose nasal ridges are still engorged by stores of seasonal fat. These fat stores will disappear over the course of the next few weeks as the air is warmed up by spring. When this happens, the familiar pronounced brow-ridge of the Albertosaurus will return. But for now, their nasal ridge remains pronounced. Which means they will serve their intended purpose; which is to heat the frozen air as the theropod breathes.

Warm air carries scents better. It also stings the lungs less during times of strenuous activity, such as hunting. This is but another adaptation unique to the Albertosaurus of Pre-Dawn.

The scent of the nearby Centrosaurs appears to be mouthwatering. The Albertosaur family; particularly their young daughter; cannot help but drool at the prospect of a future meal.

The youngster shows great control by remaining alongside her parents as they creep towards their intended prey. Likely because she has learned throughout the winter that there are consequences to breaking formation early. Her sunken ribs and the sunken ribs of her family can be spotted even through their dense layer of down. This establishes that the lesson has likely been learned the hard way throughout the cold season.

She is doing well to learn from her mistakes. She might not be able to survive if she costs her family another meal.

By a stroke of sheer luck, the family manages to creep up just behind the Centrosaurus at the very back of the herd. The old doe is so engrossed in her foraging behavior that she still has not taken notice of the trio of predators that have come up from behind.

Her larger size and her prominent frill have put her at a disadvantage. Ceratopsians have a limited range of rear-facing vision at the best of times thanks to their prominent frills and their stocky bodies. They largely rely upon scent and sound in order to take notice of a predator before it can attack.

Thanks to the snow and the high activity of her herd-mates, she cannot see, smell, or even hear the Albertosaurs as they creep up from behind her. Not until the flailing of her head as she scrapes away the snow allows the predators to come within the range of her periphery.

Her reaction time is on point. She lets out a shrill alarm call to get the herd moving and charges forward the instant that she takes notice of the predators.

But unfortunately for her, the Albertosaur family is far too close and her herd does not disperse fast enough. She doesn’t have the room to go forward, and she barely has the room to turn and fight. She’s barely gotten herself sideways by the time the predators charge forward to sink their teeth into her hide.

Against one of these malnourished Albertosaurs, she might have had a fighting chance to get away once caught. She would have escaped with painful wounds, and she might have developed an infection, but she would have escaped. But against a trio of Albertosaurs, capable of biting her from multiple angles at once? She never stood a chance. The instant that that first bite was landed, her fate was sealed.

The youngster and her mother sink their teeth into rump of their captured prey to prevent it from escaping as the startled herd flees. Their grasp also prevents the struggling Centrosaurus from being able to charge as the male steps in to land the most important blow.

With his prey restrained and unable to charge him, the male steps around to lock his jaws around the back of the herbivores neck. With his head tucked safely away behind that elaborate frill and his jaws locked, he is relatively safe from harm.

The dramatic head flailing of the Centrosaurus might jostle him a bit, and the edge of the crest itself might slam into the side of his chest, but he will otherwise be fine. It is the horns and the powerful maw of the Centrosaurus that he needs to be the most wary of, and so long as he is behind that crest, neither of those dangers can do him any harm. His job is to hold the Centrosaur down while his mate and offspring tear into its hindquarters.

The herbivore will fight up until its dying breath. The trio must wear it out quickly before they can feed. Keeping it locked in place while they rip it open will be the most effective way to bring it into shock.

It is now a battle of endurance where the predators try to wear down the prey’s stamina before their prey can overwhelm them and break free.

The old doe is nearly as heavy as the three of them combined. She pushes forward with her legs, slowly dragging the male as he struggles to keep his jaws locked around her neck. All the while the female Albertosaurs tear into her hindquarters with sharp teeth and hooked claws.

Splotches of disturbed snow become stained with the Centrosaur’s blood as she fights valiantly to free herself. The combined heat of her blood, the three Albertosaurs, and the morning sun all work together to quickly thaw the snow where they stand.

As a result, the ground beneath them quickly grows soft and unreasonably slippery. Icy mud is kicked up as the four dinosaurs struggle through their fight. The predators in particular struggle to maintain their balance in such slippery terrain, and so the flailing of the frantic herbivore does eventually work as intended.

The old doe breaks free! A valiant effort on her part, but this success comes far too late. Heavily wounded and steadily bleeding out from her many brutal injuries, she stands no chance at walking away from this confrontation with her life. The Albertosaurs give her a wide berth as she turns to confront them, rightly wary of the harm that she could do to them with her massive nasal horn.

But despite their wariness, they do not allow her time to rest. They encircle her exhausted frame and take turns creeping him to nip at her haunches, slowly wearing her out further. All three are eager to begin their meal. They need only wait for the shock to set in and for her to succumb to her exhaustion.

Thankfully, it does not take long. The old doe inevitably collapses from exhaustion after being harassed by the predators for a while longer. Once her back end loses the ability to stand, the Albertosaurs close in to begin their meal. All of them equally exhausted, but no doubt relieved at having secured themselves this bounty of fresh meat.

=========================================

“Good job on the editing.” Aberrant hums as he finishes observing what is hopefully the final draft of their most recent documentary.

“Great job capturing all of those shots. I can’t believe how much footage you gave me to work with.” Ayala replies.

“Particularly with that fight! You could see the Albertosaur digging his teeth into the back of that Centrosaur’s neck! That was an unbelievable shot.” She adds, giving her fingers a few satisfactory pops as she does. This is her usual way of signaling that she is now done with her work for the day. All that remains now is to send this most recent draft to the higher ups in order for it to be approved for public broadcasting. Hopefully no further edits will be requested.

“Oh yeah. I had to get real up close and personal to get all that footage~ I nearly got eaten.” The animatronic responds in turn, naturally making a joke. All of the footage had been captured via remotely controlled drones, all of which were under his control. At no point was his personal safety ever at risk. Though they did admittedly lose a couple of poorly placed drones when the herd charged and while the predators were fighting to bring down their prey. But such were the risks of the nature crew.

“Did you now~?” The woman chuckles, amusement obvious in her voice as she addresses the machine.

“I suppose I’ll have to give you a lookover, then. Can’t have you keeling over on me in the middle of gathering footage.” She muses, reaching up and playfully putting her hand over the animatronic’s face to jostle it as she speaks. She then lets out a little squeak and a giggle as Aberrant responds to her antics by sticking his tongue out and licking her palm.

“Make sure to be thorough~” He chuckles in turn, grabbing the woman’s arm before she can fully retract it. He then places an affectionate kiss on her knuckles while maintaining eye contact, just to be sweet.

“Then you’d best get to the bed and get ready~” Ayala hums, smiling up at the animatronic. She then rises onto her toes to meet him in a kiss as he leans down. He then ruffles her hair before scampering off; likely to the bedroom. She’ll meet him there once she’s turned in their work for the day. After which point, who can say what they’ll actually get up too.

Probably something silly, knowing Aberrant. Something silly that will somehow still lead to him getting in her pants, after he’s nearly made her faint from laughter. Either way, she’s looking forward to it. Their little games are just another part of what makes this job so exciting.

#Predawn #Predawn AU #001

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crying-pan420 · 2 years

Text

The cyclone Roller coaster disaster

The six members of the St.Cassian Chamber choir boarded the cyclone roller coaster on Monday, September 14th, 6:17pm. And at 6:19 the same roller coaster’s front axle broke. Causing it to derail at the apex of the loop-de-loop, hurling the children to their deaths. Each had their own love, dreams and fears, each barely leaving a mark on their world, yet as they fell everything seemed to stop like they were the only ones that mattered. When the Cyclone derailed everything had changed.

At first they all screamed in terror, of course they would, this was the end, but as they fell 5 screams changed to 4, to 3, to 2, to none. At first their screams went unheard, blending in with the ruckus of the fair but not for long. Everyone stopped to stare, to gawk, to marvel at this tragic event, yet despite the children's deaths people still watched in joy, interest, fascination, this was the most interesting thing to happen here for years. These children's deaths were a show to them, something they could sit, watch, enjoy and pray it never happened to them. Their deaths spread like wildfire through the town ‘til even the trees had known.

But back to the children, the first to stop screaming was Penny, not because she had chosen to but because her head was sliced off her head and flung into the distance, gone forever, the most forgettable girl in town now unrecognisable. Her body went limp in the back seat, being recklessly thrown about, along with the boy next to her, Ricky who had felt as though every time he made contact with the cart, his organs rearranged themselves. The second to stop was Constance Blackwood, her screams shortly turned into laughter, she sobbed through uncontrollable bouts of laughter, she wheezed short unsteady breathes as their inevitable death drew nearer, she was dying yes but she had lived. She had so many memories in uranium. Why should she be embarrassed by them? She looked back over and regretted so much, she wished she could’ve told everyone, her parents, her brother, the choir how much they meant to her but still out of the choir she was the only one to die happy.

Noel was the next to stop screaming, when the cyclone began to derail he had clung onto Mischa for dear life, his chipped fingernails digging into the fabric of Mischa jumper and the other protectively grabbed ahold of him. Noel died mid air, his organs began to shut down as he neared the ground and his body went limp in Mischas arms, in a way he had the least tragic death, he died before feeling the impact of hitting the ground, the pain. His life wasn’t tragic, just mediocre. Yet as his hand fell from Mischas back the other boy screamed louder possibly even louder than Ocean but he wouldn’t let him go, that would make all of this real, that would make it all speed up and he couldn’t let that happen, Mischa would hold onto this ignore reality for as long as he could. Ricky was next, his battered body slammed against every surface it could, lacking another person to help secure him like the others did. Ricky died upon impact like Mischa, Ocean and Constance did, and it hurt. He died as soon as he hit the ground but atleast that meant the pain didn’t last as long. Ocean was the next to stop screaming, the one before Mischa. Her legs along with Constance's were squished, deformed, broken. Ocean knew before they boarded the ride it was dangerous, the rickety support and the stench of alcohol that drained off the carnie were signs she shouldn’t have ignored, but this was Constance's favourite ride and she had promised, it was a tradition after all. However when it derailed her brain screamed at her to say something like “I knew it!” or “I told you so!” but she couldn’t speak, breathe or move. She couldn’t do anything but wait for her death, for all her hard work to amount to nothing, for her name to be quickly forgotten, everything she had feared.

The last to die was Mischa, he had brought his phone onto the Cyclone and was messaging Talia, she had said she loved him, for the first time, he almost started crying but instead he began to message her back. Just before he went to hit the send button the cart fell along with his phone, he could never respond. He would die leaving Talia without an answer, without her knowing for sure he loved her too. He tried to hold it together, to keep his pride with his gangsta persona but when Noel died in his arms he couldn’t, He cried, screamed, but he couldn’t look. He could only listen as each and everyone one of his friends died, and he could do nothing. He couldn’t protect them or save them or anything. When it finally hit the ground he was still alive, it gave him hope that maybe, maybe he could at least tell Talia he loved her but he died before the Ambulance ever arrived.

And that was the end of the choir, forgotten to the world for who they were and remembered as a cautionary tale.

#ride the cyclone #rtc #ocean rtc #jane doe rtc #mischa rtc #penny rtc #noel rtc #ricky rtc #constance rtc #constance blackwood #ocean oconnell rosenberg #mischa bachinski #penny lamb #noel gruber #ricky potts #here’s to hoping I didn’t miss anything out #my proof reading was speed reading #I’m not sorry though :)

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dyrewrites · 6 months

Text

Pale Blood - huff and puff and blow your world down

Lulusara’s pups littered the manor, from the ground floor down to the subbasement and all through the tunnels. They had filled the halls and rooms on her command, on the hunt for the fang, and more continued to file in despite her howls to cease—to flee. They ached to please her, each vying to be the one that laid his head at her feet.

And each one had failed. Each had fallen to sprung traps of bonewood and glittering black blood. Their flesh, fur and blood lay strewn as so much debris. Every room wailed of their defeat. Yet some stirred, twitched, writhed in dying agonies and she knelt for those.

One after another she knelt, nuzzled what remained of their faces, purred in their ragged ears and quickly, cleanly, removed their hearts. The blood, their blood, her pup’s blood, stained her lips and teeth before she found the hidden passages—those not choked in the death of her young.

I know you cower, and I know where, she told the fang, voice cold, quiet, empty, but once I reach you, all you’ll know is my bite..

The wolfmother shed no tears as she continued through the passage—tight as it became, forcing her to her stomach as the stone closed in around her.

She felt no sorrow for the loss of her children. Lulusara did not believe in grief. She believed it a weak thing and, as she did with all weak things, she would bite, chew and swallow until it burned up in her belly.

And with the fetid breath it birthed, and the rage it dripped along her teeth, she would rid herself of its cause.

That cause waited, shivering, panicking, muscles locked from fear of moving, fear of alerting her to his presence as her thoughts dripped into his own. Regardless of how deep he hid, how thoroughly he had cloaked his scent, there were only so many places to hide.

His netlink hadn’t flashed or sung since lidfall, since the faerie he called—a last ditch effort, after all others laughed and informed him, in less than kind words, that he deserved what was coming—rang back. Neph laughed too when they answered the frantic messages, but they did so without cruelty—it was simply amusing to them that the self-proclaimed apex predators were fighting, and in so cowardly a manner. However, they too refused to aid him, stating shinier troubles to tend to.

And so he called Delmas again, and again the halfie’s casual monotone informed him, “Looks like somethin’ broke, or I just don’t like ya, either way; leave a message.”

“I fucked up,” Bosch told the chime that followed, “I fucked up, Del and I don’t think I’m getting’ out of this one. I know I’m prob’ly chokin’ your link with these, but this is the last. I’m sorry. For, for all of it and I just…I just want you to know that, though I didn’t always show it so good, I’ve always been proud of you. And uh, tell your um, your boyfriend there that, that I’m glad he found you…and, and I’m sorry. I’m just. I’m just sorry.”

Fuck, Bosch’s panic spat as he killed the call, joined soon by genuine terror and a sudden flood of all his life had been—a long one, that, and not terribly considerate or clean. But through it all flashed the familiar face and warm, compassionate eyes of the little fang he’d taken under his care.

Long before Delmont died—was murdered—Bosch had kept an eye on the elder fang’s son. He taught him to use his talents, got him work when none of the other fangs would take in a halfie, broke the jaws of any who called him that, and even taught him to throw a punch or two. It wasn’t always easy, and he wasn’t the softest babysitter by any means, but he kept the kid alive and fed and he thought he came out alright.

Considering those memories left a terrible taste on Bosch’s tongue—and more than a little sting in his eyes. But it was the realization after that swelled the sting to full-blown weeping.

He wouldn’t miss the house, or the job, or the semi-frequent romps with the wolfmother, he wouldn’t even miss the power of being ‘boss’.

All he’d miss was the kid.

Bosch enjoyed Delmas’ company, enjoyed the way he always snapped back just as hard—or harder—when he ribbed him. And, in that moment, so close to feeling final, he realized something else.

He loved him…and he didn’t want to miss a single second of his life.

Whether he liked the wolf or not, Delmas had clearly fallen hard and, burning up in the hot wet of his own breath, Bosch thought he might want to see where that led. Might, in fact, want to be there if they made it official…if they’d have him after all he’d said, all he’d done.

“Shit,” Bosch told his pistol. Then, to the blue-licked dark of the hole he hid in, and the familiar snarl growing just outside it, he added, “I don’t want to die.”

Lulusara smiled, the grin curling high along her cheeks, as she heard the fang’s confession. And she spoke then, growling beneath the words to press him harder into his hole, so that all her teeth could shine in, “Neither did my pups.”

The shot went off too quick, too loud, too soon and the cramped space of witchstone, sweat and—though he wouldn’t admit in, more than a little piss—exploded in bright and pain.

Bosch’s pain first but, more importantly to him at the moment, Lulusara’s; she howled that pain, sharp and far too close.

But she didn’t fall, didn’t slow. She rammed the bleeding mess of her face deeper into that hole, beyond the tight entry and into the alcove filled to bursting with the cowering fang. There she stretched her jaws wide and wider still, jerking as another shot rang and bounced—useless and ringing along the stone.

Then she snapped her jaws, and Bosch’s world, shut.

#writeblr #snippet #novel #writing #urban fantasy #pale blood #tw: death #oh so much death #also not where i thought this was going but i think i like this outcome

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mdhwrites · 1 year

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I'm sorry to vent about something Owl House related again, I imagine you're getting sick of it by now, but

Maybe it's just cause I love Lilith, but the duel in Agony of a Witch kinda bothers me because it feels like it invalidates Lilith as an equal to Eda.

With Convention, it felt like Lilith, while often mocked, was Eda's equal. Their duel feels evenly matched, maybe with a slight edge to Eda because she plays dirty and Lilith doesn't, but in terms of sheer power they feel equal.

Then Agony of a Witch throws that out the window by showing that Eda is so much more powerful that she can be dying from her magic-draining curse and still kick Lilith's ass with no problem.

And I know it's satisfying to see a hero wreck a villain, but it has the side-effect of making Lilith no longer appear as a powerful character, which is made worse because her only "fights" from that point on are punching a racist (which is cool but not really "apex of arcane power") and getting one-shot by the Collector. Retroactively it takes Eda's relationship to Lilith from "plausible threat" to "Just humoring her"

and not to compare two bad bitches because I do love these shows, I think Amphibia did this better with King Andrias. Despite being knocked around on occasion, and having plenty of humiliating moments, Andrias retains his menace in part because he's never actually beaten by the heroes. At worst he gets blindsided before composing himself and returning to being terrifying.

I dunno, maybe I'm biased by I would've liked it if Lilith got to remain a badass instead of being reduced to just comic relief. Make her duel with Eda more even, and have Eda ultimately gain the upper hand through cheating, dirty tricks, and being more desperate

(I don't mind the TOH asks at all. No one has even asked about Willow yet somehow so to say there is so much more to talk about this show is an UNDERSTATEMENT. Honestly, I just wish people would also throw story concept pitches at me from time to time too so I can actually remind people that I do writing as well. XD Not that I expect to write those stories but just how would I handle them and what not.)

I think the problem is more that last paragraph you bring up than anything else. Mind you, I actually do agree that it would have been cool to see Eda's strengths being more in cheating and dirty tricks versus years of training and secret knowledge only able to be accessed by an EC coven head but… Man TOH just kind of pushes the idea that you're born gifted or not. There is no real inbetween in power for most people and that really sucks.

I don't think the fight in Agony of a Witch is bad though, mostly in that I see it more as the emotions Eda is channeling effectively is overclocking her. If Lilith could last even another minute, it wouldn't be the curse that beat Eda: It would be running out of magic. A candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long sort of thing which works well for the emotional climax that's supposed to be happening there. Narratively, it works well.

Also, while Lilith is the definitive loser there, she doesn't come off as weak. It just finally feels like we're getting to see what Eda could have been without the curse. Back in Covention, we see what she is because of it. Does that suck for how strong Lilith actually is? Yes but Eda is literally years younger than her and back in school this was the same case where Lilith could just see "Oh… I'm fucked because my sister is strong… For reasons." It works for S1's tone, leaning into issues with the fantasy genre honestly (but remember, Episode 2 said no chosen ones so shouldn't merit, you know… matter? How much effort you put in?) but…

Then we get to S2 and Lilith is FRUSTRATING for me in S2. She gets such a good first episode in S2 with handling no longer having magic, dealing with the loss of her place in the world, her ambitions shattered and making a new friend. She stumbles a bit during King's episode but hey, it's okay for a character to be comedic for one episode. And she get's to actually represent the curse in Affearances!… Before being a joke for the rest of the episode about mommy issues until she turns into the Owl Beast.

And then when we see her next she has fully transitioned into "Look at me! I'm as bad as Hooty! Take me seriously? DON'T YOU DARE!" And it is… awful. There's no two ways around it. People go "Oh, but it's returning to better days for he-" No. No it's not. Every single portrayal of young Lilith wasn't funny or about history or anything like that. She was a driven young girl who wanted to be the best witch she could. She wanted to be the top of the class. She took pride in her effort and success. She had ambition and was more serious than her sister.

And now she's a complete joke. A complete joke that claims to have been bad at her job, even though she seemed so happy anytime she was inspiring people, mentoring them, seemed more than competent if not just amazing. She was the head of the Emperor's Coven and she seemed to deserve that position.

And then they did literally nothing with her in regards to that. There is a slight nod to the concept of her wanting to strike back at Belos for the lies and damage he'd done to her but it's instead framed as just a prank and kindness to Eda. Because that Scrying Spell should have been the start of her real arc. Her wanting to get back at the man who wasted so much of her life and learning that devoting one's self to only a single goal is unhealthy no matter what.

Personally, I still wish Lilith had harnessed Luz's anger about the petrification, the coven system, Belos, etc. and helped her be a rebel LOOOONG before Hollow Mind. Trying to be her new mentor in how to take down Belos and possibly corrupting Luz with her own anger and fixations until something goes wrong and both are taught to be more reasonable. To actually lean on others. To not only fixations.

Or, I dunno, we could entirely ignore the fact that Belos tried to murder three of them and wants into the human realm and instead just focus on a bad but sad boy who's now a main character instead of the SISTER OF EDA AND NOW REDEEMED VILLAIN LILITH.

When people tell me more time would have made the show better, shit like this makes me go, "No," because the writers had no focus, no idea of how to actually follow up their plot or character hooks and it's just a complete, fucking mess.

A mess that makes me very sad because focus could have made it so much more amazing than it was. Could have made it rival Avatar. But I guess you wouldn't get "Cool Aunt Lilith" so who am I to complain?

#Lilith #TOH #Rambles

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unholyplumpprincess · 2 years

Text

Blowing Off Steam

For my beloved @hunterofthegods as a very late Valentine’s Day gift but now an anniversary gift!

Summary: Rune pushed Hound's buttons too hard in the arena and pissed them off. Rune is desperate to show how sorry they are, going to beg to their spouse for forgiveness. But Hound has a better idea for how Rune can show and prove how sorry they are.Or! In which Hound ties Rune up and edges them for their own amusement to use them like a toy; Only for Rune to get out of their bonds and show Hound just how sorry they truly are by ruining them again and again and again.

Reblogs > Likes! If you hit like/heart, plz reblog to support future content and make your local writer boogie! Tags and comments shall be smooched furiously and read with great joy!

Ao3 Link: Here

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound x Bloodhound / Rune x Hound / Puppy Love

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Bloodhound headcanons, Piercings, Bondage, and more! Check the AO3 link for full list of tags jic!

Words: 6k

___________

The Bloodhounds’ love was as strong as the day they fell in love.

Patience. Kindness. Understanding. Aaaaand a smidge of bullying was the delicious cocktail that was put into their romance. Ever since they were children, introduced by their parents who were both pairs of scientists. Working on the same project and wanting their children to interact.

It hadn’t been love at first sight, no, but it had been close.

Their love was slow and steady; But inevitable. Like a growing red-hot fire that was biding its time to cause a perfectly timed forest fire. No matter how wild it looked on the outside, it would always be something that was inevitable and beautiful.

And yet, no matter how strong this romance. How much they loved each other so dearly- how ineffable and how unshakable. In the arena, all bets were off. Dying to sink their blades or teeth into their respective spouse to be a beautiful sacrifice to Odin. To appease the Allfather with their lover’s blood, sweat, and tears mixed with the beautiful scent of gun powder and smoke.

Still. All lovers had their quarrels. Where that red hot love was turned into beautiful tempestuous rage.

~Rest under the cut~

Hound was the more level-headed of the two. They looked to analyze and figure out scenarios or people. They were not emotionally lead. As a leader- a Jarl of their village, and a lover to their spouse who was emotionally lead- this was a good trait. It led to fewer arguments, fewer quarrels, and fewer disagreements. More open, honest communication.

But sometimes...

Sometimes Rune knew just how to particularly push their buttons.

Rune was the cheekier of the two. Pressing Hound’s buttons was their specialty; Kept the marriage ‘spicy’ they would say. It was minor irritants, nothing pressing. Sometimes they would flirt with somebody Hound knew wouldn’t be a good fit. Sometimes Rune would simply dote Hound with PDA in front of the other legends despite their abhorrence of it. Or sometimes Rune would say something a little too cheeky in front of the cameras in the arena when taking Hound down.

Whatever it was, it struck buttons, but only to get a rise out of them on purpose. Some sort of end game to Rune’s teasing and poking.

And today? Today Rune had pushed them a little too hard.

Anger and rage were hard for Hound to express. Rune always encouraged them to express their feelings. Lovingly and sweetly reminding them that they were a person first and a leader second. That they could take the time to feel the dread, the rage, and the sadness that was within them.

Today. Today Hound feels like expressing some form of it.

Rune had pressed too hard in the arena. They were on opposite squads. It had come down to just them, their respective teammates downed. It left the two hellhounds to face off in what spectators were delighted to find would be a bloody battle.

It was honorable. Rune had their hatchet drawn, whilst Hound had their hunting dagger at the ready. Passionate hand to hand combat.

Intimacy without a bed to contain them.

They both had been bloody, circling each other, carefully sizing one another up. Words were spat, taunting and loving words. Where Hound had crooned, “You have fought honorably, my love. However, we both surely know the victor of this battle. Spare yourself the humiliation now.”

And Rune had crooned back, their voice mimicking Hound’s to a T in the arena, “Of course, beloved- except it is I that shall have you beneath me. As the gods shall will it.”

It was classic to hear the two Bloodhounds bicker. A fan favorite from their respective sponsors. Not to mention the blood and gore the two would leave in their path. Bickering was an agreed thing when the cameras and audio could pick them both up. Filthy words limited to just when they could turn the comms off and spit quiet bets at each other.

But it was Rune this time who breaks that agreement. When they croon something about having Hound beneath them in other ways. Of what they would do to that sweet cunt when Rune had bested them.

It was a dirty trick. A strike of embarrassment coursing through Hound like a raw ocean wave down their lungs. It makes them falter, the perfect time for Rune to strike them down with a pound and a swift slam of their hatchet into Hound’s throat.

It was a dirty trick and they both knew it. Especially in front of cameras. Drones that could hear them. Not that the live broadcast would broadcast such a thing, quickly muffling the audio. But it meant the other legends watching the raw broadcast would have heard. Would have seen--

Hound steels their jaw when they wake in the medic wing. On a mission to find their spouse after a much needed shower.

Hound doesn’t have to look long, as they shared the same quarters within the compound. But it is Rune who is seeking them out first. Normally they would take great joy in the spoils of their win; But clearly, they have come to Hound with their tail tucked between their legs and apology written all over their body.

Hound does not look to them as they punch in the code to their room. The door sliding open and walking in first with Rune right behind them, ducking into the doorway to get in- giant that they were.

The door slides shut behind them, the silence greeting them before Rune’s whine reaches their ears. “My love. My beloved. Engillinn minn. My moon- I cannot begin to beg enough for your forgivene--”

“You may start with begging.” Hound doesn’t miss a beat, turning to face Rune with a furrow on their brow. Rune looks like the picture-perfect puppy, apologetic eyes and a bowed head. It would be easy, Hound thinks, to humiliate them back.

Far too easy. But it would not get the point across.

A click of Hound’s tongue that resembles a tut stops Rune from beginning to beg. Having been fresh from the showers and in their civilian clothing, Hound pulls a hair tie from under their sleeve and from around their wrist. Beginning to pull their wild curls up and into a ponytail slowly, already catching the way Rune’s Adam’s apple bobs in anticipation.

Too easy.

Hound doesn’t miss the knitting of Rune’s brow nor the confusion or how they shift on their legs to adjust their thighs. Trained to the sight of Hound tying their hair up/

It’s not like Hound didn’t know, they very well knew what that simple motion could do. Trained and familiar with the sight of it before Hound would typically sink to their knees. Or take to batting their lashes up at Rune before letting their touch caress their cock.

That’s just what they wanted. Rune’s curiosity and attention. Their anticipation. The swell in their pants.

“I...I am begging you for your for...forgiveness,” Rune begins, distracted in their apology as Hound takes slow steps towards them. It’s a predator’s stalk, and Rune plays the perfect part of prey as they take steps back to mirror them. Until their back hits the wall and Hound is just a breath away, body close to touching theirs. “My behavior was unacc--”

“Remove your pants.” Hound’s words cut them off. Their tone flat and a cock of Hound’s head as their hands drop from their now tied hair. They bite back a smirk when Rune’s lips stay parted, confusion and curiosity all over their face. Cute.

“Am I...not...in trouble?”

“Do not ask questions you know the answer to. Come. You shall sit and hold still. You shall not touch me, lest I wish it.” Hound speaks as they step back, making a come-hither motion to follow. Only pausing when they catch that mischievous look in Rune’s eye. “Do not make me bind you, Pup. I would hate for you to think your punishment is a reward for bad behavior.”

“Of course. I would think nothing of the sort, my love. Only my best behavior to win your favor back.” Rune speaks, but their tone is fighting back a smile. Following behind Hound and only stopping to put their hands in the air in mock surrender when Hound whips to look at them. A look in Hound’s eyes promising a far worse punishment.

Surely this could not be so bad, Rune wonders to themself.

It’s bad.

Rune has decided it is really bad.

Hound decided that their little jest was too much a threat and bound Rune anyhow. Binding them in beautiful red ropes with their arms above their head but legs left free. The bindings continued down over their chest, curving over the plushness of their bare pecs and carefully knotted behind their back.

The harness was for show, they knew that. This rope was perfectly strong enough to hold them. Carefully created by a wondrous trader back in their home village on Talos.

Rune’s legs are spread open, their whole body trembling and glowing with sweat but their eyes focused downwards at their beautiful spouse. Hound always looked so good with something in their mouth, but even better with the expression they’re making. Frustrated at Rune for the situation, they are sure. For their words.

Hound’s red tinted glasses have been discarded. Their fiery curls tied up into a ponytail and a few curls framing across their cheeks messily. Their leather jacket has equally been discarded, showing off the black lace bralette used as a top with their chest near spilling out with peeks of their areola. Something that makes Rune’s mouth salivate at the sight, tracing shapes of the peachy patches of vitiligo and beauty marks downwards. How their piercings make shapes in the lacy fabric.

But the best sight has to be the way Hound’s eyes are narrowed, their good pupil in a dangerously thin slit. One arm rests across Rune’s hips, forcing their hips down with a flex of their impressive bicep. Their plump lips are currently pressing tempting, fluttering kisses across their cock. Flushed from balls to tip, leaking pre-cum with a beautiful golden ring wrapped tightly around the base of Rune’s shaft.

Hound had edged them now five times. So many years of being in tune with them left them knowledgeable on when Rune was close- no matter how they tried to hide it. The subtle tenseness of their jaw, the turn of their head and their beautiful amber curls cascading down their body, and the way their lips parted juuust so.

Rune was a filthy and sweet talker whenever they had sex. Shown at the beginning when they had tried to dirty talk and plead their way through Hound getting them close. Perhaps thinking over stimulation would be their game tonight. That Hound would let them cum on their pretty face and tits and paint them white-

But the second Hound pulled from their cock to instead rest their cheek on Rune’s thigh and draw circles in their other thigh? Rune had let out a growl of dismay at the realization that the game tonight was edging.

Rune's hips buck, their words going from pleading to hissing and frustrated. Only pausing when Hound sinks their nails into their thighs, their voice low with their reminder, “This is your punishment, beloved. You are my stress relief tonight and I shall use you like my toy as I see fit. You would not ruin my pleasure nor relief, would you?”

“N-no.” Rune grunts out, their hips falling back to the bed with a tremble and tremor wracking their body. “No, my love. I am your toy.” It’s hard to say it, but at this point they’d do anything for Hound’s beautiful mouth to be back on them. Or their hands. Or be inside them.

Anything.

Hound isn’t ignorant to that knowledge either. But, Rune looks sincere. And their poor pup had been patient this whole night- if a bit impatient.

Hound hums. It’s not as if they weren’t affected either. They’re wet, soaked through their own tight pants now. A sigh passes their lips, catching Rune’s attention as Hound begins to stand up. Hound knows they catch the sight of how wet they are the second Rune snarls, jerking in their bonds to try and get a better look at them.

“Stay.” Hound’s voice is low, silky, and commanding. Satisfied when Rune settles back down with a weak jerk of their cock, pre-cum beading at the head and drooling down the pierced shaft. Poor thing.

Hound hooks their thumbs in their tight pants, kicking off their boots and working out of their pants with a slow sway of their hips to keep Rune’s attention. When it’s revealed they have no underwear on, Rune mouths something obscene, their head tipping a bit to the sky and lips parting. Clearly scenting the air.

Filthy dog.

Hound removes the rest of their clothing with the same finesse. Taking to crawling up Rune’s frame slowly, resting hands on either side of their head and leaning in to kiss them. Meeting in the kiss tongue first as both of the Bloodhounds moan into each other’s mouths.

Rune’s hips buck up into nothing, Hound’s weight resting on their abdomen instead to kiss them. Their hand cups Rune’s cheek, guiding them through the kiss as Hound licks into their mouth. Tasting them. Devouring them.

When they part, Hound climbs up onto their broad shoulders, spreading their thighs and resting their drooling cunt right above Rune’s head. They keep their hips up, just out of reach and hearing just how Rune snarls under them. Rune tries to thrash their body to lean up and get even one small taste of their beloved, but ultimately fails.

“Patience,” Hound murmurs for what must be the tenth time tonight. They reach down to get a fistful of Rune’s hair. Delicately using their free hand to stroke some stray hairs from their face so they wouldn’t get any in their mouth. A small touch of affection for obedience.

They take note of Rune’s lashes fluttering, leaning into Hound’s touch as they gently stroke curls from their face. It makes Hound weak, a squeeze in their chest of adoration and sympathy stabbing into them. “Be kind to me and I shall be kind to you. You have been doing so well, my love. Surely you can be good a little longer, yes?”

Rune grumbles under their breath, something that makes Hound smack their cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, but a firm enough pat to catch their attention to look up at them. “I believe you threatened to have me under you, Pup. Shall I instead take you the very same as you have threatened?”

A cheeky smile makes its way to Rune’s lips, only to drop almost shyly like they shouldn’t smile. They flick their gaze up to Hound’s face as if gauging if they’re still mad from earlier on that slight. When they find no such rage, but amusement in Hound’s eyes, they allow the smile to return. “A threat to fuck me? You are losing your touch if that is meant to frighten me, my love.”

A laugh is shared between them, Hound shushing them with a gentle push of Rune’s face playfully. There’s that silent communication between them. That there was no harm in it now, any frustrations had passed. The scene paused for just a moment.

Just a moment to share.

However, they are still in the middle of something. Something Hound reminds them both of as they shift atop Rune and lower their hips. Using Rune’s hair in their grasp to guide their head up towards their pussy. “Come. Show me how sorry you are. Be gentle,” The words come from Hound’s lips softly. “Just kiss for now. Worship me.”

Rune whimpers, the sound desperate and wanting. But they obey, despite how much they know they could show Hound how truly sorry they were. They dutifully press their lips in a kiss to Hound’s pussy; Fluttering kisses starting from their mound, down over their engorged clit, getting their lips glossy with their slick. Slowly and surely moving their kisses from over their cunt to over their thighs in deep, hungry kisses.

Hound sighs softly over the attention, massaging Rune’s scalp as they flutter kisses over Hound’s lower lips. Rune presses their luck now and again with an open-mouthed kiss, the slightest brush of their tongue against their heated flesh. Each time a tongue is felt, however, Hound pulls their hair lightly. A quiet warning.

Rune only can truly do what they wish to when they begin to beg. Mumbled words of ‘please’ against Hound’s wet flesh, rumbling through their chest the more desperate they get. Especially when Hound reaches underneath their own body, slipping two fingers into their body with a gasp, then offering those fingers to Rune to lap at like a starved dog.

It earns more whimpering from Rune, whose hips are now thrusting up into the air for something desperate to grind against. They mumble pretty pleases, quiet mumbles that they shall be good, how they’ll be such a good pup.

How they’ll take such good care of Hound as an apology- as a thank you.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Hound speaks softly, still keeping juuuust out of reach with a lift of their hips. They keep a good grip of Rune’s hair, forcing the taller of the two to strain in want, panting with parted lips and taking in Hound’s scent. They try their best to nod, but Hound’s grip keeps them from doing so. “Your words, little one.”

“Yes. Yes, by the gods, Hound, yes. I will be good; I will be so good. Let me worship you, allow me to take care of you. Release me. Let me ravish you- allow me to have you- Please, please, please-” Rune’s voice is lower, lower than usual. Their natural baritone forming this lower gravel pitched whine of desperation. Their lashes brush their cheekbones with each flutter, threatening to gather tears when they look up at their spouse.

Once more Hound’s heart squeezes and they are a helpless victim to the look that their lover gives them combined with their sweet words. But Hound knows them better. Rune is manipulative in scenarios like this, promising sweet nothings only to be freed of their grasp and ruining Hound into next week. Smothering Hound in bruises, bitemarks, and making their voice hoarse.

So, Hound hums, thoughtful and low. They cock their head akin to a dog sizing up their prey, looking Rune over. Their flush across golden flesh, how sweat makes them glow in the dim lighting of the sun peering through the window, and just how sweet their seeing ruby red eye looks up at Hound.

“No.” Hound says simply, watching Rune practically roar as they strain against their bonds. Their hips thrust up, trying to buck Hound off and thrash their shoulders to try and move them. To no avail; Hound was always good with rope work. Hound lets a smile flirt across their lips. “Settle yourself, Pup. I merely shall not be releasing you. I can give you what you desire, but you shall remain tied. For now.”

The quiet promise of release on good behavior at least stops the minor tantrum. Rune huffs and chuffs much like a big cat, settling back down and looking up at Hound hopefully. Hound gives them what they want in a controlled manner, carefully adjusting their position to lower themself down to Rune’s mouth.

Rune’s hands twitch in their bonds, clearly wanting to hold Hound’s thighs. Hound gingerly reaches up with their free hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing to help ease their need to grab. Feeling Rune’s wedding ring press against their flesh.

It makes Hound’s heart throb.

Rune is a hunter of their word. They bury their face against Hound with a longing moan, their forked tongue making quick work of them. They slide their tongue from Hound’s hole up to their fat clit, sealing their soft lips around it and giving it sloppy, suckling kisses. Rune’s moans are starved, matching how Hound sighs shakily above them.

But they both know how Hound gets.

Those soft sighs soon turn to moans, which become whining moans filled with whimpers. Louder and louder as they grip Rune’s hair tight in one hand, their other squeezing Rune’s hand which squeezes theirs back to ground them.

It doesn’t take long for Hound’s hips to start moving, humping Rune’s face and across their tongue. Stilling their hips to tremble shakily atop them when Rune’s lips seal around their whole cunt to sloppily lick at them. Rune’s tongue dips briefly inside of them, licking sharply upwards to their poor clit that they once again abuse.

Rune tends to their cunt like they were worshiping them. Each open mouthed kiss on their cunt purposeful to lick at them and moan shamelessly into them. Sometimes dipping their head low enough to let their nose run across their clit so they could taste them in full. They hum contentedly, softly as if to replicate a purr just as their tongue slowly slides back up from their hole to their clit.

The vibrations seal the deal with one more talented flick of Rune’s tongue that traps their clit briefly in the fork of their tongue. Hound cums with a sharp, snapping snarl and their head throwing back with a perfect arch of their back. Their grip holds Rune’s head in place as they cum, plentiful slick being licked up with Hound’s squirt as their body trembles and shakes.

“Divine,” Rune moans against their cunt, muffled as they nuzzle their way sloppily against Hound. “Always so delicious, ástin mín. I cannot get enough of you.” Rune sighs, their tongue once more trying to lick its way into Hound to make a sloppy mess of them.

Over sensitive from cumming, Hound’s hips jump, but they aren’t sure where to go. At first, they jerk away from Rune’s tongue and kisses, only to press down to try and be flush to meet their touch. A whimper leaves Hound, their legs twitching against Rune’s chest and toes curling. But they finally decide to pull up and away, looking down at the mess they’ve made of their spouse as Hound takes heavy, panting breaths.

Rune’s face is flushed, slick smeared over their lips and nose. Their pupil is blown wide, near eclipsing the red of their iris as they look up at Hound. Their lips are parted, flushed and wanting. They looked beautiful.

Too tempting...

Hound sighs shakily as they climb down Rune’s body to straddle their waist. They reach up, leaning their torso over Rune’s face and being in reach for them to lean up and nip at their hanging breasts. Hound jumps a bit, huffing with a small laugh as Rune finally manages to latch onto a pierced nipple with a longing moan.

“A-ah- my love, j-just a moment-” Hound’s voice shakes, trying to untie Rune’s wrists and separate the rope that went to the harness tied across their chest. Their hips jump, humping over Rune’s abdomen when Rune merely pops off one breast and moves to the next one hungrily.

“Rune-” It’s hard to sound stern when they’re caught in a moan. However, with great effort, Hound does manage to untie them. Throwing the extra rope off the side of the bed later and not having time to check Rune’s wrists before arms wind around their body and force them to hold still so their chest can be ravaged.

Hound grabs the headboard of the bed for balance, arching their back with a whine as Rune’s teeth worry one of their nipples. They don’t bite, merely scraping their teeth before suckling and popping off to make Hound gasp.

Hound hardly has time to breathe before one of Rune’s arms moves from around them and slides down Hound’s body. They slip two large fingers easily inside Hound’s cunt with a hiss from both of them.

It helps that Rune is mumbling ‘Thank you’s to them between bites of their breasts. Pounding their fingers into Hound and quirking them forward just right, curling them to make their beloved practically howl with pleasure.

Hound’s body trembles above them, their body flushed head to toe. It feels as if they can’t breathe. Suddenly overwhelmed with pleasure as Rune’s thumb swipes across their clit with every thrust of their fingers inside. It takes no time at all for Hound to cum again, squeezing around their thick fingers and throwing their head back with a cry.

Rune moans into their breast, lapping sloppily at their nipple without thought as their fingers stay inside them. Only moving their first knuckles in curling motions to make Hound squirm and whimper beautifully above them.

“Rune-” Hound starts to whimper out their name, but Rune takes the hint. They come off their breast, sliding their fingers out of them and moaning in want as Hound begins to move.

They move together without need for verbal communication. Where Rune moves on the bed to lie down and sliding their hands desperately over Hound’s flesh. Hound moves to straddle their hips, reaching back and behind them to grab Rune’s weeping cock and guiding it to their cunt with hurry.

Rune is...very well endowed, but as they have discovered through the years, Hound didn't want too much prep for them. They liked the bite of the stretch, shown as they begin to sink down now and Rune’s hands fly to their breasts to massage and swipe their thumbs over their nipples.

Hound’s breath hitches, their brows knitting and their hands pressing to Rune’s pecs in turn to thumb over their nipples. Always trying to one up the other.

Rune’s moan is wanton and needy, sounding like they were just seconds from dying when Hound slowly takes them inch by inch. Rune’s mouth starts up again, their voice low and growling with each word. “So tight- so wet. You always feel so good, tunglið mitt. W-what I wouldn’t give to stay inside of you for eternity. The gods have made you to take this cock, just like this. What a sight you are for me.”

It works just as well. Hound’s face flushes, showing more brightly on the peachy spots of their vitiligo. They turn their head to hide their blush, their body shaking and trembling as they work their way slowly down onto Rune’s cock.

But after so many years of marriage, Rune knows just what they want.

What they need.

It’s why they suddenly grab Hound’s hips, holding them with a bruising grip as they force them downwards just as Rune’s hips come up to slam into them. There’s a cry from both of them, with Hound’s being startled and full of pleasure, while Rune’s is more guttural and needy.

It burns in the best way, the stretch makes Hound’s hips jerk and twitch, their hands finding their way up to grip Rune’s shoulders with nails biting into flesh. Hound’s facial expression twists, their eyebrows knitting and teeth sunken into their bottom lip with tremors wracking their frame.

It hits Rune what’s happened when they feel the rapid fluttering around their cock and more wetness clinging to their flesh.

A smug look goes across Rune’s features as Hound rides the waves of their sudden orgasm. A low laugh leaving Rune as they roll their hips, feeling Hound’s nails bite deeper into their shoulders at the sudden movement.

By the gods- there is a reason Hound tied up their spouse.

“Look at you,” Rune breathes out in a croon, sliding their hands down over Hound’s curves and over the swell of their hips where bruises are beginning to form. “Beautiful, my love, just beautiful. What a little whore you are. Cumming just from taking me fully. I truly am blessed to see you this way.”

“M-mind your tongue-” Hound tries to bite back, but their voice is breathless and keening; Lacking any hint of malice or venom. Tears prick at the corners of their eyes from the intensity, their heart still pounding in their chest as they try to gain the reins back in the situation.

But Rune has been bound for too long.

Rune moves, holding Hound close to them as they move their bodies as one. Never once leaving their body as they shift Hound to lying down beneath them. It takes some urging, but eventually Hound follows their motions to roll onto their side and hitch a leg over Rune’s shoulder.

It gives Rune the vantage to lean down onto Hound, bending them in half and showing off their flexibility. A sight that makes Rune beam, showing off sharp teeth before delicately pressing a kiss to Hound’s ankle adoringly.

“There you are, beloved.” Rune sighs out, rolling their hips slowly into Hound and causing their frame to shudder. “Like this. Let me take care of you. I shall show you how very apologetic I am.”

“By breaking me?” Hound teases, peeking up coyly at Rune from their thick lashes and through messed up curls, catching the way their spouse grins lazily down at them. A furrow to Rune’s brow in contained pleasure.

“Would you like an apology any other way?” Rune teases back, leaning further down to capture a kiss on Hound’s cheek after they brush their crimson curls from their face. A loving gesture that makes the smaller of the two smile softly to themself, turning their head to properly catch Rune’s lips in a kiss.

“If you would like to break me,” Hound murmurs on Rune’s lips, swiping a tongue over their lips with the tip of their tongue in a quick fashion. From bottom lip to upper just to feel Rune’s breath catch. “Then do it how I like it, Pup.”

“Fuck, Hound.” Rune growls, their voice hoarse as their cock throbs inside their spouse. Rune moves their bodies quickly, tossing both Hound’s legs over their shoulders now and pressing downwards to get into a proper position.

Now in a proper mating press and feeling fully engulfed by the sheer size of Rune, Hound’s head throws back in preparation. Already feeling how Rune leans down into them, their long, long hair curtaining them both as Rune’s teeth sink into the crook of Hound’s exposed throat.

They moan together, Hound’s voice louder into the open, sticky air. Rune moves fluidly with them, their hips moving in a practiced way to constantly stay inside Hound. Years of practice making them both acutely aware of how the other liked it.

It’s why Hound’s fingers leave the sheets to instead wind around Rune’s neck, sliding one hand into their longer hair to pull on it hard enough to make Rune keen. Their other hand falls to Rune’s back, feeling the muscles and scars under their fingertips as their nails dig in and leave stripes across their flesh.

Rune is never loud, but their words always fill that area for them. They murmur into Hound’s neck, growling in between words. “Gonna breed you. I shall fuck you raw, my love. How sorry I am- let me show you. All night. How very sorry that I am. Let me make you cum again and again and again--”

Hound lets out a whimper against their will, their hips tilting up as best as they can in this position. They pull on Rune’s hair just to hear them groan, feeling how Rune’s hips still against them and pump in shallow thrusts just to make sure they grind against Hound’s clit.

What a cheater.

It works, the quiet battle falling in Rune’s favor as Hound’s over sensitive body cums first with a howl from their lips and a furrow of their brow. Rune isn’t far behind them, a snarl ripping from their lips as they press their hips as close as they can get. They cum inside of Hound, pumping them full with excess already slipping out and down onto their ass, down onto the bed.

The rest of the night is filled the very same with Rune fucking Hound in any and every position they can think of. On all fours, against the wall; In between each round Rune likes to clean Hound up with their tongue, fingers pushing their cum back inside Hound numerous times. Fucking them sloppy with their fingers and then their cock. Then using the very same as lubricant to fuck their ass.

The whole time Rune tells them how sorry they are, how much they love them. They fuck Hound until their mind is empty, no longer remembering why they were even mad in the first place.

How could they be mad, after all, when Rune was showing just how sorry they were each time?

By the Allfather, Rune was relentless. Even during clean up time in the shower, they nursed Hound’s pussy with their tongue. Kissing, licking, dragging their tongue across their flushed flesh and making Hound shiver and shake, clinging to Rune’s hair desperately with shaking legs.

Even when ice had been applied to help Hound get feeling back in their clit and reduce swelling, somehow that wound up with even more touching from Rune. Ending the night with a nursing session where Hound is straddling their thighs and Rune is bent to worship their breasts. Leaving Hound’s cunt drooling with slick in their pajama pants that are quickly slipped off so Rune can rub and jerk their clit off with each swipe of their tongue over a nipple.

It’s the most solid sleep Hound gets in months, that’s without a doubt.

In the morning, when Hound awakens, it is to Rune gently brushing their hair back and kissing their forehead. Murmurs are exchanged, with Hound reaching up silently and Rune taking the welcome embrace.

“I’ve made you breakfast,” Rune murmurs softly after a few moments of peace, nosing their way against the top of Hound’s head and inhaling their scent. Their next words are playful, spoken with a smile growing on their lips. “Can you walk? Do I need to carry you?”

Hound huffs this exasperated sound. A bite back on their tongue about how Rune could have fucked them harder. But as soon as they go to stand, they soon eat their words they’d said in their mind, stumbling and almost falling to their knees. Thankfully, Rune catches them by the waist, tugging them back onto their lap and grinning against Hound’s neck.

“Do not be stubborn, Hound. I am happy to help.” Rune finishes with a kiss to Hound’s lobe, hearing the smaller of the two’s groan as they move to wind their legs around Rune’s waist. Looping their arms around Rune’s neck as huge hands cup under their ass to carry them down to the feast they had prepped for their mate.

All of Hound’s favorites; Even if everything Rune made was their favorite. They thank their beloved with a kiss at the corner of their mouth, murmuring on how everything smelled delicious and how thankful they were to have them.

Rune’s shy smile and the duck of their head is enough to warm Hound’s heart. But the nuzzle they brush across Hound’s nose seals the deal with the silent kiss.

No. They could never stay mad at them for long.

Their love was just as strong as the day they had fallen in love, after all.

#Apex legends #Apex lemons #Bloodhound x Bloodhound #Rune x Hound #Puppy love #Bloodhound #lemon #nsft #princess writing #writeblr #fic

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day0walkersdrafts · 7 months

Text

“Ben’s got a package.”

Xavier tosses it up onto the kitchen counter, leaning hip cocked against it and rifling mail. He does this, sort of habitually. End of the week, goes through the big stack they accumulate and plucks out credit card ads, junk mail, the works. Lark and Benny don’t mind, because they’re both awful at keeping up with the mail, but also don’t seem nearly as annoyed by the fishing attempts as Xavier. He’s diligent about it, licks a finger to flick through three peoples worth of incoming post.

Lark slides the package toward himself, sharpie in hand, cap between his teeth. He snorts and draws Xavier’s attention from the letter that’s made to look like a distant relative. Lark caps the marker.

“I was gonna cover up his name, but he beat me to it.” He pushes the little brown parcel to the other end of the counter. It has no logo on it, but that’s really of no surprise. Xavier has a feeling that Ben doesn’t always shop at the most reputable places online; and doesn’t always get shipped the most Above Board things. It could be full of spiders or Uranium. He peers at the shipping label Lark indicates with the sharpie marker.

“Wow,” he laughs, tossing the rest of the mail into it’s designated little tray (that somehow always gets things other than mail in it, despite how much he whines). “Their names do sort of go together like that, huh?”

“It’s cute,” Lark agrees.

The package is addressed to BENNY MARAN, with no return label.

—

When Maran gets into the room, he goes for the bed immediately. Throws himself back onto it, just to roll over and decide he wants to be on his knees. He does a wiggle to get himself comfortable, patting the area in front of him with buzzing excitement. He’s got freshly dyed hair, which is sometimes such an odd turn on for Benny. Something about the slight chemical smell lingering and all the cute blue stains on the pads of his fingers, because he’d gone for a bright teal color to compliment the oncoming winter months.

Benny stays leaned against his bedroom door for a moment until Maran’s cheeks go puffy from his pout. He rolls eyes up to the ceiling, claps hands together and then dramatically drops his chin.

“Please?” He draws the word out, in what could probably be an annoying voice to anyone who wasn’t Ben—madly fucking in love, Ben. To him, it’s not just cute. It tugs out a little spool of heat from his abdomen, that sweet little please. Maran bats his thick dark lashes, fingers drumming on the bed, making the heat worse. “I wanna know what it is!”

“I’m not sp-spoiling.” Benny meanders toward the bed. It truly is a wander, because he’s slow about it. Rolls himself off the door, hips first, package tucked under his arm. Maran’s eyes do that inevitable flick down and then up—like he can’t help but watch the way Benny’s body moves so gracefully. He’s not exactly agile—not like Xavier, slender and pretty. He’s not like Lark either, with an athletes apex predator movement.

But Benny has perfected that sleazy little walk that makes Maran’s eyes go glassy and fixated.

He plops the cardboard box onto the bed and then turns toward his desk.

“I’m using the knife,” he declares.

“Don’t trust me with sharp objects?”

“Mm,” Ben replies noncommittally as he locates the hunting knife on his desk that he most certainly does not use for hunting purposes. But Xavier had given it to him, almost randomly—because Xavier was the random act of affection kind of person—and he was now sort of attached to it and it’s silly wolf print handle. He flicks it open and catches the way Maran looks a it; his little hints of intrigue are everywhere sometimes, now that he’s started figuring out everything can be something to make things fun.

Of course, he’s still pouting, hands around the box like it’s already his.

Truthfully, Benny doesn’t mean to treat Maran like he’s incompetent, because he’s not.

He’d just spend the entire time watching Maran slide a knife under packing tape thinking, oh fuck he’s going to cut himself and that worry would mar the gift inside. And Benny liked finding neat little ways to keep Maran safe from even the illusion of harms way. Secretly, he lets himself admit sometimes, that he likes taking care of Maran. He likes being the one, taking care.

“What is it?”

“No spoiling, I just said.”

“Aw.”

He slides the knife along the dark brown edges of tape, grinning at Maran all the while. His pretty brown eyes follow, his excitement clear and palpable. Benny knows whats inside, because he’d been…diligently tracking it. Diligently. He’d been checking nearly every other day and reopening the link to his purchase just to stare at it. Imagine it’s uses for when it arrived. He doesn’t unfold the cardboard flaps. Instead, he closes the knife on his thigh and tosses it onto the desk.

When Maran does finally get the box open, he immediately closes it and swings his head back, eyes on the ceiling. Benny is treated to the most beautiful vision of his throat like that, and also, the dark pink spreading over his face. It clashes with the new teal of his hair in such a way that he looks like an animated character; something unreal. Benny thinks that a lot about Maran, and a lot of the time that feeling makes him tender and soft—unfortunately, it does the opposite at that exact moment.

Benny steps around the side of the bed to be closer to Maran. Along with the chemical smell of freshly dyed hair, there is lingering sugar—there is the sweet smell of the apple pie he’d ordered at the dinner they were just at. Benny wants to devour him in ways that don’t entirely feel wholesome. His fingers do a slide from the boys chest to his throat, to hold onto his jaw and slowly lower his face so they can look at each other.

“You said you liked that one,” Benny purrs out the sentence, his voice darker than he even truly means it to be. Not necessarily like he can help it, because Maran gets him there so quickly. The easy switch from date night boyfriend to—whatever he is now; domineering, aggressive, possessive. Makes that mean reflex in his hands tighten. His thumb brushes lovingly over a slightly stubbled jawline, up to touch his lower lip. Benny feels him shiver.

“Okay, right, I didn’t know it was going to—I thought we ordered that like last week?” His voice gets sweetly higher pitched at the end. Maran always sort of talks like there’s a question in his sentences; it was a cadence that usually annoyed Benny. But not with Maran. There was nothing Maran ever did that annoyed him (there was, of course, but not in that moment and he certainly didn’t think for the next hour or so he’d remember any).

“Sue me,” Benny continues in that rough tone. “I paid for exp-pe-pedited shipping.”

“It’s bigger than I thought it’d be,” Maran whispers in a breathy tone that Benny swears he could feel right against his skin. It makes something vicious inside him throb with painful desire. Maran’s brows are upturned with that edged tint of embarrassment. Not the bad kind; it’s this dark hint of humiliation that he knows Maran sort of enjoys. It’s like when he’s teased the right way, or mocked in a tone that he likes.

“Worried it wont fit?”

“Fuck you,” Maran laughs but it has a high pitched nervous energy to it. He sinks a bit on his haunches, hands moving away packing innards. The paper gets tossed to the side, lost amongst Benny’s already messy room. Maran’s olive toned hand finally dips inside and removes the toy; he isn’t embellishing. The toy lingers between a medium and a large, because Benny had filtered out the XL’s from the search. Knew Maran would have eyes too big too quick.

He’d also picked his favorite colors, this impossibly velvet dark navy and a strangely garish orange. They marbled well. Maran holds the dildo in both hands, staring with big eyes.

“Right, well. Lube?”

“We’re n-not using that tonight,” Benny sputters out a laugh, reeling back slightly. He loses a bit of that dominant composure but he likes when that happens. Sometimes, Maran pops bubbles without meaning too and it’s never in a bad way. Says or does something that makes the tension bubbling up roll over and instead of climaxing, just sort of exploding hilariously. Benny hasn’t had many partners—truthfully, it might be no partner—that can make him laugh so easily in the moment.

Maran’s back to pouting. His hand does a single tug on the toy, as if sizing it up. That quickly makes Benny’s half hard cock give a twitch, watching his hand curl around it like that.

“Why not?” And he can tell Maran is thinking that Benny is back to early months; where Maran had to struggle for more than a kiss, to get a hand down Benny’s jeans, to quicken the languid pace Benny had set. They’re past that, of course. They’re buying sex toys together. But Maran seems primed to be worried that Benny at one moment will put a flat hand on his chest and push him back on the bed and tell him slow down. Which, he wants to point out, he’d done out of…well, love.

Benny crosses to his wall. It’s plastered in movie posters and also sticky notes for his classwork. He lifts a fist and pounds twice on it.

There’s only a brief pause before he gets two in return.

“I m-might like fucking with Lark, but I like keeping y-your noises to myself.”

“I can be quiet,” Maran draws the word out, quiiiiiiiet, as he leans on the bed. He’s put aside the toy, hands outstretched. His deft fingers snag Benny’s jean pockets and tug him closer. He doesn’t resist. He lets himself be pulled closer and closer. Maran is looking up at him with such big, brown eyes that he finds it instantly hard to say no to him. He’s smiling too, his freckled face mischievous.

Benny leans down and cups Maran’s cheeks. He kisses him. Makes it a long one, deep and full of tongue. He tastes the cherry pie. He pulls away, presses their noses together.

“When you fuck yourself with that thing, even you won’t be able to be quiet, baby.”

He can almost feel the heat on his palms from Maran’s face. His breath hitches a bit, his hands moving from pockets around to cup Benny’s thighs and squeeze. He feels that arousal like a shot to the fucking head. Benny smiles, pulls Maran’s chin down, watches his tongue roll out without even needing to be told.

“I can find other ways to keep you quiet,” Benny murmurs, before putting his own tongue there. And even Maran can moan a little at that.

—

That night Benny fucks Maran’s mouth, lovingly. He goes from kneeling on the bed, to kneeling on the floor, his face held in Benny’s tattooed hands. He makes it languid and slow, instead of rough and fast, even though his hips beg to make it snappy. Make it a little mean. But sometimes the slow is so good, even he can’t deny it. Even someone who would swear, with a hand on the bible, that mean rough fast hard brutal was his favorite way to go.

That night, thinking about Maran’s mischievous face, his palms lovingly spread around the back of Benny’s thighs, he watches his cock sink in and out of his boys mouth. Plush lips getting wet, tongue out to make it messy. He watches Maran’s pretty eyes flicker open and close at random intervals. They gather tears at the edges when Benny slides as deep as he can go, cups Maran’s cheeks. He makes a gulping sound, hands holding harder.

That’s my boy, Benny says in a smug voice. Look at you—how much you love it. And Maran’s mouth too full to reply, so he only makes the softest groaning sound. It is quiet. But the quiet makes it sort of intimate, just like the slow.

Not that he keeps it pure; he does pull out in time to cum across Maran’s face. A splash of his cum on his cheek, his chin, across his lips. Maran purses them, rubs against his tip in a way that makes Benny see stars. Makes the whole fucking galaxy explode behind his eyes. His hand jerks around Maran’s throat and squeezes harshly and then he’s the one who has to struggle to be quiet. The sensation of Maran’s wet mouth, just pursed, kissing him like that, almost pulls more from him.

It continues the whole night, this quiet but intimate and also filthy vibe. He makes Maran straddle him, jerk off and cum across his stomach. He rolls them together, rubbing their hips frantically together until they’re disgusting, tacky, cumming together. Benny kisses Maran so much that his lips hurt; and Maran kisses him even more. Gets greedy with his mouth and tongue. The evolve to fingers and hands and mouths in other places—

And all in all, it’s one of the nights he stays with and remembers, because they’re fucking debauched all the time, sure. A lot of the time. But, it still somehow does not compare to the night where they’re finally alone. Truly alone.

Enough for Maran to try out the toy.

—

Benny is a bit cruel about the foreplay. He has to be; the prep is important, he argues. Maran whines, face down on the bed, hands fisted into the sheets. He’s sweet about holding in his noises, bites down on the pillow while Benny’s mouth is occupied elsewhere. He’s greedy about it, lavishes with his tongue—won’t settle until he gets one from Maran. At least with his mouth, his fingers, just one from just him and nothing else.

“Ben,” Maran manages in a pathetic whimper, face pressed to the pillow, teeth around the fabric. He pants and writhes and arches and slaps a hand against the wall. He bucks backward into fingers—one, then two and then three. He makes gasping sounds as Benny bites up his back and to his ear.

“C’mon,” Benny murmurs playfully. “You in a rush?”

“I thought,” Maran gasps, tosses his head to the side, digs into the pillow more. His hips are shivering. He’s so close it makes Benny feel kinship with sharks—he wants to tear him apart, the pleasure to rip seams.“I was going to fuck—”

The groan rips out between Benny’s teeth as he shoves his face into the crux of Maran’s shoulder and neck. His whole body shudders with the effort, his hand quickening.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he growls.

“Ah—that’s—what I’ll be doing?”

Benny’s free hand slides under Maran’s throat and jerks his head back. He’s nasty about it, watches that flicker of ‘oh that hurt in the good way hurt’ across Maran’s pleasure addled face. His glossy eyes swim and search for Benny, who leans closer so they can find each other. He feels his own oh that hurts as he watches Maran’s beautiful face open in a welcoming, loving smile. Trusting. Vulnerably excited.

“I want—”

His face gets shoved into the pillow again, Benny’s fingers losing any sense of mercy. Maran’s voice rises, though its muffled. His body twists and jerks and bucks. He thrusts for sensation against the bed, his voice becoming a little cry as he cums. Benny watches the flex of his back muscles, the beautiful arch of his spine. He wants to lick down it, he wants to pepper kisses and bruises. Instead his fingers do a soft, few thrusts to carry him all the way through and then Benny straddles Maran’s back.

He leans down, nestles his mouth close.

“You’re going to get what you want,” Benny whispers. “And I’m gonna watch.”

—

Benny liked a lot of things about opening Maran’s eyes to kink. He liked browsing that website a week or so back and watching Maran realize that things like this existed. Not that he previously had no idea what a dildo was; more than he had no idea that they could come in varieties. Shapes, colors, for more than just the college freshmen girl to explore after escaping suburbia. They existed for men, for men like Maran who wanted to know what it was like to be stretched, filled, for it to hurt in that good burning way.

He also liked showing Maran how much fun things could be if you played sex almost like a game. Not the manipulative, comphet game was tricked into playing for so long—but like setting the scene. Like this—

Maran kneels, completely nude, with his hands spread across Benny’s knees. The sneering blond sits at the edge of the bed, still mostly clothed. In jeans and combat boots and his buttoned shirt fully undone. He leans back, hands braced on his bed, smiling. He knows this all goes together; it makes Maran feel vulnerable, exposed, maybe a little humiliated—a little corrupted.

He taps fingers under Maran’s chin, makes him look up as he continues the slow rhythm he’s started. It had taken Maran more than a minute to situate. To fully lean down with weight onto the toy. He’d made a noise unlike anything he’d ever made before that would live inside Benny for days to come—months. Maybe years. He’d slipped a hand over his mouth and another down between his legs and looked at Benny with such sweet, glassy eyes that it had been hard not to tear him back up onto the bed.

“Go on.”

“Ben.”

“Good boy, Maran.”

The encouragement makes a visible shiver run through Maran, who leans forward with his hands braced around Benny’s shins. He fucks himself harder, a semi-desperate pace. He bounces, his voice getting unmistakably louder with every churn of his hips. His cock drips, mostly ignored, because Maran’s hands have a painful tight grip around Benny’s calves. Maran’s forehead touches his knee. Benny looks at the gorgeous slope of the nape of his neck, down his back.

His head snaps up when he hears the sound of Benny’s zipper. His eyes are all pupil, sweat sliding from temple to chin. His cheeks are gorgeously flushed, his freckles popping in contrast.

“Did I say stop?” Benny asks, as he pulls himself from his briefs. Hands move up his legs, start a shaky paw across his thighs. Benny’s lip curls in a rude smile and he lifts a booted foot. Plants it right to Maran’s chest and pushes him back. He gets a delicious sounding, thin moan as Maran’s weight shifts, pushes him down on the toy. His desperate breathing goes heavier and heavier as he leans back, one hand loosely wrapped around Benny’s ankle.

His pace gets even more frantic then. He bounces harder, the hand not touching Benny scrambling behind him and using the wall to keep himself upright. Benny strokes himself, lazily, watches the way Maran’s whole body moves now with fervent, unbridled desire. His boot against Maran’s sternum goes just slightly harder—and then Maran, his sweet, fucking Maran, who rarely ever lets a moan escape, who tries so hard to keep himself quiet, who bites pillows and bed sheets and even his own fucking hand—gets loud.

Maran gets loud, he gets messy with his volume. Incoherent with his words, except the desperate way he says Ben’s name. It makes Benny lose composure, makes him stand. The boot slides off Maran’s chest, nestles between his freckled, tan thighs instead. Maran’s face goes redder and the intoxication of embarrassment and pleasure makes his brown eyes roll back. Benny cups his cheek, stares down at the vision of his boyfriend riding a toy, looking up at him.

“Maran—fuck—are you—” He means to ask if he’s close (he’s not even sure why, maybe just to help him finish through it, maybe because he’s also lost it, maybe because he’s just in love and watching Maran experience something this big is making him insane), but Maran’s desperate arm wraps around Benny’s thighs, jerks their bodies close and his whole body shakes with the orgasm.

The tears slide across Maran’s cheek, that gets pressed into Benny’s hip, right against the handgun tattoo. He strokes himself to a near painful finish, his other hand doing gentle pets across Maran’s soft, fuzzy hair.

—

Benny’s also careful with this; the comedown ritual that Maran’s never had any need to experience before. An argument could be made that aftercare was special, even in the most vanilla of situations—but it wasn’t just special, but necessary. And sometimes Maran was a bit of a brat about it. Was tired or the adrenaline dump was so messy it made him shivery in a way that wasn’t always pleasant.

This is a good one. Where he’s supple and pliant and lets Benny take his time and be good to him. Barely keeps himself upright in the shower as he’s washed up, but his arms stay hooked around Ben’s shoulders, one of his hands doing a sleepy pet through pale hair. He’s grinning too, that elated, nearly drunk smile. Eyes tired, relaxed, fuzzy around the edges. Benny peppers him with kisses, with praise, with little thanks.

I liked watching. You did so good. You looked so good. Did you enjoy it? And Maran’s humming replies, his soft here and there laughs until they’re finally in the bed again.

Maran does doze off for a little and when he wakes up, seems ridiculously interested in the snacks that Benny keeps hidden underneath his bed. Rifles through the basket, half across his boyfriend, searching for those chocolates that Benny keeps buying. All the while, his pale hand makes an appreciative, soft pat to Maran’s ass as.

“Are we going to Til’s tomorrow?”

“Do you kn-know how fucking amazing you are?” Benny interrupts, tugging Maran by the face so they can look at each other. “Do you know yo-you’re the craziest, best thing that’s ever happened to me? You little shit.” The blush on Maran is a soft pink in comparison for how sweaty and flushed his cheeks had been hours before. He smiles softer, a little bashful, a shy note that makes Benny insane.

“We can go anywhere you f-fucking want.”

“I mean—” he licks a bit of chocolate off his top lip, narrowing eyes. “Always wanted to try Canada, but Matilda’s got a sick apartment.”

“Matilda’s it fucking is.”

And then he pulls Maran in to kiss him. Really kiss him. One of those kisses that isn’t going to lead to sex, isn’t filthy or intense. Just all sweet.

#benny #maran #benny x maran #uni au

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