#revelations/rent/relief
Note
I’ve been here before lol. I just had to let you know, your virgin Bucky stories live rent free in my head. I hope one day to see him become… not a virgin 👀 if you feel like writing it of course ❤️
Pairing: Virgin!Bucky x f!reader
Warnings: fluff, smut, loss of virginity, slightly sub Bucky, soft!dom reader, riding, multiple orgasms (both), overstimulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (Don’t do that), copious amounts of cum, like so much, Bucky has a big dick, cumming untouched, cumming in boxers, ball riding (I know, there’s something wrong with me), crying during sex (Bucky this time, not reader lol), crying after sex, aftercare, Bucky is so sweet, taking care of Bucky, washing Bucky’s hair (This is a warning), my limited ass vocabulary (It’s a warning), actual brain rot, no use of Y/N, check tags at the bottom
Word Count: 3.6k
A/N: This has been in the works for so long but I took so damn long to finish it. I would have never guessed that so many of yall would be so invested in this story and Bucky’s journey. This is not the last you will see of these two, don’t worry. I think we should give them each a nickname. Leave a comment on what each of their names should be. Legit just had them call each other baby this entire fic. If I end up giving them nicknames, I’ll go back and put them in for all their stories. Anyway, enjoy!
As you slowly open your eyes, feeling the warmth and comfort of Bucky's embrace, a sense of safety washes over you. His strong arms are wrapped tightly around you. As you turn to face him, you see that Bucky is already awake, his deep blue eyes gazing at you with adoration and love. You can feel the rhythm of his breathing, steady and soothing against your skin. In this moment, nothing else matters except for the love and contentment you feel in each other's arms
"Good morning," he whispers, his voice husky with sleep. The sunlight filters through the window, casting a gentle glow upon his face, accentuating the lines of worry etched there.
With a small smile, you shift closer to him, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. "Good morning," you reply softly, tracing circles on his chest.
Bucky's fingers instinctively tighten around you, as if afraid to let go. "Last night... I didn't mean to let go like that" he admits shyly, his cheeks flushing a rosy hue. "I didn't know I was into that." Bucky felt embarrassed, not being used to letting go and having someone else take care of him. It was such a foreign feeling, yet he loved it, being able to trust someone completely, trusting you more than he does himself. Your heart swells at his vulnerability.
"Oh Bucky, it's okay. I liked it, I liked taking care of you. There's nothing to be ashamed about."
Bucky's eyes soften, relief flooding his features as he takes in your words. "You liked it?" he asks, his voice tinged with both surprise and hope.
A gentle nod escapes you, your fingers continuing their soothing motion on his chest. "Yes, Bucky. I enjoyed every moment of it," you reassure him, your voice filled with sincerity.
He exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "I've never let myself be vulnerable like that before," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared of losing control."
A tender smile graces your lips as you cup his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. "Bucky, being vulnerable doesn't mean losing control. It means trusting someone enough to let them in, to share yourself completely." Your words carry the weight of understanding and acceptance.
He gazes at you, his blue eyes reflecting a mixture of desire and hesitation. "I don't want to disappoint you, you know? You've been with experienced men before who knew how to pleasure you. I'm not sure if I can do the same for you." The poor thing was terrified of letting you down. He loves you so much, but what if he can’t please you? Would you leave him for someone better? How many people would even want to be with a man who knows almost nothing about pleasing a woman?
Your hand reaches out to cup Bucky's cheek, your thumb brushing across his rough stubble. His skin is warm and soft under your touch. As you sit up, your hand still resting on Bucky's chest, feeling the faster beat of his heart under your palm. His skin is warm and smooth against your fingertips, a reassuring and comforting touch.
"Last night you gave me the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced with a man. Those other men? They think that one trick that worked on one woman will work on every woman. But you, my love? You listened to me and my body, which is more than most men can say."
Your voice softens as you look into Bucky's eyes, seeing the raw emotion and vulnerability that lies within them. "Bucky, I don't want to give you the impression that you're not enough. You were amazing last night, and I’m glad that you trust me enough to share that part of yourself."
His eyes soften, a look of gratitude and relief washing over him. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand brushing against your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. "Thank you," he whispers, the words feeling like a heavy weight finally lifting off his shoulders. He takes a deep breath, and you can see a newfound confidence and determination in his eyes. "I want to learn, to be better for you. To make you feel the way you felt last night, every time."
A smile tug at the corner of your lips as you lean in to kiss him gently. "I believe in you, Bucky. And I know that you'll learn and grow, just like you did last night. And I’ll be right there to show you how." With a reassuring nod, Bucky pulls you into a deep and passionate kiss, his hands cradling your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine.
Slowly, he pulls away from the kiss, leaving behind a trail of electric energy on your lips. "I want to make love to you today," he whispers. "I want to give you everything I have, and show you just how much I care." Your heart swells with love for the man who would give you anything.
“Are you sure, Bucky? We don’t have to do anything that you don’t feel comfortable doing. I’m perfectly fine waiting for you, however long it takes.” You cup his face, staring into his eyes, seeing determination yet anxiety in his eyes. He wants to do this, have you be his first and only, he’s sure of it.
“Yes. I want more, I want everything with you. Last night, making you feel good, it sparked something in me. I want to do it again. Fuck, you looked so sexy when you came.” Just at the thought of the taste of your pussy and the image of you writhing on the bed in pleasure makes his cock throb, filling with blood. The feel of your naked breasts pressed against him is doing nothing to stop it either.
“If you’re sure, baby, we will. You want to follow my lead or experiment by yourself?” The thought of you trusting him enough to let him do whatever he wants to your body makes him whine, bucking his hip into your bare core, the boxers doing little to hinder the feeling on his sensitive dick.
“Want to follow you, please.” As you take the covers of the pair of you, Bucky’s eyes go right to your tits, hands moving on their own accord to cup them. You’re proud that he was comfortable enough to touch you without hesitancy.
You roll onto your back, Bucky following without a second thought, hands still on you, Bucky sits on his knees, admiring the view of your spread pussy. “I want you to finger me. You remember how, baby?” Of course Bucky remembers how, he remembers how much it made you moan and wiggle on the bed, how you were clenching on them when you came, how fucking tight you got. Bucky nods, right hand moving to your pussy. He needs to use his right hand, needs to feel how wet and tight you are.
Thumb moving to your slit, he gathers the wetness that has been pooling there since you felt his hard cock through his boxers and drags it up to your clit, rubbing it just the way you taught him, the small gasp that leaves your lips lets him know he’s doing it right. His eyes can’t leave your pussy, memorized by the wetness leaving it. He trails his middle and ring finger down and slowly enters you, cock somehow getting even harder at your feel.
His metal hand comes down to rub your clit as his fingers speed up, wanting you to cum so fucking bad. “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so fucking well. Making me feel so good.” Bucky can feel his heavy balls pulling up, cum about to burst from his cock, hips thrusting in the air, meeting nothing. Heat creeps up his cheeks, he knows he’s going to cum before you without even touching anything. He wants so fucking bad to jerk his cock, coaxing his huge load out, but he can’t leave your pussy.
You clench tights around him, your orgasm building up as well. Bucky can’t handle it, the way your head hits the pillows, eyes closed in pleasure, moans getting higher in pitch. Within seconds, Bucky’s cock bursts, cum pouring from his tip, immediately soaking the front of his boxers, leaking down until it lands on the bed, his moans louder than yours. At the sound of his pleasure you cum, clit twitching under his fingers, waves upon waves passing through you.
As you come down from your orgasm, you realize that Bucky is still cumming. “Baby, why won’t it stoppp, fuckk, please, feels so fucking good, shitt, please.”At his words the last of him cum dribbles out. The sight of his flushed cheeks and the soaking wet boxers almost makes you cum again. Sitting up, you push Bucky off the bed until he stands, taking off his underwear and pulling him back onto the bed, laying him down.
“You still want to do anything else, baby?” You desperately want to have his cock inside of you, have him cumming that much in your pussy, letting it leak out all over his balls down to the bed, but if he doesn’t want to go any further you’ll stop, no questions asked.
“Oh fuck yes! Want you to ride me please.” The whole of his sentence comes out as a moan, cock still sensitive and hard, ready for you to take it however you please. Straddling him, you grab him lining him up with your pussy. You look at him and at his nod, you start to sit on him. As soon as the tip breaches you, he cums, and he cums hard. “OH SHIT! FUCK, YES! FUCK I’M CUMMING!” He’s practically screaming, but he can’t find it in himself to care, the most intense orgasm of his life coursing through him.
Hands flying to your hips, he pulls you all the way down, bucking into you with so much force you have to grab the headboard. “ OH FUCKING SHIT! DON’T FUCKING STOP! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” It’s not like you could even if you tried, only option to take his assault, and fuck if it doesn’t feel amazing. Your moans almost match his in volume, pussy still trying to adjust to the size of him, balls slapping against your ass. After a few seconds, you already feel his cum being forced out of you to make room for his cock. His cum now all over both of your sexes, his balls, your ass, and the bed.
His orgasm lasts minutes, the amount of cum leaving his cock never slowing down, hips never stop slamming into yours. During his orgasm, you cum too, the sight was so hot you couldn’t help yourself. When your pussy was clenching around him so tight he somehow got louder. Eventually, he orgasm abated and his hips stopped, laying limb on the bed.
Shame washed over him, at how much he lost himself to his orgasm, how rough he was with you. “I’m so sorry, baby. Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“Fuck, Bucky, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.” Bucky’s eyes widen, not expecting you to be so turned on by his orgasm. His cock was still rock hard inside of you, giving you an idea. “What position do you want to do next?” Bucky almost cums again at those words, he knows what he wants, but is almost embarrassed to ask. However, his cock is thinking for him, washing away his inhibitions.
“Can you ride me?” You just smile and start to pick up your hips but he stops you. “From the back.” You throb at that. He wants to watch your ass bounce on him.
You pull off, hissing at the empty feeling and turn around. You grab his cum soaked balls and you feel them twitch in your palm. Pulling them up you turn your head to Bucky. “Do me a favor and close your legs for me.” He doesn’t ask a single question and does so immediately. You let his balls fall on top of his legs and put his cock right back in, not waiting a second to start bouncing, grinding your clit on his slick balls at the end of every bounce.
“Oh, fuck. How does your ass move like that, shit. Looks so sexy.” His hands ghost over your cheeks, not knowing what to do with the sight in front of him.
“Smack my ass, baby.” He groans, and lays a light slap to your right cheek. “Harder, Bucky. Leave your mark on me.” His Oh shit is ignored as he slaps you a little harder, still not hard enough, cock pulsing at the sight of your ass bouncing, feeling it move under his hands. “Don’t be a little pussy, baby. Give it a slap like a fucking man.” Maybe it was a little mean, but you needed to feel his hand coming down on you. His near constant moans get louder, clearing enjoying the degradation. The next slap is hard. “Yes, little harder, baby. Fuck! Just like that, keep going. Don’t stop, want your handprints all week.”
He keeps going, smacking you harder each time. His balls rubbing on your clit pull up and he cums once again. This time, though, he pulls out, jerking his cock, cumming all over your ass. “Fucking shit! Wanted me to mark your fucking ass? Well I’m fucking doing it. Cumming so much. Maybe I’ll just stick my dick in your ass and cum in there too.” You don’t know where that came from, but it makes you ride his balls faster, ass jiggling as he continues to cum on it. “That’s so fucking hot, keeping moving that fat ass on me.” You really don’t know where his dirty mouth is coming from but you don’t care because holy hell is it hot.
Seconds later, Bucky can’t take it anymore and shoves his cock back in your pussy, spreading his legs back out and planting them on the bed so he can fuck up into you. With your ass moving so much with his thrusts, his cum is going everywhere. Bucky lands a hard slap to your cheeks, smacking his cum into them, spreading it all around.
Just like before, he cums for minutes, cum flowing out of your pussy. The entire of both of your hips and your ass and the bed is completely drenched with his cum. When he’s done he pulls you off his cock and spins you around so you’re facing him again. “Baby, my cock is still so fucking hard, I don’t know what to do.” You coo at him, setting your hand against his cheek.
“Don’t worry, baby, I got you.” Instead of slipping his cock back into you, you grind against it, with every roll of your hips his sensitive tip rubs your clit. “Does this feel good, baby?”
“Uh huh, so good.” You see his adam's apple bob and his bottom lip wobble. The feral part of his brain that was fucking you earlier is gone, now your sweet boyfriend is left. He’s not even looking at the way his tip pops out between your folds, no, he’s staring right into your eyes. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against him, every part of your body touching his in some way.
You rest your forehead against his and meet his gaze, tears spilling over and running down the sides of his face. You gently wipe them away but they keep coming. One of his hands goes in between your bodies pushing his cock back inside its home, your warm walls enveloping every inch, both of you gasping. Bucky can’t decide if he wants to keep going or stop, a twinge of pain biting its way up his cock, but you just feel too good. He can’t leave your pussy, needing to cum one last time. The slow grind of your hips never speeds up, gently fucking him, no, making love to him.
Bucky tries to kiss you but the pleasure you’re giving leaves him putty in your hands. The kiss is sloppy and wet, but one of the best kisses you’ve ever had, feeling the words neither of you can get out at the moment. The hairs at the base of his cock rub your clit, building up your final orgasm, Bucky not long behind, trying to hold out for you.
“You’re okay, baby. Want you to cum for me, not far behind.” Any restraint left in Bucky’s body disappears, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he cums for the last time.
“Fuckkk, baby, love you so much, please, I need you to cum for me. Need it so bad.” The slow roll of his tears before shifts to full on sobs, pleasure too much. You pull yourself off his cock, knowing that it’s now too much for him. “No, no, I need you to cum, please.” Your hand trails down your body, fingers rubbing your clit, the sight of you makes Bucky whine, and pull you down into a kiss, where you cum, moaning into his mouth.
You roll the both of you over, placing Bucky’s head on your chest, lightly scratching his scalp, tracing shapes on his back with your other hand. When his tears subside, Bucky is the first to speak. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
You feel a lump form in your throat. Of course you would always take care of him. There is nothing that you wouldn’t do for him. “I love you so much, Bucky. I could never hurt you, only want to give you the best in life. After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I could do.” Bucky doesn’t say anything after that, not knowing what to say, not being used to such unbridled love.
A few minutes pass before the amount of cum and sweat surrounding you gets uncomfortable. “Come on, baby, lets get cleaned up.” Bucky whines but complies anyway. “Get the shower started for me? I’ll change the bed.” He nods and heads to the shower. You work as fast as you can to get the sheets off and a fresh set on. Still naked you run to the washroom and throw the soiled sheets in the wash and start it before running back to the bathroom.
Bucky is waiting outside of the shower for you, eyes still red from crying, almost shying away from you. Grabbing his hand you lead him into the hot water. “You did so good for me, Bucky. Made me feel incredible. You know, if that was your first time, I’m going to need help from the gods to handle you when you practice more.” That gets a small smile from him. “Don’t get all bashful on me, big man, after you rocked my world back there.”
“Stop it, baby.” His words hold no heat to them, secretly loving your complements. “You did too, rocked my world, you know? Didn’t know it could feel that good. There isn’t anyone else I would rather do that with.” He’s going to make you cry one of these days, saying all this sweet shit to you, and you know he means every single word of it.
“Yeah? How do you feel? Feel okay? I know that was a lot for you.” He dips his head down when you reach for his shampoo, letting you wash his hair, then grabbing the soap and lathering the wash cloth, running it along his body. At the feeling of your soft hands on his body, taking care of him after he gave himself over to you, Bucky can’t respond, too caught up in your love. “Bucky?” Your hands stop, fearing the worst at his silence.
“Feel so good, baby. I…” Bucky chokes up, tears resurfacing. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. You pull him to you, hugging him until he stops. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I just, you make me feel so safe, I can’t control myself, I just feel, you know?” You know because he makes you feel the same way.
“Yeah, I do, baby, I do.”
“Can I wash you?” After you took care of him, Bucky wants to do the same for you, never wanting you to feel like he was using you. You nod and Bucky takes extra care to get all of his cum off of you, cleaning you up just like you did to him. By the time you’re done in the shower, the water’s cold. Bucky takes a towel and wraps you up first. Before he can reach for his, you take it and dry him off.
“What do you want to do now? We can cuddle, get something to eat, watch a movie, whatever you want.” You know how important aftercare is, especially when Bucky was feeling so vulnerable after his first time.
“Can we just cuddle?” He looks almost scared to ask you for such a simple gesture.
“Of course we can.” Taking your hand, Bucky leads you to the bed, foregoing clothes. You pull the blankets up and let him rest his head on your chest, listening to the beat of your heart and steady breathing. Not too long after you hear his light snoring and know he’s asleep, you following soon after in the arms of the love of your life, excited to experience all of Bucky’s firsts with him, seeing him grow, not only in experience, but also confidence.
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes smut#bucky x you#bucky imagine#bucky smut#sebastian stan x reader#virgin!bucky#Virgin!bucky barnes#Omg this took me so fucking long to finish#thank you for the ask because it gave me the motivation to finish#Sorry to make you guys wait so damn long#Love you all#If you're still reading this drink some water
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dunno if this is anything but i have in my head a ghostsoap persuasion au just rattling around…
i hope you mean the jane austen persuasion because if not i am so very sorry. here’s a little drabble but i’d love to hear your take
(period-typical homophobia is nonexistent here) (setting is also tweaked a little)
-
John stands frozen, feeling as if a bucket of cold water has just been poured over him as his eyes catch those that have continued to haunt his mind for nearly a decade.
Eight years. Eight years since he had broken off his engagement with Simon; eight years since John has seen the man last. And against all odds, eight years later, here Simon stands at a gathering in the very house where John had called things off after immense pressure from his family to do so.
Simon looks... good. He's always been handsome, but the years have lent him a certain ruggedness that adds to his charm—surely a cause of his time in the navy. Simon had only been enlisted for a short time before things ended between him and John, but John sees now that his uniform indicates he's climbed the ranks to Captain.
He must've recently come home.
John still can't bring himself to move, so it's Simon who ends up approaching him.
"John," Simon greets, and how it stings, "it's been some time, hasn't it?"
"It has." John tries not to wince at the words catching in his throat. "How—how have you been? I—"
"Well enough,” Simon says. Then he ducks his head, lowering his voice so as to not allow others to eavesdrop, “What are you doing here, Johnny?”
John swallows thickly. Though Simon's words are terse, his tone isn't at all resentful like John might've imagined it would be. No, no it's—it's almost... pained.
If John revels in the warmth of their closeness for just a moment, then he should just hope that Simon is none the wiser.
"Was visiting my sister,” John says. “And I was asked to check on the house. My parents, they—“
“They’re renting to my brother and his wife,” Simon finishes. He shrinks back, shoulders relaxing with a mix of relief and realization and... something else. Something John can't quite place.
A terrible silence falls over them, in spite of the low hum of chatter from those all around the gathering.
"...I'm sorry," John blurts. Simon's brows immediately knit together, but he says nothing to dismiss the sudden apology. The slight curve of Simon's frown, the new scars that adorn his skin—they all spur John on to continue. So John's words all tumble out at once: "I'm sorry for how things ended, Si—Simon. I never should have—if you can't forgive me, then I can't blame you."
John braces himself for a scoff, for a response marked by disdain, but it isn't either of these reactions that he receives. Instead, all Simon does is offer a sad, subdued smile.
“I could never fault you,” says Simon. “As much as I’ve missed you. But we’re different people now, Johnny. And—“
“But do we have to be?” John pleads.
Taken aback by the response, Simon wets his lips before pulling them into a thin line. He sighs and glances around, a certain hollowness weighing on his expression that hadn’t existed in all the time John had known him prior.
Ultimately, Simon hangs his head a moment before those dark eyes return to John’s, far too earnest and hurt.
“I’m afraid we do.”
John opens his mouth to argue, but eventually his jaw can only snap shut with nothing to say. Numbly, he nods, and makes no move to stop Simon from returning to a conversation with a group of guests.
And now with no more reason to stay, John takes his leave with his spirits dampened.
#ask#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#soapghost#ghostsoap#ghost x soap#ghoap#alternate universe#writing
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So in starlet non au, how did they meet? Great answer with the non interview answers they would give. It’s like a complicated subterfuge. 😅
The first time? In passing at an audition. They weren't going up for the same part, but they had to be there at the same time, and honestly it felt... kind of unremarkable at the time.
Both just in the beginning bursts of their careers and so deeply hunkered down in the closet, both entirely married to the love of their work, neither really was in the headspace to think anything on it. It had been as simple as Clarke settling herself down in the waiting room while they wrapped up with the audition scheduled right before hers, taking the seat two spaces down from the room's only other occupant. That's really all it was. Just a few thoughtless glances at a girl sipping coffee while reading a script, watching insanely gorgeous lips silently twisting around a few last minute lines.
She'd remembered thinking if those lips were fake, then whoever had done them must've been a god. Perhaps one among a pantheon who had put this girl together, with her wild bohemian curls and smokey eyes that gave the woman an air of authority, and the very specific styling of her too-tight jeans with a leather jacket that looked like it cost more than the rent on Clarke's Studio City apartment.
But beyond that, mostly she'd just been wondering if they were going up for the same damn part. So much so she'd asked her where she'd managed to scrounge up the coffee just for something to break the silence. After the blow of Leather Jacket's apologetic revelation that she had been smart enough to bring it with her herself, it'd been easy enough to very casually ask what part she was up for, feeling a wave of relief when she flashed Clarke the front of the script marked for a different project entirely.
(Because while Clarke couldn't ever be accused of being particularly humble, if given the choice between the two of them, she knew which way her own casting choice would've gone.)
That was the first time they met.
The second time was more.
The second time was at a private party thrown by a friend of a friend of a friend. The kind that is meant just as much for shmoozing and making contacts as it is for actually having fun. All expensive perfume and too much booze and the kind of drugs people who want to live past 50 tend to stay away from.
Clarke had been working on her second gin and tonic of the night when she noticed that familiar head of bohemian hair. When she'd noticed how those smokey eyes that she had all but forgotten about kept darting toward her and lingering there.
Except this time, Leather Jacket had a name.
Alexandria Woods.
Or so Google had told her when she'd spent a paltry 15 minutes looking her up through their respective agency all those weeks before.
But she'd made a rule for herself the second she'd moved to LA and she wasn't about to blow it for a pretty face at a party. So she'd mingled, and smiled, and played the part of not-that-innocent young ingénue, and did her best to stop seeking those eyes out.
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Ghosts of the Past
[SV-240 masterlist]
Timeline: post-captivity, set after A Day of Revelations.
contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, nightmares, mentioned surgery, torture, branding, therapy and past weight loss, absent parent.
~~~
He must have fallen asleep.
He wakes up with tears in his eyes and the memory of Daniel clear in his mind, in the hospital room, not alone. Blinking, he expects to see steel-gray eyes and a familiar fond smile, feel a hand brushing his hair away from his forehead, hear a voice that tries and fails to be soothing. Instead he sees brown eyes and concern written all over the familiar face of the person leaning over him, their hand still resting on his shoulder after they shook him awake.
“Breathe, Wren. Breathe.”
He doesn’t remember this voice ever being soothing, but it works. Breathing deeply, he nods, his body in a state of panic even though he can hardly remember why. He reaches up to wipe his tears away, and his breath stutters again. There’s no way he can speak in this state.
“Are you okay?” Nathaniel asks, just as, if not more, nervous as his son.
No. Isn’t it obvious?
Wren nods again, and Nathaniel frowns.
“Sorry I had to wake you. You were…” He hesitates, looking for the right word, or maybe considering how much to tell him. “Thrashing.”
Another nod. Wren’s throat is squeezed tight, his heart fluttering in his chest, so he stays silent, focused on breathing.
He had a nightmare, and his father saw it.
It’s a strange realization, as if he had mentally placed a division between the person he was on SV-240 and the person he’s here now. He knew that returning to Earth wouldn’t erase his memories and trauma, but Daniel’s strong presence in his mind is the most striking reminder of that. The captive from SV-240 has been transported to Earth and sticks out like a sore thumb.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Must’ve had a nightmare.”
It’s Nathaniel’s turn to awkwardly nod. He parts his lips as if to say something, and his grip on Wren’s shoulder tenses, but in the end he lets go and looks away.
Despite knowing better than to expect any comfort, Wren’s disappointment is almost painful, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to grab his father’s hand, begging him to care.
“I brought you some things,” Nathaniel says, and when Wren follows his gaze, he notices a large bag by the wall - his bag, one he hasn’t used in years, but seeing something that belongs to him fills him with warmth, a feeling so strong he can’t believe it’s caused by something as mundane as an old object.
“Thanks.” Smiling requires a shocking amount of effort even when it’s for the most part genuine.
“Have you thought about where you want to stay?” Nathaniel pulls a chair closer to sit down. “I’ve found some places for sale or for rent, I can send you the offers.”
“Can I stay at your place?” Wren blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible idea, he knows it is, but the thought of having to choose is overwhelming. His recent nightmare also causes him to tense up and his mind to protest when he imagines being alone. Just him and a ghost, and nobody else.
“Of course.” Nathaniel’s response is immediate despite the look of surprise on his face. “It’s still your home too.”
This time there’s nothing forced about Wren’s smile.
“Thanks. I won’t stay long, just until… I get back on my feet.”
“You can stay as long as you like.”
That’s a relief when Wren has no idea how long it will take him to get back on his feet, if that’s even possible. What does that even mean? Functioning on his own, probably; the thought makes him anxious, so he drops it for now.
“Thank you. Really.”
Nathaniel nods, and they both fall silent, with too many unsaid words ringing in the air. There has always been a barrier between them that Wren couldn’t get through, and even now, when Nathaniel’s being more vulnerable than Wren’s ever seen him, the barrier is standing strong, intimidating and stifling. Worst of all, it prevents him from telling his father about anything, really. He should at least mention the tracker that’s going to be removed shortly, but even that fills him with deep shame. And then, of course, there’s the relationship Daniel had forced him into, the affection and intimacy that affected him more than anything else did, which is the last thing he wants to reveal to anyone, period.
Bearing it alone makes it hard to breathe, but he can’t imagine choosing the alternative.
---
The bag contains clothes, his clothes: familiar flannel shirts, plain t-shirts and relaxed pants, all ironed out and neatly folded. He reaches inside the bag and rests his fingertips on the clothes, and the feel of the fabric is familiar too. He clears his throat and blinks rapidly when tears threaten to gather in his eyes, and pulls out one of the shirts, unfolding it and holding it in the air, staring at it while his mind is racing.
It’s been years since he was allowed to choose what to wear. The clothes chosen by Daniel weren’t bad, they were comfortable and practical, but that was the problem - they couldn’t get in the way of Daniel’s sadistic ideas, and it wasn’t much of an issue if they ended up stained with blood. He was a plaything, a blank canvas, dressed accordingly, even when Daniel tried to convince him that they could be close to equals if he only gave in.
Now, he can finally make a choice, even one as seemingly inconsequential as this.
Once he’s dressed, he stands in front of the mirror and chokes on his breath.
The clothes still fit him well; they would’ve been noticeably more baggy if he’d stayed malnourished like he was during the first few weeks on SV-240, but since his starvation ended and Daniel allowed him to start working out again, he’s gone back to looking like himself, the person he used to be. It’s all the more jarring as he stares in the mirror at someone from over two years ago.
Someone he no longer is.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath when tears come back, this time impossible to stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling, away from the mirror. “I’ll get used to it,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s just clothes, and they should make me feel better, for fuck’s sake.”
Wearing them does help, but seeing them does the exact opposite, so he ends up walking away from the mirror, and avoids looking into it if he can help it.
---
He spends a few more days in the hospital, and every single morning he wakes up from a nightmare. While it might be better than waking up to a nightmare, it’s exhausting in its own right, and leaves him a mess.
Reality doesn’t help as much as he hoped it would. He’s free, but everything feels like too much.
Someone visits him and introduces herself as a therapist; that information alone makes him so anxious he fails to catch her name. She talks to him, and he’s tense the whole time, mentally building walls around his mind as if the therapist could read it and learn about everything he went through. His input is limited to nodding along, waiting for the conversation to be over. He doubts therapy will help when his plan is to take the full scope of his trauma to the grave.
Later that day he’s scheduled for surgery. Something in him flares up in protest when he slowly slips into unconsciousness, a scared part of him that doesn’t want him to be defenseless, at someone else’s mercy, with no guarantee that they won’t hurt him or tie him up, but there’s nothing he can do at this point. When he wakes up, everything is alright, his shoulder is bandaged and the tracker is… gone. He can’t help but think that it would feel more significant if he wasn’t still branded - and he can see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the doctors who saw his back. He stays silent.
His father visits him again, they talk about nothing in particular. With the visible bandage on his shoulder Wren can’t hide the truth any longer. He had a chip. A tracker. It was nothing, and it’s gone now.
“That’s good.” Their conversation dies down.
Another night, another nightmare, which a nurse wakes him up from. His face burns with embarrassment, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself. Thankfully, they don’t pry.
He’s sitting in an armchair by the window, looking outside, when raised voices out in the corridor make him flinch. He looks in the direction of the door with a frown, and recognizes one of the voices as his father’s, but the other one he’s never heard before. It’s probably a hospital worker, but the conversation certainly sounds… heated, though he can’t make out enough words for it to make sense. The voices get calmer eventually, and he can hear footsteps getting closer. Then a moment of silence - and someone knocks on the door. His father and the hospital staff have used knocking as a mere formality, letting themselves in unless he tells them to wait, but this person doesn’t open the door.
“You can come in!” he says.
He doesn’t recognize the person that enters the room, but there’s something about the way she looks him up and down and her eyes widen that gives him the impression that she recognizes him.
“Hi,” he says, standing up.
“Hi,” she responds and clears her throat when her voice trembles. “Wren, right?”
“Yeah. Wren Rackham.” Who is she? He narrows his eyes when he considers all the options and lands on one he’s not excited about in the slightest - that the person in front of him is a journalist, here to ask him about everything he went through. That would explain the heated discussion, too, but he really hopes that’s not the case. “Do I know you?”
There’s a flash of emotion on her face, too brief for him to try and understand it before she speaks.
“No, I suppose not,” she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m… My name is Jonna Schulte.”
Should that tell him something? She looks at him expectantly, but no matter how hard he tries to place the name in his memory, he fails.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He shakes his head helplessly.
“So he never… okay.” Jonna clears her throat again. “How do I even say this… You… you’re my son, Wren.” Her words feel like a punch to the face, and Wren’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t get to say anything to that - and he has no idea what he could say anyway - as she continues, clenching her fists to hide the trembling of her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Wren. I never wanted to abandon you, but I was forced to, and I regret it every single day. I-I know I can’t make up for my absence, and I’m sorry I’m visiting you out of nowhere, but when I heard what happened to you I… I had to see you.”
Wren puts his hand against the wall to steady himself when his legs threaten to buckle under him. As he’s staring at Jonna’s face in disbelief, he can’t help but notice that there is some physical resemblance between them, which means… she might not be lying.
The thought turns his world upside down to the point where the memories plaguing him are overshadowed for a short moment.
His mother was never in the picture, and he was used to it. Nathaniel didn’t seem to like talking about her and avoided the topic until Wren gave up and dropped it. All he knew was that she left him when he was three, and since he couldn’t remember her at all, he just… never had a mother. As hard as it was sometimes, he had to accept it.
And now she’s here. A complete stranger, appearing in his life when he’s already overwhelmed and her presence feels like an explosion that only destabilizes him further, his mind racing, torn between confusion and… anger. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, not wanting to say something he’ll regret later.
“I’m sorry,” Jonna repeats. “I shouldn’t have- You’re already going through a lot and I- I’ll leave you alone.” She turns to leave, but before taking a single step she pauses and hesitantly takes out a small notepad and a pen. “We can pretend this never happened, but if, um, you’d like to get in touch someday…” She writes something down and sets the note on an end table. “Here’s my number. You don’t have to do anything with it, I just… thought I’d leave it here.” When he doesn’t respond, she swallows and looks away. “Goodbye, and… I hope you make a good recovery.”
Does he want to pretend this never happened? Maybe. It would be easier not to have this bomb of a revelation on his mind, but he can’t just forget about it. He used to think his mother had decided to abandon him, but if she hadn’t, and she seems to really regret it… it changes everything.
“Wait,” he says, stopping her in her tracks.
“Yes?” She looks so tense, like she’s waiting for him to start screaming at her, and a tiny part of him almost wants to do that, to vent his frustrating confusion, but he nips that thought in the bud.
“I-I’ll think about it. It’s a lot right now, but I’m… not saying no. I just need some time.”
She nods and relaxes her shoulders.
“Of course. I’m not going to push, it’s your decision.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The corners of Jonna’s lips rise in a slight smile of relief, and Wren can’t help but wonder if their smiles are similar too.
When the door closes behind her, Wren can finally breathe again. He sits down and works his fingers into his hair, and sits motionless in the quiet room - too quiet, oppressively so - for a long while, until reality becomes blurred enough that he’s not sure if Jonna Schulte had actually visited him. Maybe it was another dream, a weird one that’s still preferable to the nightmares tormenting him every time he falls asleep, but…
He lifts his head and his gaze lands on the note left on the end table near the door. It’s real without a doubt; he confirms it when he picks it up. He reads the number several times until he’s memorized it, and hides the note in his pocket.
For the rest of the day it’s all he can think about, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the note somehow burned through his pocket with how aware he is of it at all times.
At least, no matter how he feels about it, it’s a welcome distraction until Daniel inevitably visits him in his dreams again.
~~~
[next]
taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpsical @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump
#recovery whump#hospital setting#slavery whump#forced relationship whump#nightmare whump#weight loss mention#wren rackham#nathaniel rackham#jonna schulte#sv-240#my writing#i've had a big part of this written for ages#but i finally found the motivation to finish and edit it#so here you go#jonna finally appears again#as always pls let me know if the tag worked
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Mordecai Persuades Esther to Help
1 Now when Mordecai learned about all that had been done, Mordecai rent his clothes and put on sackcloth and ashes; and he went out into the midst of the city and wailed loudly and bitterly.
2 And he went up to the entrance of the king’s gate, for no one was to enter the king’s gate clothed in sackcloth.
3 And throughout every province, wherever the king’s commandment and his decree came, there was great mourning among the Jews, with fasting and weeping and wailing; many lay in sackcloth and ashes.
4 And Esther’s maids and her eunuchs came and told her, and the queen was greatly distressed. And she sent garments to clothe Mordecai, so that he might remove his sackcloth from him; but he would not accept them.
5 Then Esther called for Hathach, one of the king’s eunuchs, whom he had appointed to serve her, and she commanded him to go out to Mordecai to find out what this was and why it was.
6 So Hathach went out to Mordecai at the open square of the city in front of the king’s gate.
7 And Mordecai told him all that had happened to him and the exact sum of money that Haman had promised to pay into the king’s treasuries for the destruction of the Jews.
8 And he also gave him a copy of the written decree which was issued in Susa for their destruction, that he might show Esther and tell her about it and charge her to go in to the king to supplicate him and make a request for her people before him.
9 And Hathach came and told Esther Mordecai’s words.
10 Then Esther spoke to Hathach and ordered him to answer Mordecai:
11 All the king’s servants and the people of the king’s provinces know that for any man or woman who comes in to the king at the inner court who has not been called for, there is but one law, that he be put to death, unless the king holds out his scepter of gold to him that he may live; and I have not been called to come in to the king during these past thirty days.
12 And they told Mordecai Esther’s words.
13 Then Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, Do not imagine that in the king’s palace you will escape any more than all the Jews.
14 For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from some other place, and you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?
15 Then Esther told them to reply to Mordecai,
16 Go; assemble all the Jews who are to be found in Susa, and fast for me; and do not eat or drink for three days, night or day; I also and my maids will fast in the same way. And so will I go in to the king, which is not according to the law; and if I perish, I perish.
17 So Mordecai went his way and did according to all that Esther had commanded him.
— Esther 4 | Recovery Version (REC)
The Recovery Version of the Holy Bible © 2009 Living Stream Ministry. All rights reserved.
Cross References: Leviticus 26:42; 2 Samuel 1:11; 2 Kings 13:5; Esther 3:9; Esther 3:14; Esther 5:1-2; Esther 6:4; Esther 9:31; Jeremiah 36:9; Daniel 2:18; John 19:22; Revelation 11:3
#Mordecai#appeal#Esther#fasting#help#Esther 4#Book of Esther#Old Testament#REC#Recovery Version Bible#Living Stream Ministry
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18. PeterMJ 😌
When Peter comes to, there’s a bright light staring him in the face that, for a second, makes him think he’s about to get hit by a train or a bus. He definitely feels like he already has; every muscle in his body hurts, including all the muscles he’d never even known he had, so that’s fun, too. There’s a whole long list of people who’d come back to hit him again just to make sure they finished the job.
That’s how he dies, he thinks; hit by a bus while Doc Ock is driving. Anticlimactic, and honestly kind of a bummer, considering everything they’ve been through together. Does a whole decade-plus of rivalry not mean anything anymore?
But just on the edge of his periphery, there’s a flash of red hair, and the sound of something that brings him instant relief. MJ. Voice of an angel. Or, well, the voice of an angel if that angel were capable of hitting inhuman octaves; they probably are. He doesn’t know that much about angels. He’s getting off track.
“The nurse asked if we were married, and I said no. To which she said, Blah blah blah, you’re not next of kin, you can’t go with him. Which is… bullshit! And they —”
“MJ?” His voice is dry and cracked — and probably half resembles some sort of weird frog that doesn’t actually know how to croak. It clearly doesn’t make any impression (and why would it?), because MJ continues to plow on, expansive hand gestures and all.
“— wouldn’t even give me a single update until you were out of surgery! Not one! And they call themselves professionals.”
Swallowing, and shifting on his pillow (to his great immediate regret), Peter tries one more time. “MJ.”
In an instant, MJ falls silent. “Oh.” He can tell she’s trying so hard to smile, but he can’t miss the look in her eyes, or the lurch in his own stomach at that revelation. “Hey, tiger.”
“By all means, don’t stop on my account.” The least he can do is try his hardest, too. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll put me out of a job.”
At that, MJ raises a single brow. “You don’t have a job. At least, not one that meaningfully contributes to our rent.”
Peter lets out a wheezy little laugh — which is, of course, instant murder on (most likely cracked) ribs.
send me a number and a pairing, and i'll give you a minific!
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Beat the Summer Heat: Escape to Baguio City with Anis Transport
As the summer sun blazes down, there’s no better time to escape the heat and head for the cool, refreshing heights of Baguio City. Nestled in the picturesque mountains of the Philippines, Baguio offers a welcome respite from the sweltering temperatures of the lowlands. With its crisp mountain air, lush pine forests, and charming attractions, Baguio promises an unforgettable adventure for those seeking relief from the summer heat.
Why Baguio?
Baguio City, often dubbed as the "Summer Capital of the Philippines," boasts a climate that is markedly cooler than most parts of the country. The city’s elevation of over 1,500 meters above sea level provides a refreshing escape from the scorching temperatures down below. With average temperatures ranging from 15°C to 26°C throughout the year, Baguio offers the perfect climate for outdoor exploration, whether it's hiking, sightseeing, or simply strolling through its vibrant streets.
Exploring Baguio:
A trip to Baguio presents a plethora of activities for visitors of all ages. Begin your adventure by exploring the iconic Burnham Park, where you can rent a boat and paddle around the serene lake or enjoy a leisurely stroll amidst lush gardens. For those seeking a bit of history, a visit to the Baguio Cathedral and the nearby Session Road, known for its bustling markets and local delicacies, is a must.
Nature lovers will find plenty to marvel at in Baguio. Take a scenic drive to Mines View Park and revel in panoramic views of the surrounding mountains and mines. Don't miss the chance to visit the Botanical Garden, where you can immerse yourself in the beauty of diverse flora and snap Instagram-worthy photos amidst the vibrant blooms.
Adventurous souls will find solace in Baguio's array of outdoor activities. Embark on a trek to Mount Pulag, the highest peak in Luzon, and be rewarded with breathtaking vistas from above the clouds. Alternatively, thrill-seekers can try their hand at ziplining at Camp John Hay or horseback riding at Wright Park.
Getting There:
While Baguio is accessible by bus from various parts of the Philippines, renting a car or van offers unparalleled convenience and flexibility. With your own vehicle, you can explore Baguio and its surrounding areas at your own pace, stopping to admire scenic viewpoints or detouring to hidden gems along the way.
Numerous car rental services are available in Baguio City like Anis Transport, offering a range of vehicles to suit your needs and budget. Whether you prefer the compact convenience of a sedan or the spacious comfort of a van, there’s a rental option for every traveler. Be sure to book in advance, especially during peak travel seasons, to secure the vehicle of your choice.
Don’t let the summer heat get you down—escape to Baguio City and discover a world of cool mountain breezes, stunning scenery, and unforgettable experiences. Whether you're a nature enthusiast, history buff, or adventure seeker, Baguio offers something for everyone. So, pack your bags, rent a car or van, and embark on an unforgettable summer adventure in the heart of the Philippines.
Beat the summer heat! Anis Transport offers car & van rental with driver or self-drive options to Baguio City. Explore the cool mountain air, lush pine forests, and charming attractions at your own pace. Book now for an unforgettable escape!
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Meet The Mezas (Scenario turned LP)
This legacy originated in "Parenting Predicaments" on The Sims 4, featuring the Martinez family with Sofia and her brother as the initial generation. Sofia, evolving into the matriarch, met Howard Aoki, a lawyer turned author, during college. They relocated to Del Sol Valley, with their three children: Londyn, Howard Jr., and Ciara, in tow.
As the first child, Londyn assumed the role of the second-generation heiress. Due to her spectacular grades in school, she was invited to graduate high school early and therefore, start college. Although her parents covered her tuition, they encouraged her to gain work experience for curation g a diverse resume. Struggling to secure a job at 16, Sofia turned to being a Micro-Simfluencer for some spending money. While pursuing a Fine Arts major at the University of Britechester, Sofia rekindled connections with a family friend, Kody Edge.
Kody and Londyn's relationship deepened as they started dating and eventually they decided to move in together off-campus. As graduation approached, they sent out resumes to corporations. A few weeks before graduation, Kody was presented with a life-changing opportunity – the chance to become a Marine Biologist in the enchanting islands of Sulani. Despite the excitement, he whether or not Londyn was prepared to leave Britechester and be far from her Del Sol Valley-based parents. Facing a tough decision, Kody contemplated the possibility of moving together or navigating a long-distance relationship.
Fortunately, Londyn eagerly embraced the move to Sulani, immediately said yes! Though her parents weren't thrilled about her leaving, they knew Kody's family, so they wished her luck and made her promise to visit during holidays.
Their life in Sulani was like living in paradise. They secured a charming two-bedroom bungalow by the water, even though the second bedroom turned out to be too small for a bed.
When the holidays arrived, as promised, Londyn and Kody returned home for a visit. They had dinner at Londyn's parent's house, where, unexpectedly, Londyn had to leave early due to feeling unwell. Kody decided to stay behind and catch up with everyone. As everyone turned in for the night, Sofia and Kody stayed up, sharing laughs and a few drinks. In an unexpected twist, a fleeting romantic scene unfolded between Sofia and Kody. Soon after, Kody regained his senses and headed back to the hotel.
After weeks of hesitation, Kody finally gathered the courage to confess to Londyn about what happened with her mom. The revelation came when Londyn shared her parents' plans to visit. While enraged, Londyn considered kicking him out but realized financial constraints made that challenging. Instead, she booked a flight to return to her parent's house to confront her mother. Londyn hoped her mom would come clean to her dad about the cheating, as she didn't want to be the bearer of that painful truth.
When she arrived, she planned on immediately confronting her mom. Sofia opened the door for Londyn and apologized. Howard was still at work so the two of them talked. Londyn couldn't stand to look at her mother now that she had to accept the painful truth of what happened. She told her mom she'd stay with them for a while so she could figure out her next moves.
Londyn thought about forgiving Kody, but how was she supposed to move forward knowing their attraction to each other. The biggest question that loomed was: What if it happened again?
Londyn booked a flight to return to Sulani in order to collect her belongings while maintaining weeks of silence with Kody. The day before her departure, Kody called, revealing that he found a nearby place and was in the mddle of moving. He informed her that he had covered the rent for the next few months, ensuring she had a place to stay. Assuring Londyn that he would vacate the house by the time she landed, he aimed to make this a smooth transition for both of them.
Londyn found a sense of relief in the following months as she applied to various jobs and continued her Simfluencer work. Incorporating her expertise in interior design and sharing her innate design sense in videos, her channel gained traction and went viral. Islanders began reaching out, seeking Londyn's guidance for home investments. Gradually, she carved out a name for herself, tripling her earnings. Now, she could independently sustain the bungalow without relying on Kody or her parents for financial support.
Finally feeling free to explore after so much time with her head down and focused on work, she took a flight to San Myshuno to meet up with her college friends, Naomi and Yasmin. The girls took her to a new spot in town to have a few drinks and enjoy some live music. The three of them grabbed a table and ordered their drinks. The lights started to dim as a performer made their way to the stage. He sits down at the piano and introduces himself to the audience, Ronen Meza. Before he begins to play, he says the piece is dedicated to his soulmate, wherever she was.
As Ronen started to play, she was locked in on him. His voice and the melody of the piano synced together and touched her so deeply that she actually shed a tear. She didn't understand why she was getting emotional. The whole time Ronen played, his face was hidden by a veil of shadow. Londyn couldn't make out his face, all she could see was the soft glimmer of the light shining on his hair and his back turned slightly. When he stopped playing, the lights came back on and he stood up to thank the audience, waving in each direction of the room. As he turned his gaze to the right, he saw Londyn standing and clapping.
They locked eyes and he mouthed, "Thank you". Ronen proceeded to exit the stage and went backstage.
Londyn needed to meet him. She told the girls she would be back. They already knew she was going to try to meet him and told her to try to get backstage. Of course, there was security in the way. The security guard told her she wasn't allowed back there and no, they would not make an exception for her. As she turned to walk back to her table from her failed mission, Ronen was standing behind her. She hadn't heard her friends trying to get her attention since the lounge decided to play music in the intermission between performers.
Londyn introduced herself to him. He asked how she liked the performance. She said she loved it and was completely moved by the melody.
"I guess the song was for you", Ronen said with a smirk.
Londyn blushed. "Are you saying I'm your soulmate?"
"Only one way to find out. Why don't I buy you a drink and we can get to know each other better".
Londyn looked over at her friends and signaled that she'd be heading to the bar on the other side of the room. Ronen asked Londyn what she'd like to drink. "Rum and coke", she replied.
"Fine choice... Let me get two rum and cokes?", Ronen says to the bartender.
Ronen and Londyn enjoyed their drinks, talked about their career paths, and exchanged stories of their upbringings. Ronen had been trying to make it as a performer in San Myshuno for the last three years, seeking a record deal. In the meantime, he performed in lounges or on the streets, especially in the Spice District and Uptown because they tipped well. He'd perform at the various festivals around town. He asked her if she lived around here and she told him she was only in San Myshuno for a couple more days before she headed back to her home in Sulani. Right there and then, Ronen knew she was the one. "Are you serious? I'm from Sulani! Born and raised-- my folks still live out there! I haven't been home since I came out here."
"Now, you have another reason to come to Sulani.", Londyn says as she gives him a flirtatious look.
"I definitely do. I'll have to book my flight soon before you forget about me."
"I'll be waiting. Here's my number. Give me a call when you're in town."
"For sure. Listen, it's been great connecting with you. I've got another gig in Uptown I have to get to. Let me give you my number, too. I'd love to talk to you before you leave."
Ronen called her the next morning telling her how amazing it was to meet her and letting her know he really did book his tickets. The next morning, Londyn headed to the airport and texted Ronen until it was time to board. "Get there safely, beautiful" he texted her as they signed off.
When Ronen arrived in Sulani, he called Londyn to see if they could catch up so he could show her his favorite spots, the places only locals know about. Even though he was staying with his parents for the time he had in Sulani, he spent half of his time with Londyn. They fell for each other HARD.
It'd been a year now of long-distance talking, and quarterly weekend meet-ups. Ronen finally landed a record deal, and Londyn was assisting a well-known and sought-after designer of a large firm. Both of their careers were thriving.
One day, there was a knock on Londyn's door. It was Kody. He wanted to try and work things out. Londyn told him even though she still had love for him, she couldn't be with him. Plus, she'd started seeing someone. He was obviously hurt and a bit jealous.
"Well, I hope he treats you better than I did." and he was gone.
Ronen called a few days later to let Londyn know he was planning to fly out next week.
"Would it be weird if I wanted you to move in with me?", Londyn blurts out.
"Nah, not at all. I'd been wondering for a while if I should ask you to move in with me, but I do have a roommate and that'd be a little awkward."
When Ronen arrived the next week, he'd brought extra bags with most of his belongings. He'd have to make another trip to San Myshuno to get the rest of his things and to sign papers to remove his name from the lease.
And with that move, started the beginning of Meet The Mezas.
| Chapter One Episodes |
#meet the mezas#behind the scenes#the sims story#ts4 story#black simmer#sims 4 lp#the sims legacy#sims 4 scenarios#My sims#ts4 simblr#the sims 4
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The House at the End of the Street (2012) - Movie Explanation and Analysis
The House at the End of the Street, directed by Mark Tonderai in 2012, is an American psychological thriller featuring Jennifer Lawrence and Max Thieriot. Delve into the plot as we unfold the mysteries of this gripping film.
Explore the intricacies of The House at the End of the Street (2012) as we unravel the psychological thriller's plot, revealing hidden secrets, family dynamics, and the impact of deception. Join us in analyzing the film's themes and reflecting on the dark twists that shape its characters.
The House at the End of the Street (2012) Plot Summary and Explanation
* * * Spoiler Alert – If you haven’t seen the movie yet, turn back now! * * *
Eli, accompanied by her mom Sarah, enters their new house, having rented Reed's place. Eli explores the surroundings and discovers worn-out clothes. Grateful for dinner, Sarah thanks Eli, who playfully attributes her cooking skills to her dad. Eli jokes about missing smoking, expressing her longing for her late father. Sarah believes this new place will be beneficial, even though it will take some time to adjust. Eli has the largest room, making the transition easier.
One night, Sarah wakes up to see a light in the Jacobson house. The next day, neighbors gather, and Sarah offers potato salad. She inquires about the Jacobson house, learning it's occupied by Ryan Jacobson, the son. However, he's supposedly living alone. Eli meets Tyler, a seemingly accomplished student, at school, and tensions rise as they discuss the Jacobson family. Rumors circulate about Carrie Anne, who allegedly killed her parents, and Ryan's presence affecting home values.
As Eli befriends Ryan, she discovers the truth about his troubled past. Tyler's fraudulent famine relief group is exposed, leading to a confrontation. Eli learns about Ryan's difficult childhood and the tragic fate of his sister, Carrie Anne. Relationships become strained as secrets unravel, culminating in a climactic show where Eli confronts Ryan's dark side.
In the aftermath, Eli unravels Ryan's sinister secret – he kidnaps girls and transforms them into replicas of Carrie Anne. Despite the horrifying revelation, Eli confronts Ryan, leading to a deadly confrontation. The story concludes with Eli standing before a tree, shedding tears for the complex emotions she experienced with Ryan, now confined to a mental hospital.
This psychological thriller navigates themes of family, deception, and the consequences of a traumatic past. As the credits roll, the audience is left reflecting on the intricate layers of The House at the End of the Street.
Eli and her mother, Sarah, move into a new house, renting the Reed's place. As they settle in, mysterious events unfold in the neighborhood, centered around the Jacobson house. The plot thickens as secrets are revealed, relationships are tested, and dark pasts resurface.
Introduction to the Neighborhood: Eli and Sarah navigate their new environment, meeting neighbors and learning about the enigmatic Jacobson house. Rumors circulate about the previous occupants, and a sense of unease permeates the air.
The Famine Relief Group Deception: Eli's encounter with Tyler leads her into a deception orchestrated by Tyler's father. Unbeknownst to Eli, she becomes entangled in a web of lies, revealing the facade of a seemingly charitable organization.
Discovering Ryan's Painful Past: As Eli befriends Ryan, the current occupant of the Jacobson house, she uncovers the tragic history behind his family. Ryan's sister, Carrie Anne, suffered a devastating accident, leading to a series of events that changed their lives forever.
The Unraveling Mystery: Eli's curiosity leads her to explore Ryan's house, where she stumbles upon clues that hint at a hidden truth. The tension escalates as the dark secrets of the past resurface.
Showtime and Confrontation: The story reaches its climax during a dramatic confrontation at a local show. Eli finds herself caught between conflicting forces, leading to unexpected violence and a fiery attack on the Jacobson house.
Revelation and Resolution: As the truth unfolds, Eli discovers the horrifying reality of Ryan's actions. The film takes a dark turn, revealing the extent of the pain that drove Ryan to the edge.
The House at the End of the Street (2012) Movie Themes Explored
- Family Bonds and Mental Health: The film explores the impact of family dynamics on mental health, highlighting the consequences of a broken family.
- Secrets and Deception: The motif of secrets runs through the narrative, emphasizing the hidden aspects of individuals and families.
- Community Perception: The story delves into how communities can perpetuate rumors and judgments, affecting the lives of those within.
The House at the End of the Street (2012) Movie Analysis and Reflection
The film raises thought-provoking questions about the complexities of family, the consequences of deception, and the enduring impact of traumatic experiences. It serves as a reminder to approach others with empathy and understanding, recognizing that everyone carries their own burdens.
The House at the End of the Street (2012) Ending Explained
The ending of the movie House at the End of the Street (2012) is a shocking and disturbing twist that rewrites the entire narrative of the film. It is revealed that Ryan Jacobson, the seemingly harmless and mysterious neighbor, is actually the killer of his parents and has been kidnapping women to recreate his deceased sister, Carrie-Anne.
The twist is particularly disturbing because it forces the audience to confront the dark and hidden depths of human nature. Ryan's actions are not the result of malice or evil, but rather a desperate attempt to cope with the overwhelming trauma of his sister's death. He is so consumed by grief and guilt that he has lost touch with reality and is unable to distinguish between fantasy and reality.
The ending of the film also raises questions about the nature of perception and the dangers of making assumptions based on appearances. Elissa Jacobson, the protagonist, initially sees Ryan as a kind and gentle person, but she is eventually forced to recognize the darkness that lurks beneath his surface.
In a broader sense, the ending of House at the End of the Street can be seen as a commentary on the human psyche's ability to compartmentalize and suppress painful memories. Ryan's inability to accept his sister's death has led him to create an elaborate fantasy world in which she is still alive. However, this fantasy world is ultimately unsustainable and collapses in on itself, leading to tragedy.
The ending of the film is both shocking and thought-provoking, leaving a lasting impression on the viewer. It is a reminder that the human mind is a complex and fragile thing and that even the most innocent-seeming people can harbor dark secrets.
Conclusion
The House at the End of the Street takes viewers on a suspenseful journey through the intricacies of human relationships and the lingering effects of a troubled past. As the credits roll, the audience is left to contemplate the haunting themes woven into the fabric of this psychological thriller.
FAQs
Discussion Points:
- The film's exploration of family bonds and mental health.
- The consequences of deception on both an individual and community level.
- The portrayal of secrets and their role in shaping characters.
Reflection on the Film's Quotes
"'Everything has a secret'...Do you agree with it?"
The film prompts us to reflect on the hidden aspects within individuals and the challenges of sharing one's burdens.
As we delve into The House at the End of the Street, let the suspense and revelations of this psychological thriller captivate your imagination.
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Still lmfao cannot get over amc bitch boy, now it's his turn to live rent free in MY head but for the opposite reason. He felt "awkward" or "uncomfortable" through it like any side bob cut karen in the grocery line and did his shit. I'm just sitting here fuckin. laughing. Then again, I saw his pic pre-transition, he literally, I shit you not, had the blonde karen bob. No amount of scalpels or T has managed to cut the Karen out of him. Karen(gn)
2 years. He and theirs have been, along with her, repeating her malicious lies on every available thread or DM on the internet, sociopathically lying to and picking apart friend groups like hyperobsessive freaks, bringing it up in the most random ass places nonstop and in upside down universe interpretation of reality. I fuckin PEEP 2 years later the gods honest truth of her chasing out my friends and them voicing relief that the insufferable bitch is gone and they can have me back and in comes the cuck brigade screaming DONT TALK ABOUT HER.
No see, I was just gonna like, make a few lulz posts about it. But now, buddy, now we're gonna fuckin talk about her. If you thought "lol oh my god there's an entire server glad the cunt is gone" 2 years later is bad, wait until I decide to do two years of nonstop public revelations of the garbage she has done in comparison timelines and shit, just when I get bored and have the time and fucking feel like it, because you're that big of a bitch.
I do what I want. It's baby rich white girl bitch stuff to complain about Uncomfortable or Awkward to control conversations, much less your victim posing garbage. So now? Now no. Now my blog gets to be "all the reasons shea was a transphobic, abusive, people-using, lying, cheating whore: a blog" when I feel like it.
Waving pomoms because it's socially acceptable in your club doesn't erase the years of verbal bitchings I took that completely shut me down to the point I needed goddamn therapy to unpack the bullshit she put in my head. Not even like, a year before we broke up she was out there like, YEAH, GET 'EM ROWLING and MY CLIT SWELLS UP TOO I DONT SAY I'M A DUDE while fucking pressing send on "YAY, TOP SURGERY" in your fucking chats.
Know when to leave well enough alone, chud. That was the dumbest bitch shit you could have done. And the most balless, even in trans proverbial ways. Now I'm talking. Because you tried to be a spoiled little girl demanding what someone can talk about on a blog you patrol years later. Deal with it, because I promise you, I am the least of issues with other men your behavior will cause. One of these days your whiny bitch shit will get your face run over someone's floor until the ugly beard rips out with your teeth when you try this shit on someone else. Let's not pretend you're even capable of defending her like I was. Or you wouldn't have peed yourself at something you imagined in your own head. Hell, you can't even protect her from herself. (Source: your bank account.)
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7/17/11
Jesus christ does the bullshit have to come in waves, not in simple, solitary occurrences so it’s easier to deal with & store away? All day yesterday I was getting honked & hollered at as I went about my business, with such frequency I began to wonder if I wasn’t on some hidden camera show. I’m aware there exists some girls who claim to hate this attention but secretly revel in it, but I say this without a single drop of insincerity - I fucking LOATHE it. I do not find it flattering, it makes me feel like I am not even human, just an object for the visual consumption of others. I don’t even dress in a baring manner, I am always in jeans & a t-shirt, I rarely make the attempt to look nice at all.
This of course went along nicely with watching a homeless man crawl out from his sleeping bag under the I83 overpass, staggering like the first CroMag to leave the cave, stopping to piss leisurely all over the pillar as though the world was his private stool, leaving a dark patch running down the brick. I suppose I should be grateful that I was at least spared his mid-afternoon shit.
But of course, that not being enough, this morning on my way to work I walked to my bus stop as I ordinarily do, headphone on, sitting on the bench, doing my standard inconspicuous-stranger pose. Along comes a fairly normal-appearing fellow, white, middle-aged, tallish, goatee, red t-shirt, khaki shorts. No obvious signs of drug use, not threatening-looking. So I shrugged it off when he started circling the bench, as this is a fairly normal type of strange behavior at bus stops - everyone is strange, by at least one person’s standards. Even when he plopped down two inches from me on the large, empty bench, I wrote it off as not that strange (if a little rude), as it was the only shaded area. I stared off into the distance & focused on my iPod, slow & soothing music I hadn’t listened to in awhile. Amid the silent transition between songs, I heard a slapping sound & out of the corner of my eye I caught some jerking movements. I looked at him for a split-second, saw enough to disgust me into shooting out of my seat & walking quickly up the street to the next bus stop, checking every so often to ensure the offender & his furious stroking wasn’t following me. The next bus stop thankfully was laden with people, & just outside a grocery store with parking lot rent-a-cops circling on their self-important Segways, caricatures but a welcome presence in the event that the offender returned. I was surprised at how furious I was, my hands shaking, teeth clenched beneath lips set in a tight line. I thought to myself, if he is perfectly sane I hope nothing good for him, & if he is mentally unstable that he’d get picked up & taken off somewhere before anything worse should occur. All of the times I’ve been in Austin, either alone or with someone, I’d never experienced anything that had shaken me as much. I’d always assumed I’d be able to shrug something like that off, see the humor in it, but because I was alone & in front of only a tree-filled empty wooded area, I’d been frightened of what the man could have done to me had he wanted.
At the next bus stop I ended up next to a young, friendly-looking black man in a work uniform, like me, headed to his job at a deli, & he bummed me a cigarette as I told him of what had transpired to make me so shaky. He laughed & said, “That’s Austin for you,” shaking his head. We talked for awhile until the bus came, & though I kept checking to see if the offender was walking toward me, I felt a relief to be under the friendly protection of this man.
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it’s the real deal!
#seale alabama#maybe the day had a shitty you#revelations/rent/relief#dad i’m in jail#farmer’s oats java monster#world’s largest gallstone#adventures#museum of wonders#pasaquan#possum trot
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Insatiable Habits: Part 3
A steady downpour had fallen over the borough, and the streets were drenched in heavy rain; the chill that followed had soaked through your jacket and shirt, right to your bones. You shivered and pulled the coat tighter around you as you scurried down the sidewalk toward the gate of the compound with your ID and badge to gain access to the interior.
When you stepped in front of the security gate, you held up your badge and let it be scanned, then stood back as the gears started to turn, and the gate began to open.
You moved to the opening gate and stepped through, seeing the buildings within the compound lit up with room lights, and cast in a distorted glow from the street lamps obscured by the rain.
You grit your teeth and shivered, the sounds of your boots splashing in puddles on the sidewalk as you moved to your building to collapse for the day. You were halfway down the street; every chill and every shiver made your teeth chatter and your legs shake, although your relief would come sooner rather than later.
You would go to your bedroom, throw your clothes into the hamper and forget them for far too long, shower and scrub your skin until it hurt and throw yourself into bed. You would attempt to ignore the cracks in the ceiling or the dilapidated state of your room and focus on the cheap rent and the shared amenities that were split between the residents.
You would willingly focus on what you had instead of what you didn’t and revel in the knowledge that there was an entire compound of humans like you, who enjoyed a little slice of residency without running into vampires, werewolves or worse. However, you had known that when you became attached and not acceptably single, you would likely have to leave.
The compound was for single, unattached humans who weren’t bound as mates or had families that needed more room than the compound could provide. The compound was like a massive hostel with shared amenities and common areas, a shared kitchen and the security of having badges to get in and out. The rooms in the buildings had been in various states of disrepair or need of cosmetic attention, although your building was probably the worst in the compound.
However, it also came with the cheapest weekly rate.
As you approached the building, your attention was drawn to a scene across the street, a commotion stirring with a landlord escorting a woman out of the building.
She had carried as many bags with her as possible, and although you couldn’t see whether she was crying from the eviction process or if she was merely being pelted from the rain like you were, you could detect the signs of emotional distress.
You didn’t wish to pry, you didn’t wish to gawk like so many were on the street, but it was hard not to analyze the moment the woman was tossed out, with a scowl on the landlord’s face and the snark behind his comment. “Your vampire pimp is waiting for you.”
“She’s part of a legal blood club. The landlord of the building prohibits any human’s from partaking in legal blood clubs. She tried to hide it, but he found the invitation and the stipend to come back.” You heard the thinly veiled whisper from a man that resided in the next building, his tone accusatory.
“Won’t someone take her in?” Another neighbour wondered, her eyes narrowed slightly. “It seems wrong of him to just…throw her out.”
“She knew what she was signing up for.”
You turned away from the conversation and stomped up the steps, and stopped in front of the door. You had dug out your badge again and flashed the little barcode at the bottom that unlocked the door. You had reached for the handle and yanked the door open, only stopping when the sound of squealing tires had drawn your attention back over your shoulder.
You whipped your head around and stared with suspicion as the girl who had been evicted was heading toward a car that was mainly out of view.
However, as the gate had opened enough to let her out, and before it could close, you took note of the sleek and polished silver colour of the vehicle parked and waiting for her. It was hard to see any other defining features of the car, and you wished you had taken a better look at the vehicle and the woman who had gotten in. However, the gates had closed just as quickly, and she was gone.
With her departure and the door beeping angrily at you in a warning to get in or get out, you slipped inside and yanked the door closed.
You were eager to return home, to discard your clothes and take a hot, yet short, shower before climbing into bed and forgetting the world around you for a few blissful hours. Your body, despite not being an overtly physical day of chasing after creatures or discovery, had been running ragged.
Maybe it was meeting not one, but two, creatures who claimed they were your mates, or perhaps it was simply the weariness of a case that seemed to be going nowhere.
Regardless, when you had crossed the threshold of your room, you threw your bag to the side and slammed the door shut with the heel of your boot.
You had begun ripping off the layers of clothing and throwing them into your laundry bin by the closet, the taped handles looking far worse for wear than you anticipated. However, you were not ready to toss it and find another.
As you ripped off your coat and shirt and began fiddling with the belt pulled through the loops of your jeans, you angled your head back and stared at the ceiling tiles above you that were cracked or stained in some manner with watermarks from a leaking roof. You had undone your belt and yanked them out of the loops, throwing the belt haphazardly onto the top of your bag.
You had finished yanking the rest of your wet clothes off and were ready to head to the bathroom for a shower. However, you had stopped when you felt your phone alerting you to the sound of a message.
You groaned and approached your bag sitting on the floor near your dresser and reached to grab your phone, cradling it in your hand. As you had raised it to your view and the screen had lit up, you saw two messages from an unknown number.
You unlocked your phone and tapped the green text button at the bottom of your screen, and chewed the inside of your cheek as it loaded on the screen, and displayed the message.
‘Lolita – 7 pm. Friday. Wear something nice, avoid the colour red.’
‘Does my mate require a car?’
“Mate.” You scoffed and typed back a biting message before tossing your phone on the bed.
You had confirmed the date yet seethed at the idea of him being your ‘mate.’ You hadn’t been aware of what exactly it was that made humans ideal mates for werewolves or vampires, just as you hadn’t known how they distinguished who their mate was.
That information was tucked close to their chests as if with both creatures; they defended their mates with deadly and terrifying intensity.
And that included any inside information regarding the process in which they claimed ‘mates.’ The courting process, while rather hush-hush as well, had been a little less obtuse and protected with the same intensity, and yet, your information about them both was limited.
“Mates.” You stood and turned on your heel, stalking to the bathroom. “They fucking wish.”
The building before you was gothic in its appearance with old wooden beams supporting a roof over a patio that had seemed as if it was open slated; however, when you had looked close, you had seen the same specialized glass that was in Andy’s office, a protectant against the harmful rays of the sun that would’ve burned the vampire patrons.
It was hard not to stare at the creatures dining outside in the sun so freely, while the risk of burning was a real danger.
It was equally as hard not to keep your attention on the patrons when a thick glass bottle displaying the perfected calligraphy marker for the type of blood they had ordered on a silver platter.
You had wanted to direct your attention away, yet you couldn’t pull your eyes off the blood flowing from the bottle into the same crystallized glasses in Andy’s office.
“Miss Y/N,” your name was called, and your attention had been pulled from the patrons to a vampire standing at the foot door in a three-piece black suit, a red cloth draped over his right arm, “Mr. Barber is expecting you.”
You had almost changed your mind and walked away, ignoring the request for your attention from the vampire waiting by the door and the one waiting inside.
However, you had stepped away from the bar and steadied yourself on your heels, yanking down the hem of the black dress you chose, or rather had been thrown at you by one of the girls in your building, and had wished you had taken a second look at yourself before leaving.
The dress was off the shoulder with a dainty ruffle across the bust, white stitching drawing attention to every curve, which was only aided by the form-fitting material that clung to you; nothing about you, or your body, was hidden.
Your neck had been on display when she had insisted on styling your hair in a braided bun at the side of your head with delicate white flowers woven into the braid.
When you had pressed that she should keep your hair down because you were going on a coerced date with a vampire, she had only grinned and tightened the braid.
“This way, miss.” You were directed one way, to follow the vampire, yet you were stuck where you stood.
The inside of Lolita was nothing less than gorgeous, and despite your initial thought that you would be among no other humans, there were plenty around.
There seemed to be more humans with their vampire mates than without. Everywhere you looked, there was at least one vampire/human pairing at a table, sometimes two or three.
The atmosphere was fitting for vampire/human combinations, with many of the features appearing to be rooted in gothic romanticism and the fine details creating a specific look that transported you to someplace beautiful and erotic.
The thick velvet feature walls and the skulls, whether real or prop, on the cathedral feature had caught your eye, but it was the graffitied sugar skull on the exposed brick that made you want to get closer and run your fingers along the rough edge.
“Miss Y/N,” the vampire spoke again, “Mr. Barber is waiting for you.”
The vampire had drawn your attention away from the beautiful and cathedral-style gothic architecture that had swept your breath away.
As you pulled your attention off the scenery and made a promise to come back on your own just for the view, you were led to a private table tucked near the back, under the dramatic chandelier that you had briefly seen on install.
Waiting for you with a bottle of red wine and a glass of ‘sweet red’ for himself was Andy Barber.
The lawyer, ever put together, had worn a deep blue suit with a black tie against a crisp white shirt that cut an image of a vampire that would have no problem luring anyone in a deadly trap.
Perhaps even you, if he hadn’t already tried to seduce you in the most blatantly erotic yet arrogant way.
He was pushing too hard too quickly, and while you could admit there was some appeal and allure to being a vampire’s plaything for a night, the first moment he spoke the word ‘mate,’ you were irritated.
“You look breathtaking.” Andy Barber had stood from where he sat and moved around the table to the seat opposite him, intending to pull the chair out for you.
You studied the difference in height between the two vampires, noting that even with the two vampiric men appearing to be of the same general age, Andy was taller and far broader.
He was far broader than most vampires in the restaurant.
“Did you dress up just for me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you cast a firm stare his way, your eyes narrowed as he slipped a hand on the small of your back, using his strength to move you to sit in the chair he had pulled out, “I did this to get you off my back.”
The chair had been pushed back in, and you thought Andy would have departed your side. However, he had caged you in his arms as he placed his hands on the table in front of you and leaned in to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, his calm and plump lips earning a shudder from yourself.
“You think I can’t pick up on the way your heart is racing..?” He hummed and tilted his head, his lips parting and his fangs grazing the shell of your ear as his chest had touched your exposed shoulders.
“If you know what’s good for you,” you fingered the zipper of your clutch, knowing you had a few small defensive tools inside, “you’ll back up.”
“Only you mate,” Andy purred in your ear, teasing you by flicking his tongue against your ear lobe, “could make a threat sound so sensual.”
“Mr. Barber,” the waiter must have left and come back because when he cleared his throat and Andy pulled back, there was a fresh basket of artisan bread and the second glass of blood for Andy, “your menus.”
“Thank you.” Andy had finally pulled away and moved back to his seat, his eyes rimmed with pale gold, flashing as he took in your appearance with glee. “Won’t you have a drink, honey?”
“You guessed wrong.” You leaned in and reached for the stem of the wine glass, only to push it further away from you. “If I’m going to drink, I don’t prefer dry wine.”
“You enjoy the taste of sweet red like myself,” his purring continued, “a match, don’t you think?”
“What do you want, Mr. Barber? Hmm? From this?” You leaned back and crossed your leg under the table, bouncing your foot as you sat and waited for an answer.
“I have something for you. A gift…” he had leaned to the left and reached down to the floor before he had produced a delicately wrapped box and set it on the table.
“What’re you trying to do?”
“Hmm?” Andy purred the response as he drew his fingers across the edge of the table, pushing the gold wrapped box with a blood-red ribbon. “You don’t enjoy being in a place like this?”
“Lolita,” you eyed the package he was pushing toward you, “is a beautiful restaurant. A little heavy on vampirism, but it’s beautiful. My problem is you.”
“Me,” Andy laughed melodically, “I should be grateful that I’m on your mind, honey.”
“What do you want, Mr. Barber?” You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest. “You gave me a tip, and we’re on the date I owe you. But what do you want?”
“I got you something.” Andy pushed the wrapped gift further toward you. “Won’t you open it, sweetheart?”
You reached toward the ribbon and hooked your fingers, yanking it toward you. You lifted your head and stared at the vampire in front of you, your lips pursed.
“A gift?”
“Open it. Accept it.”
The faint sense not to open or accept the gift had been enough of a teller for you to push it away and reject it almost immediately. You didn’t know what connotations could or would have lain within the acceptance of the gift, and you were not eager to find out.
“I’m not a naïve-“ the sound of crashing plates and the shattering glasses had been enough to steal your attention, though there was no more captivating distraction from the conversation you were having with Andy, than to see an angry and hackled werewolf storming toward the table you were sitting at with bubbling, boiling rage burning beneath his skin.
“You cannot be here, you mongrel-“ the vampire attempting to stop Curtis Everett from approaching the table was thrown away from him with a single stroke to his chest, however the show was largely cut from you as Andy had pointedly moved with precision to angle himself between you and Curtis.
“You were serious-“ the wait staff and security that was undoubtedly called the moment he arrived, had come flying toward the table, only to halt at the instruction of Andy.
“Why would I lie about a date with a vampire?” You scoffed and shoved Andy’s arm out of your view, then stepped around him as quickly as you could before he hissed like a feral cat and attempted to get you back again.
“Get your hands off my mate, you undead fucking mosquito!” Curtis’ eyes had shifted to a mix of deep, dark blue with flecks of ivy green and the way his lips had curled had been an indication of a werewolf who was about to slip into some feral state, and while you genuinely had little care for the vampires in the room, there were humans here, and the humans in attendance had appeared cautionary if not scared.
“She is my mate.” Andy had returned the feeling of animosity, and the two creatures in a standoff with each other was as irritating as it was deadly.
“Would you both knock it off? God!” You took your clutch and smacked Andy’s arm with as much force as you could, stepping around him to inch yourself closer to Curtis.
“Are you in need of assistance, Mr. Barber? This mutt-“
“Fucking leeches.” Curtis bit back, and turned on his heel, his hand driving back another vampire as he struck them in the chest.
“We’re leaving.” You had, in turn, smacked Curtis just as hard as you had hit Andy. “We’re leaving, go back to your dinner.”
“You’re making the right choice-“
“I am not choosing anyone, asshole!” You hissed at him, striking him again. “I am choosing to get you out so these people can enjoy themselves without our disruption. Now, move!”
“Sweetheart you don’t have to leave. Let them handle the mutt-“ when Andy reached for you, you whacked his hand off your wrist and straightened your dress, your anger surging.
“Yeah, I do but its not for the reasons you think.” You turned and pushed the edge of your clutch into his back.
“Two idiotic, arrogant asshole creatures,” you sneered, “the two of you deserve each other.”
You could feel the Andy’s disgust at the prospect of himself and Curtis, almost as disgusted as he was by the ‘scent’ Curtis was knowingly projecting to piss off the vampires he passed.
“Can we reschedule then?” Andy had spoken ever so close to you, as he followed you and Curtis toward the exit.
“Planning on bleeding her dry?” Curtis growled, his eyes flashing and the motion of him beginning to turn to face off against Andy, was only settled when you smacked him across the back of the head.
“Someone needs to put you on a leash.” Andy’s insult had come so smoothly and without a raise in his vocal tone, you had thought it could’ve been classified as a mere suggestion rather than a dig.
“Better stop here, Barber. Can’t go out into the sun, you’ll start smoking.” Curtis had thrown his own dig at Andy, stepping out into the light with you, the majestic brush of sun rays glinting on your skin, and while the two of you stood within the rays of the sun, Andy had held back and scowled at Curtis.
“You wanna get some food? Some real food?”
“Come back inside, darling.” Andy crooned suggestively. “I can help you with your case.”
“Or…” you turned on your heel and began walking away, “you can both get fucked. Good? Good. Don’t contact me again unless you have something!”
#werewolf!curtis everett x human!reader x vampire!andy barber#werewolf!curtis everett x reader#vampire andy!barber x human!reader x werewolf!curtis everett#vampire!Andy Barber x reader#andy barber x reader#Andy barber x reader fluff#Andy barber x reader angst#andy barber x reader smut#andy barber imagines#andy barber imagine#andy barber imagines angst#andy barber imagines fluff#andy barber imagines smut#Curtis Everett x reader#Curtis Everett x reader fluff#Curtis Everett x reader smut#Curtis Everett x reader angst#insatiable habits series#insatiable habits masterlist#insatiable habits part 3
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don’t look away
one shot
┗ pairing: xiumin / reader (ft. baekhyun)
word count: 5k
warnings: no plot, no thought, just pure smut, min exposes everyone, explicit unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), dom!xiumin, a singular spank, biting, edging, voyeurism, mild choking, exhibitionism, manhandling, masturbation
a/n; sometimes, my own writing gets to me. this was definitely one of those times. I swear I’m not a sub but dom!minseok does things to me. also, another drabble turned one shot. couldn’t be helped.
“W- we shouldn’t.” It’s a weightless opposition. You know because you feel the weakness of the words on your own lips.
Beside you, Xiumin only chuckles, a low, breathless sound that caresses to the curve of your throat and sends chills down your spine. “And why not?”
You swallow thickly, eyes briefly flicking towards his closed bedroom door.
“What if they hear?”
Fucking at Minseok’s place always came with risks. With three flat mates and five other friends that seemed to be over so often they might as well just start paying rent, you never quite knew when you were alone. Up until that point, you’d managed not to be caught in the act by mainly having sex at you place, or doing it at his only when you were certain no one was home and wouldn’t be. And by having a bit of dumb luck, of course.
But tonight was different. Tonight, the whole lot of them were camped out in the living room, playing video games, watching movies, and eating their weight’s worth in fast food. Until about five minutes ago, you’d been out there with them, laughing, chatting, and just having a damn good time. But then, Minseok decided he was tired of not having your full attention and dragged you into his bedroom, throwing out some dumb excuse over his shoulder when Chanyeol had noisily complained about being in the middle of a round of Mario Cart with you.
You should have suspected that he’d want more than innocent cuddles.
“They won’t,” he hums, rough fingers creeping up to grip your jaw and turn your face towards his, “unless…” his lips graze yours and you shiver, “you don’t think you can keep quiet.”
There’s no denying the desire you feel stirring to life inside of you, hot and demanding as it spreads through your body.
The thing about Minseok was, when he wanted something, he could be incredibly convincing. Not that you really needed all that much to begin with… you were always weak for the man, weak for his touch, weak for his kiss. And when he was looking at you with those eyes, dark and pooling with lust, you wanted nothing more than to give him every last thing he desired.
“I— I can.” You whisper after a short pause, unable to tear your gaze from the tempting curve of his pink lips as they twist into a dangerous smirk.
“Good.”
He’s barely gotten the word out before his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding. You gasp out a moan, hands surging up to clutch at the thick material of his oversized black sweatshirt. Heat consumes you as he presses forward, wasting no time deepening what is already a mind numbing kiss.
Rough hands tug at your hips, and all at once you’re on his lap. The transition happens so quickly, you barely manage to grasp onto his shoulders to keep from losing your balance. A soft groan rumbles through his chest as you settle fully onto his lap, unable to help the slow grinding of your hips at the feeling of him, already half hard and thick beneath you.
Even from within the confines of his thick sweats, you swear you can feel every hot inch of him. The thought alone has you keening, fingers burying themselves in his thick hair as a wordless plea shudders from your throat.
“Min,” you whisper unsteadily, rolling your hips once more in search of even a little friction, something, anything to soothe the unrelenting ache in your core.
“What?” He chuckles against your mouth, squeezing at your ass roughly. “Want more?”
“Please.”
That seemed to be the magic word, because you can only squeal as Minseok abruptly flips you onto your back, crawling on top of you with a feline grin and a predatory glint in his hooded eyes. Arousal burns inside of you, so hot that a part of you fears that you might burst into flames right then and there.
He reconnects your lips in one swift movement, and you moan, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. Electricity crackles through your veins as he suddenly slots his hips up against yours, grinding down against you hard enough that you have to break away from his kiss to gasp in a breath.
“Min— fuck—” your voice trembles from your lips, strained from the effort of trying to keep your volume low. It doesn’t help that Minseok has redirected his attention to your throat, licking and biting all of the places that make your head spine.
You feel his hands, feel the way they map the shape of your body, caressing the curve of your waist and the flow of your hips. The pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your skin, but you love the way it hurts, love the harsh gentleness of his touch and the way you can still feel the lingering remnants of it even once his hands have ventured elsewhere.
Your shirt goes first, tossed off somewhere into the expanse of his bedroom. Your leggings follow suit, leaving you in nothing but your sports bra and underwear. Both tight, black, and unwanted nuisances within the haven of these four walls.
A soft groan rumbles in the depths of his chest, and his mouth drops to suck and nip at the flesh of your breast. Your head rolls back, fingers sinking into his thick locks. His mouth feels so good against your skin, each flick of his tongue and press of his pretty lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core. And it only intensifies as he begins a slow descent down the length of your body.
His lips tickle over your stomach, your back arching as he slips between your thighs. You feel the heat of his breath against your clothed cunt, your hips bucking instinctively in search of friction. He pins them back down, shooting you a warning glare that has arousal flaring up dangerously inside of you.
“Be patient.” He reprimands in a low whisper, though there’s something teasing in the way he purrs the words that tells you he’s not really all that angry.
You nod, but eagerly spread your legs, hoping he’ll have mercy. The corner of his mouth twists at the shameless display and you barely have time to process the glint in his eyes before his tongue is on your skin, tracing slow, sensual circles against the inside of your thigh. “Oh—” your muscles shudder and you sink your teeth roughly into the flesh of your lower lip to keep a moan from escaping.
Minseok forces your legs further apart, dark eyes honing in on the black fabric of your panties and the way they cling to your slick heat. Need coils in your gut, walls clenching around nothing as he licks his lips, a familiar hunger igniting across his handsome features.
“Look at you…” he coos, dragging a single finger down your clothed slit, “already making such a mess of yourself.”
Your nails bite into the soft sheets as your body shakes, muscles tensing uncontrollably with the overwhelming desire that surges through you like white hot electricity. “Min, please don’t tease me right now.” You plead in a breathless whisper, voice quivering while you watch him tease at the tight elastic of your underwear.
“Beg a little more,” he moans lowly, pressing an all too quick kiss to where he knows your clit is, “I like how desperate you are for me.”
You give in easily, far too turned on to feel even the slightest twinge of embarrassment. “Please, fuck— please, Min. I need it so bad. Need your mouth. You always make me feel so good, baby, please.” Minseok groans hoarsely, reveling in your shameless desperation.
“Were you thinking of me out there? Thinking of my mouth while you played with my friends?” His lethal mouth grazes your cunt as he speaks, the heat of his words pouring onto your lust like gasoline onto flames.
You shake your head, gasping at an ephemeral press of his lips. “N- no.”
“Liar.”
You don’t have time to react to the defamation before his teeth are sinking into the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, deep enough that you’re certain the indents will remain for hours to come. A sob is wretched from your throat, but you’re quick to muffle it beneath the palm of your hand, praying that none of the other boys heard your unintentional outburst.
“Be honest, love.” He coos darkly, soothing over his bite with a slow drag of his tongue. Sucking your lips into your mouth, you nod quickly, wanting for nothing more than to please him. “You were thinking of me.”
It’s not a question. But still, you breathe out a small, “yes.”
“You were thinking of my mouth.”
You gasp as he slips a finger beneath the crotch of your panties, tugging it to the side and revealing your soaking core to his ravenous gaze. “Yes.”
“Thinking of coming on my tongue.”
Your back arches, thighs squeezing around his shoulders as he licks a thick, wet strip up your dripping slit. “Yes!”
He scoffs, meeting your unfocused eyes from between your hips. “How filthy.”
And then his mouth is on you. You nearly cry out in relief, but somehow manage to trap the pathetic sound behind tightly clenched teeth. The unexpected rush of pleasure is enough to make you dizzy, the insatiable way he’s eating your cunt making it damn near impossible to keep your voice down.
Oh god, it feels so good.
The hand not being used as a muffler shoots down between your legs, burying itself in Minseok’s hair, desperate for something to cling to. Minseok makes no complaints, quite the contrary actually, the fervor with which he’s devouring you increasing tenfold.
This is dangerous. You’re not going to be able to keep quiet. They’re going to hear you. Fuck, if he keeps licking at your clit like that— you’re not going to be able to keep quiet.
His tongue swirls, his lips encircling your sensitive bud. That in itself has you shaking and keening, the pleasure going straight to your head. But when he adds the faintest pressure of his teeth and suction— your jaw drops, hips snapping up against his mouth, rolling frantically against his tongue as you are thrust closer and closer to your release.
“Oh fuck, I’m—”
At your hoarse, unfinished warning, he abruptly pulls away, your walls clenching and hips jerking frantically in search of that last bit of pressure that would push you over the edge. A broken whimper rips from your throat, desperate pleas rushing from your lips. He hushes you with a soothing kiss, intertwining his hands with yours and pressing them to the mattress on either side of your head.
“Easy, love,” he hums chidingly, nipping gently at the raw flesh of your lower lip, “don’t want you coming just yet, now do we?”
“Fuck you.” You groan in lieu of a proper response.
A low laugh rumbles in his chest, his face lowering into the juncture of your throat where he presses slow, feathery kisses. “Get on your hands and knees… and I’ll do just that.”
For a moment, your mind went blank— just long enough for Minseok to grow impatient and take matters into his own hands.
You can only squeal as he suddenly plants his hands on your waist and flips you over with a roughness that is only brought out of him by the intoxicating, mind-altering cocktail of lust and desperation.
“Fuck, I need you so bad.” He growls, bruising grip forcing a broken whimper from your throat.
The sound of his belt coming undone has you clenching around nothing, wetness leaking from you core and glistening on the insides of your quivering thighs.
“Look at you,” he purrs in a low whisper, and you shiver as he glided two fingers through your slit, “fucking dripping for me.”
Hot need rips through you.
“Min.” You moan, fisting at his soft sheets “Fuck me.”
Patience has never been one of your virtues either.
Chuckling at your shameless desperation, Minseok pushes up against you, wet tip teasing at your entrance. The friction is less than insubstantial, nowhere near enough to satisfy the angry flames in your belly. Whispering a weak plea, you press your hips back, only to yelp as he delivers a sharp slap to your ass.
“Don’t be so fucking needy.” He taunts, smirking sadistically as you shudder and moan, leaking sticky arousal all over his cock.
A sudden round of loud laughter erupts from the living room, barely muffled by the wall separating you from certain exposure. Your head jerks at the sound, pulse spiking at the reminder that you were in fact not alone in his apartment and any noise made above a very specific decibel would most certainly give away to the rest of the boys exactly what filthy things you and Minseok were doing behind his closed bedroom door.
Your concern is short lived, though. Because as soon as he senses you’ve grown distracted, Minseok takes the liberty of thrusting himself into you. He only gives you the first inch or so, but even just that is enough to have you gasping in bliss, fingers curling tightly in his sheets. Behind you, Minseok lets out a hoarse, throaty groan, the heat of your wet core wrapped tightly around his sensitive tip a sensation he can never seem to get used to.
The sounds of your friends’ voices fade further and further from your mind with every shallow thrust of Minseok’s hips, slowly stretching your walls around his dick. It’s a fix you didn’t know you were in such hopeless need of, and now? Now, you just couldn’t get enough.
“More, Min. More, please— I need more.”
A low curse shudders from his lips, hard grip locking onto your hips as he braces his knees on the mattress. You’re barely have time to prepare yourself before he’s fucking into you at a speed that knocks the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Your arms give out, face dropping to the sheets and you quickly bite into it, muffling your moans and whimpers in the thick duvet.
Minseok isn’t all that much better off, fighting to restrain his own sounds of pleasure as your hot walls grip his cock greedily. But still, some leak out, and your arousal spikes at the hoarse groans that bleed through his tightly clenched teeth. You love hearing him, hearing his lust, so violent and uncontainable and contagious. It intoxicates you, polluting your blood with every jagged inhale, every broken gasp. It’s a high like no other and, selfishly, you revel in it.
Your back bows deeply when he presses a hand to it, forcing you down into the mattress as he leans his body over yours, reaching new depths with each sharp, deliberate stroke. In this position, you can see him just over the slope of your shoulder, see the deep furrow of his brow, the upward sneer of his mouth, the tight grip of his teeth on his swollen lower lip. Fuck, he looks so gorgeous like this; skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, tinted a sinful shade of red from the exertion.
Then, his eyes meet yours, and you nearly come undone then and there, the coil in your gut tightening dangerously as he holds your unfocused gaze. You barely notice the smirk that draws at the corners of his mouth, too busy drowning in the concupiscent depths of his stare. Too concerned with the heat consuming your belly to hear the telling click of a door handle being turned.
“Minseokie-hyung, we’re starting a movie do you guys want to—”
You recognize the voice, know even before you raise your head at break-neck speed who you’re going to find standing in the doorway, slack jawed and flushed an almost inhuman shade of pink.
Oh god.
Baekhyun is frozen. You can tell. He’s short circuiting. The look on his face alone tells you that his brain has stopped functioning entirely as his body’s most vital internal organ and his motor reflexes have failed to kick in.
You try to speak, to say something— anything to remedy the situation, to kick-start the poor boy into motion, but words fail you. For whatever reason, you can’t seem to get anything to come out of your useless mouth, and, at first, you can’t figure out why.
Not until you realize—
Minseok hasn’t stopped fucking you.
The movement of his hips hasn’t even faltered, not for a single second. He’s still drilling into you at a rate that robs you of your ability to form coherent speech, pounding at your cunt so roughly that you feel the reverberations of his every thrust rippling through the cells of your very being.
Did he not see him?
One glance over your shoulder tells you Minseok is well aware of Baekhyun’s presence, in fact, his dark gaze is fixated on him, no doubt one of the many things paralyzing the younger boy, rooting him to where he stands.
So… why hasn’t he stopped?
A myriad of emotions rush through you; most prominent among them being confusion, disbelief, and… arousal.
Arousal?
You don’t have time to ponder the unexpected feeling, a particularly harsh thrust of Minseok’s hips wrenching a cry of bliss from your lips.
The sound startles Baekhyun, his body jolting violently as he is ripped from whatever trance had taken hold of him. He whirls around, hands flying to cover his eyes as he gasps out trembling apologies. “I– oh my god, I am so sorry— I’m so sorry, I—” he surges back towards the door, no doubt with every intention of booking it out the sex-tainted bedroom as fast as his legs would take him.
“Stay.”
Baekhyun freezes.
“Stay.” Minseok repeats in a low grunt.
It’s not a request.
You’re too stunned to make sound, not quite understand what was going, but not quite hating it either. Minseok’s hips have eased into a slow grind, allowing you a moment to catch your breath and recuperate after the brutal fucking your pussy had just endured.
“I—” Baekhyun seems to choke on whatever words he’s trying to get out, still not facing you, “I’m sorry, I sh– should have knocked, but I didn’t th—”
“Shut up and close the door.” The growl in Minseok’s voice leaves no room for argument. Baekhyun extends an obedient albeit shaky hand, gently pushing the door short. You swallow thickly, muscles shuddering as Minseok rolls his hips lazily into yours.
“Min, why—”
“Don’t act oblivious.” He all but sneers. “You squeezed me so fucking tight the second you laid eyes on him I thought you were trying to take my dick off. And shit, you were wet before but now…” he lets out a low whistle, settling a rough palm on your ass, “now you’re goddamn gushing.”
Heat rushes to your face and your head drops in shame. Baekhyun twitches upon hearing Minseok’s words, chancing a shy, uncertain glance in your direction before quickly looking away.
“Oh, don’t get all shy on me now,” he scoffs, and you can’t tell if he’s talking to you or Baekhyun until he continues his merciless taunting, “weren’t you the one just ranting about how hot y/n is? How bad you wanted to fuck her?”
“Hyung!” Baekhyun yelps indignantly, eyes wide and cheeks red as he stares at his older friend in disbelief. “I– I was shit faced!”
“Drunk words are sober thoughts.” Minseok bites back easily, lips curled into a wicked grin.
The younger opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he hurriedly shuts it and turns away, glaring at the floor instead.
Now, your interest has peaked.
Pushing yourself up on shaky arms, you peer up at the boy still standing on the other side of the room, adamantly avoiding your gaze.
“Baek.” Your voice sounds hoarse and unsteady on your lips, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to finally draw his attention, a shy upward flit of his eyes bringing them to yours. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of you, mouth trembling as unmistakable lust clouds his features. You wonder what you look like in that moment, what about you causes that vibrant red to rush up his neck and flood his face, causes him to bite into his lower lip so hard you’re almost certain the skin will break.
Minseok’s hips pulse and you moan softly, not breaking your eye contact with Baekhyun even as a wave of pleasure rolls over you. The younger shudders and swallows, hands curling into tight fists at his sides.
You like that he’s watching. You like that he’s seeing you in such an exposed, vulnerable state, all of your body, all of your need laid bare before him. It feels filthy to have him watch as Minseok fucks into you slowly, deeply from behind, feels dirty to have him watching the way you tremble and keen on his best friend’s thick cock.
But you like it. You really, really like it.
“Baek.” You murmur again, his name sounding like a plea as Minseok begins to pick up the pace once more.
Baekhyun’s chest heaves, his self control crumbling more and more with every sound that escapes your gaping mouth. He doesn’t seem to know where to look, attention jumping noncommittally from your hooded eyes to your swollen mouth to your breasts that bounce every time his hyung buries himself inside of you and lower still, dancing across the supple flesh of your thighs and the glistening heat that lies between them. He lets out an airy whimper, pretty hand twitching towards the growing bulge in his jeans.
“Please… touch yourself.”
The words are out before your brain can condone them, rushing from you in a breathless command. Baekhyun looks like he’s damn near ready to pass out. Regardless, he reaches for his zipper like a man possessed, slowly undoing it with quivering fingers.
Minseok suddenly wraps a strong arm around your waist, tugging you up and flush against his firm, sweat-slick chest. You feel the heat of his body radiating like a furnace, surrounding you and licking at your own naked body. You moan as his mouth falls to the curve of your throat, wet tongue dragging hotly over the perspiring skin. Eyes falling shut, you lean into him, gyrating your hips hungrily over his as you relish in his affections, edging closer and closer to your release.
By the time you reopen your eyes, Baekhyun has already pulled himself from the tight confines of his jeans. He’s pretty, that’s the first thing you notice. You’d never thought of dicks as being pretty in the past, but Byun Baekhyun has a pretty dick. A soft shade of pink and slightly curved, it’s the kind of cock you just wanna shove down your—
“Ah!” You cry out as Minseok suddenly sinks his teeth into the nape of your neck, the pain of his bite intertwining with the pleasure of his length pulsing within your walls, setting your nerves ablaze.
“Look how hard he is, baby. All from just watching you get fucked. You’re putting on a real show for him, aren’t you?” He growls against your throbbing skin, sliding a hand around your throat and squeezing ever so lightly. You can only whimper and nod frantically, watching transfixed as Baekhyun slides a closed fist gingerly down his cock, translucent precum leaking from his slit. His back meets the wall behind him with a soft thud, and he choked on a moan as he caresses his sensitive tip with a light swirl of his thumb.
“Oh fuck.” You pant, gripping onto the thick muscles of Minseok’s thighs, feeling them flex beneath your palms with every sharp thrust. Baekhyun’s hazy eyes find yours, pupils blown into an ocean of blackness within a thin ring of glinting umber. His delicate lips are wide open and gasping out quiet moans, soft cheeks burning with the flames of his lust.
Any shyness gradually fades from him, his reservations melting away the longer he looks at you, the longer he feels himself being intoxicated by the thick waves of shameless pleasure that radiate from you.
His head kicks back with a rasping groan, hips meeting the underside of his fist with each stroke. Still, his heady gaze refuses to break from yours.
“You want that cock, don’t you?” Minseok whispers huskily, lips feathering over the burning shell of your ear, followed by the graze of his teeth.
Something tightens in your gut. “M- Min—”
“You want his cock in your mouth. You want him filling that slutty throat, don’t you, baby?”
His voice is just loud enough to carry over to Baekhyun, and you see the younger boy jerk violently and whimper at the implication of his hyung’s filthy words, desperately speeding up his ministrations.
“Minseok, please—” you gasp, nearly in tears. It’s too much, too good, you won’t last. The pressure of his hand on your throat, his cocked pounding relentlessly into your cunt, the intensity of Baekhyun’s stare as he gets off to the sight of you being fucked stupid by his best friend. It’s too much.
A hand dips between your thighs, rough fingers easily locating your clit and setting to work. “Come on, baby. Cum for me.” Minseok grits, burying his face in your neck. It takes every ounce of self control in you to keep from screaming in pleasure as the full force of your orgasm strikes you. Your back arches, head falling back onto Minseok’s shoulder, nerves crackling with white hot electricity.
Baekhyun quickly covers his mouth as moans begin to pour from his lips, the sight of you coming undone hurdling him head first into his own high. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he hisses, knees buckling and hips stuttering as he spills hot cum over his knuckles.
Pulling out of you with a harsh curse, Minseok flattens a hand against the small of your back and pushes you down to the mattress, until your cheek is pressed to the sheets and your ass is raised in the air. With one last low groan, Minseok strokes himself to completion, releasing all across your arched back. You moan as it splatters messily on your skin, the dominant display making your exhausted core clench around nothing.
There’s a moment of silence, the only audible sounds heavy breathing and the muffled voices of unsuspecting company in the other room. And then, Baekhyun giggles. It’s a light, airy sound, a combination of disbelief and amazement that has your own lips curling lightly because— holy shit, did that really just happen?
Baekhyun hides his grinning lips behind the back of his non-cum covered hand as he speaks, eyes alight with boyish joy. “Wow. That was—”
“Get out of here, Baekhyun.” Minseok huffs, tugging at your legs until you’re laid out flat on your stomach, a much more comfortable position.
“Right, yes, sorry.” The younger boy quickly spins, tucking himself back into his jeans and hurrying back towards the door, only to pause when his clean hand wraps around the doorknob. Turning, he meets your gaze and offers a bashful smile. “T- Thank you.”
A big, lazy grin breaks across your face, a breathless chuckle bubbling in your chest.
“My pleasure, Baek.”
Blushing hotly, he whirls around and disappears out the door, shutting it gently behind him.
There’s a brief lull of silence, and then you break into a fit of laughter. You feel the way Minseok melts behind you at the sound, rough hands turning soft as they rub gently at your thighs— which will most definitely be sore by the morning.
“Don’t move.” He instructs, though any real authority has already leaked from his voice, leaving a gentle request that you’re more than happy to comply with. The bed dips as he moves away from you, taking all his tenderness and warmth right along with him. You shiver in his absence, letting out a grateful hum when he returns with a washcloth saturated with hot water. It feels like heaven as he runs it over your sweat-slick skin, apologizing with only the sweetest of kisses whenever he touches a tender spot and you wince.
“He’s never gonna let this go.” Minseok mutters against the back of your neck, maneuvering the cloth between your spread legs to scrub away any lingering stickiness.
Shuddering at the twinge of stimulation, you sing back playfully, “you’re the one that told him to stay.”
“You’re the one who wanted him to.” He snips.
“Touché.” You accept defeat with ease. No point in arguing with the truth.
Minseok tosses aside the rag once he’s finished wiping you down, and you let him rearrange your bodies until he finds a comfortable position. You end up between his legs, head leaning against his firm chest while he’s propped up against the headboard. Like this, he has no trouble peppering kisses across the slope of your neck and shoulder, fingers dancing across the skin of your belly, tracing miscellaneous shapes and designs.
You know you should probably return to the group occupying the living room. By this point, it would be shocking if they hadn’t grown suspicious of your long absence. But, you aren’t too keen on leaving the warmth of Minseok’s embrace, the idea of abandoning these sex stained sheets becoming less and less appealing with every second that ticks by.
Minseok is the first to pop the comfortable bubble of silence that had fallen over you as he asks, “Did you enjoy it?”
You nod, a small smile upturning the corners of your mouth as you take one of his hands in yours, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “He was cute.”
“Yeah?” He hums, nose tickling your throat. “I’m cuter.”
Laughter trickles from your lips as you murmur your agreement.
“Hey, maybe next time…” you grin mischievously as a thought suddenly strikes you, “he can even touch me.”
You giggle in delight as Minseok growls, hot hand curling around your jaw and tugging your mouth to his, leaving only the slimmest of spaces between your lips as he whispers darkly,
“Not a fucking chance.”
#xiumin fanfic#xiumin smut#xiumin fic#xiumin oneshot#xiumin x reader#minseok x reader#minseok fanfic#minseok smut#xiumin#kim minseok#exo fanfic#exo smut#exo fanfiction#baekhyun smut#Baekhyun fanfic
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Suspention is Simple
Techno time! Ngl the idea of this massive motherfucker tied all pretty in rope has sat rent free in my head for a little while now.
SMUT UNDERCUT! MINORS DNI
Convincing Techno to let you do this was easier said than done, weeks spent asking to let you lead the next sexual exploration night. To let you show him something he would never think to try, so when he finally stopped and let you explain, listening and thinking it over before agreeing to your wishes.
“If it will make you happy Darlin’, then sure. We can give it a try.”
Thank god Phil was off doing something else today, I doubt he would want to see what has become of his oldest friend. The beams that run across the roof were made to hold more than just the weight of the roof and now, more than ever, your thankful for that as Techno stands bare in the middle of our room, dark red-dyed bamboo rope winding this way and that across his chest.
Dimond patterns that lift and present his pec’s, arms folded behind him wrapped twice over to actually hold him back, the long ends of the rope held loose in your hands as you decide on how to tie down his legs. “God, Tech look at you, so pretty like this-” the spare rope is quickly wrapped and tied around his legs, making his toes just barely brush against the ground, “-All strung up and so fucking needy.”
The very sight of the Technoblade flushed, whining softly, rope cradling his form so perfectly should be a sin in of itself.
It’s easy to just tease your fingertips against some of the patches of skin framed in red, feather-light touches against his nipples that make him gasp at the gentle touch. Moving around him to press your chest to his back means you can press soft kisses down the top part of his spine, hands holding him steady, drifting touches anywhere but where he wanted them.
“Princess, don’t-”
“Don’t what Techno? Enjoy how fucking needy you sound right now? Don’t tease you and revel in the little noises you think your hiding?” Your words are followed but one of his rare loud whines, his hips jolting as you finally drift one of your hands near his dick, “What do you want tech? You gotta tell me or I will just keep doing what I like~” Your teasing a mimicry of his own from other nights such as this one.
“Princess, please. Just, Fuck! Touch me, kiss me, suck my dick I don’t care just don’t tease me!”
Hearing him beg, in any sense is always a treat, as such it’s simple to press another kiss against his spine as you wrap a hand around him, the pace you set is slow not quite teasing but not as rough as you could. The hand not stroking him presses against his chest, flicking and pinching one of his nipples before moving to give the other the same attention.
The noise he makes when you let go of him to move back around him is needy, the flush across his skin is almost as red as the rope that binds him. Returning your hand to stroking him is accompanied by your lips pressing against his chest, leaving a wet trail up to the base of his neck before sucking a mark just under one of his collar bones.
It may have been just a whisper of the word, ’Colour?’ but when he responds ’Green’, your pace changes what was once a lazy rhythm just barely keeping him focused on your actions speeds up, the ties that bind him jerk as the soft stimulation becomes overwhelming.
Once soft kisses are now teeth and tongue marking every exposed piece of skin available, as you drop to your knees and let your mouth join your hand in teasing him. Tongue tracing up the underside of his dick following the prominent vein there, looking up at him fingers holding the base of him as he sees lidded eyes before watching the tip of his dick disappear into your mouth.
“Oh fuck…”
The noises dragged from him are music to your ears, deep groans and the occasional whimper when you focus on teasing the tip of his dick. What is left of him that you could not fit in your mouth is seen to by your hand, a steady rhythm keeping him just barely within reach of his end, only when he whines another ‘Please.’ does your pace increase.
The sharp jerk of his hips signals the start of his climax, the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue drives you to press closer. Nose just barely brushing against his pelvis, eyes looking up at him, with him pressed so deep your eyes are glassy. Tears from the burn of holding him in your throat threatening to spill is what drives him over the edge, hips straining against the ropes as he moans out with relief.
A loud pop follows when you release him from your mouth, lips parted to show him how his cum has coated your tongue before swallowing and letting him see how empty your mouth now was.
“Fuck Darlin’…”
“You want down now?”
“Please.”
Unwinding and untieing him is slow, hands guiding him, pressing against tense muscles attempting to relive some of the tension that would linger after being held in one position of so long. Kisses pressed against the imprints across his skin, soft words that tell him how good he was, how thankful you were for him trusting you with this, all before walking with him to your shared bed.
“You want something to drink? Something to eat maybe? Or you just wanna cuddle till everything comes back?”
His response of a muttered, 'just cuddle please’ is quickly seen too, your head pressed against his chest, fingers drawing gentle patterns against his skin as he wraps around you pressing you as close as possible.
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litany
An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.
jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags
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This is not what she thought victory would feel like.
Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.
She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.
Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.
She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.
As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.
When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.
--
The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.
Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.
And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.
“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”
The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.
“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.
--
It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.
She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.
She hopes his sleep is dreamless.
It takes him weeks to wake up.
“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”
“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”
She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.
“Did it work?” he asks finally.
“We think so.”
Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.
His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.
“Where - ?”
He looks up at her. The ice cracking.
“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.
--
“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”
The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.
“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”
The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.
--
“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.
“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”
“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”
Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.
The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.
The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.
“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”
“And how is it any better out there?”
“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”
“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.
His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.
Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.
He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.
--
He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.
They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.
Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?
Martin doesn’t reply.
They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.
--
There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.
The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.
The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.
They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.
There is the hope that the strangers are happy.
If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.
#tma spoilers#tma finale spoilers#tw blood#tw violence#tw mild injury description#tw suicide#tw suicidal ideation#cw death#jonmartin#WHAT ABOUT THAT FINALE HUH?!#ask to tag#this one tends towards the heavy#hurt/comfort#hurt no comfort#angst#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#tma 200#the magnus archives#tma
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