#The only problem is the stick shift and the clutch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

guanana · 2 years

Text

sniff ♡ njm x reader – request

pairing: jaemin x reader

genre: pw(minimal)p smut, f x m, slice of life/established relationship au

word count: 7k+

smut warnings: explicit sex scenes, lots of sniffing & other sensory stimulations, sweat kink, handjob, thigh fucking, cum eating

author's note: yeah, yeah x2, yes, uh-huh, & ok yea you get the point — anyways, it isn't august yet but let's get jaemin month started!! >:D thank you anonnie for this cool request and for waiting so patiently i had fun fucking around w/ this one 🤭💓

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It was like a premonition, a hunch– foresight almost.

Either way, your suspicions regarding your boyfriend and his affinity to a particular sensory stimulation was right on the money. And in hindsight? You really should have just trusted your gut the moment you felt that something was up.

Not that you had a problem with it, anyway.

“Good morning, sweets.” A groggy Jaemin comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing your back flush against his chest.

“Mm, morning,” You sigh blissfully when he delivers a kiss into your hair, lingering there for a hair’s breadth too long before sneaking a hand under your shirt to rub circles into your tummy. “You’re not usually up this early. What’s up?”

He shifts his attention from giving you kisses to what you were doing at the moment. Sticking his lips out in a pucker to point out exactly what he was looking at without having to let you go. “Those woke me up.”

And when you look down at the freshly baked cinnamon rolls that are resting on top of the stove, it all clicks. The brush that rests in your dominant hand is drenched with the cream cheese glaze, ready to be applied on top of the sickeningly sweet treat that floods the room with its scent.

“Just had a craving for them, I guess.” You laugh lightly. “They just need to sit a little, but I’ll put them on a plate for us in a bit. Want coffee with it?”

“You spoil me too much.” He grins.

“I think I spoil you the right amount.” You reply, twisting yourself out of his clutches to prepare both of your meals. Bending down to the lower cupboards, you pull out a frying pan. “Go ahead and set up the table. I’ll have the rest out in about ten minutes.”

You’re met with an interesting sight when you straighten out. It seems that your instructions flew right over Jaemin’s head when you caught him bent over at the stove. His face is impossibly close to the cinnamon rolls, and if you weren’t so caught off guard by the obnoxious inhale that he takes, you’d scold him to be careful. The noise that emanates from his nose is way too ridiculous, however. A snort accompanying the strikingly different expression he’s donning.

“Having fun there?” You ask rhetorically, yet a little skeptical as well.

His eyes widen when he realizes that you’ve been watching him, immediately standing back up and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry about that,” He gives you a nervous smile. “They just smell really good.”

Jaemin has always been on the sillier side. He’s the kind of boyfriend to suck your whole cheek into his big mouth, or to bite on the sleeve of your shirt to pull you in a certain direction. There was even this one time that he barked at you in public, but you only nagged him a little for that. So when you catch his eyes rolling to the back of his head, it really isn’t out of the ordinary for you.

Shrugging off any questionable thoughts, you simply carry on the rest of your morning like normal. Preparing a nice breakfast for the two of you topped off with your delicious baking. The two of you enjoy each other’s company in a comfortable silence, chewing away happily and planning out the rest of your days off.

——

The second incident wasn’t much worse, but again, hindsight.

“Jaemin?” You call out to your boyfriend when you catch him in your room. Flicking the light switch on to see him on all fours on the bed, you see that he’s got a fistful of your sheets. When he looks back at you, he’s scrambling away to meet you at the door frame. He has that same nervous and out of character expression when he tries to saunter towards you coolly. “...What are you doing?”

It takes a few beats too long to think of an acceptable answer. “Well, I just wanted to see if I could guess what laundry detergent you use.”

“Huh.” You squint your eyes at him.

“Is it Dawn?”

“No, Tide. But Jaemin–” You shake your head to ground yourself. “Why are you doing that?”

“It’s a… project.” He says slowly, and you could see the gears in his head working in overdrive. “Yeah, a project. For stats. I’m collecting data on people’s preferences for detergent brands.”

“And you chose to sniff my sheets when you could’ve just asked me, why…?”

Even when you and Jaemin were harboring unspoken feelings for one another, there was never a time during his courtship where he was nervous. He was always meticulous and sure of himself. Exuding nothing but confidence when approaching you. That’s why you’re starting to grow a little suspicious when his eyes dart left and right, unsure of how to go about his next moves.

“You’ve been working way too hard. Who am I to bother you when you’re resting and watching TV?” He quickly deflects, planting his hands on your cheeks to reassure you.

“It was just a quick question, Jaem. You should never be afraid to ask me anything. Plus, I don’t think the scent would still even be there.” You look past him towards your bed where he originally was. “Don’t judge me– but, I haven’t changed sheets in like, a month. There’s no way you could’ve guessed that when it smells like y’know, me.”

Of course he knows that.

“You’re right.” Jaemin nods. “I’ll make sure to just ask next time. But hey, good to know it’s Tide.”

“Glad to know I could help.” You conclude with a small smile.

You guess you both have come to a consensus. Neither of you care for the topic at hand anymore when he wraps his arm around your neck, leading the two of you back to the living room to watch your show.

As you walk down the hall, Jaemin delivers another lingering kiss to the side of your head. Tilting his head in a dreamlike state to get as much of you in as he can. Pretty eyelashes flutter shut when he gets a good whiff of your refreshing shampoo and conditioner.

——

The third time, it becomes a little more apparent that something is up.

“Okay, try this one now.” Jaemin comes up to you with what you think is the fourth lotion he’s had you try since the two of you arrived at the local body shop. Lifting your hands up, he squeezes a generous drop of the smooth substance into your hand. Nodding at you intently to rub it into your skin.

Once you’ve distributed it evenly across your skin, you bring your hands to your face. It’s a nice scent– floral. “Lavender?” You ask, reconnecting eye contact with Jaemin to see that he’s looking at you just a little too eagerly.

“Mhm,” He hums. “You’ve got a good nose. Let me see now.” He doesn’t waste any time when he grabs both of your wrists with one hand easily. His nostrils connect with your palm to inhale deeply.

You blink a few times when he pushes your hands back a little, his eyebrows furrowing together irritably. He doesn’t let go when he takes a few seconds to think, but when a moment more passes, he shakes his head. “Nope, this won’t do.”

“Hm?”

“I hate it,” He sticks his tongue out. “It’s way too concentrated. Feels fake. Go wash your hands.” He gripes while he shoos you towards the sink.

“I thought it smelled pretty good.” You grumble while washing off the residue.

“Nah.” He looks at you with bored eyes and a slack jaw. “I’ll find a better one.”

“Another one?” You whine, scoffing when he bobs his head at you.

The thought displeases you, knowing that you’d have to spend even more time here. When you mentioned to Jaemin that you had run out of lotion and needed to buy a new one, you meant that you were just going to run to the drug store down the street and grab your generic unscented usual. It’s done nothing but right by you. So when Jaemin decided to literally carry you into the passenger seat of his car and drive to the mall— you were once again, extremely confused.

While you were starting to develop a headache from the sensory overload of all of the candles and perfumes, Jaemin looked like he was in a candy shop. Picking up every lotion that catches his eye and contemplating if he should have you try it. His reasoning was a bit vague, but nothing that wasn't on brand for him: “I just wanna spoil my baby today, is that so wrong? Gotta make sure she gets nothing but the best.”

After what seems like tens of minutes and an absurd amount of hand washing, Jaemin comes up with another bottle of lotion. You’ve lost count already, but it’s definitely already in the double digits, and by whatever’s good and holy out there— you hope it’s the last one.

“Cough ‘em up.” He instructs, and you follow in suit. Giving him your hands, he pumps yet another droplet. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

You hope so, but when you take a whiff, you realize he’s right. It’s a tropical smell, light on the sinuses yet just the right amount of sensible. It reminds you of a summer day at the beach where the ocean waves crash onto the shore.

“This one's amazing.” You give him your hand, to which he accepts it gratefully.

And there it was again— that face. Lacing his fingers around the back of your hand, he brings your palm even closer to his nose. The pretty tip of it rubbing into the flesh of it with his chest heaving up the deeper he inhales. His mouth dropping open in an exaggerated ‘o’ when he exhales, a latent look of want in his eyes when they roll back.

“Yeah, this is the one.” He breathes out, and when the tip of his tongue flicks against your palm, you immediately twist away from his clutches.

“Jaem!” You scold him. “Not in public!”

Yet his eyes remain half lidded, taking a predatory step towards you to close the gap. The shop is bursting with people, so you feel your ears getting warm when Jaemin corners you into a shelf of products. Extending an arm to keep you from escaping, a dazed grin begins to form.

You catch a couple of high school girls looking at the two of you in the distance. One of them whispered to another while giggling, probably fawning over how handsome yet risque your boyfriend is. If only they knew that he was a bit… abstract.

You’re about to dodge any probable kisses when he brings his face close to yours, a cheeky smile stretching from ear to ear when he corners in, but just when you’re about to turn away– he shifts around you. His nose just barely grazes over the apple of your cheek and his line of vision shifting elsewhere. The arm that leaves you compromised retracts, and you find the full sized version of the summer breeze lotion in his hand.

“Oh,” You splutter, now feeling embarrassed at your assumption that he was going to kiss you breathless in public. Not that you’d necessarily mind, but you’d like to think you have some decorum.

And as always, Jaemin can read you like an open book. Ever so endeared by how cutely reserved you are, he pecks your cheek while you remain in your dumbfounded state. Turning behind him to lift an unamused eyebrow at the peeping girls. When they realize that they’ve been caught, the taller of the two yelps before scampering out with her friend.

“You’re really cute when you get shy.” He teases you, joining your hands together to pull you away from the shelf.

“And you’re really annoying when you make fun of me.” You pout. “Can we check out now?”

“Just a little longer, sweets. I wanna look at a few more things.” He answers, dragging you towards a display of candles. Now making it a point to check every single item, not caring to ask your opinion on if you like it or not.

The two of you remain in the little shop for another whopping twenty minutes, and you’re sure by the time Jaemin has swiped his card you’ve used up the last of your sanity. But when you two walk down the sidewalk, you can’t help the way your heart pulses at Jaemin’s pleased expression.

You sigh at the three bags of merchandise that rest on the arm that isn’t holding you. It confuses you, you had no idea he was into this stuff in the first place. You’re more than thankful that you aren’t dating a 3-in-1 shampoo type of guy, but you weren’t aware that he was so particular about scents.

Whatever, you think. It’s not like it’s something that you need to worry about. As long as he’s happy, you’ve got no reason to complain.

——

Until it starts to get a little weird– but you start to think you might be just as weird as him. Because whatever is going on right now, you like it.

You had just gotten back from your apartment complex’s complementary gym. Hitting an extra long session of cardio to boost your stamina, even if you weren’t particularly the fondest of it in the first place.

That being said, you were sweaty. Wiping the perspiration off of your forehead with the towel that was hanging off of your neck. Still panting to rehabilitate your breathing, you quickly shove your key in and twist to stumble inside.

It isn’t surprising when you find Jaemin has already made himself at home on your couch. You had given him your extra key ages ago, and you’re sure his own apartment was just a storage unit at this point. Looking up from his phone to catch you leaning on the door, he looks at you like you’re made up of all the stars in the galaxy.

Clearly not bothered by your frazzled state, he immediately swings his legs sideways to fly off the couch. Skipping towards you with his arms extended wide to encapsulate you in one of his signature bone crushing hugs.

And trust, if you weren’t drenched in sweat— you would’ve taken it with gratitude. But in fear of him pushing you away in disgust, you duck under and away from him when he tries to catch you. Gasping out loud when he crashes into the door cartoonishly.

“Jaemin!” You squeak at him, only to have him turn back to you with squinted eyes.

“Why’d you run away?!”

“I just worked out, you goof.” You immediately retort, stifling a laugh when he plants his hands on his hips sassily. Shaking his head at you petulantly, you’re not quick enough to evade his second attack when he grabs your wrist to pull you in. “Jaem—!”

“I don’t care,” He whines, his voice raised to a bratty cadence that would annoy most but makes you melt. Catching you by your hip with his free hand, he pulls you in to shower your cheeks in kisses. With how he bombards you with affection, you’re quick to succumb to his touches. Sloppy and moist pecks along with your giggles fill the room, and you’re both too caught up in your antics.

Until his kisses lead up the angle of your jaw, making a stop at your sideburn, and then letting his nose dig into the side of your head, nuzzling deeply into your hair. Suddenly he stops, and you push yourself away to catch that abrupt switch in his demeanor. There was that inexplicable glint in his eye again, terrifying in how unreadable it is.

You part your lips to question his motives, but any chances of a proper conversation is thrown out of the window when he bends down at level with the crook of your neck, the towel that hung loosely around it is now long forgotten when it falls to the floor. Trapping you with the flat of his hand against the center of your back, you’re arched at an angle that crushes your breasts into his chest.

You were impartial to some innocent touches when you had gotten home, knowing that Jaemin has always been on the needier side. But under the instance he was in the mood for something else? You really wanted to hit the showers first.

“Jaemin, come on–! Ah!” You squeal when rolls his tongue out to lick a up your throat, cleaning the thin layer of sweat and replacing it with his warm spit, tilting your chin up as the pink muscle reaches the tip. The hand at your back travels with haste towards your ass, gripping and kneading a handful of the flesh before bringing it down in a harsh smack. “What are you doing?!”

“Sorry sweets,” He apologizes with little sincerity before nibbling at your neck, inhaling deep yet quickly bated breaths like a dog whose owner has just come home from work. His thumbs hook into the hem of your leggings, snapping the waistband playfully to earn another gasp of surprise. “You just smell so good.” His voice drops an octave in the latter half of his words, falling down to a rough baritone that rumbles deeply in his chest. “You look even better, so pretty for me… Just wanna lick up every drop.”

His proclamation fills you with embarrassment, because you’re certain it’s the opposite right now. Yet he furthers his point when he traces his tongue along the lobe of your ear, letting it slither into the hole, allowing you to not only feel the sensations but hear the slimy appendage roll around. Everything from your hairline to the back of your thighs is drenched in sweat, you’re sure you smelled… salty.

As if he can read the worry on your face, he shakes his head. “Don’t be shy,” He says before scooping your breasts into his palms, squishing them together to lave along your cleavage. The droplets of perspiration meld together to form a small pool, to which he laps up with glee. “I mean it. I love how you smell, especially when you’re like this.” He moans, unrelenting when he pushes your fitted top over your head and disposes of it.

It feels like steam is coming out of your ears at how lewd his actions are, enjoying you as if you were actually a meal for him to eat. “Jaem, come on, please just let me clean up,” You manage to sputter out, your voice wavering with every caress. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want after.”

“No, I want you now.” He growls before sweeping you up and over his shoulder, latching his forearm around your knees to leave you just barely hanging off of him. Completely over exaggerated in his actions, he leads you to the couch that’s no more than a few steps away, pelting you onto the plush cushions with little regard to your landing. He’s even quicker to topple over you, hands immediately seeking purchase over your body in a heated frenzy.

“What's gotten into you?!”

Jaemin was never anything if not frivolous and open about his fantasies, but there’s an almost dark and gritty aura about him right now. The way he completely ignores any pleas or protests only serves to make the heat between your legs grow hotter. It’s as if any thread that’s held him together has snapped, and you’re left with a man starved. Only looking to satiate his selfish and innate desires.

“Didn’t really want you to find out, to be honest. Especially not like this.” Yet his words betray his body when he lifts your arm, holding your wrist firm in place, ogling that hollow that concaves in. When that Cheshire grin grows, your eyes widen when you’re hit with the horrible realization. “Can you blame me though? It’s your fault for making me like this.”

“Oh my god, don’t you fucking dare—” But you’re too late when he dives in, quickly bringing his lips to your underarm, licking a fat stripe upwards whilst reveling in your screech. The tips of his canines poke out in amusement, gauging your reaction as a satisfactory one. The slurp he makes is obnoxious, and the flesh feels sticky from the saliva he leaves behind.

Your flushed expression only spurs him on even further. Of course he knows his lover like the back of his hand. Though you pathetically squirm and struggle, those fucked out eyes and that bratty swivel of your hips tells him you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on. Such a cute little brat, he chuckles inwardly before continuing.

“Everything about you is so good, ” He croons sweetly, kissing against the surface of your underarm. “Could eat you up just like this, and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. ‘Cause you're my sweet girl, and you do what I want when I want. Right?”

A pathetic whimper of his name slips past your lip at his assertion, unable to deny the toe-curling pleasure the foreign action is giving you. Gnawing at your bottom lip, you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when he flattens his tongue to cover itself in your taste. He treats it with the same vigor as when he eats you out, taking in every drop desperately until you’re covered in his saliva.

You’re mortified at how into this he is. When you catch a glimpse of the whites in his eyes, you know that he’s been holding himself back this whole time. It excites and scares you— how much filthier could his desires get? When he shifts from your underarms and reaches your collarbones, you realize that he’s too far gone.

Squirming under his hold only gets him harder as he ruts his prominent bulge in between the crevice where your thighs meet. He was already so hard, the outline in his pants sticking out and jutting against your core with greed. It’s almost humiliating how such an unstimulating act is capable of making you cry out, how each buck of his hips only coerces another gush of wetness from you. You’re sure the lack of restriction meant that he wasn’t wearing underwear right now, because you’re sure what you’re feeling is the head of his cock getting caught on your clit.

Traveling down your body, your leggings slip off with his hands, slipping off with ease when you lift your legs for him. He’s in disbelief at the sight before him, a stringy butterfly thong that’s being sucked in by your folds. There’s nothing left to the imagination aside from your holes that he yearns to devour, but this waiting game only makes his hunger grow. He can’t differentiate the layer of slick that covers the insides of your thighs, but he wants to lick it up all the same.

As if it couldn’t get better, you give him easier access by spreading your ankles as far apart from one another as you can. It makes him scoff, shaking his head with a pointed tick in his jaw. At your submission, you can’t see that he’s inwardly cheering at how well you accept this side of him. It fills his chest with a sort of warmth, one that he can only express in physical adoration.

You’ve always been so, so pretty. He loves how pretty your face is, how nicely you dress yourself up, how you taste– but one of the prettiest things about you is how you smell. The scent of your body wash, or the light perfume you spray on your neck, he enjoys all of it. Yet it all pales in comparison to that heady scent that you give off. It’s natural, poignant, and at its root– pure.

Just like you, his precious girl.

It’s all so good to him, and it’s served to him on a silver platter. He hopes that his gratitude is made clear when he crawls off of you, letting his knees drop onto the carpeted floor and delivering a teasing kiss against your already sopping panties.

You think you’ve lost any sense of direction at this point too. Because rather than being horrified at his incessant sniffing, you find yourself lazily smiling at how much he wants you. No longer embarrassed by any thoughts of him being grossed out by something as petty as some sweat, you give in by hooking your thumbs against the skimpy string of your panties. Making a show of closing your legs flush together to roll it off.

It fills you with confidence to see just how hypnotized Jaemin is by your visage, his eyes trailing along every inch of your legs from the back of your thighs to your ankles, the lace becoming a secondary thought when you finally fling them off. Now that you’re completely bare for him, he follows.

You find that you were right in thinking that he wasn’t sporting any underwear, because when he pushes the fabric down by the waistband his cock springs out freely. An obnoxious slap against his abs, the tip already coated in precum. No matter how many times you’ve fucked, there will never be a time that Jaemin’s body doesn’t have your pussy clenching in need.

His chest that has filled out quite nicely heaves up and down with every bated breath he takes. He watches you with an ardent need to ravish, yet a sort of apprehension indicates restraint. It’s as if he’s holding himself back from fucking you against the couch, so you have to urge him forward yourself. Hooking the front of your foot around his waist, you bring him in close.

Though he stumbles on top of you clumsily, he’s quick to get the hint. A smirk overtakes his features, impressed at your sudden forwardness. It makes you giggle when he traps you with one hand planted at either side of your head, giving your forehead a peck. “What? Not shy anymore?”

“How could I be when I know my Nana likes me like this?” You pout, that feigned innocence and that little pet name quickly driving him up a wall. Under his gaze, you thrust yourself upward in hopes of your wet core meeting his cock, a signal that you want him to take you already.

Even if Jaemin loves every side of you, at this moment, he thinks he wants to see you break for him. Shaking his head at you, he pins you down by the hips. Your legs that were spread just for him are quickly shut once again, the cusp of his hand beginning at the back of your knees before sliding upwards towards your ankles.

You wonder what he’s playing at while also growing frustrated at the lack of being fucked. Trying to break from his hold, you’re easily put back into place when he slaps your exposed ass. He wasn’t gentle at all as a stinging sensation jolts up your spine and makes you squeal. When you open your mouth to chastise him, he gives you a pointed look that instantly shuts you up.

It feels like eons before he moves, but just when you think his teasing couldn’t get any worse, he sheaths his cock right between the crevice where your thighs connect. A high pitched and mocking laugh leaves him when you gasp out for air, unrelenting as he grinds against you so intently that you can feel his balls grazing against your rim.

“Don’t even have to fuck your pussy,” His voice is gruff with want, using the pads of his thumbs to push your thighs back even further. The sweat and pussy juice mix into a nasty lubricant that lets him glide with ease, rutting back and forward to coat his cock. Letting his hardened cock slip between your folds, his leaking tip peeks through the other side. “Could just cum right in between these pretty things.”

“Mmh, Nana,” You whimper when he increases the speed of his thrusts, the tip meeting your clit in a sensual meeting each time. That feeling of uneasiness creeps in on you again. You don’t know how you’d fare if you were to cum off of not being filled. The idea fills you with humiliation, especially since you know more than well that Jaemin would hold it over your head forever. “Nana, come on. Fuck me! Please.”

You try to paw at his shoulders, but he’s unreachable from how proudly he kneels over you on the couch. The way you quickly lose any control over the situation brings him closer to an orgasm, that familiar tightness forming in his lower abdomen. It clenches deeply, his v-line becoming even more pronounced when he sucks in a breath, loving just how powerless and needy you are. That lovely string of ‘please, please, please,’ that echoes like a song from your lips only makes him drunk on lust.

“Love it when you beg for me,” Jaemin groans. His eyes are devoid of anything but want, locked right onto the folds that hug so nicely around him. Truthfully, he could cum just like this. What with how you’re moaning like a common slut just for him and how the raunchy scent of sex permeates the room, each of his senses teeter on the edge of overstimulation. “Such a bratty, cock-hungry slut, aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” You cry, making a show of your loyalty by taking the thumb of his free hand into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around the pad and tasting the saltiness it has to offer. “Want your cock so bad,” Your muffled words earn an amused chuckle from Jaemin.

When you look like you’re on the verge of tears, he thinks you’ve suffered enough. Popping his coated thumb from your lips, he pats your cheek teasingly. “You did so well for me, my pretty girl. Always so, so good.” He says with that saccharine coated lilt.

Your chest still burns with pride at his praises, no matter how condescending they are. You’ve conquered what you thought to be an insurmountable feat, his torturous teasing seeming like it would go on forever. But he reassures you otherwise, because for the last time he pulls your legs apart. This time he pushes them past their limits, the one that dangles off the couch is inches away from the floor, building up an aggravating burn.

Too focused on the pain, you’re unprepared when Jaemin immediately lodges himself into your hold with one fell swoop. “Nana–!” You screech when his crotch meets yours, feeling the fine hairs growing at his groin. From the start he takes on a brutal pace. You failed to realize that the teasing was a punishment on himself too, not being buried in your tight and wet walls driving him beyond mad. He’s thoughtful in every thrust, hitting that certain spot that has you gasping for air. “Nana– Nana, slow down!”

That fire that was building burns even brighter when his nails dig into your calves, crescents forming into the flesh as he continues to mercilessly pound you. He pays your pleas no regard, and despite the way his cock spreads your walls almost painfully, you can’t deny that his lack of care for your well being and the feeling of being ruthlessly railed serves you by tenfold.

When you and Jaemin lock eyes, he flashes you this dazed, almost maniacal smile. Not that it matters, you’re sure you’re giving him that same exact look right now.

Sweat is now forming along his forehead and down his neck, and it gives him this almost ethereal glow that causes a dribble of spit to trail down the side of your slack jaw. It’s more than apparent that the deep breaths that he’s taking aren’t a sign of fatigue, but rather he’s etching the pungent scent of the room into the deepest pits of his mind. The further he loses himself, the more pronounced his thrusting gets, reaching deeper and deeper every time.

You think you like being nothing more than a hole to him.

Your eyes start to roll into the back of your head when he growls, pinching and forcing any part of your body that instinctively tries to adhere to his ministrations. Going so far as to slap at your side when he grows irritated at your uncontrollable protests. “Do I have to fucking tie you up? Stay still.” He threatens, but he might be enjoying this just a little too much when he pinches at your clit, as if coaxing you into taking the bait. “You like it, huh? Like getting fucked so rough like this?”

“Love it soo much,” You slur, completely lost in a daze when he begins to circle figure eights along your bud. The same thumb that had been in your mouth moments earlier coated in an absurd amount of spit presses against you, and the sensitivity of your body has your aching each and every way. “Nanaa,” You reach out for him, wanting to hold him close.

You’re too cute to deny. With that little tremble of your lip, he’s all yours. Wrapping his forearms around your back with practiced ease, he pulls you up so now you sit right on top of him. All while remaining connected, he plants his feet down before thrusting back up into you.

At this angle, he reaches even deeper. Grabbing the hair at the back of your head, he gives you a look of adoration that borders on obsession. He brings you in for a passionate kiss, immediately darting his tongue into your mouth, only to bite at the tip of yours. Not a second later he’s stretching it out of your mouth, sucking the appendage into his mouth with utter desperation.

Filling two of your most intimate holes, you’re both invigorated by the other’s presence. Stimulated beyond comprehension, Jaemin makes a mental note to have a toy ready for next time– wanting to see just how deep you can fall into the pits of his depravity.

It comes before you even realize, too focused on where your tongues are fighting for access to another’s mouth. In the long time the two of you have spent together, there was no fighting the fact that there was something different about today. It was raw, both of your desires laid bare at their most vulnerable form.

To accept and be accepted was a wonderful feeling. And when you clench around his cock for the umpteenth time, he can’t help the moans that fall from his mouth into yours. Practically shaking when shots after shots of his thick white liquid spurt into you, crying out your name in praise and thanks that he’s found a lover that’s so compliant to his filthiest fantasies.

You don’t take too long to follow behind him, because despite the overstimulation, Jaemin wholeheartedly believes that reaching your high is more important than his own. The strain of his cock borders on painful when your tight pussy milks him of every drop, yet he tightens up and pounds into you at his quickest and most earnest pace.

There’s white when your eyelids flutter shut, and that knot in your belly implodes on itself when his tip knocks against that spongy wall for the last time that afternoon. Throwing your head back in completion, the both of you are crying out at the sensation. You have to fall forward into his arms lest you fall backwards, your nails dig deep into those pronounced biceps to bring you back to earth, now beyond exhausted with his cum leaking out of you.

You’re gasping out for air, still too fucked out with aftershocks traveling from your core and up your spine. Jaemin brings you in closer, soothing the hair at the back of your head down while cooing you into relaxation, almost worried when you spasm against him.

“Shh, baby. I got you,” He kisses against your ear, apologizing quietly when his softening cock still twitches inside of you. “It’s okay… it’s okay. You did so good for me. Love you so much.”

“Mmh, love you too.” You say with teary eyes, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your head into his shoulder. With every clench of your pussy you feel him wince, and if you weren’t careful you’re sure he could go for another round. It scares you– but it also delights.

You do have something else in mind, however. Something much more important.

“Jaem?” You call out, letting your index finger trail down his spine.

“Yes, my sweets?”

“Can we take a shower?”

Truthfully, Jaemin wanted to say no. He wanted to remain inside of you for as long as time would allow him, and he even more so wanted to live with this poignant scent the two of you have created together. That sticky, sweaty, and cum mixed smell invigorates him beyond belief.

But when he sees how tired you are, having worked out only to be fucked right after, he gives in with a defeated sigh.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

––

“I’m sorry!”

“Sorry my fucking ass.”

You mock his high pitched whine, watching the two of you in the mirror with a bored stare. With one hand, you’re holding him by the shoulder. Pinning his chest down onto the sink while his ass is bent over and flush against your lower half. The other is wrapped around his once again swollen cock, a layer of your newly purchased lotion being used as a cool lubricant.

After a well-deserved shower, you and Jaemin had an important discussion regarding your unspoken kinks. The both of you came to the obvious conclusion that he had a thing for scents.

Though that wasn’t rocket science, you were quite surprised when he confessed that he fantasizes about you taking control. It was supposed to be a conversation with no malice, but it struck a chord in you. Which leads you to a small, albeit petty argument.

“I ride you all the time!”

“Yeah, but it usually just ends in me putting in the rest of the work. No offense, sweets, but–”

“But what.”

“You’re kind of a pillow princess.”

That being said, you decided to kill two birds with one stone by pushing him over and pumping your fist along his cock with that summer scent he loves oh so much. You know you’re doing right by him, because you feel each ridge and vein that tenses with every glide. A twitch of his head that spews out blanks every time you bite against his neck, bruising the dewy skin shades of pink and purple to stake your claim over him.

“Think you deserve to cum?” You lick up his neck, your thumb circling over his tip and teasing at the hole. The hand that had him pinned down now seeks purchase against his ass, giving him a prominent smack that has him crying out in surprise.

“Yes!” He begs, bucking into your hand when you slow your pace, watching the lotion mesh so nicely on his skin. You realize he had a point in all of this scent stuff, it smells so good. “Please let me cum. I’ll be good from now. I'm sorry─ I'm so sorry.”

“That’s a good little bitch.” You grin devilishly, licking at your lips when you tug at his shaft just the way he likes. A few more pumps and he’s whining like a slut, spasming beneath you when you drop your breasts against his back, covering his mouth to quiet him down. Reveling in his sweet moans even further when you feel his tongue knitting around your fingers. Soon enough ribbons of cum are escaping his cock, launching onto the sink’s cabinets and staining them white.

You love how pliant he is, and how he wheezes against your hand when you refuse to stop. In due time you’ve taken every drop he has to offer, and there's a gossamer thread of cum that connects your retreating hand and his cock. Taking an index finger and swabbing at his cum coated tip, you bring it to your lips, keeping locked eye contact with Jaemin’s fucked out expression and tasting the salty cum for good measure. Lapping at the dollop that remains at your palm, he almost feels jealous that you're paying more attention to yourself than him.

When he looks back at you like you're a divine blessing to this earth, the both of you come to the conclusion that no amount of time could ever make your sex grow dull. Unlocking new things every day, you can’t wait to see what heights your affairs can reach.

There's still more important matter to attend to, however.

Though he apologized, you still don’t think it’s enough. Coming in close behind him, you whisper a deceptively soft command into his ear. It causes his eyes to widen in surprise, never would he have thought you'd ask him to do something like that.

He looks over his shoulder and over at you with fear, but that cold stare only implants even more fear into him. Your word was now law, and he knows better than to disobey.

With a jagged breath, he drops down to his knees. He looks back at you one last time, as if what you asked was a figment of his imagination. It makes you tut in disappointment, so you take matters into your own hands by bringing a foot to the nape of his neck, exerting enough force to push him forward.

“I’m waiting.” You look down at him, pushing him even lower to where his neck cranes uncomfortably.

“Do you really want me to…?”

“I don’t think I stuttered, did I?” You tilt your head condescendingly, a grit to your words causing him to shiver, your cold attitude spurring a giddy feeling in his chest like a high school boy.

Succumbing to your wishes, he comes face to face with the white stained cabinet. His cum is still dribbling, slowly but surely. Tasked with cleaning up his mess, his tongue lolls out, planting his hands against the surface before licking back up. All it takes is one taste of himself and one look of approval from you, and he’s now urgently lapping up any remaining cum.

He realizes that he loves himself a lot too, because he tastes and smells so pretty too. The sight is enough to make you grin in satisfaction, crouching down to kiss the busy Jaemin against his cheek, letting your hands trail through the strands of his hair with adoration.

“Good boy.”

end

────── 〔✿〕──────

unedited

#na jaemin #jaemin smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #jaemin x reader #nct u smut #kpop #kpop smut #kpop reader insert #na jaemin smut #nct fanfic #jaemin fanfic #kpop fanfic #fanfic

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reanbowful · 1 year

Text

“something on my face?”

if you catch them staring at you

(donald, ben, jake, gerard, wolf, teddy, jimmy)

donald na / na baekjin

“Donald Na.”

Winning an award was more or less nothing short of an average Tuesday for Donald.

He walked over to the podium but almost stopped in his tracks when another name was called out.

“This year, we have two gold medalist due to both participants achieving the same perfect score.”

You walked over to the podium with confident steps, a bright smile plastered on your face.

Donald hadn’t realized that he had actually stopped in his tracks when you glanced back at him from the top of the podium.

Exchanging glances with the teacher in front of you, you gestured for him to come up.

One awkward moment later, the two of you received your awards. Donald not taking his eyes off of you for longer than he has to bow.

“Hey.”

You turned towards him, clutching the award tight in your hand.

“Next time, only one of us will receive the award.”

“Well, if it’s not me it’s you right?”

As you left the school grounds, Donald smiled to himself. He might just found a new playmate.

ben park / park humin

Now we all know that Ben ain’t slick.

It will be at a school festival at your school that promotes free food if you can finish them in under 60 seconds.

Ben who saw the ad while walking back home was safe to say intrigued.

He would take Alex or Gerard to accompany him there.

He finished the entire pizza in one bite, 20 seconds no problem. Impressing everyone in the booth, including you.

“That was amazing! Did you like the pizza?”

Now here’s where he gets.. distracted. He just kind of gasped when you came up to him and loses his train of thoughts for a second.

Pretty.

“Pretty.. GOOD! P-pretty good! I like the pizza pretty good. Yea.. it was- uh it was good.”

Alex and Gerard are probably teasing him all the way back from your school. But it doesn’t matter though, since he gets to have your number (you were the person in charge of that booth).

jake ji / ji hakho

You guys are reading manga together in the empty school library after school.

Well you guys promised to do your homework but Jake got distracted while going through the racks of journals he should have been looking at. Instead he checked out the manga racks that just got stocked up.

So that’s how you ended up ditching your school works.

While you were getting to the interesting bit of the chapter you were reading, you let out a small giggle of excitement. Tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears to see the words more clearly.

Through the corner of his eyes, Jake’s eyes darted towards you. Not forgetting to cover half of his face with the manga tho.

He never noticed that you looked so.. cute?

He failed to notice that he has been staring at you, when you finally looked up at him, still chuckling from the passage you read.

“Huh? Why are you looking at me?”

I feel like he would probably dodge the question and make a joke out of the whole situation.

“Ah? Oh. I was just wondering what was so funny! HAHA!”

That was what he said.

Inside he’s probably like: dammitdammitdammitdammit

gerard jin / jin gayool

He’s probably my favorite out of this whole entire prompt.

You guys are hanging out at his house, him playing a guitar lazily while you play with your phone on his bed.

Throughout your relationship you guys have developed a comfort in just being in each other’s presence. Sharing the silence when no words are needed.

As he plays a tune, you bobbed your head along. He watched you with a bit of an amusement, matching your tapping feet to his guitar strum.

Eventually, he let out a small chuckle which makes you shift your gaze from your phone towards him.

You gave him a suspicious narrowed eyes which made both him and you chuckle even more.

“What are you scheming?”

Gerard is one of the most chill dude out there. He will probably be quite suave about it.

“Nothing- Sorry babe, I’m usually good at that.”

wolf keum / keum seongje

Ngl I’m sticking to my Wolf x second year reader agenda xixi

Anyways, the two of you are in your classroom where he agreed to meet you after class to talk about some school organisational stuff Wolf could hardly care about.

Why should he give a single shit towards whether or not Ganghak gets a better promotion? He could care less if the entire building went down in flames overnight.

So just know that he’s doing this for you. And that you’re SO damn lucky he likes you.

“I was thinking maybe we could do a two days bazaar. Since three is way too long. And for the stands I have a list of venues we can contact-“

See, he honestly isn’t even paying any attention to what you were saying. No, no he was staring at your lips.

Wolf might not be weak, but you really surprise him with how low he could go sometimes.

“-lf. Wolf.”

Your voice brought his attention back to your eyes where your brows had scrunched a bit and you were leaning more towards the table, exposing a bit of skin.

“Sorry, noona. I was just thinking about something.”

Well let’s just say it’s better you don’t know the image that’s playing in his head.

teddy jin / jin taeoh

Ah yes, the certified tsundere.

While walking home from school, you, Teddy and, Rowan came across a stray cat on top of a chair.

The thing is, it was sitting on the chair—like a human. (this is something I have seen with my own two eyes)

You found that interesting as hell so you took out your phone and started to snap a few pics.

The cat seems to take an interest in you and leaned it’s body forward. Pawing at your hand.

“Aww. Look at you, you’re so adorable!”

Entranced by the cat’s cute antics, Rowan would try to pet the feline without prior knowledge whatsoever on handling one.

Dude literally would smack his hand on the poor thing’s face.

Teddy grimaced. While you immediately take the cat into your arms before Rowan could seriously injure it.

“Why the hell are you so rough with him?! Are you a kid? Hmm it was uncomfortable wasn’t it, kitten? Yes it is? Bad Rowan bad!”

Giggling as you pretend to let the kitten hit Rowan, you scratched the bottom of the cat’s chin.

Teddy watched the way you handled the small kitten with such gentleness. Boy was whipped instantly.

I bet his type is definitely someone who cares a lot about animals.

Noticing his gaze on you, you turned. Scheming for a way to tease him. (he seems fun to tease ngl)

“Hm? Kitty, look at Teddy-oppa. He’s staring at youu~”

Man choked on his spit :)

“O-oppa?! Where did you even- Ugh. Forget it. And for your information I wasn’t staring at you! I was just spacing out goddammit!”

“But Teddy, she never said you were staring at her.”

RIP Rowan.

jimmy bae / bae jihoon

Jimmy is a very prideful individual, so don’t expect much from him. (or can you?)

To be honest you can kind of see this coming.

Jimmy had to service his broken phone’s lcd, Jack needed to pick up some toiletries, and you wanted to check out your favourite bakery’s new release menus.

It was mutual interest that got all three of you going to the same mall. So you went there together after school.

The three of you had an argument on where to go first as you all think that your stuff is the most important.

You argued that the bakery usually has a long line and you don’t want to miss out after coming so far for it.

Jack was cool with everything, but Jimmy is Jimmy.

Eventually, you decided to part ways after deciding that it’s pointless to waste your breath arguing with the personification of pride.

And just as you thought, there was a long long line in front of the bakery already. There’s just no way you’re gonna get those cakes now.

Begrudgingly you went back to find the boys when Jimmy showed up in front of you with a white paper bag.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop worrying already? Just follow my instructions and shit will work out for you.”

It was the bakery’s newest menus. Each and every single one of their newest flavours.

“You- You.. where did you get these..?”

He preordered those cakes for you babe. (bet you didn’t expect that!)

“Look, do you want it or not?”

Taking the paper bag from his hand, you hugged them to your chest as you squealed happily.

And Jimmy, he tried his best to suppress the smile that’s curling on his lips at the thought that he was the one making you that happy. (well it was the cakes but whatever he was the one that got them)

Well, once you face him back, that smile is gone. Replaced with a scowl instead.

“Alright shut your yapping. Let’s go find Jack.”

#weak hero class 1 #weak hero x reader #weak hero manhwa #weak hero webtoon #donald na #ben park #jake ji #gerard jin #wolf keum x reader #wolf keum #teddy jin #jimmy bae

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hungerpunch · 6 months

Note

hi I love you longest and fiercest and kind of gross, my lobot. Will you tell me a story about Pierre and Este and Charles that hurts me real good in all my gayest bits??

ginba you always say the sweetest things (✿◡‿◡)

i guess i may have something ha ha ha. please note that while i've done some research i am not an expert so if anyone has a timeline qualm, have mercy.

He's 13 when he kisses Esteban, soft and scared and burning for it.

He's been confused about his friend for months, vexed by how the innocent urge to spend all his time with Esteban seemed to go from from something boyish to something more, something worse. He's unsure when Esteban's dark gaze started pricking at his skin instead of sliding off like water. Ashamed to admit exactly when his thoughts started being consumed by a repetitive longing to touch Esteban's inky black hair, or fit his hands around the disproportionately skinny clutch of Esteban's ribs.

But it happened. It did. And it's tortured him.

And Esteban kisses him back.

Pierre just had his first kiss with a girl a few weeks back. It made him feel warm and excited, an adrenaline rush that he couldn't stop smiling about.

Kissing Esteban makes him feel sick.

please tell me, Esteban begs over text after weeks of radio silence from Pierre. did that kiss mean anything to you?

No, Pierre texts back with shaking fingers. Sorry, he sends, and watches their friendship unravel over those next few and final years. At their best, they manage a stiff cordial, an all right, a phony politeness. At their worst, they're made of actively hostile barbs and little pushes. Everything from cold shoulders and rude hand gestures in between. There are so many factors that make Charles different. Age. Pierre having a little more job security, some therapy. Not to mention that Charles feels inherently safe and sure whereas Esteban had felt like holding his skin to an open flame: dangerous and reckless. Esteban is a good boy but he's got a bastard in him. Charles is just sweet, only sweet, through and through. Even when he's being bratty, it's vanity. Not deep. It doesn't linger. Nothing about Charles, not even that first disbelieving kiss, makes Pierre feel sick.

It becomes an open secret. It's wide out in the open for witnessing, hidden in plain view between hugs and hip-grabs and pressing close to whisper. The media doesn't look close enough to see it, team principals refuse to see it, non-friends see it and don't care, and friends tease them mercilessly in private.

Pierre is 22 the first time he has to contend with Charles, Esteban, and alcohol in the same space. At least, alcohol with the intent to get fucked up, rather than the occasional glasses of wine at family dinners of their youth. Pierre is no stranger to drinking but he hasn't exactly learned his hard liquor limits yet so he's leaning heavy and kind of sloppy on the bar while he waits to catch the bartenders attention. Charles is at his left side, patient, when an elbow shoves in to Pierre's right and a stick-like body wedges in.

Pierre recognizes him by scent first because he doesn't think Esteban will ever in his life stop using the same soap and deodorant combo.

"Ah, shit," Esteban says out loud when he looks down (down!) and notices it's Pierre he's shoved in next to. "Of course," he says with disdain, black eyes shifting from Pierre to the ceiling like he can't believe his luck.

Pierre, drunk, bristles. "Ah, fuck you." Esteban's spidery eyebrows raise at the back talk. Pierre feels a hand at his waist. "Are we having a problem?" Charles' voice sounds, loud enough to get both their attentions.

Esteban stares at Charles for a beat too uncomfortable before letting one corner of his lips furl into a lazy smirk. When his gap teeth glint behind the slow parting of his lips, they might as well be fangs. "No problem, Charles, if you keep your dog on a leash."

The comment winds Pierre, a brimstone fist in his solar plexus. "I'm not a dog," he says oddly, stunned for a second. Then the anger comes.

At 22, Pierre hasn't put on the pounds of muscle his future promises just yet, which is good because it means Charles is physically capable of dragging Pierre out of the bar before he can wring Esteban's neck.

At 22, he's insulted by the idea of being Charles' dog.

By the time he's 24, he's old enough to know he likes it. Both in bed, thick band of leather around his throat, and in the paddock, arm draped over Charles' shoulder protectively, waiting for Charles to sic him on somebody.

"Good boy," Charles will say and Pierre will think I would rip someone to shreds with my teeth for you. The only thing is, is that when the chips are down for Esteban… he has the same thought. The same viciousness in him. I would rip someone to shreds with my teeth for you, too.

#lo fic #pierre gasly #esteban ocon #f1 #ask #thekinkstheycarried

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centrally-unplanned · 10 months

Text

River's Edge & The Flat Battle? Field: Deep Diving a Single Word

So the 1993 manga River's Edge, by Kyoko Okazaki, was finally officially released in English last week. It's a problematic fave of mine, and (as I discussed in my review of it many moons ago), the peak of its edgy angst is this poem, standing alone on a field of black, near the end of the book:

"The flat battlefield" is a phrase that has really stuck with me since I read it, and anything that has that level of sticking power is a meaningful piece of art. My opinion of the manga has grown over time.

So when I got to this section in the official translation and I saw:

I was a bit bummed, "flat field" really just lacks the impact "battlefield" ha-

-wait what?

Reprinted by Permission of SSL/Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc. Copyright by William Gibson, originally published in "Robert Longo"

Okazaki didn't write this, William Gibson did?? The American cyberpunk fiction author? He...writes poetry? Turns out by the way this attribution is in the original manga, it just didn't survive the scanlation process.

I was curious about both how and when this translation shift occurred (if it ever did), and the origin of this poem - which was really hard to find! "Robert Longo" is not a book, he's a person - an American artist and filmmaker who directed the 1995 movie Johnny Mnemonic, which William Gibson wrote the screenplay for (and wrote the short story it is an adaptation of). When you search books by the two of them nothing really turns up - at least on the western side of things. In America they never really did publish a book. But in Japan they published a few actually - some too late for 1993's River's Edge, but in 1991:

Publisher Kyoto Shion's Art RANDOM series, vol. 71, featuring the collected art of Robert Longo, edited by Kyoichi Tsuzuki...and featuring inset poetry by William Gibson. Funnily enough one of the listings (Fukkan) actually notes:

現代美術コレクターだけでなく、ウィリアム・ギブスンのファン、岡崎京子のファン共々気になる作品集だと思います。 This is a work that will be of interest not only to contemporary art collectors, but also to fans of William Gibson and Kyoko Okazaki.

The poem from this book - which is called "The Beloved: Voices for Three Heads" - is way more famous as a reference by Okazaki than as a work by Gibson. Which turned out to be a problem when I wanted to dig deeper and find the actual poem and its context; when you google it you get...almost entirely Japanese results discussing River's Edge! Which means I couldn’t actually find the poem, just Japanese translations of it. And I am pretty sure the poem was not originally in Japanese - the bookseller listings note that the book is bilingual in both Japanese & English, the Gibson poems would be the obvious English candidates.

However, buried beneath piles of mid-2000’s Japanese Okazaki fandom blog posts, I found the work of academic Gary Westfahl. He wrote a deep dive book in 2013 on the works of William Gibson, and in the abstract header for Chapter Five:

It also considers Gibson's poems such as “The Beloved: Voices for Three Heads,” his ventures into writing song lyrics, and the approach he used in some of his later nonfiction works

Ba-bam - and with a quick trip to LibGen pulling up a pdf version of the book, here we go:

Gibson's first literary publications, in 1963, were poems, and he obviously remained interested in the form, since in the 1980s and 1990s, when artists approached him about collaborative projects, he usually provided poetry. To date, Gibson has published three poems, not counting fanzine efforts, along with two other poems available only as excerpts. Asked to contribute to Robert Longo's 1989 performance piece Dream Jumbo, Gibson wrote a poem, "The Beloved: Voices for Three Heads," later included in a book, Robert Longo: Art Random, largely devoted to documenting that show

Gary fucking Westfahl, coming through in the clutch!! I was curious why this combination art book/poetry existed, but now it makes sense; the poem and the art were already a packaged deal as part of a performance art exhibit. And this also explains why the poem was so hard to find - as of 2013 Gibson only ever published 3 poems in his career! I am curious how this play got over to Japan - Dream Jumbo premiered in LA in 1989, but additionally in 1989 Longo had a titular "Robert Longo" art exhibit at the Seibu Contemporary Art Gallery in Tokyo, which had its own art book published - its fair to say he was "big in Japan" and so the success of Dream Jumbo made its way over. He would actually run a sort of gallery-version of the performance in Tokyo in 1995, for which he gave an interview that taught me that the name "dream jumbo" is pulled from the name of a popular Japanese lottery; perhaps it was always destined for Japan and also Robert Longo is a bit of a weeb.

ANYWAY the actual text of the poem:

Our love knew The flat field

Yeah, it was originally ‘field’. Westfahl also confirms that this poem was only ever published in print in Japan, making it virtually unknown outside of it. Which, and this is kind of cool, means that the publishing of the translation of the Japanese manga River's Edge is the first time Gibson's "The Beloved: Voices for Three Heads" has ever been published in the West.

Knowing that the original is ‘field’, I checked the original Japanese page for River's Edge and:

戦場 - Battlefield

The first kanji is literally 'war', this is not ambiguous, there is no other read here. River's Edge changed the word from "field" to "battlefield" - assuming that the original art book did not have its own Japanese translation of the poem. On reflection, it probably did; it's not like Okazaki herself is a translator, and in the manga the poem’s translation is credited to translator Hisashi Kuromaru, who had previously translated Gibson’s novel Neuromancer. However, it’s not like I have a copy to check, so I can’t say for sure.

…or so I thought! But when looking around for Kuromaru’s translation credits, I stumbled on the most precious resource one can find; a blog post from an Okazaki-otaku a decade+ after the fact who was obsessed with the poem and hunted down a copy of the original Art RANDOM artbook to see it for themselves. In their post they give a line by line comparison of the poem and its translation…credited to Kuromaru, confirming that this book is where the translation comes from. And lo and behold:

Kuromaru is the source of our creative twist. Chad of chads, “Tach” from 2005.

What is funny is that this is not like a tiny little quirk I am interested in - I mean, okay, it's mainly that. But "the battlefield" is actually a small part of Okazaki's brand as an artist. Here is a sketch she sold titled "Girl's Life on the Battlefield" (It uses the same kanji)

Here is a link to an exhibit of her work in Japan that was titled:

(Her art is incredibly on point btw).

Here is an entire book by art critic Noi Sawagari investigating How we survive on a flat battlefield - Kyoko Okazaki's theory! The one Amazon review says its content is "thin” and it was “tiring to read”, 2 stars, ouch.

But you get what I'm saying- Okazaki leaned into this phrase. I'm actually a little let down, when I read River’s Edge and was so taken with this specific moment I thought it was a ‘me’ thing; turns out the entire country of Japan was equally smitten and it became the tagline for the manga. Real loss of hipster points for me on this one! Still, I really think “battlefield” is way more impactful - this elevation of the phrase would not have happened if it was just ‘field’, I feel confident on that. And I am not calling the translation ‘wrong’, or anything. It is just one of those tiny contingencies, this liberal translation and odd series of events, art crossing from LA to Japan, led to a brand for an up-and-coming josei manga author that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. And in fact, I am willing to say that the translation just published by Kodansha of River’s Edge is… not right. It doesn’t matter what Gibson wrote - this is Okazaki’s poem now. She wrote a manga about the battlefield, all of her fans agree, and a truly faithful translation would build on that.

So I’m sticking with “battlefield” and y’all should too.

#river's edge #ash anime culture deep dive bullshit #essay

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flippyspoon · 7 months

Text

Bleeding Out

Note: Trektober ficlet! TOS Spirk. This is for the prompt: hiding injuries!

How the hell…

Truth be told, Jim had no idea where the blow came from, only that he’d fought his way past two armed guards and was aiming his phaser at a third when he looked down and saw a short sword sticking out of his side which, he supposed, was maybe better than a sword sticking out of his heart. But really, he’d have preferred no swords sticking out of him at all. He still managed to fire his phraser at the third guard before glancing around, dazed, looking for the sword sticker. But there was no one. So one of the guards he’d taken down had managed to stick him before they hit the floor.

Perfect.

All that had taken seconds and only after that did the pain hit and he gasped, slumping against an iron gate.

Spock was so close. All he had to do was get to Spock and they could beam out. No problem.

…That was assuming Scotty had repaired the transporter. Otherwise, they’d have to make for the forest where the other half of their team waited in a hidden shuttle.

He was still dressed in the garb of the planet’s culture. They were a planet of space raiders, mainly. And somehow, one of those raiders had gotten their paws on some very classified Starfleet tech. Well, Jim had the tech and some war lord had Spock.

Jim took a deep breath and yanked the sword out of his side all at once, falling back against the stone wall and clutching the wound that gushed blood all over his hands. He took off the thick scarf he’d worn wrapped around his head and tied it snugly around his stomach, knotting it in back as tightly as he could stand. He would bleed through quickly. He covered his makeshift bandage with the thick cloak he wore, pulled the hood up over his head and staggered down the cavernous hallway to the spiral stairs which led to the dungeon where Spock was held.

His wound was agonizing. He ducked into an alcove for a moment to compose himself. He was dripping with sweat already. He flipped open his communicator.

“Kirk to Enterprise. Scotty…tell me the transporter’s back online.”

“I’m sorry, Captain-”

“Scotty…” Kirk shut his eyes, pressing his hand to his side. “I’ll have Spock in a minute. We need to energize-”

“The interference from this ion storm is wreakin’ havoc, sir! If I could do it, I would!”

“Right…Well. We’ll just have to make it to the shuttle. Kirk out.”

Jim considered, sorted, and settled on his options in the space of approximately six seconds.

If he was careful, he could get Spock to the shuttle. If he was extremely lucky, he would hang on through the rough ride in an ion storm back to the ship. Most likely, he would bleed out and die before they even made it to the shuttle. And dying would slow Spock down because Spock would do something very stupid (that he would claim was perfectly logical) just to stay with him and probably get himself killed.

Ideally, he would convince Spock to go on without him, conjure up some reason he had to stay on while covering up a grave injury. Spock wouldn’t go for that in a million years.

There was only option 1. He had to get them to the shuttle. Which meant conserving his strength. On the plus side, adrenaline was doing wonders as he made his way down the narrow corridor to the dungeons, clutching the ring of keys he’d swiped off the gatekeeper before knocking him out. Maybe adrenaline could get him all the way back to Galileo 7 in the woods.

“Spock, I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

Around the corner from Spock’s cell, Jim conjured up all his energy and considerable charm and headed in.

“Mr. Spock.” He put on an easy smile as he unlocked the cell door. “Didn’t think you could get out of gamma shift tonight that easy, did you?”

“Captain, you are, I believe the Terran expression would be, a sight for sore eyes.”

“Holy Moly, Mr. Spock, indulging in Terran idioms? What’ve they done to you?” Kirk crossed the cell to Spock, just barely managing not to stagger, but as Spock came out of the shadows and stepped into the candlelight, his expression fell. Spock’s face was bruised and battered, his peasant shirt stained green.

Kirk’s jaw clenched. “Spock, you’re-”

“I am not badly hurt, Captain. They assumed I absconded with the data drive. You know, this society of medieval culture and advanced technology is rather fasci…”

Kirk stumbled just as they were making their way out of the cell, and Spock tilted his head, perusing him. Kirk attempted to stand-up straight, clutching the bars of the cell for support as he stepped into the corridor, but his breathing was too labored and Spock’s eyes too sharp.

“You’re injured, Captain?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Jim said, lightly. “Turned my ankle is all. Walkin’ funny.”

Jim took Spock’s arm, maintaining a light touch, gaining just enough support that he could keep his balance as they quickly made their way back upstairs, hopefully before the other guards caught on.

They still had to get up the stairs, back out to the bailey (blessedly unmanned with a festival in full swing in the gardens), out a side door, down under the overly populated bridge and through the water, and across a field to the forest.

Jim now predicted he might make it as far as the bridge. He could feel hot blood spreading fast.

“Transporter’s out.” He had to breathe carefully if he wanted to speak. “We gotta make for the shuttle. Then…then get it through an ion storm. So that’ll be fun.”

“Captain…”

“C’mon, hurry,” Kirk said, impatient. “Go go go, Spock. That’s an order.”

He could not slow, he could not falter. If Spock discovered Jim’s injuries, he would miss his chance to get out. Kirk was getting lightheaded, but one thought pulsed in his mind and heart above all other concerns besides the safety of the ship (already well out of the ion storm’s way): save Spock, keep Spock safe, Spock must live…

Spock followed Kirk’s lead all the way to the bridge. They would have to scurry under it, which meant crossing the sludgy water beneath, about a quarter kilometer. But they ducked behind a low stone wall under the road beside the river, nearly seen by a few marching guards.

Still, the sun had set. They had darkness and shadow on their side, at least.

But Jim was trembling, and he couldn’t stop.

Save Spock…keep Spock safe…

He made the mistake of taking Spock’s bare wrist in his hand, intending to get to his feet again.

But Spock’s eyes flashed, and he looked at Jim.

“Jim.”

Jim gathered the vestiges of his strength, but he could not get the words out. “Sp-Spock I’m…you…have to…” He forgot what he was going to say and fell back against the wall. His eyes were much too heavy.

He felt Spock pull back his cloak. “I…order you to…just take the…data drive…leave me…go.”

“I cannot,” Spock said.

But there is no logic to that. His mind was increasingly muddled, but he was pretty sure he was right. Their mission was to retrieve the data drive. He had it in his pocket. He fumbled, grabbing for it and held it out, hardly able to raise his arm. “It’s…here it…”

Jim knew Spock had sensed the seriousness of his injury when he touched his skin, his pain and fear, and certainty of death. Spock surely knew how this ended.

Jim knew Spock cared for him. There was no doubt about that.

But still, he was a committed officer. The mission had to come first.

Kirk was still trying to figure this out while strong arms lifted him under his legs and around his back, as Spock picked him up bridal style. But Spock’s right arm carried Jim slightly awkwardly so that his hand reached Jim’s face, his wrist turned awkwardly, his fingertips pressed to Kirk’s cheek and chin and temple. Jim felt the touch, warm, so familiar and comforting, and humming with a gentle energy. He clung to it, if only because Spock’s touch, skin to skin, could be so rare. At least he could take that with him when he died. One last touch.

Insubordinate, Jim thought as his consciousness faded. You’re in big trouble, mister. You can’t…please…I love you… you mustn’t…

He heard Spock speaking as he carried Jim down to the water, felt muscles clenching as he held Jim’s head above the icy current.

“T’hy’la, take my strength… Beloved, feel me, feel this bond, take this strength from me, please Jim…”

***

Jim stirred, hearing voices, comforting voices that he followed from the darkness.

“They’re gonna write folk songs about it!” McCoy was laughing. “Ensign Perez told me everything! The great Vulcan warrior carrying the captain to whom he is so devoted in his arms as he fights his way through half a dozen swordsmen!”

“There were no more than five swordsmen,” Spock said evenly. “And I was armed with a phaser. I shed no blood. I simply carried the captain to a waiting shuttle and dealt with a few obstacles along the way . Hardly the stuff of legends.”

“And stubborn as a mule, as always,” Bones said, rolling his eyes. “Can’t even take a compliment, can he? Oh look, our friend the damn pin cushion is waking up.”

Kirk opened his eyes, expecting McCoy on his feet to his left, and Spock in a chair to his right, which was usually the case when he woke up in sickbay.

Except that Spock too was lying in a biobed, wrist fitted with a cuff hooked up to a screen reading out his vitals. He looked much paler than usual, though the evidence of his dungeon beatings had vanished.

“Spock, what’s the matter with you,” Kirk muttered.

“Oh, brother.” McCoy rolled his eyes heavenward. “Typical! Man touches death with both hands, gets yanked back, and still he’s more worried about the science officer in the tight pants. I don’t know what else I expected.”

“Doctor,” Spock said darkly.

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Bones cleared his throat and glared down at Jim, who ignored him as he stared at Spock. “James, sir, your friend here did a nice bit of Vulcan wizadry via some kind of sacred soul mate love bond between you two I’m not supposed to talk about and Bob’s your uncle! You’re alive and he was half dead by the time you two made it to the shuttle. I will step out now and leave you two alone. I find out anybody left their bed, I will take a damn life and it will all have been in vain!”

McCoy took his leave with one last scowl at the both of them and Jim and Spock were left to themselves.

Jim took a deep breath and shifted in his bed to gaze at Spock more easily.

“Excuse me… Sacred soul mate love bond?” He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face, especially at Spock’s subtly sheepish expression.

“I…intended on informing you of this connection,” Spock said slowly. “I have been aware of it for some time. I was not… I did not know how you would receive this information.”

“Oh…” Kirk nodded, as if seriously considering this. “I think I would have said something along the lines of, so what else is new.”

“You…are not surprised by this?”

“You’ve told me a few things about these Vulcan relationship bonds,” Jim said. “And I’ve known there was this strong connection between us. Something more than friends or captain and XO or even family, yet all of that too. So no, it does not surprise me.” He did not hide the beaming smile that grew on his face. “You’re everything to me, Spock.” “T’hy’la,” Spock murmured.

“Yes.” Kirk nodded. “What does that mean?”

“It is…as you said.” Spock’s mouth quirked,the slightest sign of some inward decision. “It means you are everything to me too, Jim.”

“The second I can get out of this bed, mister…”

“I would not risk it with McCoy outside the door.”

“That’s alright,” Jim whispered. “I’ll just lie here for now. I just want to look at you for a while. That alright with you?”

“If it pleases you, Jim,” Spock said.

#spirk #star trek tos #trektober 2023 #trektober2023 #kirk/spock

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davnittbraes · 11 months

Text

The Fourth Step - Chapter Thirty-Four

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5100

Warnings, etc.: anxiety, angst, mentions of strict religious code in a negative context, fluffy fluff, silly banter because it’s these two, SMUT, Mando’s Fingering Skills™️, squirting, a good old fashioned prone bone, I’ve always wanted to use that sentence somehow and I’m delighted to have finally done so, tender afterglow moment that hurt my heart to write

Notes: this chapter is like a parfait - a layer of domesticity, a dollop of heart-to-heart conversation, a whole-ass scoop of sexytimes and a cherry on top of introspection. Enjoy and please brush your teeth afterwards.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

“Well, pfassk.”

You press down on the lid of the storage crate again, but it still doesn’t quite close enough for the latches to catch.

Throwing the lid open, you glare at the contents inside. “Which one of you is causing the problem?”

Quiet is the only response, the contents silent and the ship’s engines a gentle hum in the background. The kid’s soft babbling drifts down from the cockpit, and Din’s muffled reply.

You’d taken on the task of putting away the supplies you’d bought on Nevarro while he ran diagnostics on the Crest or some other such mechanical wizardry. And since the kid had a habit of climbing into small spaces when you weren’t looking - that time he’d locked himself in a crate still makes your stomach turn with anxiety - Din had removed him from temptation.

It’s good for you, having something to keep your hands and mind busy right now.

Those emotions that have been simmering for a couple days are close to the surface, but it’s going to take time and concentration to talk through them. Not something you want to try with a mischievous little green dude constantly pulling your attention.

But that’s ok, you can wait until the kid goes to bed.

You know Din will be there to listen, whenever you’re ready.

Reaching into the crate, you move around the rations you’d just stacked inside, taking the first few off the top and sliding them into a small gap toward the back.

Your gaze snags on something unfamiliar.

A large, grey box underneath where you had first put the rations.

You had somehow missed it before, but now it’s a glaring strangeness. Nervousness flutters in your stomach - given the type of people you and Din are trying to avoid, a random box showing up on the ship is probably not a good sign.

There’s a flap or something sticking out of the top - a scrap of paper?

Carefully, you pull it free, trying not to shift the box too much.

It has writing on it, scrawling, uneven letters but you can read it -

You might act like teenagers but your backs definitely aren’t young anymore. Take care of yourselves, my friends.

Understanding slices through the nerves.

Cara Dune.

She must have snuck this in while helping you load up supplies, just before you’d left Nevarro.

Your smile shifts into a grin as you pull the grey box out into the open, see the words printed on the side.

Anticipation trips your heartbeat.

Suddenly you’re looking forward to the kid’s bedtime for another reason.

*****

Your heart keeps up its fluttering throughout the day, though its reason alternates between excitement and nervousness.

The kid is thankfully well-behaved, and adorably grateful when you tuck his stuffed frog that you’d found into his pod. At some point in the last few weeks, the toy had ended up beneath a shelf and despite you and Din searching for the better part of an hour, it had remained there until you’d moved it while rearranging the hold.

Now, the kid is snuggled into his hammock, stuffed frog clutched in his tiny clawed hands, breathing even and slow as sleep finally pulls him away from the world.

Your gaze lingers on the frog.

A flash of memory -

Din, sifting through a small box full of trinkets, odds and ends that Cara’s recruits had gathered while they cleared the Aqualish raiders from the sewers that had once been his home.

I know the child it belongs - belonged to. She would want you to have it.

The guilt that had dulled his voice, then his confession that he blamed himself for the deaths of so many of his people.

You had tried to find the words to lessen the weight of his guilt, but it’s woven through his sense of obligation to his people, so firmly embedded you don’t think he’ll ever be truly free of it.

Because he’ll never let go of that obligation.

The well of emotion you’ve been keeping just under the surface roils, threatens to break through.

“I could hear you thinking from the cockpit.”

His natural gentle rasp is obvious even through the helmet’s modulator, soothing and familiar enough that you don’t startle as you realize he’d come down the ladder without you hearing him, too lost in thought to see he’s standing right next to you until this moment.

You smile, though it feels weak. “Sorry. I’ll try to be quieter next time.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He runs a finger gently along the edge of the hammock in a wordless goodnight to the kid, then keys the bunk door closed and takes off his gloves, tucking them into his belt. “I’ll listen, whenever it gets too loud.”

Your smile is genuine this time, gaze lingering in the curve of his helmet under the dim lights, seeking his gaze behind the black visor. “I know you will.”

His hands cup your face, warm and reassuring. You revel in his touch for a moment, breathing deep, then grasp them, press a kiss to a palm before curling your fingers around them and holding them against the place where your heart pounds at your ribcage.

You need to feel those hands, close, steady, as you let that well of emotion rise to the forefront.

He waits, ever patient, watching you.

Always watching you.

Funny how it used to make you uncomfortable.

Now it reminds you that he sees you.

He sees you.

And he trusts you to be honest with him. To be in this together.

A single deep breath, your heartbeat thudding as your lungs expand and contract.

Talk to him.

You meet his gaze behind the visor. “I know what I was feeling, the other day. When you said Karga had a lead on the location of other Mandalorians.” Your head shakes a little, negating your own words. “I know what I’m still feeling.”

He doesn’t speak, a soft squeeze of your hands all the encouragement you need.

“It’s a lot of things, actually. Not just one feeling - no, wait.” You pausing, looking inward, parsing through the buzz of emotion. “I think it feels like a lot of things because it’s so much, but when I look deeper, past all the noise, I can see what it really is.”

A subtle shift, he edges closer to you, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands.

The noise clears, sharpens, realizes.

You swallow past the threatening lump in your throat. “It’s fear. I’m afraid, Din.”

Tension twitches his fingers, the helmet tilts slightly. “Afraid of what?”

The words almost get stuck, snag on your tongue, it’s so tempting to push them back and say something else, something that hurts less to voice out loud but you can’t, you have to say them or they’ll eat you from the inside out, you know that now. He’s shown you that.

Another swallow, the lump is persistent, tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Losing you.”

A pause, like he’s thinking of what to say, then his voice drifts softly between you. “Where are you afraid I’ll go?”

Kriff, he couldn’t just give some sweet reassurance, some insistence that he’s not going to leave you so you can have the excuse to turn the conversation - he cuts right to the root of it all.

Your words shake a little despite your best efforts. “With them. With your people.”

His hands grip yours tight, as if he’s trying to emphasize the truth behind what he’s saying. “Where I go, you go.”

And you wish that was enough, the firmness in his voice enough to dull the doubt edging that ice-cold well of fear that’s rising quickly but it’s not. “But will they let me go with you? Will they let us be together?”

“They -“

It all pours from you in a rush, disjointed and sharp. “I love you, Din, just as you are, as the man and the Mandalorian. And I would never - but I’m not Mandalorian, I don’t think I can be, I can’t follow The Way like you do, it just doesn’t feel right, for me, but I don’t want to lose you and -“

“I don’t expect you to swear The Creed.” That firmness is still there but stronger, strengthened by steel-wrapped honesty.

Even that’s not enough and fear keeps rising, bubbling out of you. “Can you say for sure that neither will they?”

Silence, thick and heavy, tension no longer just twitching but pulling his grip tight.

Damning, telling silence that says what you fear the most.

Too late, he lessens his grip, helmet shaking side to side once. “It doesn’t matter what they say.”

Tears blur your vision and you keep going. “But it does, it has to, and that’s ok. They’re your people, they saved your life, raised you, protected you. I -“ the words actually do stick this time, you have to push them out - “I can’t ask you to choose between your people and me.”

“If I have to choose, then I’ll always -“

“Don’t.” Your hands fly free of his, press against his breastplate, desperate to stop his next words. “Don’t say it, please. You can’t possibly know what might happen in the future. Please don’t say something you might regret.”

A finger nudges your chin, you open your eyes - when had you closed them? - and he’s there, still there, with you.

For now.

His finger curls under your chin, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “I know how I feel about you. And I know nothing can happen that will change that.”

Your eyes squeeze shut again, you can’t look at him, already seeing him slipping away -

“Tionas.”

The word cuts through your fear, sharper, straight to your heart.

That single word, become a term of endearment, with a deeper meaning. An identity.

You.

The real you, not a face you put on, not a mask you wear.

He sees you.

He knows you.

He loves you.

Your lungs burn as you breathe, and you focus on it, feel the fear cracking with the movement, the warmth of his fingers on your skin thawing the doubt and flooding your chest.

“Nothing and no one can come between us.” His voice is full of that love, the source of that firmness he’s been speaking with. “We are one when together, we are one when parted. Remember?”

You open your eyes, look into his gaze behind the familiar black visor. The light bleeds into the silver of his beskar, almost illuminating it from within, making him glow through the blur of your tears.

A light. A star in the night sky.

A man you love.

A man who loves you.

Your heart stumbles, those words resonating through your body, pulling forth the memory of the Mando’a that has cemented itself in your thoughts. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.”

He cups your face once again, fingertips brushing away the tears that have slipped down your cheeks, and steps forward, leans his forehead against yours. The cool of the beskar on your skin anchors you back in the moment, the unknown future relegated to where it should be.

Right here, right now, with him - is where you should be.

Your smile is full of a sudden lightness, weight of emotion letting go. “Thank you. For listening. And for reminding me that I’m safe with you.”

His breath catches, barely heard through the modulator, but there. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

All that emotion finally melts away, leaving you to feel his hands on your face, the nearness of his broad frame.

And the knowledge of what you have waiting for him in the hold.

Excitement finally wins out as the last of the dark thoughts fades, bolstered by the need to be close to him after letting your emotions scrape so raw.

Your hands slip down his breastplate, skim up his sides. “Take me to bed?”

“Gladly.” He lets his fingers trail down your neck as he pulls away, a wordless promise of more when he gets to his destination.

Anticipation makes you bite your lip, feet light as you move to the corner of the hold where your shared blankets used to be, him close behind.

You can hear the moment he sees it, bootsteps faltering, stopping.

His modulated voice, lilting with surprise, floats over your shoulder as you continue on. “What is this?”

You can’t stop the little bubble of laughter from slipping past your lips as you dramatically throw yourself onto the bed. “A gift from our good friend, Cara Dune. Our best friend now, actually. I’m sure you agree.”

The mattress bounces just slightly underneath you, not by any means plush and luxurious, but far better than a few blankets on durasteel. Those same blankets you’d made up the bed with, so the scent of both you and Din already permeates this new nest of sorts.

Your hands smooth out a wrinkle in the blankets. “It’s a travel bed, barely big enough for two but, in fact, big enough, and that’s all that matters. Plus, it folds back into the box it had came in, which is convenient if we ever do need the extra room in the hold.”

He moves toward you, bootsteps now steady and sure, helmet tilting as he examines the bed frame. “Looks sturdy enough.”

You look at him, catching the deepening rasp in his voice. “Only one way to find out.”

Two more steps and he’s kneeling on the bed, casually sliding his hands up your legs to push them apart, settle on his knees between them. “And what way would that be?”

Want tingles down your thighs and across your hips, lifting them slightly, seeking more of his touch, and you raise an eyebrow as you look up at him. “Playing coy? Is this something you picked up watching those HoloNet dramas you love?”

It’s a blur of motion and suddenly you’re pressed front down into the bed and he’s straddling your thighs. “Mir’sheb.”

You arch your back into his grip as large hands cup your ass. “You love my sheb.”

He groans, a low vibration that shoots straight to your core. “I do. And I love these pants you wear, let me see everything. Love to watch you walk in front of me, climb the ladder to the cockpit, bend over to get one of the kid’s toys -“

“Crikking hells, Din.” Heat swarms over your skin, his words burning a path straight to your core, inner walls clenching hard around nothing and clit throbbing at the emptiness.

One hand slides down in-between your thighs, cups your already wet heat through your clothes. “Love this pussy, too, always ready for me.”

His fingers press over your clit and you gasp for air, pleasure sparking up your spine. “Pfassk, need you, please -“

“You don’t want to tease me some more?”

A faint laugh pushes past your racing heartbeat, head swimming with building lust, hips rolling to find that friction against his fingers. “Sick of teasing, too much of that going on right now.”

He clicks his tongue. “Mir’sheb again.”

You look at him over your shoulder, all broad shoulders and shining beskar and helmet tilted playfully and you want him so bad it hurts. “Well, you know what to do about that.”

His hand slips from between your thighs and despite knowing what’s coming next you moan at the loss, forehead falling to press against the blankets.

He hooks his fingers over the waistband of your leggings and underwear, tugging them down in one smooth motion, stopping at your boots to yank off the whole tangle of clothing.

Your pulse flutters so hard in anticipation that you can feel it pressing against the delicate skin of your throat. A twist of something else sends goosebumps rippling down your bare legs.

He’s seen you like this before, but not often - your intimacy is usually shared in the dark of the night cycle, the day to day motions of life not allowing for much else.

Being laid out this way, now, even with your torso still covered by your shirt - something about the vulnerability of letting him see you like this, exposed, amplifies the growing throb between your thighs.

The thunk of your clothes and boots hitting the floor is followed by the whisk of cloth being pulled free, then he’s guiding your hips up with one hand while pushing his bunched up cowl under them.

Your thighs twitch with the gentle scrape of the fabric, again when his hands trace the movement up the back of your legs, long fingers grasping the curve of your hips to settle you in place.

It’s endearing, a little frisson of sweetness and caring that curls into your growing arousal, flares with the knowledge that he always considers your comfort.

Then he’s back on you, not between your thighs as you thought he would be but straddling them again, pressing them tight together between his own as he slides a finger through your slick folds and all your musings of endearing sweetness fizzle out in the rush of heat that courses through your veins.

He presses his finger into your clenching entrance, his groan of satisfaction mingling with your whimper as it sinks deep.

Oh pfassk -

The calloused fingertip slowly drags along your inner walls and pleasure surges as he grazes over that spot, the one that he seems to find every time he buries his fingers inside you and your hands clutch at the blankets, your hips arching sharply into his touch.

Another thick finger slips in alongside the first and you keen into the blankets. Your voice cracks as you rock back into him. “More, please, need more -“

He smoothes his free hand over the curve of your ass. “Mmm, you know I love to hear you beg, mesh’la.”

Pleasure sparks as his thumb swipes over your clit with each thrust, steadily pushing you closer to the edge. “Yes, like that, please, pfassk so good -“

Over and over his fingers drag along your inner walls, his thumb circles your clit so perfectly and you can feel it, tightening your core.

He shifts but doesn’t let up his rhythm, the hard length of his cloth-covered cock pressing into the sensitive skin of your thighs. “Fuck, you’re going to come for me already, aren’t you?”

The feeling of his hard cock grinding over your thigh, evidence of his pleasure simply from watching you take your own shoves you right to the brink. “Yes please don’t stop gedet’ye - “

His fingers twist and push and your entire body shudders as they hook right over that spot and pulse in time with your racing heartbeat, shoving waves of heat through your core -

The intensity tears a cry from your throat and it’s so much a hot blinding wall of pleasure that’s pushing you further and further -

Your hands scrabble at the blankets as the pressure builds. “Din -“

“Let go, cyar’ika, come for me.”

The squelch around his fingers grows louder, filling your ears, layering into the steady stream of nonsensical sounds that’s falling from your lips and wet heat floods your core -

Crikking hells -

A burst of pleasure so bright it whites out your vision -

It screams through your body and you fall.

Bright hot wet -

Lungs gasp for air, aching, the release shuddering every muscle.

His fingers pull out in a rush of slick and your pussy clenches at the loss, clit throbbing as the wet heat engulfs it.

The hand on your ass squeezes, fingertips digging. “Fuck, kar’ta, I need to be inside you -“

Your head turns instinctively, mouth pulling free of the blankets. “Yes fill me up, gedet’ye, Din.”

He groans at your words, hands leaving you, the rustle of fabric reaching through your pleasure-soaked awareness and want instantly starts building again, rippling through your core.

A shift and his weight is moving up the backs of your thighs, a thumb pulling apart your slick folds and -

The smooth head of his cock presses to your fluttering entrance -

A push -

Oh pfassk -

His hands grasp desperately at your waist. “So tight, I -“

He cuts off as his cock sinks another inch into your slick heat, and your eyes roll back with the slow thrust, the stretch is incredible with your legs pressed together like this and you can’t breathe it’s so good.

A roll of his hips shoves him deeper and every muscle in your body goes slack, all focus directed to the thick of his cock shoving your tight cunt open for him.

Pleasure burns in your core with the throb of an ache and air finally rushes into your lungs as his hips press against your ass.

Your cunt instinctively squeezes, body pleading for more and he rocks into you, his own instincts obviously driving him to move and yes you want that -

His weight presses you down into the mattress and you can’t move but a tilt of your hips shifts him inside you and the growl that cracks through the modulator makes you whimper with need.

The hands on your waist smooth down your back, catching on the fabric of your shirt. “Easy, cyar’ika, you’re so tight like this, need to let you adjust -“

Your inner walls suddenly clench, so tight it almost hurts but feels so good and you keen into the blankets, rocking back into him.

Words spill from your lips, muffled and rough with pleasure. “It’s ok move please need you to move -“

He thrusts deep, a sharp snap of his hips that almost feels involuntary and your pussy clenches around his cock and the tension breaks -

His hands leave your back and he plants them on either side of your head, steadying as he pulls back and shoves deep again -

Yes yes yes -

Again and again -

The cowl shifts slightly underneath your hips and a fold of cloth grazes your clit and your voice wavers with cry of pleasure. “Right there yes right there -“

His grunt cracks through the modulator as your orgasm looms, cunt pulses around his cock. “Fuck -“

The bed creaks as he steadies his pace to deep, driving thrusts that slam against that spot every time and grind the cowl against your clit and crikking hells -

Pleasure so big and heavy it’s intimidating builds in your core and you’re swept away in it. Your hands grab at his, grip his wrists, hold on tight.

Din -

His voice rasps in your ear, cool steel of his helmet brushing your cheek. “Come for me, soak my cock, please -“

Pleasure cracks and spills and -

Wet hot heat erupts down your spine and trembles through your thighs and tightens your core and gushes from your spasming pussy.

He growls, the sound stuttering as he picks up his pace. “So good, does it feel good, love?”

You murmur something in response but the words aren’t clear to your own ears, static noise of overwhelming pleasure drowning out everything except the sharp grunts punching through the modulator with every snap of his hips, the squelch of his cock pulling more and more slick from your pulsing cunt, the wet slap of his soaked flightsuit smacking against the bare skin of your ass.

Waves of pleasure crash over your body again and again, it won’t stop, relentless, and it’s so good tears squeeze from the corner of your eyes and a sob catches in your throat and he thrusts again once twice more -

Then he’s slowing, cock pulsing against your still-fluttering walls, warmth of his spend flooding your hot core and finally it breaks -

You gasp as your body wrings a last wave from your orgasm, squeezing around his cock once more before releasing you from the grip of pleasure.

He pants for breath above you, arms trembling, helmet dipping to rest on your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling away.

Hands smooth down your back in a silent apology - he knows how much you love keeping him inside you after, he loves it just as much - and you know you’d normally whine in protest but you can’t find the focus to do that right now, too blissed out to do anything but lie there.

He moves behind you, a different kind of groan vibrating deep in his chest as he falls onto his side next to you, bouncing lightly on the mattress.

Your smile is immediate, seeing that familiar black visor come into view, and you work up the energy to wriggle closer to rest your forehead against his, sighing in contentment when he slides a hand down your back to soothe already pleasantly sore muscles.

A long moment passes, just you and him, breaths steadying and heartbeats falling into sync. Your fingers inch toward him to bump against the helmet, fingertips tracing the beskar over where his mouth is.

The urge to kiss him, taste him, feel his lips on yours is a deep ache in your bones, but you don’t want to ask him to take off the helmet, never want to push him to do something that holds so much meaning for him.

Instead, you let yourself bask in the quiet, the softness of the bed and how it molds to your body, the scent of the two of you filling your lungs, and the solid nearness of Din. Let this moment soothe the rawness that emotion had left behind, fill those cracks and gaps until there was something solid to lean on.

Cool air swirls against your bare skin and you can’t stop the shiver that runs through your body.

He follows the movement, dipping between your thighs to glide his fingertips through the mess there. “Should get cleaned up.”

A soft snort of laughter slips out, words finally coming back into focus. “That’s a project I’m not feeling up to at the moment.”

His fingers drag over the plush flesh of your ass, leaving a trail of wet slick and come as he hums in agreement. “Think my cowl caught most of it anyway.”

“Worth it?” The twinge of embarrassment and guilt that twists in your stomach fades almost immediately, his huff of laughter brushing it away.

“Yes, tionas. Definitely worth it.”

*****

He wishes there were words for it.

For how he feels about you.

‘Love’ just isn’t quite… enough. It’s too light, too small of a word for the depth of this ache in his chest.

Though it does sound much bigger when you say it.

I love you, Din.

You’d murmured the words as sleep took you, soft lips brushing his hand that you’d tucked under your cheek.

Those words had tripped his heartbeat, guided him to pull you closer into the curve of his body. The way your ribs had expanded in a contented sigh under his arm as you’d settle back against him had sent a tremor of emotion through his chest.

He had pressed a kiss to your neck, letting you feel the words as he repeated them back to you.

I love you, too.

No, those words are not enough.

He’s given you so much already - his secrets, his trust. The privacy that he’d held so close for all of his adult life.

And yes, his heart.

Still, not enough.

He would give you everything.

His eyelids flutter open, staring unseeing into the darkness of the hold.

Everything.

There’s that word again.

Everything is different with you.

And it has been, since the day he first saw you.

The world had been dark and dull, endless days of struggle and pain and guilt.

And then it wasn’t. Because you were in it.

As if a light had suddenly shone directly on him, warm and bright.

That light gleams in your gaze when you look at him.

Everything is different with you.

No.

Some things are the same.

He’s still Mandalorian. He still follows The Way of the Mandalore.

A thought catches on the outskirts of his mind, itching, worming deeper.

The Way has always been his fate, the path he must walk.

It would have him dedicating his life to his people, foregoing all else in service to the true Mandalorians.

It would have him walk his path alone.

Because he knows - he knows, with absolute certainty, he will never find another like you, let alone one who follows The Way.

Someone who sees him, his guilt and his shame and his inner torment, torn between the ideals that had saved his life and the love that had shown him how to live.

Someone who loves all of him.

There’s only you.

And if given the choice between that which would resign him to a path of solitude and darkness simply because of a few words spoken when he was too young to know what he was giving up or the one who would sacrifice her own happiness before forcing that choice on him…

Well.

His path is now brightly lit and clear before him.

Nothing will pull him from it. No one will.

His thoughts shift, some part of him seemingly satisfied with that conclusion.

The memory of your eyes, wide with fear, tears blurring that gleaming light.

He sighs, catching the movement at the last minute so as not to wake you.

He’s tired of seeing fear and doubt in your eyes.

It makes sense, he knows why it’s so often there.

You’ve lost everything you’ve ever had, whether directly by someone else’s hand or by your own, twisted into action by thoughts planted in your mind by the hatred of others.

He understands why you doubt. Question.

Expect loss even when it doesn’t come.

He knows you need reassurance.

More than just his simple, too-small words.

Realization washes over him, chilled and warm at the same time.

He stops breathing.

There are words for it. To describe how he feels about you.

To show you, and his people, and the entire galaxy what you mean to him. To each other.

To protect the two of you from anyone who would try to come between you.

Yes, there are words for exactly that purpose.

The memory of your lips forming the first part of those words pins the thought to the forefront of his mind.

You don’t know their context.

But he’ll give it to you.

He would give you everything.

***** Mando’a translations:

Tionas - question

Mesh’la - beautiful

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

Kar’ta - heart

***** Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #mando x you #the world is light embodied #TWILE

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rogue-durin-16 · 2 years

Note

Okay, but consider? Eddie getting his shit rocked, but "King Steve" running in with a bat full of nails to get the basketball players to back off.

I can't help it, Eddie is too pretty when he's hurt and bleeding....

May I serve you a little long drabble about this?

Pairing: none intended (steddie if you wanna read it like that)

Warnings: violence, guns, language, blood if you squint

A/N: Takes place after Eddie survives the bats and is cleared of all charges bc Hawkins is a small town full of hicks that agreed to go on a fucking manhunt, you cannot tell me Eddie would have been safe. I feel like I only put Eddie through pain and punches in this account 💀 Eddie, my love, I'm sorry <3

It's friday night, 9:00 pm, which means yet another Hellfire club D&D session has just ended.

First weeks of May; the nights grow shorter and the days elongate, the Sun deciding it's time to grace the not so regular town of Hawkins with its warmth and light.

Despite this, 9:00 pm is still 9:00 pm, so when the boys of Hellfire leave Hawkins High, the only light in the parking lot is the one coming from the flickering street lamps, which cast menacing shadows on the D&D party's way to their homes.

In Hawkins, no one is ever truly safe, but these kids really got the short end of the stick this time; it's not interdimensional monsters the ones they fear— it's their own neighbors.

The law had forgiven Eddie back in the middle of April for those crimes he never committed, but the people... The people weren't as easy to convince.

They needed a Devil to blame just as much as they needed a God to pray, and Eddie just happened to be the loud, rebellious outcast.

To Hawkins' pearl-clutchers, Eddie Munson looked like he belonged to Satan. And those kids, those teens who wore the same shirt as him, those were... His acolytes.

Only ignorant people believe this, of course, but ignorant people tend to get violent really fast.

So that's why Nancy Wheeler is waiting for Mike at the parking lot, tapping her heel on the concrete with folded arms.

That's why Jonathan Byers awaits for the newest member of the Hellfire club right at the entrance of the building.

That's why Erica Sinclair, who has ordered her dad to drive her to Hawkins High School, clutches the passenger seat's door with the window down, eyes sharp, scanning the dark surroundings.

And that's why Robin Buckley bites her nails in Steve Harrington's car, her piercing blue eyes wide open. She wants to vomit words, but if she does that one more time, Steve will punch her straight in the face.

Gareth's mother is there too. He didn't talk much to her before the whole manhunt happened, but now she rarely lets him out without knowing where he's going and when he's supposed to come back.

Jeff doesn't have anyone, but it's alright because Eddie walks him to his shitty car every time.

Eddie makes sure everyone gets to walk to their cars without a problem every. Fucking. Time. Which is ironic, considering he's the one in constant danger of being lynched, or beaten up, or threatened, or worse.

Worse had happened. Yes, that one time he was walking Robin Buckley home from Family Video, because the least he could do after her and Steve managed to get him a job there, was to make sure she got home safe after a night shift, and since she didn't like Eddie's driving skills, they walked.

Someone had shot at him. Presumably. Robin had assured him it was just another drunk jackass playing with his gun because "Eddie, this is America.", but the bullet was accompanied by a loud 'FREAK', so it didn't take a lot of effort to put two and two together.

The point is, Eddie being the one to make sure everyone was safe before heading out wasn't the smartest decision, but it was what Eddie did.

9:10 pm, the kids were running out as carefree and excited as always. Another victory for them.

First one to leave was always Will, switching from Eddie's protective hand on his shoulder to Jonathan's in a matter of seconds.

Then it's Lucas, because he actually runs to his car. No one blames him— after beating up Jason, he's public enemy number 2.

Mike goes closely after, diving into his protective big sister's car to save her from frowning any longer.

Then goes Gareth. He wants to leave sooner, but pride overcomes him at the thought of sprinting to his mother's car before any of the freshmen, so he waits.

It always takes Dustin a bit of convincing and a couple of annoyed and quite worried shouts from Steve to walk to the car. In fact, most times it takes Eddie himself walking him all the way to Harrington's backseat for Dustin to leave.

He just doesn't want to leave Eddie alone.

Then Eddie says his goodbyes and he's off to walk Jeff, who, funnily enough, always leaves his vehicle at worst lit corner of the parking lot. It's because he's late to class and it's the only spot left, but it looks straight out of a horror movie.

Eddie is actually scared of walking back to his van, because by the time he gets there, none of the cars that came to escort the Hellfire members remain there.

He tries to zone out in order to calm his nerves, toying with his car key chain, or his rings, or his pick necklace while he hums a song. He tries not to be terrified while he walks alone in the night.

There's no cars left, as he suspected, and he thinks 'wow, isn't this like, the perfect set-up for someone to come after me?'

It's a joke. He's joking. He's just trying to get a kick out of it because laughing always helps, but he regrets the thought the moment he sees a jeep at the far end of the parking lot. Andy's jeep.

He really doesn't want to run to his van, he really doesn't. He knows those jocks are looking and he's supposed to be the scary one, not the other way around. It had been the other way around throughout his preteen years, he was not coming back to that.

"Hey, freak!"

Oh, but he really wants to run when he hears Jason's voice coming from behind him.

They're not even in the jeep. They're out, near the building, under one of those goddamn street lamps, and they look like an actual cult with those stupid jackets on.

"Where'd you think you're going?"

"Home." Eddie deadpans, as if he's not about to shit himself. "Why, you wanna come with me, Carver?"

The basketball team captain pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against with a scornful laugh, and Eddie wants to cry.

"See, I don't think you're going anywhere, Munson." Andy chimes, cracking his knuckles. "Not until we talk."

"I think I'll pass." Eddie gulps, deciding to slowly walk backwards to his mean of transport.

Oh, but two of the basketball boys are quite eager to throw hands; they're not about Jason's slow pace, so they just stalk to Eddie and shove them to the asphalt, and he curses them under his breath when he scratches his palms when they land behind him to cushion the fall.

He's so fucked. At least if he stands upright, he's a good couple of inches taller than all of them. Now, he doesn't even have that.

"Hey, Munson, you play guitar right?" Well, he doesn't even know that one boy. He's probably a junior, but he looks as scary as the 18 year olds when he circles him.

"Yeah, in that shitty band."

"Are you left handed Munson?" The supposed junior taunts him, and Eddie is pretty sure about what he's going to do, so he swiftly moves his hands off the pavement.

"Are you deaf, freak?" Jason's shoe knocks the air out of his lungs when he kicks his chest, making him tumble back aaaand his hands are back on the road. "Rob here," Jason crouches down to take a firm hold of Eddie's Hellfire shirt, "asked if you're a lefty." and Eddie tries to shake him away but Jason just... Toses him back to the ground like a rag doll.

Eddie screams when a heavy boot crushes his left fingers into the jagged ground, sending a sharp pain all the way up his arm that makes his eyes screw shut.

"I think he's right handed." Another one says, but they have no chance to step on his right hand too, because he's using it to pull his left one away from the basketball player's foot.

"Get off me!" The boy yells when Eddie opts to push his leg. A kick on the ribs makes him stop.

"Don't fucking touch him!" Then another boot lands on his stomach, and Eddie thinks that the best outcome of this is him in a hospital bed, because in the blink of an eye, the whole basketball team is kicking him.

It lasts approximately five seconds that feels like ages to Eddie, but they all seem to halt his assault once a car skids back into the parking lot.

"HEY, ASSHOLES!"

Eddie doesn't see this, but Robin pretty much threw herself out of the car while Steve pumped the breaks so she could open the trunk.

"WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Steve shouts loud enough for everyone to hear.

The younger members of the basketball team back away at Steve's confident strut, but the seniors stay in place, because they know King Steve hasn't won a single fight in his entire life.

Now, Steve Harrington isn't confident in his fighting odds, no; he's confident in the nailed bat Robin Buckley is pulling out of the trunk.

"Henderson, go to the payphone and call the cops!" Steve orders, not averting his determined eyes from Jason and his goons while he catches his reliable weapon when Robin throws it. "CARVER! ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF?!" He questions, lazily swinging his bat with a tired, pissed off visage. "I ASKED WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" He's not planning on using it on anyone, but if he has to, he will.

Jason seems to catch that, and he slowly walks back, putting distance between him and Eddie, only because he needs to put distance between him and Steve.

"STEVE! THEY'RE ON THEIR WAY!" Dustin yells from the payphone. He wants to run to Eddie desperately, but while Steve drove them back like a madman, he had told Dustin to stay put no matter what.

At the freshman's words, panic spreads amongst the basketball players, who run back to the jeep and yell for Andy to follow them, but Andy is stupid, so he sticks with Jason.

"You gonna answer me or not?" Steve has walked past Eddie and is way too close for the blond's liking, and he just keeps getting closer.

"Stay out of this, Harrington." Andy says.

And Andy's ass hits the ground, because Steve may not know how to win fights, but he does knows how to pack a punch, and in all honesty, he's having none of this.

He's tired of people running around with torches and pitchforks chasing literal highschoolers. Highschoolers who, mind you, saved their miserable lives more than once.

And this is a constant thing now —sometimes happens at work, sometimes at Dustin's doorstep, sometimes at the trailer park—, and he's tired of yelling at people like Jason, so it takes little to tick Steve off.

"Listen up, you disgusting piece of shit." He hisses, taking a fistful of Jason's jacket before harshly shoving him against the wall. "I'm gonna be as clear as possible." Steve begins, making sure Jason can't get away from his grip. "I don't care about whatever the hell you think Eddie did to Chrissy, and I don't care about your fucking religious agenda."

Jason is scared. He's genuinely scared because Steve is taller and angrier and has a fucking bat with nails near his face.

"If I ever see you near Eddie —near anyone from Hellfire—, not even your stupid mother will recognize you, alright, dipshit? 'Cause I'll ruin that squared, dumb face of yours with this." He pokes Jason's cheek with one if the nails at the front of his bat and oh my god is that blood? Did he actually attack someone with this?

The police car arrives soon enough. By then, Robin has pulled Eddie up and is checking his hand carefully. Yeah, it's definitely broken. Eddie's guess is that a rib or two have been fractured, too, but nothing too bad; at least he can breathe.

Well, not right now, but that's because Robin shoved a napkin up his nose to stop the blood from flowing out of it.

Steve doesn't let go of Jason until Hopper is by his side and tells him to head out, which he gladly does, calling for Dustin on his way to Eddie and Robin.

"Thanks, man."

"How many times do we have to tell you?" Steve response to Eddie's gratitude is a dose of his motherly instincts, hands on his hips while he scolds the metalhead. "You can't be waltzing around on your own, dude. You're lucky Erica spotted the damn jeep."

"I'm sorr—"

"Christ, shut up. C'mon," Steve motions the three people around him and walks to the car, pulling his keys from his back pocket. "we're taking you to the hospital."

"I don't—"

"No." Steve raised a warning index finger, peeking over his shoulder. "I don't wanna hear it. Get in." He commands, opening the backseat's right door for Robin to help Eddie in.

Steve awaits until the girl is in the passenger seat to bend over, forearms resting on both the edge of the door and the roof of the car.

"People here really fucking suck, man." he mumbles, loud enough for the young adults in the car to hear him. "How bad is it?"

"On a scale of one to ten?" Eddie asks in a quiet voice. Dustin is pacing outside the car until Steve tells him to get in. No one wants Dustin to see Eddie like this. Not even Dustin himself. "Maybe a six?"

"Head's okay?"

"Haven't had any complaints yet." Eddie wiggles his brows at Steve, whose frown eases at the comment. Yeah, Eddie's head is okay. "Head's fine."

Steve nods, giving a sympathetic look at the senior. "From now on, we're driving you home." He states, giving Eddie's shoulder a careful squeeze. "It'll get better."

"I know."

"Just... not yet."

"I know."

After a silent second, Steve retreats to his upright position. "Alright, Henderson, get in, we gotta get moving. I don't want your mother to kick my ass."

Dustin leaps inside at Steve's signal and automatically starts checking on Eddie while Steve circles the vehicle, throwing the bat back into the trunk before hopping in and driving straight to the hospital.

He's right, it will get better, just not now.

And with people like Steve, Robin and Dustin in his life, Eddie feels safe enough to wait for things to get better.

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

#eddie munson request #eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #steddie #eddie munson fic #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things vol 2 spoilers #stranger things volume 2

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littleguyconnor · 4 months

Text

Another addition to childhood au heehee. Cw for violence and murder, Simon kills someone.

“Hah. Go fish.”

Felix rolled his eyes, drawing another card from the pool.

“Ugh. You are such a cheater. I know you have my cards, you’re just hiding them.”

“Non! I’m insulted you’d even accuse me of cheating!”

“Liar! You cheat at every game we play, this one’s no different.”

Simon smiled slyly to himself, observing his hand of cards.

“Do you have a 5?”

Felix glanced down, brow furrowed in frustration.

“Nein. Go fish.”

Simon drew from the pool fairly, shifting his cards to one hand as he crunched the last part of the lollipop he’d been holding in his mouth. The stick was discarded, and he took out another one from inside his blazer.

“Those were different. We made bets on them, this is just a simple card game.”

“If it’s so simple then get those stupid cards out of your stupid sleeves!” Felix snapped, and then apologized almost immediately after. Simon thought it was more funny than anything and snorted in response.

“Perhaps we should stop playing before you try to attack me.” He said, and Felix shook his head with a huff.

“No, you’re my friend. …But yes, we should. The bells going to ring soon anyway.”

Simon nodded, and the two boys set to piling the cards together in a stack to make putting them back in the box easier. The other boy didn’t help as much, more focused on watching his friend count each card in the deck before snickering when he suddenly stopped.

“We’re missing five.”

“Really?”

“SIMON!

Simon didn’t hear, too caught up in his fit of laughter.

“Dein Mutter ist HÄSSLICH! I am leaving immediately! You know where to go if you manage to stop LAUGHING at your ABUSE!!”

Felix was a little miffed, sure, but not nearly as angry as he was making himself out to be. He made a big show of packing his things and stomped out of the classroom among the crowd of children who also had leaving on their minds. Simon cleared his throat, having almost choked on his candy, and finally started to gather his things. He shook out the cards in his sleeves and tucked those into his blazer as a trophy, shoulders shaking with laughter again.

It had started to drizzle a little by the time he finally got out, and it had to of course be the one time Felix neglected his mother’s advice on bringing an umbrella. She’d get him for that, no doubt about it. It wasn’t too much of a concern, though. It didn’t seem like it was going to start pouring anytime soon.

Felix followed his normal route carefully, a trail of pre-established back alleys and shortcuts that he made absolutely sure no one would find him through. There’d been too many instances of people following him home, so the route was made early on in the year. And so far, it’d worked. Simon and Misha were the only other two who knew about it, and they made sure to follow him as discreetly as possible when they were meeting up. Felix wasn’t the only one who had problems with bullying; they all did.

Misha was too intimidating for anyone to start physical fights with or to say anything to his face. It was an emotional kind of bullying. Talk amongst crowds behind his back, excluding him, avoiding him, making it seem as if he wasn’t even there. For Simon, it was a lot more physical. He was smaller in frame than the other boys, so they’d rip him away from the protection of his friends to get him alone. Sometimes it’d get so bad it was like they were playing with a rag-doll.

But, that was why they stuck together. They had to put some distance between them on the route home to avoid detection, but they always were following each other. No one was ever truly by themselves, and this was a method that wor-

“AAHG!”

“Found you, freak.”

Felix scrambled to get up and clutched his bleeding hands, crimson skid marks on the ground underneath him. A layer of skin had been scraped from being shoved into concrete.

“How?! HOW?! I did everything I was supposed to! Why are you still HERE?”

“Aw, poor baby. Are you gonna start crying? Gonna tell all your communist friends about it?”

Glass crunched under the other student's foot. Felix’s glasses.

“Leave us alone.”

“You did this yourself. You dragged them into your stupid, pathetic life, and now they have to suffer just along with you. Don’t you get it? You ruin everything you touch,” they spat, shoving Felix back into the ground with the heels of their hands.

This time papers and glass bottles clattered and spilled out of his bag, and when he shot his hand to grab them the strap fell from his shoulder. The other boy ripped it from him, dumping the contents out. More glass shattered upon impact, all the chemicals and ingredients he’d spent months collecting sinking into the ground.

“No!! NO! STOP IT!!”

He couldn’t see. Everything was so blurry.

“What the hell is all of this? You’re.. everyone was right, you’re a nazi!”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

He still had the same syringe in his pocket and with it he made a wild swing the boy, digging it straight into their calf. They screamed, and Felix dragged the needle down his leg until it snapped off the inside of his muscle. They grabbed his neck with both hands and crushed it, smashing him down onto the pavement. Felix clawed at their hands, ripping at the skin until blood piled underneath his nails.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe.

And he was alone here.

“-OFF! GET OFF OF HIM! GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF!!”

Simon drew his butterfly knife from his side, flipped it in his hand, and plunged it into the back of Felix’s attacker.

And then again.

Again, again, again, until a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Simon! Stop it, that’s enough, please!”

He blinked, only just registering his friend’s voice. He was gripping the knife so tightly it left dents, like he couldn’t physically drop it. Felix tapped his shoulder, and then shook him when he didn’t respond.

“Hey-Hey, can you hear me? Simon. Look at me.”

He did, although he couldn’t focus.

“Can you understand me?”

He nodded, made some kind of noise in the back of his throat.

“Okay. Calm down for a second. Alright? Calm down. It’s.. okay. Things will be. Fine.”

“Felix.”

The rest of what he said was inaudible.

“What?”

“I think I killed someone.”

“Let’s go. We have to go.”

Felix picked up the remainder of his belongings and grabbed his friend's hands, pulling him out of the alleyway. Both of them were covered in blood, and the walk home was completely silent. The sun had sunk low into the sky by now, the streetlights along the road acting as lighthouses. They were about 2 blocks away from home when Simon suddenly stopped walking and collapsed onto the curbside. Felix stopped and sat next to him under the light, everything quiet and slow except for the sounds of crickets chirping.

Simon was shaking uncontrollably. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, clutching at his blazer to stop the tremors in his hands. He hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t done anything, he never cried. There was just this glazed, shocked expression on his face. Felix hadn’t ever seen anything like that before. He didn’t feel curious about it this time.

“Draw something.” He said, cutting through the heavy, sick feeling silence. From his bag he pulled out a sketchbook and a pen, offering it to Simon.

“…What?”

“Make something, anything. You know, take your mind off things.”

Simon took the sketchbook stiffly, staring at the blank page it was flipped to. He couldn’t get his fingers to hold the pen properly.

“I don’t know what to draw,”

“What’s your favorite animal? Do that.”

And so he did, making clumsy, shaky, marks along the page that hardly looked like anything at first. He kept trying, and eventually, he managed to make the icon of a cat. Circle for the head, triangles for the ears. Simple features. The more he repeated these shapes the more confident his lines became, and he started to draw more realistic cats further down the page.

“Katze? Fitting.”

“I used to have one, in France. We had to give her away before we moved, though.”

“I’m sure she understood! Cats are very interesting creatures, intelligent too, but personally I like birds. Did you know pigeons were used as messengers? They would always find their way back home, even if they traveled to entirely different states.”

His interest in birds led him to ramble a little more than he intended until he noticed his friend had gone very quiet next to him.

“…Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I-… I killed someone today and I’m drawing cats. And you’re talking about birds.”

He thought about what to say for a few minutes. Nothing he came up with sounded good at all.

“That’s true.”

Another bout of silence.

“What even started it?”

“They- Called me something. I don’t want to say it.”

Simon nodded. He didn’t have to for him to understand exactly what he meant. He’d heard all kinds of variations of that word, for different groups of people. Slurs, he remembered. Derogatory insults he’d only ever dealt with upon moving. It didn’t matter who the person was; if they weren’t originally from America, you were a target.

And, in a way, the butterfly knife still in his pocket coated with the blood of someone he didn’t know, was justified.

#tf2 #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #childhood au #my writing

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facewithoutheart · 2 years

Text

A short drabble about this description of Ms Possibelf that @you-remind-me-of-the-babe shared in the discord awhile back…

Which made me want a hurt/comfort of Baz healing Simon after a Mage battle, which turned into this depressing imagination of the moment Baz realized he loves Simon back in fourth year.

Dedicated to @martsonmars for making me write the second bit so this piece would have a happy ending.

Hurt/Comfort, T, 1.5k

Hurt

I smell the blood before I hear the sniffing.

“Good as new,” Simon whispers from his side of the room. Sniff. “Good as new.”

But the smell of smoke never comes; his spell’s not working.

I look over. Despite the darkness, I can see the scene clearly: Simon Snow, covered in blood hunched over his hand and crying.

“Good as new,” he repeats and his hand trembles.

“Keep it down,” I growl, “some of us are trying to sleep.”

“I’m trying,” he sobs, somewhat hysterically. “If I could just get this spell—”

I throw down the sheets. Merlin. As if being roomed with my family’s enemy isn’t enough torture, the Mage has Simon out on ‘missions’ every other night. Disrupting my sleep, and, more worryingly, tempting my newfound senses.

“Let me cast it, you inept monster.” I stomp to his side of the room. “If I let you keep trying I’ll never sleep.”

“Don’t!” Simon shouts when I raise my wand. “You’ll just make it worse.”

I roll my eyes. “Unlike you I don’t exacerbate problems simply by attempting to exist. Now show me what’s been injured so I can—” My voice cuts out when Simon holds out his hand. “Fucking Crowley,” I mutter. His thumb’s nearly hanging clear off. “What did this to you?” I slump down on the bed next to him, horrified.

Simon shrugs, shifting to face me more fully. (I bite back my well-honed impulse to insult his inability to use his words. I can barely blame him for not wanting to talk right now; how he’s even conscious is a wonder.) “Goblin.” His lower lip wobbles before he sticks it out in a confrontational gesture I recognise all too well. “I gave as good as I got.”

“I should hope so.” I take his wrist gently in my hand, turning it from a few different angles to get a scope of the damage. Extensive, I shudder.

When I look up, Simon’s got a small smile on his face.

I scoff, “What in Magic’s name could you possibly be pleased about? One small shake and I expect your thumb would fall clear off.”

“You’re being nice to me,” he says in a quiet voice. “You’re never nice to me.”

My heart clenches in my chest. No; I bite back the feeling. Not here, not now.

Not him.

“Do you think you can fix it?” He bites his lip. Outside, clouds covering the full moon shift and cast a beam of light across Simon’s blue eyes, bright and fixed on mine with hope.

He’s just a boy, fighting a grown man’s battle, and he hasn’t asked for any of it at all.

Merlin, no.

(Neither have I…)

I straighten up, hoping Pitch posture will remind me of who I am, who he is.

Who we are to each other.

“Of course I can fix it,” I scoff. “As I said, unlike you, I’m an expert magician.”

I wait for his scowl, his fumbled anger.

Instead, he smiles at me, big and broad and there’s no need for the full moon to illuminate our tower.

Not when Simon Snow is the sun.

“Please?” He bites those chapped lips of his, and it’s hopeless. I’m hopeless.

In an instant, I fall.

With a flick of my wand, I cast, “Kiss it better,” then place a gentle kiss on the palm of his hand, pulling back immediately to wipe away whatever blood might have found its way to my lips.

Simon’s already in my heart; if his blood’s in my veins, I’ll never be rid of him.

“There.” I shove his arm back at him; he clutches it to his chest, like somehow my action’s hurt him worse than the nearly severed appendage. “Let us never speak of this again.”

“Baz…”

I stand up. “If you’re planning to thank me, don’t bother. The only thanks I need is for you to never trouble me with an injury again. Go see the nurse, for Merlin’s sake. I’m not your personal healer.”

With that, I turn on my heel and stomp toward the bathroom. I cast a quick, “Silence is golden,” then turn on the faucet and grab a toothbrush, trying to scrub the taste of Simon’s skin from my lips, my mouth.

My soul.

It doesn’t work; I don’t know why I thought I’d ever be that lucky.

I fall against the bathroom door and slowly slump to the floor, burying my head in my hands as the truth slowly sinks in.

I’ve betrayed my family, my father, my mother, in the worst way. I’ve not only healed my enemy, I’ve fallen in love with him, fallen for his blue eyes, bronze curls, bright smile and certain tragedy.

Because Simon Snow and I will one day fight to the death; I know this much is true, just as I now know that I’ll never be able to stop him.

The sobs choke their way up my throat until I let them out, trembling against the door while the boy I was never meant to love sleeps away injuries he was never meant to have.

“He’s just a boy,” I whisper, clutching my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. “He’s just a boy.”

And I love him hopelessly.

Comfort

I smell the blood before I hear him calling from the other end of our flat, “Baz!”

In a flash, I’m by his side. “Simon, what’s wrong?”

He blinks at my sudden appearance, still seated at his desk in our bedroom and looking very much unwounded. “Oh! You didn’t have to use vamp-speed.” He shoves out his hand. “I just got a paper cut.”

Part of me wants to be annoyed at him using his I’m-injured voice for such a minor ailment, but most of me loves that I can take care of him like this, that I can bring comfort to his life, even in such a small way.

I tut, “Poor baby,” then bring his slightly bleeding thumb to my lips, licking at the wound before sucking it into my mouth.

“Baz,” he whines, “I still have fifty more invites to mail.”

“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “But maybe you should take a break.” I swoop down and pull him, bridal-style, into my arms. (It seems fitting.)

He beats at my chest with all the fervour of a limp noodle. “Put me down, you brute.”

“As you wish,” I smirk before tossing him onto the bed.

“Baz!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” I tease, then hop onto the mattress, straddling him. “Give me your hand.”

With a huff, he holds out the still-injured hand. I grasp it by the wrist and twist to see it from more angles.

“Why do I have deja vu?” Simon frowns.

“Because I’ve done this for you before.”

Realisation dawns. “That night with the goblins. My thumb nearly came clear off.”

“Until I saved it.” I press two kisses to his thumb in quick succession, one to the newest injury and one to the scar of his older one.

“Until you saved it,” Simon smiles, “with a kiss.”

I hum, bringing Simon’s thumb back to my lips for another peck. Just in case. “That was the night I knew I loved you,” I whisper against the split skin.

“Baz, that was fourth year.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Come here.” He opens his arms wide for me.

In an instant, I fall.

Our limbs wrap around one another, and I sigh into Simon’s chest. “I wanted to leave that night and suck every goblin dry. I wanted to storm into the Mage’s office and cut him down for sending a child out to fight a man’s battle.” I press my lips against the fabric of his plain white T-shirt. “Instead I cried because I loved you hopelessly and some part of me thought I always would.”

“Not hopeless.” Simon’s arms tighten around me.

“No,” I smile, “though I do know I’ll always love you.”

“Forever,” Simon agrees, “we’ll love each other forever.” Then, his fingers move to my waist.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I dare,” he says, then digs them into my sensitive sides.

“Simon!” I gasp between giggles. “Simon, stop.”

He tickles me relentlessly. “No rest for the wicked, Baz. The wedding invites won’t mail themselves.”

“Staaahp,” I laugh. “Mercy. Mercy!”

“No mercy,” he growls, then flips us so he straddles me.

“I thought you were injured,” I blink up at him.

He waggles his eyebrows. “A clever rouse.”

I gasp, as if shocked. “You monster. You’ve plotted this all just to trap me.”

“That’s right, Grimm-Pitch,” he smirks, “I’ve finally got you right when I want you.”

“Well,” I try to smirk back but it comes out soppy and lovesick, “that makes two of us.”

“Baz,” Simon whispers, and then he reaches down to catch my lips with his own.

He’s just a man, I return his affection twofold, and he’s mine.

Nothing feels hopeless about it at all.

#snowbaz #fanfic #Drabble #hurt/comfort

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meanwhileinstasiville · 3 months

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A word for preparing yourself for all situations

"She bought a several thousand dollar mountain bike in Florida" there are no mountains in Florida; my friend's mother in law way back when.

A woman I worked with forever ago, *dumped some Microsoft stock* to climb mountains in Australia. She's an expert; the best example I can come up with.

Extremely technical decisions happen and it's not something for everybody. Training and conditioning, and equipment choices. So that people who can afford it can show up with gear for ten or twenty different climbs and routes because they treat climbing like a monolith. An ice ax on dirt? Crampons on dirt. Body armor (I didn't know bouldering involved that before) where *any fall is expected to be fatal*. Snow is dry and "it's raining all the time where you're going" etc.

And my mom was a master seamstress; there are a *a lot* of different kinds of stitches. Straight stitch goes a long way for sewing in general. So you *pick* zig zag stitch for something at random because you want to? Stretch of fabric, tension on stitches, stitches per square inch, all these things factor in. Cotton or nylon, acrylic like polyester, blended? A person who "gets the thing that does the best or the most of everything" can't see the decisions. Some very expert decisions in there.

What you need vs what you can use in a pinch is lost on it too.

Whatever the word is for that, I think that's where we're going as a society. A utility belt you wear as you climb into your SUV. A bike, roller blades, and a skateboard "in the back" by the spare. You've got wrenches and stands and a jack and sleeping equipment and medical kits piled up to where you can't see.

I had a veteran try to sell me a combat knife at army surplus (where they'd retired to) on the pretense "what if you encounter a bear?!?!!". An army of one. Me, I asked him for iodine tablets for fresh water "or you could do that...". Settled for his advice that modern "straws" as they call them work remarkably well. And I *really tested this* drinking from puddles of pasture runoff during the dead of summer. Stinks. Water with dissolved solids stinks anyway *but I didn't get sick*. A technical decision. A rattlesnake between me and a water source in the mountains? Combat knife doesn't do much.

Social media is what I'm talking about, where it doesn't sleep and has expert solutions to all situations *at the same time*.

Automatic only driving history. So you (born in a world with google) see that stick shifts are beyond millennials (not all of them). And if it has a stick, it should have a "grabby clutch" like a racecar or something. And you're from automatics. So you, who have gotten your first real car, you can't expect more than a burned out clutch or several. A car that you can't drive for several different reasons; something that a "consumer reports" would taut with a near perfect report card. So I'm wondering what it says about us.

A "gadgetmobile" (don't laugh) is the best fit solution that doesn't exist. An SUV that becomes a sports car that has automatic/manual in case you feel like shifting, self driving *unless* you feel like driving it. Becomes the best on corners after becoming the best on straight stretches. A few really clear ways to describe this problem exist and that cartoon is one of them. And it's not all those things, not at once. The best at turning into a boat *unless* it's driving on ice. Gadgetmobile has no tradeoffs.

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jamesbooth2451 · 1 year

Text

Should You Buy a Quality Used Transmission or a Cheap Transmission for Sale?

Should I Consider Buying a Used Transmission?

Your car's transmission is an essential component that is responsible for shifting gears in your vehicle. Your car may have an automatic transmission or a manual transmission, but either way, you need it to keep your vehicle running smoothly. It requires regular maintenance and regular infusion of transmission fluid, but sometimes, you'll just need to replace the part entirely. many drivers wonder whether they need to spend a lot on a new transmission or if they can get by with a Used Transmission. Buying a used transmission is a route many people take, but you should really think about whether it's really ideal for you.

How to Tell If Your Transmission Is on Its Last Legs

Whether you have a new or old transmission in your vehicle, you need to keep an eye out for warning signs that it is about to fail completely. If you notice fluid leaking or a puddle of fluid coming out of your vehicle when you take off to drive, it is probably a leaking transmission. Additionally, you may see delayed connections. You may have trouble shifting your vehicle from "P" to "D". If it does shift, it may feel stiffer than normal.

Reason to Take Action Immediately

You need to replace the transmission with something as soon as you see the warning signs. This is because it is extremely dangerous to drive when the transmission is frequently slipping. While you are driving, the transmission may slip between gears unexpectedly. Not only does this cause further damage to the system, but it also puts you and other drivers at risk. even if you're not sure Regardless of what exactly the problem is, it's a good idea to take your vehicle to a professional to have it inspected.

Reason to Buy New

When it comes to buying a transmission, you need to consider long-term benefits rather than short-term ones. When you buy used transmission, you may save a few hundred dollars upfront, but there is an increased risk that the component will wear out prematurely. For a new transmission, you can usually expect it to last 100,000 miles.

That would be around seven years for most drivers. When you buy used, the transmission may only last 50,000 miles or less. If you only have to buy a second transmission shortly after buying one, you're going to end up spending more money in the long run. Additionally, you should always buy your new transmission from a reputable source. No matter how easy you may think you are to have a car around, you need to allow a professional to install your new transmission to make sure it is in place correctly. Luckily for you, you can turn to the pros at Sun Devil Auto whenever your transmission starts to mess up.

Buying Cheap Used Transmissions Isn’t As Risky As You Think

Most people think that a bad transmission means spending thousands at a repair shop on parts, plus the cost of labor for a mechanic to replace it. New parts are expensive, but buying a cheap used transmission can get your car back to working condition in no time, and it's not as risky as you might think if you shop carefully.

How do transmissions work?

A transmission is made up of gears that rotate inside a gearbox. The gears determine how much power is being applied to the driveshaft, and ultimately the wheels that drive the car. Shifting gears in a car is a similar concept to shifting gears on a bicycle, but with more complex components.

There are two types of transmissions: automatic and manual:

Manual transmissions (known as stick shifts) require the driver to depress the clutch and switch gears with their right hand.

Automatic transmission automatically changes gears as you drive.

Where can I find cheap used transmissions for sale near me?

You can search through the classified ads or try to find an individual seller, but there is no guarantee of part quality or mileage.

The best place to find used transmissions is through a reputable auto parts recycler like Spare Part Zone. Many cars that are no longer able to drive still have fully functioning parts. If you know where to look, you can take advantage of free shipping and our six-month warranty while saving a lot of money.

When it comes to a used part, it's all about reputation. If you're buying a used transmission, make sure that:

Comes from a trusted, reputable used auto parts seller

Includes a warranty of at least 90 days (six months is ideal)

Has the appropriate mileage for your car

#used transmissions with warranty #cheap transmission for sale #quality used transmission

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embossedpaper · 2 years

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That means that the wheel has somekind

Also there is added a warranty, for a one or two years. Fordisassembling it and putting it back in one piece, you only need just a screwdriver,so that process is very simple. Force feedback is pretty good as it gives thedriver a real feel of driving, so all in all this wheel is very good for itsprice.

You cant expect that you will be faster than everybody else like forexample Sebastian Vettel was last year in real Formula 1, but you can be verycompetitive with it.Minuses:I already mentioned the lack of steering degrees, but to be sure there arestill some other issues that driver can have with momo. Its pedals are made byplastic, so racer doesnt have that complete feeling when braking oraccelerating. Some of my buddies had after some time PVC Cold Lamination Film troubles with power in thepedals, they didnt produce a full percent of power especially when theyaccelerate. Just two pedals and not three so you cant use clutch on thepedals.

The next problem can be dead-zone. That means that the wheel has somekind of a lag, not internet lag of course. For example you steer into acorner with 30 degrees and the wheel doesnt turns in game for just 20 degrees.You can solve this problem with adding up the percentages of dead-zone in wheelsettings. Gear stick is attached directly on a wheel. You can shift just up ordown as you dont have so called H shifter.In general, this product will do the trick for any racing game including F1 Game 2012 or F1 2013 Game which follows this year.

#PVC Cold Lamination Film

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4dtk · 3 years

Note

how do you think 127 would react when they're horny as fuck but s/o is on their period?

tried to keep it as gender-neutral as possible! this is for all the horny bitches with coochies

warnings: face-fucking, deep-throating, handjob, blowjob, grinding (clothed), mutual masturbation, somewhat shower sex

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

→ TAEIL would be content with a hand job tbh, i see him really liking your hands. he doesn’t want you doing the work with your body so he just borrows your hand instead and the whole thing is very soft and gentle. occasionally would want a blowjob or two but this man just wills himself to hold it in or get off himself if he gets hand in the period of your cycle.

“mmhm,” taeil sighs into your neck, hiding his face in it while his hot breaths cause goosebumps to appear. he’s immersed in pleasure as your hand travel up and down his length, pumping his cum out of him until he’s whining. the grasp on your thigh hurts, but you don’t get much thought to it when taeil squirms in your embrace.

taeil’s muscles and body freezes as he spurts his load into your hand, providing even more lubrication for your hand to travel along his cock. it creates the squelching noises that it usually does with your cunt, but quicker, and more frequent, teasing taeil through the overstimulation until he’s bucking his hips into your squeezing hand desperately.

→ JOHNNY is def down to stick his dick down your throat, but he doesn’t want to be the only one to cum so he would settle for you on his thigh, or maybe just clit stimulation. apologises for making you cum into your pad/soaking your tampon through like he didn’t prompt you to give you the best orgasm in your life (you roll your eyes at him as you get up to change your pad/tampon but you enjoyed it either way lol).

“that’s it, take it- fuck-!” johnny moans, thighs shaking at how deep his dick goes. seeing him in your throat drives him crazy. his hands are sore from gripping the headboard so tightly, and you gurgle on his cum that’s flowing down your throat that you have to slowly recover from it.

johnny cheekily grins, patting your cheek lightly before removing his cock from your lips and instead shifts you to sit in between his legs. you’re confused, the now cool heat pack laying on your stomach before the man behind you pries your legs open. the questions come quickly, but johnny soothes you softly with pecks onto your neck, stopping your curiosity and replacing it with moans of your own as he touches your neglected clit. “can’t leave my baby hanging, now, can i?”

→ YUTA i feel would lowkey be down for period sex, it’s just a HUNCH but would hate the clean-up. i mean if the blood’s on you or him then he doesn’t mind, but the act of changing the sheets makes him kinda dread it so he would definitely take it to the bathroom. if you aren’t down he’ll probably also be just like johnny and make you cum via rubbing on your clit IN the bathroom as you stroke him tbh. mutual masturbation <3

your hand clutch tightly onto yuta’s shoulders, burying your face into it as he runs his fingers over you sensitive clit. he partially protects you from the incoming shower, long hair sticking to his forehead due to the water. you would probably laugh at if it wasn’t for your boyfriend’s incredibly high libido, with you as the victim.

“mmf- yuta, please, can you please move,” it was said as more of a statement, a breathy laugh leaving his lips that dissolves into a moan when you continue your strokes on his length. the bathroom echoes with the mix of profanities and groans and soon yuta releases onto your thigh with a whine, shivering at the way his breath dances across your ear as you cum as well. “you see those chunks… that’s the shit we’ll have to deal with if we did it on the bed.”

→ TAEYONG would probably take care of the problem himself to be honest. the last thing he wants is to bring discomfort to you if you a.have cramps, b. is cranky from your period or c. just generally not fond of orgasming when you’re on your period. would excuse himself to the bathroom to relief himself or just try not to think about it until it passes.

“t-taeyong? do you need some help?” you’re frowning as you eye the bulge showing in his sweatpants, possibly morning wood or a brush of your hand on his pelvis. even he isn’t sure since he’s woken up groggy and with a mild headache. taeyong only shoots you a sympathetic smile and a kiss to your forehead before he hurries to the bathroom.

pulling down his pants, he groans at the already erect dick that twitches to the sudden exposure. wrapping a hand around it, he tries his best to stifle the soft moans leaving his lips as he pumps his cock up and down with his pre-cum helping him just a bit. maybe next month he’d ask you to give him a blowjob instead, since fucking his fist definitely couldn’t compare to your warm mouth.

→ DOYOUNG reluctantly asks you for the sucky suck lol, but once he’s in your mouth, he regrets holding back at first. would try his best to let you do your thing but his hands tangle themselves up into your hair pretty often and he has to refrain from pushing you down onto his cock LMAO. he’s just one horny lad.

“why’re you always so shy, baby?” you smile onto his tip, swirling your tongue around it that doyoung can only watch with a face that screams pleasure. you stay there for a bit, and you’re confident doyoung can settle with simply his tip in your mouth, but you know that he wants more, and so you give him what he wants.

your relaxed throat takes him in easily, deep-throating him to get his cock right to the back of your mouth that draws a long moan out from your boyfriend. soon, you can feel his hands finding purchase in your hair that pulls at the roots, your own fair share of whines causing vibrations on his dick. doyoung pants, hard, and you focus your best on taking his seed down your throat and ignoring the throbbing in between your legs.

→ JAEHYUN is one to propose that you won’t need to do anything, but secretly wants you to grind on him or sum lol. he’s freaky like that. is super uneasy that you notice and the first few months when you get together jaehyun actually didn’t want to voice it out. it’s only when he brought it up in the first year that now whenever he has that look in your eye, you’re already moving to sit on top of him.

“you’re giving me that look again,” you say with a raised eyebrow, briefly lifting his shirt to reveal his hardening cock. it’s accentuated so well against his sweatpants that you can’t help but give in, letting him guide you across his hips with each thigh on either side. gently you settle down right onto his crotch, the friction already providing a bit of pleasure as he throws his head back.

“c’mon, lovely, that’s right, grind on me- hah…” jaehyun digs his nails into your hips, overwhelmed by how your middle feels on his clothed cock. jaehyun sits up, burying his face into your chest before attempting to push his hips off the bed. the friction is gratifying, and jaehyun chases his high while you grind down harder and harder with soft moans leaving both your lips.

→ JUNGWOO is a sweetheart, doesn’t want you to do anything that would provide you discomfort tbh, but he would still want to get off though lol. also another one that would hold back on face-fucking you at first, but would go mental once your mouth is on his dick. bit more intense than doyoung is.

jungwoo has his hands on your hair, groaning through his words that he can’t get enough of your mouth, of your tongue and you can only choke in response, looking up at him with innocent eyes that makes him increase the pace of his hips. you’re fumbling around for jungwoo’s thighs, clutching tightly onto it as he ruts into you.

“hnn- fuck, (y/n)! it’s coming, sweetheart, ‘m cumming-“ he’s cumming in the next second, with repeated chants of your name while he rides put his high. stilling in your mouth, he shoots his load continuously, leaving a string to stick to your lips when you pull away. with a sly grin, jungwoo pulls you to his chest, hand ghosting over your core with the question of whether you wanted to relief the uneasiness from sucking him off

→ MARK is another dude who would try to excuse himself to go jerk off in the bathroom or something but he caves very easily. with either your offer or a innocent question or just a gesture, mark weighs the outcomes and it seems pretty alright as long as he doesn’t see blood. he’s fine with it, perfectly fine, but when it sees it it automatically makes him think that he’s hurt you or something and even though you reassure him, he panics, HARD. poor guy

“you- are you bleeding more because of this?” the question makes you laugh a little, explaining in between you palming his erection and his moans that sure, it definitely would push out more blood, but it was strictly blood, but also arousal that’s built up. mark is keen to learn, but not right now when your hand is applying pressure to his sensitive parts.

mark groans when you stick your hand into his pants, finally, feeling your thumb brush over his tip that pushes out bead after bead of pre-cum. you stroke him through the fabric, the friction enough to make him buck his hips to meet your hand. it makes you grin, how needy he becomes once your hand makes contact and soon he cums with his hand tightly gripping onto your wrist, mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ and eyebrows scrunched together. it’s beautiful.

→ HAECHAN coaxes you into almost period sex, like probably using a toy on yourself or stimulating your clit while he strokes himself bc tbh he doesn’t want blood on his dick. trust me, he has nothing against periods, buys your items for you, cleans your sheets when you stain them, y’know, but it kinda makes him think that he’s hurting you (like mark), but mostly bc he can’t wrap his head around using your blood as lube which idk just feels weird to him. mutual masturbation but your hands are on your own bodies.

“you feelin’ good, angel?” you answer with a barely audible yes, manoeuvring your hand on your clit, while haechan stays focused on your features stretched beyond pleasure. just like usual, your mouth produces the most delicious sounds, using that to spur him on to stroke his cock faster and faster.

haechan imagines it’s your pussy sinking down on him instead, but it’s what he has to settle with until your cycle’s over. your pleas sends haechan moaning like a pornstar, hardly caring for the volume before he shoots his cum across him. it barely misses your legs, but instead lands dangerously close to your clothed cunt before the knot in you snaps, too, body twitching to no end before your lips stretch into a sigh. “that was good.”

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