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ikevamp-shrine · 4 years

Note

Hii i'm just wondering if you're taking regular requests? Like, not the nsfw ABC one? If you are, then can i maybe request a hc of how the boys would react when they're getting turned on from something MC does but she doesn't realize it? (If everyone is too much then just Arthur, Vincent, Isaac, Dazai and Mozart hehe) anyways, thanks in advance!

Yes I am still taking requests. (I really enjoyed this one) Thank you for requesting and if you would like me to do the rest of the residents just say so and I shall do as you ask. Enjoy.

Author: @ikevamp-shrine

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character(s): Le Comte, Sebastian, Arthur, Vincent, Dazai, Mozart, Isaac

Pairing: x Female MC

Word count: 2183

Warnings: mentions of blood, character unwillingly being watched while naked, nsfw (barely though)

Le Comte

His body rocked gently with the carriage; the movement already lulling her to into a deep sleep. Moonlight trickled in from the window, caressing her skin like ghosts dancing across a marble floor. Her breathing is interrupted, speeding and slowing at times as is she was being pleasured. Her lips parted slightly to release a breathy moan, “…comte.”

The scent of arousal stained the air in the carriage as Comte’s face pinches in pain. “Ma Cherie,” he whispers; the wisps of his voice inaudible to any soul other than himself. “Such a wicked temptress you are.”

He reaches out; her skin warm against the cold pads of his hands. His fingers trace the curve of her reddened cheek, ghosting over the sharp cut of her jaw, dipping lower to kiss the rushing vein of her neck. His fangs pulsed, chest heaved, eyes stalking the female like a wolf would its prey. The pureblood hastily jerked back, hissing as if her skin had scalded him. A quick movement and fangs penetrated the tendon of his thumb, his eyes rolling closed as he reigned in some semblance of control. Releasing his hand, Comte panted, a thin trail of saliva connecting his abused flesh and lips as his nails raked tears in the plush seat below causing white feathers to float down like snow on a cold winter’s morn.

“You shouldn’t leave yourself so vulnerable to me, Ma Cherie… after all, I am a still beast,” he paused his smooth words to watch a ribbon of red seep from the healing marks on his flesh, “and you, a lamb ripe for the taking.”

Dazai

Her skin was flushed from the heat of the thermae, her features relaxed in a soft smile. The candle light illuminated her curves causing her to appear to be what Dazai could only define as a fertility goddess basking in the warmth of light, unbashful to any who might stumble upon the ethereal sight. Her soft breast surrounded by ringlets of wet hair raised as she placed a towel along the top of her head, shifting her hand along the white threads. Water droplets slid down her flesh forcing pale yellowed irises to stalk the clear liquid.

The mysterious turn of his lips seemingly permanently chiseled into the planes of his face dropped into a frown; the want to overtake and claim her body was demanding and too fresh.

Like a wounded animal lapping at its bloodied paw, the beast inside his heart curled, growling, daring anyone to approach him and his possessions. Blood dropped down his chin as his fangs chewed wildly at his lip. His cock raised, sliding against his thigh, swelling with lust and need for the vulnerable female before his trembling form.

Her eyes shot towards the widow mimicking the shiver sliding down her spine; her mind reeling with images of feral yellow eyes watching her, memorizing every dip of her body, but was greeted by a lone tree branch swaying gently in the breeze.

Dazai heaved against the trunk, nails clawing at the harsh bark, moans muffled by the tight palm of his hand as a wet stain slowly spread over the fabric of his clothing, concurring the cloth like the pleasure tumbling through his mind.

“How far I have fallen,” Dazai whispered, pleasure still rolling through his body, “she who was oblivious to the monster peering through the glass barrier will surely gaze at my dilapidated form with astonishment when the sun kisses the horizon. Innocence dripped from her womanly body like the water warmed by her flesh.”

Dazai smiled a broken smile only men who had been starved of all hope would recognize, “my, how these sinful fingers would corrupt that innocence she holds so close to her breast.”

Vincent

The stroke of his brush against the canvas was wild, vigorously hurried. The thought of losing the memory chiseled into his mind’s eye fastening his pace. His heart beat with a fury the painter didn’t know was possible as his breath stopped; the air only releasing from his lungs when the pounding in his head became too unbearable.

All she had done was smile, her lashing fluttering, colored orbs bashfully glancing away, a blush staining her cheeks as she tucked a stray piece of silken hair behind her ear. Behind the same ear that glinted with a sliver cuff matching both Theo’s and himself. Vincent’s eyes had widened in absolute disbelief in what he was witnessing. Beauty beyond humanly possible had stood before him; enchanting him, leaving him a slave for her touch.

Every emotion he possessed was being laid bare on the canvas with each brush of color against the skin of the canvas. He worked until red stained the sky, rising over the horizons like the god of war riding a flying chariot. His fingers throbbing with pain from the constant movement, never being allowed a break. He gazed at the painting like a lover would their other half. The oils still vibrant was moisture. Vincent craved for the color of her skin to be beneath his fingers, warming the rough flesh of his palms, not stuck, forever frozen in time, trapped in the same position for all eternity.

His cock strained against the confines of his trouser, lips being tugged into a pained whimper. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine refused to drown out the overwhelming scent of her very being still coating the insides of his lungs. His tongue traced over his fangs; the wonder of the taste of her blood running through his mind. His eyes rolled back as he imagined the softness of her body against his own. His soul was on the canvas- the act a declaration of his love and lust for the woman he had yet to call his.

“Will you ever look my way, I wonder,” Vincent murmured into the night. His words never being heard by another soul.

Arthur

The door creaked as Arthur pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit room, the candle on his desk burned down to a nub from the hours of being aflame. It was well past midnight when he had returned from the tavern with Theo, he had told her not to wait for him, but she had tried to stay awake; that much was obvious with the scent of chilled coffee mixing with the sweet smell of her flesh and old paper staining the air. A dark mug placed beside her sleeping form on the nightstand as well as a book, forgotten, tucked between the pads of her fingers. Lips parted slightly to release soft, comforting snores, her hair flowing around her form like wings, the curve of her hips being insinuated by the wrinkled, white fabric of his shirt that clung to her slowly breathing body. The sheets of his bed bunched around her knees; the sweat lightly dampening her forehead a sign of overheating.

Arthur took a sharp inhale of breath at the sight of her heart shaped bottom peeking out from under the shirt. How he would love to see the flesh of her bare bottom rippling from his thrusts as he pounded into her, making her squeal with pleasure.

“Did you do this on purpose? You naughty little minx,” rumbled Arthur. His jaw clicking with movement as he advanced towards his desk, shaking his head to clear his lust filled mind. His stomach grumbled, mouth watering when he noticed the small, mesh pouch of packaged fudge resting on the wooden surface of his desk. Arthur threw his head back, groaning with pleasure, eyes drifting closed as he whispered, a content smile tugging at his soft lips “ass and fudge… damn I love this bird.”

Isaac

Isaac shifted his shoulders, forcing a crack to resonate down his back- a regular occurrence the entirety of the day. His form was hunched over his desk, his cheeks flushed, and brows furrowed in concentration; gentle metal clicking reaching her ears. The sheets were soft against her bare legs as she shifted, placing her book down against a nightstand; stretching her arms above her head.

“Isaac,” she hummed.

It took the physicist a few second before he recognized her voice slipping through the air. “Yes, my love?” He responded.

“Does your back hurt?” He didn’t realize she had left her place on his bed to tip toe behind him until her breathy whispers tickled his ear, causing him to jolt slightly.

“A little. The damned thing refuses to stay connected,” the chair creaked under him as he leaned back into his lovers hold, gesturing to the trinket pieces resting on the wooden desk. The warmth from her arms seeped into the skin around his neck while he continued, “I might have to ask Leonardo about it, unless I find-.”

Isaac was irrupted by the strong caress of female fingers shifting over his shirt clad shoulders. Her lips pecking once at the top of his head, thumbs tracing the curve of his tense shoulder blades, digging into his muscles in a pleasant motion.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Stuttered the pale haired man, his hands raising slightly off his lap in shock.

Her slow, relaxed sigh sent a pang of electricity straight to his slowly hardening member, “taking care of you. What else would I be doing?” The flirtatious tone of her voice paired with the warming friction of her fingers against his skin forced Isaac to tug at his tightening trousers; a low whimper being muffled by his teeth, an embarrassed blush warming his ears.

“…the gods help me,” he whispered.

Mozart

The piano was chilled as Mozart leaned against the whitened wood, her giggle forcing a small trimmer to befall his lips. The sweet taste of the chocolate paired with the strong hints of coffee filling slid over his palate like the words falling from hers, “do you like it?”

Her eyes were bright, humorous with a small, barely-there tint of insecurity as he swallowed, smacking his lips to further live in the taste. “It is alright, I suppose,” he mumbled.

She smiled softly, returning to nibble at the half-bitten piece of chocolate resting between her thumb and forefinger. “Ah, its melting!”

Mozart rolled his eyes at her disbelieving tone of voice, answering with his own, “yes. It does that. I thought you weren’t idiotic enough to not acknowledge that-.” His words were caught in his throat as he saw her finger disappearing into the cavern of her mouth; her cheeks hallowing slightly as she sucked at the digit. Her eyes stared at the floor in concentration, her brows being pulled together from the thoughts running through her mind. Slowly her finger reemerged, her lips releasing the flesh with a soft pop.

Mozart swallowed thickly. Denial ran rampant through him at the feeling of his trousers becoming tighter to a point it was somewhat uncomfortable. He could still see the melted brown on her tongue as it darted out, licking at her thumb like a snake scenting the air.

“Wolf? Are you feeling okay? You’re a little red,” her words were close, her breath smelling of cocoa as she placed her lips to his forehead, checking for fever. He sputtered, falling back to place his hands roughly against the ivory keys forcing a deranged concoction of notes to shift through the air, “do not- do not do that…,” he huffed. Wishing nothing more than for the earth to split and swallow him whole at the high-pitched crack of his voice.

Sebastian

His hair was a mess, water still dripped from his chin, his tie loosely dangling around his neck, his breath coming out in hurried pants as Sebastian launched himself into the kitchen, throwing himself into motion only freezing when his lover’s laughs penetrate his ears.

“I’ve never seen you this frazzled Sebastian,” she giggled walking over to him, taking the tie between her fingers and knotting the fabric. She had yet to notice the panicked scowl on his face.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I don’t see how being late to wake is a laughable matter when it concerns the wellbeing of the residents.”

She glanced up, a brow raising slowly at his accusing tone of voice, “I woke up early and did your portion as well as mine,” she paused, placing a gentle kiss to his wet cheek, smiling gently, “you have been more tired than usual so I figured I let you sleep in.”

Sebastian took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around his lover and letting his head fall back, his eye lids closing as a low groan left his lips, “I love you.”

Her love-drunk giggle made him smile brightly; his stone façade non-existent as his lips locked and parted with her velvet hills quickly. Hands slid down his back to rest against his hips making a shiver run up his spine; heat pooling into his eyes at her affections. He growled lowly, nipping at the shell of her ear, “good girls get rewards, and you’ve been a very good girl.”

Breakfast was a little late that morning.

SHOTS MATERLISTS

MASTERLIST

ABCs SMUT MASTERLIST

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sir-gale · 3 years

Text

Part two of Aizawa x Reader

(Warning! Smut/Nsfw. Reader is fem)

Part 1 here

(I really freestyled this so sorry if it’s not up to par)

Well this is an interesting situation.

You always enjoyed teasing aizawa (along with literally anyone else who knows him), but you never thought that you would foster such a reaction from him. The very reason you decided to tell him what you did was because it was the truth, when you think of the 18 year old boy you couldnt see him pinning you down and drilling into you, no matter how hard you tried. But now, the raven haired man had you pinned to the couch on your back, his body pressed against yours and you have never felt so small. Definetly intimidated, and you loved it. Once out of your shocked state you attempted to break your wrists free from his grasp, but all that did was cause a pleasurable friction. You aren’t by any means weak, in fact, it was your workout schedule that aizawa had branches his off of. The only difference is that his interpretation is day and night. Though you started before him, long before, goddamn how were you only now realizing how much more firm he is then yourself? To be fair you started getting lazier with the regime, but still. Under those tattered clothes he was built.

Snapping out of your drooling stage once again, “Sho? Hey listen point taken, could you-”

“No.” He quickly cut you off.

Still quivering, you let out a breathy “o-okay,” as he proceeded to bury his head in between your neck and shoulder, the rest of his body somehow coming closer than before. Not only did you practically feel the heat coming out from under his clothes, his erection pressed against the softness of your inner thigh. He was making it very clear that his drive to prove you wrong had him mad, only fueling his rabid arousal.

He didn’t bother trailing his tongue on your neck, his entire mouth and lips were wrapped around the sensitive spot your surprised he remembered from your last heated session. Remembering how fun that was, your body became more restless knowing he was going to take it further. You were trying your best to keep your shivering neck at bay, his mouth latched onto you, his breath surprising your skin, his hair brushing and tickling all around made it hard to keep your eyes open. Not to mention Shoutas hips never disconnecting from yours while they rocked back and forth in sync with his body, the stimulation he was working on you in sync. Then, to both of your disappointment, he had to stop to impatiently take your shirt off.

Before he could continue on whatever item of clothing he was going to discard from either of your bodies, you warm fingertips slowly pressed against the right side of his chest. This stopped him in his tracks, a motion so small and gentle in this situation really caught him off guard. The flushed look on your face made his chest flutter and breath hitch. He took your hands into his, holding them like they were feathers.

“Shouta,” your voice was a soft whisper.

“Yeah kitty cat?” His tone was low but still soft, he’s completely put aside his hazed horniness. It was almost impressive how quickly you changed him.

Looking up at him, truly embarrassed, you stated, “Could you take off your clothes slowly?” If his hands weren’t enveloping yours, you would be messing with your fingers.

For the first time tonight, his mouth curled into a sly smirk, with a very warm chuckle. “Anything for you, kitty cat,” and with that, he sat up, hips still against your own and slowly lifted his shirt.

What a sight. It was like the curtains revealing a stage. First, his abdomen well defined and smooth if it weren’t for the cute happy trail from his pants. Rows of abs and dents in his sides were highlighted by the light of the tv screen. You were sure his eyes were shining just as beautifully, but you couldn’t take your own off of his body. As the fabric rose above his upper torso, your eyes followed. Broad and wide upper back, beautiful pecs, god he was beautiful.

“God your beautiful.”

“You should see your face right now,” he said while he was still smirking, looking down at you fondly and hazily, in a way that made you warmer in many areas. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how you look at him. He’ll never stop thanking whoever decided that he deserved you. Now it was time to relish this blessing.

After he pulled off the shirt and threw it on the floor he came closer to you, wrapping his arms around you to unclip your bra.

“Baby, head to your room and take off the rest for me, I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare touch yourself,” his side glance and tone made you shiver, and with that he went off to get the condom from his coat. You scurried upstairs and took off everything just like your boyfriend asked. You two haven’t done this before, not with eachother or anyone else, but you were certainly embarrassed to be so bare. Before you had the chance to think about though, he was already upstairs, coming up from behind and groping you. Face flushed even redder, you held onto his for arms as he asked you to spread your legs a bit, so he could rub his calloused fingers on your clit.

“Already making such cute little sounds for me, both you and your wet little cunt huh?” Shot grinned with his teeth bared, your head fell back into him as soon as he unexpectedly stuck a finger inside your walls. He continued fondling and fingering until you were practically begging for him to throw you onto the bed and rail you, however it took a while before he pushed you into the soft covers. Your watery eyes made it clear how powerless you were in this situation.

“Now, kittycat, one more time. Tell me, do you want this hard cock inside of you?” He menacingly stood over your shaking figure which was practically curling in on itself either from fear or desire.

“Shouta- please.. stop messing around. Fuck me please Sho, I need you,” your voice was practically breaking, toggling between a whimper and a breath of air. Oh god he was going to ruin you.

Finally taking off his belt and letting his pants fall, he ripped the plastic off of the condom, placed it on his dick and fell into the bed on his knees. Your eyes closed, chest heaving and legs shielding your absolutely dripping pussy from the cold hair. He took your knees into his hands, and spread them easily since your legs are so weak from all his harsh treatment. He tucked them up closer to the side of your chest. For a second you wondered what this is, but before you could remember that this is called a mating press, he had already slammed himself into your need hole without warning which led you to making a very high pitched yell.

Shouta also let out a very indiscreet low moan that seemed to ring through your body, “everything all right baby?” He slid in easily, but you were still airtight, practically wringing him out. Aizawa stayed still, letting out groans to ease his unbearable need to continue rutting himself inside. If there’s one thing he knew, it’s self control. He was being put to the test my your fluttering walls.

“Hah- zawa, give me-hnn a moment!~” it felt ethereal, to finally have him inside you. He was long, the tip pressed against the very end of your insides was driving you fucking insane and as much as you wanted his hips to start slamming into yours again, you decided waiting for the pain to ease up was the smarter choice. That didn’t stop you from gasping and whimpering, and it didn’t stop him from letting out long low grunts and growls in concentration.

After a long while, you let out another breath and said, “baby, you can move now.”

He slowly lifted and settled down his hips in a nauseatingly enticing manner, his face scrunched up, still determined to look at your pleasured expressions. However, once he was sure that you were well adjusted, there was nothing stopping him from thrusting his hips into you like a dog.

Your face showed how mind broken you were, your vocals ranging from guttural grunts to high pitched whimpering, either the neighborhood isn’t so quiet anymore. Shouta isn’t one to complain, not only were you and the squelching of your hole along with every curve of your body screaming for him, he was practically falling apart gasping for air at how amazing you felt. Anyone who heard you would’ve heard him too.

Both of you were nearing your highs, and Aizawa chased his orgasm, not forgetting about the beautiful sight under him.

“Baby, kittycat- I can feel you getting tighter. Cum for me now. Cum for me-” that’s all you needed to hear, focusing on how broken he sounded himself, your nails dug into his beautiful skin as you writhed with a wave of white crashing over your body. Seeing you reach your limit was enough for him to give a few last strong thrusts into you before he collapsed reaching his own, letting out a long, guttural moan.

Both of you, weak and out of breath, lay on the bed.

“Now you know,” he heaved out.

“I already forgot it’s about that,” your light voice soothed his ears.

Your boyfriend wrapped himself around you, taking the blanket and covering both of you with it. You giggled, he was so cute.

“What are you laughing at?” Once again his annoyed expression appeared. Before you could explain-

“Oh noooo...” the alarm clock read 5:58. You groaned, “school.”

Both of you made sounds of dissaproval.

Needless to say, it was a horrible day.

#aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #eraserhead x reader #eraserhead #aizawa x reader smut #smut #img.txt.Sirgale #sirgalethesimp.txt

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

Wen Ning & Lan Sizhui: The Winter Plum Blossom

Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses, Rated G, 1.4k - read on AO3

@mdzsnet Happy Birthday Wen Ning <3

* * *

The path at the edge of the Cloud Recesses was covered with snow that crunched under Wen Ning’s feet, his soles flattening the snow into the stone path like stamps on a sheet of paper.

A-Yuan giggled. His voice had deepened over the last half of a year. Now even his giggles sounded lower, although they still lightened the air around him and made the corners of Wen Ning’s mouth curl up when he heard.

“Why are you laughing?” Wen Ning asked.

A few snowflakes nestled into A-Yuan’s eyelashes as he looked down the path behind them where Wen Ning’s stark footprints broke up the snow. “It’s just that…” He stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, Wen-qianbei. It’s just that your footsteps are so loud and crunchy.”

“Oh.” Wen Ning smiled. “Oops.”

“It’s okay. Master won’t notice us.” A-Yuan rocked back and forth on his feet, then glanced at the deep trail of footprints again. “Although, I think he might find out we went somewhere.”

They had woken up early to take a walk together before A-Yuan’s lessons began for the day. It was the first winter Wen Ning was spending in Gusu and his first time seeing the region covered with snow. It was as though the Cloud Recesses itself wore the white robes of a Lan disciple.

A-Yuan had insisted on taking Wen Ning on this short morning trip to show him the prettiest winter scenery of the Cloud Recesses—despite their little outing being a violation of the curfew Lan Qiren enforced so strictly on Wen Ning.

He’s really been learning too much from Wei Ying lately, Wen Ning thought as he smiled to himself, shaking his head.

He turned around and took a few paces down the path back the way they had come.

“Wen-qianbei?” A-Yuan called softly. “Where are you going?”

“Look, we can cover our footprints,” Wen Ning said as he squatted down, shoveled a heap of snow into his arms, and stood up to dump the white fluff onto the path. The tracks his feet had left really were embarrassingly large. Better to hide them.

“I—I don’t think that—”

Wen Ning shoveled another armful of snow onto the path, his footprints vanishing under the mound. His sleeves were wet now. He didn’t mind. He was already…well, cold and dead. He could wade into a pool of icy water and never feel a chill. Dulled senses came in handy sometimes.

A-Yuan was giggling again. “Wen-qianbei?”

“Hm?” Wen Ning said, hugging another giant wad of snow into his chest.

“You’re…you’re still leaving more footprints when you cover the old ones.”

He looked down at the fresh marks he'd left in the snow. “Ah…oh well."

They continued along the path. The flurry of snowflakes scattered through the air had grown thicker. Wen Ning still held some of the snow in his arms, pushing it together until it became compact and rubbing its surface until it turned slick and icy.

“What are you making?” A-Yuan asked.

“I’m not sure,” Wen Ning said. He smoothed the top of his amorphous creation. “I never got to play with snow very much.”

He and Wei Ying both came from clans that lived under more heat and sun than sleet. Wei Ying had joked about constructing an ice sculpture when the first snow came to Gusu. Knowing him, he would probably make one for real, and Wen Ning wanted his own as well.

“Have you ever made anything from snow?” Wen Ning asked.

“Yes. I like drawing in it.” A-Yuan’s eyes lit up with fondness. “Jingyi and I drew a giant rabbit outside the Jingshi one year.”

“…That’s Hanguang-Jun’s room.”

A-Yuan smiled bashfully and folded his hands together. “He told us to flatten the drawing away, but he stared at it the entire time we were cleaning it up. And then a few days later we found a tiny snow-bunny sculpted and hidden behind the Jingshi.” He met Wen Ning’s gaze and nodded. “So I think he liked it.”

Wen Ning could almost feel the fuzziness inside himself imagining such a scene. “Maybe you should make something for him again this year.”

“I think so too. Oh, we’re here!”

They arrived at a clearing in the forest path with a glistening frozen pond surrounded by a grove of plum blossom trees in full bloom. Pink plum blossoms dotted the snow-laden branches like a million tiny hearts in a sea of ice.

Wen Ning drew in a deep breath, letting the vibrance of the flowers color his dulled senses, imagining how crisp and clean the air must be here. “This is beautiful, A-Yuan.”

“I thought you’d like it,” he said.

Wen Ning set down his misshapen snow sculpture at the edge of the pond and walked over to a tree. He placed his hand beneath one of the pink flowers and carefully lifted it closer to his face. “A-Yuan, do you remember Granny? My pópó?”

“Not as much as I would like to.” A-Yuan sidled up next to him, leaning forward to peer at the flower in Wen Ning’s hand. “But yes. She did help raise me.”

It was true. Back then, if Wen Ning wanted to find A-Yuan, the best place to start looking would be Granny’s lap. Otherwise he was probably wandering into someone’s field of crops or waddling around asking for snacks.

“Granny once told me and…” Wen Ning trailed off. He stroked one of the flower’s petals with his thumb. “She once told me and my sister about the five petals of the plum blossom,” he finished, his voice quiet.

“What did she say?” A-Yuan’s smile was smaller now. Hesitant.

“Each of the petals represents one of the Five Blessings.” He pointed to each petal as he spoke. “Health, wealth, longevity, virtue, and…” He closed his fingers on the last petal. “And…peaceful death.”

“Oh,” A-Yuan said.

The petal was limp and fragile in Wen Ning’s touch. “I think you should spend time here. Then you might get these blessings.”

A-Yuan nodded. “If you think so.”

They stood in silence for a while, admiring the flower Wen Ning held, until his mind drifted away.

“Wen-qianbei?”

“Ah?” Wen Ning started. As he turned to A-Yuan, he plucked the single petal off the plum blossom he had been holding. Dumbfounded, he stared at the small pink strip resting in the grey skin of his palm.

A-Yuan slowly reached forward and took Wen Ning’s hand, pressing it closed over the petal.

Warmth spread through Wen Ning’s body. A sensation that didn't come often.

“Plum blossoms…” A-Yuan seemed to search for the words. “Plum blossoms grow in the dead of winter.”

Wen Ning opened his hand to look at the petal one last time, then tucked it in his robes. A snowflake landed on his cheek. He let it stay there. It would take a while to melt.

“You’re right," Wen Ning said. "Although, the blossoms don’t last long. Fleeting. A bit like life,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But if you plant a tree, you’ll see them again soon.”

A-Yuan smiled.

Wen Ning picked a new flower off the tree and gave it to him. “Here.”

“Thank you, Wen-shushu.” A-Yuan held the blossom carefully as they headed back to the center of the Cloud Recesses, following the trail of Wen Ning’s footsteps.

“I’m glad Wei Ying planted you in the ground back then.”

“What?” A-Yuan said through laughter. “Why?”

“So that you could grow through the dead of winter.”

“But I was supposed to be a radish. Not a plum blossom.”

Wen Ning reached into his robes to check that the petal was still there. “Both are good.”

When they arrived back at the main buildings of the Cloud Recesses, each curved roof adorned with a fine layer of snow, Wen Ning reached for A-Yuan’s hand before he could head off to his room. A-Yuan looked back at him questioningly.

“Let’s make a snow sculpture for Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Ning said.

A-Yuan grinned. “Okay. I’ll get Jingyi.”

He ran off to his living quarters, his feet pounding into the trail, for once leaving footprints as deep as Wen Ning’s. Wen Ning watched him until he disappeared behind the doors. He lifted his face to the sky, letting the snow fall into his face.

Five blessings or not, he thought as a snowflake landed on his lips, I think this life will do.

#wen ning #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzsnet #wen qionglin #lan sizhui #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #emilu fics #emilu creations

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desertpersephone · 3 years

Text

Harvest

Mandomera Week, DAY 2 @mandomeraweek

Monday March 9th: exploration/discovery

word count: 1701. NSFW, AO3

A/N: Day 2! A little peaceful post canon AU. I think that maybe this accidently fits the SFW prompt better then the NSFW one, OOPS. This wasn’t exactly what i had planned but this is what came out because I was a little pressed for time. Proofed/beta’d by myself

tags and warning under cut

Bathing/washing, oral (female receiving), scars, stretch marks, body worship

Din had been sore and bruised and aching before – many times before in fact, it came with the territory – but he swore it had never been like this. This was different. And perhaps it was because he didn’t have his beskar to absorb the hits, or perhaps getting thrown around just used different muscles then farming krill. Din groaned softly as he relaxed back into the pool, letting the hot water try and soak away the aches in his back and thighs. Perhaps he was just getting old too.

He had never expected to be spending a harvest on Sorgan, up to his armpits in water hauling pounds and pounds of jumping krill. But he had also never expected to be completely naked and bathing in the presence of another living being. But both things were unbelievably true. Din had not abandoned his creed, he still polished the beskar daily, but kept it locked away in the small hut he had come to call him. He had just discovered a new way to be a Mandalorian. One that didn’t require him to hide himself from those he loved.

“You look relaxed.”

Opening his eyes, Din smiled slowly at the sight that greeted him. Omera.

She set the basket she was carrying down by the edge of the pool and Din moved to peek inside, finding large ripe fruits with thick wrinkly rinds staring back at him as Omera shrugged off the robe she was wearing and hung it on a branch near his own.

“I thought you might be hungry.” She said with a jerk of her chin toward the basket, hands occupied in trying up her hair. Din sat back in the pool and regarded her with a slow and appreciative look, before shrugging.

“Fruit isn’t exactly what I’m in the mood for.” He murmured, swishing the water bath and forth with his hands. Omera tilted her head a little and lifted the corner of her mouth in a smirk.

“And what exactly are you hungry for?”

Din sat forward again and patted a large smooth rock on the edge of the pool.

They were more than alone out here, other villagers having found their own pool in the naturally and abundantly occurring hot springs, Winta was with her cousins (or the children that she called her cousins, because Din was almost certain that neither of her parents were locals), and Grogu was with Master Luke. But honestly, Din couldn’t really bring himself to care if someone saw them. Enough of the village had probably heard them at some point.

Omera came over to inspect the flat rock that he had indicated, brushing her foot over it before deeming it to be comfortable and sitting with her legs in the water. With her hair pulled back into a bun like that Din could see the long, slender curve of her neck, and with the light just so, the flyway hairs along her hairline seemed to glow golden. He gently nudged her legs apart and kneeled on the seat in front of her to lean in a press a gentle kiss to her throat. Her pulse fluttered under his lips and Din ran one hand over her waist while the other came to rest on one of her thighs.

Sighing softly, Omera shifted a little more, letting him run wet fingers in a trail up her back and between her shoulder blades while the one her thigh came up to rest on the soft swell of her belly. His fingers ran across her old, silvery marks from carrying Winta, and over her bellybutton before moving around to her side where Din squeeze lightly on the little cushion of fat there. He always seemed to love her stomach, it’s soft give under his hands, or his lips when he took it upon himself to kiss ever sketch mark she had.

Din’s lips had moved down to press kisses along her collarbone and Omera leaned back relishing in the attention. Her legs wrapped on his waist a little, toes running over the back of his hairy thigh and into the crease of his knee which had Din laughing against her skin. Omera smiled as well, reaching up to cup the back of his head as he took her breast in his mouth, licking over her nipple before sucking. Her toes curled a little and Omera hummed her approval, the sensation going right to her cunt.

She felt Din’s cock twitch a little against her thigh and her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging a bit to tell him that she was getting impatient. Both of them were always rather impatient when it came to finding time alone – it was always few and far between, quiet stolen moments that were always just enough time, and Omera wanted him between her thighs now.

But Din didn’t move to bury his face in her cunt, instead he shifted back, pulling away from her to grab a shallow wooden dish. Omera opened her mouth to ask him just what he was doing, especially when she could see his cock half hard and plump just below the water. But he just pressed a kiss to her knee – her knee – and scooped water up in the bowl.

“You worked hard.” He said softly, brushing a few strands of hair back from her shoulder as he gently tipped the warm water over her skin, letting it cascade down her chest and arm, following it with a few kisses.

“We all worked hard.” She answered with a little shake of her head, amused by his attentions. Din picked up one of her hands and dipped it in the bowl of water with a bar of soap to scrub away the dirt from her knuckles. He pressed kisses to her fingers after that, moving on to lather his hands in suds and draw them along the valley between her breasts and underneath, over to tease at her nipples a little before rinsing the soap away and repeating the process on her other hand, all the while she could feel herself growing more and more eager for his touch to continue lower.

And it did, Din washing her feet in much the same way, pressing a kiss to the top of each, and then her calves, where he couldn’t help but playfully pull with her leg hair and she splashed him for it. Finally though, he finally ran his hands over her thighs, squeezing the strong muscles. Omera willingly parted them for him, without so much as a notion of encouragement from him, spreading her folds for his eyes. Which was a sight he quickly latched on to. Din slid his hands up her thighs until they were high at the apex of her legs and he could run his thumbs along each of her labia, through the course hair, before slowly spreading them. Her cunt opened like a flower to him, with one soft wet noise, and he could see how flushed and swollen she already was, ready for his attention.

“You’re beautiful.” Din murmured, bending low to kiss over her thigh, and Omera exhaled softly, shifting her hips toward his face. Din got the hint and leaned in, pressing a kiss to her before shifting to get more comfortable.

Spreading her with one hand, Din spread wide licks over her cunt, tasting the tang of her on the back of his tongue. Omera clenched around nothing as his tongue teased over her clit, and she moved to lay back in the dirt, hands cupping each breast to slowly pull on her nipples. Her eyes shut when Din sucked her clit into his mouth, and Omera gasped, spreading her legs even wider. Din seemed to have dispensed with the slow exploration of her body though and pushed his tongue against her eagerly, flicking over her clit with pointed practiced movements, before sucking on her again.

Omera moaned fully, clenching again as pleasure shot through her, tugging of her nipples slightly. She pushed her hips forward, pressing her cunt into Din’s mouth as he continued to suck on her clit. Having thrown slow and steady out the window, he worked his jaw and tongue relentlessly against her, the stubble on his chin almost rubbing her raw.

“Din, Din please – ” She pushed against him, hips up off the stone, and reached down to grab a fistful of his hair. He groaned against her cunt, grazing her clit his teeth ever so slightly as he sucked hard. The coil of pleasure in her stomach released with a sharp intake of breath and the orgasm that wash over her, forced Omera to sit upright, mouth open to silence. Her legs closed around Din’s shoulders and she kept him there, sucking on her clit as her cunt pulsed against his face.

Finally, she sagged, boneless and pleasure wrung out, her legs falling off his shoulders and her hand loosening enough for Din to stand. His mustache and mouth were sticky and shimmering with the fluid from her cunt, and his pupils were enormous with lust. He didn’t wipe his face and he kissed her, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her up as his other skilled between them to guide his cock, flushed and achingly hard, into her cunt.

Omera gasped a little as he entered her, soon moaning with the first trust of his cock as she clung to his shoulders. Din fucked her short and fast, pressing kisses and whispers into her shoulders before his hips stilled and he rocked forward once or twice, spilling himself inside her. She smiled a little, combing his hair back as he managed to move them both into the pool to rest. Omera drew her knuckles over his cheeks, over the regal curve of his nose and Din held her more securely then she had ever been held.

When he grew soft and slipped out of her, she finally moved to pick up one of the fruits she had brought, biting the skin shirt before peeling it as Din played with her hair. She offered him a slice and he took the sweet fruit into his mouth.

#MandomeraWeek2021 #Mandomera #the mandolarian #omera #din x omera #din djarin #pedro pascal #julia jones #fic #fan fiction

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Reasons

While Jaken seeks his young lord in hopes of answers to his wandering, he finds himself berated with questions. From the series Affections Touching Across Time on AO3. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog.

A glorified nanny.

If anyone were to ask how Jaken sum up his position, it would be that. While he considered himself to be valuable to his illustrious lord and an asset in the formation of his empire — looking after the children his master sired was a lackluster use of his abilities.

Admittedly, his lord was an odd one.

Ever since his encounter with the human girl Rin, he’d been exhibiting strange behaviors toward beings he would normally disregard, going so far to marry a human, of all things, and to sire hanyō, which only added to his complexities.

Centuries before, his lord would have found such rabble unworthy of gracing the sole of his boots, but now they walked alongside him without a care in the world.

It was mind-boggling. Though Jaken had no desire to be clobbered or bludgeoned with a rock, so his opinions were kept and buried away. Jaken plodded along the winding dirt-trodden road patched with dewy grass, his grunts muffled by wet slapping footsteps as his feet sank into the soft and pulpy soil.

A small outline of a child’s foot caught his eye, and he sighed audibly. No matter how often he chided the children on proper attire, they refrained from wearing the footwear their father had tailored for them. It was a waste of his lord’s kindness, and there was so much they could hurt themselves with — gravel on the roads, shells left in the beach sands.

Blatant disregard for their well-being — he could hardly believe the flippancy.

Taking after their mother no doubt, he thought tiredly, staring up into the bright afternoon sky. Hopefully, she would return soon. With the rise in banditry and ne’er-do-wells, she was in even more danger away from those who could protect her. A worried groan vibrated in his throat as he shuffled beneath the boughs of a towering cedar, grateful for reprieve from the beaming sun.

The child’s footprints also stopped beneath it, somewhere near the roots where muddy footprints cooled then seemed to vanish.

Jaken wiped the sweat from his crown and leant against the tree — it’s bark, smooth and dry, was comfortable against his aching back. He felt as if he searched high and low for the young lord, but to no avail. Hours passing to where his presence was sorely missed. Neither his sisters nor his grandmother knew where he was, although Jaken highly doubted the latter. The Lady Mother seemed to take pleasure in his distress, and without A-Un to aid him in the search, he was forced to seek on foot. Leaving him with precious moments before his lord became aware of his son’s disappearance.

Jaken sighed raggedly, forlorn and defeated, sinking down to the grass with his legs stretched out before him.

Thankfully, Towa and Setsuna had outgrown their desire to make him fret with their games of hide and seek. They were nearing their twelfth spring and found better forms of entertainment than teasing him mercilessly.

Although, that wasn’t to say they didn’t do so when the mood struck them.

Mugen, barely past his fifth spring, enjoyed playing and exploring much like Rin when she was a child. Time and again, his play would come at the expense of Jaken’s well-being. Wandering off, climbing everything, getting into innocent mischief — the list was endless , let alone worrying, and Jaken’s half-hearted grievances to Rin concerning Mugen being her son often earned him a scathing glare from his lord accompanied by a knock over the head. Instinctively, Jaken rubbed the smooth curve of his scalp . The bushes amid the cedar copse and the meandering roads were barely used after rainfall due to the mud. Carts would be easily stuck, but a child on foot would find no end to their mirth.

The young lord could have been anywhere and with as many hiding places as there were — bushes, knotholes, nesting spots, dens — it would have been easy for him to become trapped if something were to go wrong.

“Oh…” Jaken crooned anxiously at the thought, grasping Nintōjō tightly as he hauled himself up, staggering forward on quivering legs. Surely, he hadn’t climbed one of the trees. What if he fell and broke his neck or worse?! If Mugen had injured himself, he would weep for days and Rin’s disappointment would never cease. She never showed apprehension with leaving her children in his care. But if one of them were to be injured due to his negligence —

Jaken shuddered at the thought of her kindly features shifting into contempt. Would she defend him from her husband’s wrath, or leave him to his fate? Wouldn’t he deserve it for allowing harm to come to their son?! No, Rin wasn’t cruel. She would surely spare him, but what if she were upset? Oh, it was too much to bear!

Concern sprang tears to Jaken’s bulbous eyes, glazing them over as he crowed loudly into the echoing woods. “Mugen-sama! Where did you go…?!”

His voice echoed off the trees with no reply. In his distress, he propped his staff against the tree to free his hands, settling the end of it between two large roots protruding from the ground.

It would be grating to his sensitive ears, but if he could find him, that was all that mattered. Taking a deep breath, Jaken’s lungs swelled, and he held his hands around his mouth to bellow. “Mugen-sa—!”

“Jaken?”

“Gah!” Jaken shrieked, jumping backward as leaves fell from overhead, his head knocking against the tree trunk. He groaned low at the throbbing pain, sinking down to sit in the grass while batting the falling leaves away.

Wait, hadn’t that been...?

Jaken scrambled to his feet with a squawk, head swiveling as he tried to find the source of the call. “M-Mugen-sama? Where are you!?”

“Up here, Jaken.”

“Huh?”

Jaken’s heart leapt into his throat as he tipped his head back. His eyes widened comically , beak falling open at the sight of his young lord hanging upside down from one of the thicker branches. Silvery-white locks hung in a thick veil, disheveled and burdened with leaves. A pair of small floppy ears perked up at attention as Jaken’s gaze met a pair of bright golden eyes in a familiar, yet younger and friendlier, face.

“M-Mugen-sama!” Jaken cried, wiping at his eyes furiously with his sleeve. He sniffed harshly, choosing to ignore the boy’s pinched expression. “Jump down to me, milord! It isn’t safe for you up there!”

Much like his mother, Mugen seemed to scrutinize his words with open conflict. His gaze flicking up and down Jaken’s small form as he studied him. He shook his head. “You’re little, Jaken. I’ll flatten you.”

“Watch your tone! You’re not so big yourself, and if anything happens to you, your father w— aah!”

Without warning, the boy dropped from the daunting height, and Jaken’s heart ceased beating. Leaves shaken loose showered Mugen’s form as he met the ground in a low crouch. The pelt around his shoulders flapped on the breeze, slowly falling as he rose to his feet, thankfully unharmed but confused as Jaken hurried to him. Immediately looking him over, Jaken lifted his arms and circled him a few times to ensure there weren’t any bruises or lasting damage.

“Be more careful!” Jaken shouted, trying to calm his racing heart with the breathing exercises the old priestess taught him.

Mugen pressed his lips together and scowled, his gaze cutting. “I am careful, Jaken,” he said petulantly.

Jaken sighed. Though he wanted to argue the point, there was little reason to do so now that he was safe. He ambled over to unearth Nintōjō from the tree roots, grumbling all the while. “Why do you continuously run off, milord? Your father will have my head if something happens to —” He turned around, blinking slowly when he saw the boy was no longer standing beneath the cedar but wading through a bush, his orange hair ribbon swaying behind him. “M-Mugen-sama!”

At the call of his name, Mugen seemed to slow his steps enough for Jaken to catch up to him, panting and gasping.

“Tou-chan wouldn’t kill you, Jaken,” Mugen voiced, soft and well-meaning in his naïvety.

“That you know of…” Jaken breathed a haggard sigh.

If only the children knew what a terrifying yōkai their father could be, he thought, and they would if they listened to his stories instead of wandering off through the woods constantly .

“Watch your head, Jaken.”

Before he could ask, a low-hanging branch Mugen pulled back as he stepped past came hurtling at his face. A loud thwack echoed as Jaken staggered backward with a pained yelp, holding his beak as it throbbed. He murmured curses inwardly. His face growing hot with indignation and embarrassment while his eyes watered. Humiliation was an acutely familiar sensation among his lordship’s family, but he hardly ever felt on the verge of shedding tears in front of his charge.

“I told you to watch your head,” a gentle voice reproached. Jaken barely had time to voice a reply when his arm was tugged to one side. Mugen’s golden eyes flicked across Jaken’s face to assess the extent of the damage. His lips pulled to one side, and he sank down to his knees, fumbling in a pouch tethered to the belt around his waist .

“Here.”

When he found what he’d been searching for, he turned his knuckles upright and opened his hand, a cream-colored rigged shell sitting in the middle of his palm. Jaken blinked owlishly as Mugen opened it, revealing a vivid reddish-orange gel set inside with an oddly smelling spice that sent a burning sensation running through his nose. Claws dipped into the gel and, coating it over the pads of his fingers, Mugen held his hand out to Jaken who recoiled. The boy’s brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed.

“It will hurt worse if you don’t use this, Jaken.”

Jaken huffed, covering his beak defiantly. “Where did you get that from?”

“Aneue,” Mugen huffed, batting away Jaken’s hands much to his displeasure. The gel was smeared over his beak in slow circles, throbbing and stinging pain beginning to burn dully. Jaken squeaked, but Mugen glared at him pointedly, continuing to rub the ointment. “Kaa-chan and Kohaku-ojichan made it with Sango-obachan’s help. It helps heal yōkai so they don’t have to use their yōki.”

Jaken dared not tweak his beak until Mugen finished, mesmerized as the gel glistened on his skin before gradually sinking into it. His yōki had been flowing towards the wounded area to heal it, but now the energy was shifting about in his body restlessly , righting itself slowly now that it was no longer needed. A handy trick made by humans.

Curiously, Jaken rubbed his fingers over his beak, but could find no trace of heat from the wound. Only the spicy scent strong enough to make his eyes water remained. He swiped at his eyes a few times but to no avail, screeching as a cool stream of water fell over the top of his head.

“Wh-What?!” Jaken sputtered, batting away the steady flow of water as he stumbled backward. Wiping the water from his face with drenched sleeves, he glared disdainfully at Mugen capping his water skin. “What was that for?!”

Mugen glanced at him, brow raised with a slight furrow. “Be careful next time,” he said curtly, tethering the waterskin to his hip aside the pouch then turning away. His pelt flourished and draped around him as he started off again.

Jaken gaped at his back for a moment then screeched. “There wouldn’t be a next time if you would only listen to me, milord!”

“I am listening, Jaken,” Mugen said with nary a backward glance, flexing his claws beneath the drape of his pelt and cutting through a few low-hanging branches, as though it were a hot knife through butter. The ends of the branches, now severed and burning with poison, were carefully taken in hand and set aside away from the mounds and burrows beneath the trees. “Up this way.”

Jaken quickly recovered from his stupor and mumbled under his breath. Like father, like son, though at least the latter had the decency to tell him where he was headed. Jaken puttered around to recover his staff then hurried after Mugen, hastening to keep the fluttering orange ribbon in sight. Branches and brambles cleared from the path led them further through the cedar grove to a small strip of grassland set before a stone wall.

Scraggly grass grew beside weeds, indicating that, with the sheer amount of unkemptness, the path must have been unused. Jaken could barely feel the packed earth beneath his feet, and every step brought the quiet swish-swish of tall grass brushing along his arms and Mugen’s stomach. As Mugen walked closer to the wall, Jaken peered up at it, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. A cool breeze swept through the clearing, carrying with it the brackish scent of the ocean. Distant echoes of rushing water caught his attention, and realization dawned on him. They were close to the falls near the cliffside by the palace.

“Mugen-sama, what are y— ah!”

Facing forward, Jaken noticed Mugen was nowhere in sight once again. Where had he gone so quickly?! Barely able to handle the shock, Jaken didn’t notice the rock sailing through the air until it knocked his hat from his head.

“Up here, Jaken!”

Jaken fumbled to straighten his hat and gawked at the height of the wall. Standing atop it, a rock tossed up and down in hand, was Mugen.

“How am I to climb up there?!”

Mugen’s face settled into a hard stare as he leant forward. “You’re right, your claws are brittle.”

“I beg your pardon?!” Jaken yelled, flailing backward when the boy leapt down. His staff dropped, arms opening to steady him when he nearly fell to his knees. “Be careful..”

Golden eyes blinked at him with a quick scrutinizing look, a small smile bending the severe scowl on the boy’s face. “Hang on, Jaken,” he said, giving little time for Jaken to question the reason. Mugen scooped him up in his arms, much to Jaken’s surprise and confusion. The air, hissing and crackling with a snapping pop as the boy crouched down. Something was coming, and Jaken fidgeted, unsure and nervous. He’d seen his lord use his abilities before. Hair floating, suspending from his energy and his eyes flickering red. In Mugen’s case, what was red was gold and burned blindingly bright, as if someone lit the sun behind his irises. Jaken screamed as the pressure building in the air snapped loose, and they shot into the air with one leaping bound.

He clung to Mugen’s shoulders, claws buried in his pelt and face hidden against his shoulder as the air rushed around them. Gravity bent to propel them downward, and he could only imagine how they would meet the ground. A harsh screaming filled his ears, and it wasn’t until he was jostled a few times that he realized it was coming from himself. Blinking away the tears beading at the corners of his eyes, he looked around in confusion. Past the beaches and few islands surfaced from the oceans was the expanse of the sea laid out before them. Although the wall they’d stood before earlier was dilapidated, around it were low parapets with the distant forms of guardsmen patrolling their lengths.

“Can you walk from here?”

Jaken startled from his thoughts and noticed Mugen for the first time. The boy’s unblinking gaze, seeming utterly unfazed from the heights from which he leapt, was reticent of his father, and Jaken sighed raggedly. These children would be the end of him before long.

“I-I may need a moment…” He admitted, tucking his head against Mugen’s shoulder.

A low hum was the only answer he received, and when Jaken regained his ability to stand, Mugen set him down, leapt off the wall, and returned with Nintōjō in hand shortly thereafter. Jaken sighed, careful not to step towards the edge of the wall. Without the parapets in place, it would be easy to fall to their deaths.

“We can see the gates from here just fine,” Mugen said, handing the staff to Jaken before sitting down cross-legged with his hands resting in his lap.

“The gates?”

“Mhm. Kaa-chan is coming back today, and I wanted to see her.”

“That can be done from the safety of the ground, can’t it?” Jaken huffed bitterly.

Mugen shot him a sideways glare, and Jaken flinched at the sharpness in his stare. “You didn’t have to come up with me,” he said with narrowed golden eyes. Then, he jutted his chin towards the right. “And there is a ladder.”

“W—” Jaken shuffled past him, careful not to tread too close to either end. Scurrying over, he leant over the edge to see that there was a ladder. Not far from where they made their jump either. Wheeling around, he glared at the boy. “Then why did you jump up here?!”

Mugen looked ahead for a long while then hiked his shoulders, sitting back on his hands.

Jaken blinked, then muttered under his breath. “You really are Rin’s son.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jaken cautiously crept to Mugen’s side and sat. Dusk was falling around their ears and dyeing the horizon a peach-orange hue. Waters reflecting the sky, drifting lazily with foam lapping at the cliff sides , mist spraying against the walls. Jaken sighed, and he laid his staff horizontally across his lap.

“Your mother isn’t due back for a while yet.”

Mugen nodded slowly. “I’ll wait,” he said. After a brief stint in quiet, he added softly. “You don’t have to stay.”

Jaken scoffed haughtily, but his heart sank at the vague dismissal. “Hadn’t I already told you, your father will kill me if anything happens to you!”

The words rolled off Jaken’s tongue, and a familiar dread washed over him as Mugen’s eyes narrowed and his peaceful expression twisted into one of irritation.

“He wouldn’t kill you.”

“Hmph,” Jaken folded his arms tightly to hide his trembling. “You obviously haven’t been listening to the stories I’ve told you of your father’s deeds. He’s a boiling seething —”

“ — Terribly magnificent demon,” Mugen interjected with a blasé tone, dry and vaguely unamused. “I’ve been listening.”

Jaken felt his ears growing hot as the boy several centuries younger than him leveled him with a flat look.

“If he wanted you dead, wouldn’t you be?”

The words spoken with a cold snapping tone clamped ironclad around Jaken’s heart. He swallowed thickly, feeling himself shudder. Dedication to his lord had cost him everything. The title that would have had others falling at his feet, lands he could have governed; yet, despite his griping, he wouldn’t have taken those opportunities over the ones he had now. It was terrifying following him into battle as well as waiting on him with his strange temperament. Nonetheless, abandoning him wasn’t an option.

Mugen’s eyes, unrelenting and piercing, reminded Jaken far too much of his father.

“If you’re so scared of him, why do you follow him around?” Mugen demanded, barely contained curiosity and scorn seeping into his tone.

Jaken’s tongue flapped, but he couldn’t seem to gain control of it. His insides twisted and turned the longer he held the steely gaze. “I-I’m his loyal servant a—”

“Tou-chan said loyalty made by fear is betrayal waiting to happen,” the boy snapped.

Bristling at that, Jaken yelled. “Wh— how dare — I would never betray Lord Sesshomaru!”

Their voices echoed, and the silence between them was deafening. Mugen’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed with a slight wrinkle to his nose while Jaken trembled with rage. How dare this boy question his loyalty to his lord? Who did he think he was?

Traitorously, his mind reminded him. This was his lord’s son.

Oh no.

Unprecedented panic overwhelmed righteous anger, and Jaken paled. Oh no, his head would be on a platter for this. As his terror reached a boiling point, Mugen’s severe scowl eased into a genial look as he turned away.

“I know, Jaken.”

Rage diffused itself slowly, draining from Jaken’s body like water from the falls rushing into the ocean. The blatant disgust and contempt was gone, replaced by a self-assured look, one from which he could feel genuine joy and warmth. He wasn’t sure what to say to that, laying his hands in his lap. Mugen inhaled then sighed, turning his head to look at him with a soft smile.

“You’re part of our family,” he said. “And family doesn’t hurt each other, right?”

Family. Jaken’s mouth felt dry, and while he opened and closed it a few times, attempting to summon words was difficult. He swallowed and nodded his head in reply. Mugen gave a curt nod, and looked ahead again.

“I’m sure Tou-chan thinks of you as family too. Believe in him a little. Okay?”

He believed in him?

I need only you to serve me, Jaken.

He had said that, didn’t he? And if he didn’t want him around, wouldn’t he have dismissed him?

They’re our precious children. Look after them, Master Jaken.

Jaken sniffled and wiped at his misting eyes, clearing his throat. “... I-I suppose I’ll wait here as well, if it isn’t too much trouble, Mugen-sama.”

“If you want to, Jaken.”

As they sat beneath the sky, wispy clouds drifting listlessly overhead, Jaken couldn’t help but think of his place in life. Never did he think he would find himself in the service of an inu daiyōkai lord or enjoying an afternoon in the presence of his son. A hanyō, no less. No. That didn’t matter to him at all. He was concerned when Mugen ran off on his own or when he took needless risks. Youth and a feeling of invincibility provided him with a reckless amount of courage that served to complicate Jaken’s duties further. But Jaken was convinced he could guide him. Or at least, be at his heels to ensure he didn’t get in over his head.

“Mugen-sama?”

“Hm?”

“Grow into a strong yokai like your father.”

“I will.”

“It would be much easier if you drank your milk.”

“I don’t wanna.”

A sea-blown wind wrapped around them and rustled the orange ribbon in the boy’s hair, his unruly bangs and the fly-aways in his hair curled and whipped back from his face, casting shadows around golden eyes. The tint of sunlight against tanned skin gave him a slight glow, and Jaken wished for days like this to last. Days in which he stayed a child, unbothered by the nuances of the world and his place within it. For a moment, the kappa asked for time to slow.

A long shadow passed overhead, and Jaken shuddered, intense pressure bearing down upon his being. His skin pricked and crawled. Cold sweat broke against the crown of his head as he turned around, finding himself faced with white hakama, and upon glancing up, a pair of golden eyes that were far less friendly. Where he bowed his head in respect, Mugen scrambled to his feet with a delighted gasp.

“Tou-chan!”

Jaken peeked up in time to see the ghost of a smile on his lord’s lips as he greeted his son, extending a hand from his sleeve for Mugen to grasp. With a flourish, the boy was lifted in his father’s arms and hugging him tightly around his neck. From over his son’s shoulder, Sesshomaru looked down at Jaken and narrowed his eyes. The silent command to explain unneeded as he began to wheedle through events thus far that would not create cause to worry .

“W-We were just waiting for Rin, milord.”

To his relief, Mugen pulled back and captured his father’s attention, hands pressed to his jaw. “Tou-chan, tell Jaken.”

Jaken flinched as Sesshomaru hummed confusedly.

“Tell Jaken what?”

“That he’s family, like Kaa-chan said.”

Sesshomaru slowly shifted his head, looking away from his son to face Jaken, and the cold dread was replaced with anticipation. Would his lord really say the same? Was he truly part of this?

For a moment, Sesshomaru said nothing, and Jaken’s heart sank into the pits of his stomach. Perhaps he had raised his hopes for nothing. The idea of family in the eyes of a child was much different than in that of a yōkai centuries old.

Sesshomaru turned his head toward the horizon, easing his face free of his son’s hands. “Mugen.”

“Yes?” Mugen glanced between Sesshomaru and Jaken, an apology in his eyes, but the kappa brushed it off. It wasn’t his fault and this was within his father’s nature after all.

“Your mother is returning.”

Jaken tensed slightly, and Mugen twisted around to look behind him as Sesshomaru raised a hand, pointing a single finger toward the skyline .

“Look.”

Surely enough, a dark splotch on the horizon was beginning to come into focus. The thick curling cloud of ash and smoke beneath A-Un’s paws dissipating as the dragon gave a loud cry. Mugen’s whooping laughter came in answer, and Jaken scrambled up to his feet. A-Un curved overhead, skimming across the waters before ascending through the air. His rider, laughter loud against the backdrop of roaring waters, waved to them with glee. Jaken could’ve chided her for letting go of the reins, but even if Rin fell, A-Un or Sesshomaru would dive to catch her. He would have leapt over the wall to come to her aid himself were it not for the duty with which she entrusted him.

And it was as A-Un leveled with the parapets, drifting closer to where they stood, that he saw the genuine mirth on her face.

Rin’s skirts ablaze in the setting sun, orange and fluttering as they fell along the sides of A-Un’s saddle. Her dark hair unbound and whipping on the breeze, messy much like her son’s, their smiles bright as they laid eyes on each other .

“Kaa-chan!” Mugen cried, wiggling free of his father’s hold to leap into his mother’s waiting arms. Jaken’s heart cinched as the boy grasped at the leathers bracers on Rin’s arms, and she swung him in an arc before gathering him close to her chest.

She squeezed him to her, peppering his forehead with kisses and tucking her nose in his hair. The floppy ears atop his head shooting up and wiggling as she hugged him to her. Sesshomaru stepped forward until he stood at the wall’s edge, Jaken inching closer to the side to give his lord a wide berth.

Once Mugen was situated in A-Un’s saddle and distracted by petting the dragon’s soft manes, Rin turned her attention to Sesshomaru with a serene smile. Her hand cupped the underside of his jaw, and Jaken turned his head away as they shared a kiss. Meaningful, wordless glances and calm kisses exchanged from his lord, but soft brushes of fingers from Rin. To his relief, they parted fairly quickly, and he wondered how his lord’s face could remain impassive after such a display.

“Master Jaken.”

Jaken turned. Rin’s smile was blissfully happy, making her eyes squint and her cheeks round . “I’m happy to see you,” she said. “Thank you for staying with Mugen.”

“Y- You don’t need to thank me for doing my duty,” Jaken huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

She laughed softly and looked forward, a teasing wink making him sputter. “I know that. Let’s go, A-Un,” she said, picking up the reins. Sesshomaru tipped his head up as A-Un began to circle them, allowing Rin enough time to press a kiss to his head before she tucked her arms around Mugen. “See you,” she said before they were gone, streaking across the sky with Mugen’s laughter carrying on the wind.

With them gone, the pounding of Jaken’s heart promptly returned, and he glanced up to Sesshomaru whose eyes trained on the retreating form of his family, a ghosted smile returning to his lips, gone as quick as it came when he straightened up.

“Jaken.”

“Y-Yes, milord?”

Sesshomaru looked down at him and for a moment, just a moment, Jaken could have sworn his eyes softened. He tipped his head upward to the sky, turning on his heel. “We fly.”

Jaken’s eyes watered, and he nodded, trailing after his lord.

#inuyasha fandom #sesshorin #sessrin #sesshomaru x rin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #sesshomaru #rin #jaken #mugen #affections touching across time

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needtherapy · 3 years

Text

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 18

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 Part 2: 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / … HOME

It’s complete on AO3 here.

Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;) This chapter is rated E for Explicit

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 18 Now

The warm afternoon starts to fade, but no one seems inclined to leave these hours of peace, this almost-utopia. It’s easy, here in this bubble of quiet, to forget who they are.

Mingjue walks with Xichen to the lake’s edge. He picks a handful of flat rocks and flicks them at the water, skipping the stones across the surface. Xichen smiles and raises his eyebrows, spinning his own rocks as far as Mingjue, earning a dimpled grin he doesn’t resist kissing.

Tall dry grasses brush their legs as they stroll further around the lake, and Xichen holds out his hand, running his fingers through the weeds that remind him of springtime, remind him that if he was home, he would be helping farmers schedule the planting season, livestock grazing, irrigation changes, next year’s rotations. He doesn’t actually wish he was there now, but he misses it anyway. It is only nostalgia, he thinks, but he wishes it was simpler to just dismiss it from his mind.

The water reflects the sky in warped ripples that look like sound. Mingjue points out a silent crane in the reeds, hoping not to be noticed, and they pass ducks congregating under a pine tree whose branches sag into the water. Xichen wraps his arms around Mingjue’s waist inside his fur-lined coat and adjusts his tunic, sliding it up to touch the skin on Mingjue’s back, settling his thumbs in the dips on either side of his spine. He is pleased by the way Mingjue laughs deep in his chest and touches Xichen’s cheekbone, smoothing his thumb across the ridge. He gazes into Xichen’s eyes, turning serious at whatever he finds behind them.

“I am sorry,” he says suddenly, too sorrowfully, too unlike himself.

Xichen feels a chill from the water, the wind, the words—they are twined together and can’t be separated.

“Etikuntiga? For what?”

Instead of answering, Mingjue frowns, tangling a lock of Xichen’s hair around his finger, letting it slip away, twisting it again, letting it go, again and again. He seems to be thinking, and Xichen doesn’t want to repeat his question, but he is afraid, and it’s hard to stand still in a pool of fear.

“I have done...poa ahinu.” There is terrible regret in his voice, and Xichen scrambles for a translation.

“Many...bad?” No, ainu is bad. He doesn’t know ahinu.

“Bad things,” Mingjue corrects, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Xichen’s, the familiar gesture of affection feeling more like resignation this time, like waiting for punishment. “I have done many bad things. To you. Your people. I can not explain, and I do not know how to say I am sorry.”

Xichen doesn’t do him the disservice of laughing away his remorse. He doesn’t know the answer either.

“Ahoraho, you have never harmed me,” he says finally. “I can not forgive you for anything else, although if I could, I would.” He doesn’t say because I love you. He knows Mingjue would return his sentiment, even mean it, but there is a chasm of obligation between them. His love and Mingjue’s are two different creatures, and to say the words would call attention to the inequality. Xichen doesn’t know if he’s protecting himself or Mingjue, but either way, he can’t lay out his heart so bare.

Mingjue kisses him, rough and searching, seeking something specific. Xichen doesn’t have absolution, but he kisses Mingjue just as firmly, tightening his arms and digging his fingers into the pliant flesh of Mingjue’s back. Mingjue pulls Xichen’s hips against him, grinding against his thigh, and Xichen stiffens and pulls back with a smile, not a rejection, only not wanting to be seen. Mingjue leads him further under the pine tree until Xichen is fairly sure they’re hidden from view on the other side of an old trunk and draping limbs.

“Shh,” he tells Xichen with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, that’s still too contrite, and Xichen can’t bear it. He doesn’t know what Mingjue intended, but he wants to show Mingjue, even if he is too much of a coward to say it, that he is loved and forgiven.

Xichen kneels in the soft carpet of dead needles before Mingjue, ignoring his hoarse, “Xichen, no, wait,” and unties Mingjue’s pants enough to wrap his mouth around his cock in one deep suction of hard tongue, soft lips, and wet throat that makes Mingjue’s knees buckle. It was such a surprise, he is not yet fully hard, and Xichen loves that he can take him in completely, feel him stiffen against his throat, coax him with his hands. Mingjue leans against the tree and covers his mouth, holding back the moans that want to escape, but Xichen is relentless. Love, he thinks. He loves Mingjue. And whatever pain he feels, whatever melancholy haunts the caverns of his heart, Xichen will take it away if he can.

Xichen fills his hand with the power of his gift and lays it on Mingjue’s stomach, channeling the soothing magic into Mingjue the way he does with Sikunadis. Mingjue gasps, and bucks against Xichen’s mouth, hissing his name.

Xichen meets his eyes and Mingjue looks almost panicked, almost close to tears, out of control in a way Xichen has never seen. His hand clenching involuntarily in Xichen’s hair is the only warning before his climax explodes through him, and Xichen gladly takes that too, holding Mingjue steady as he shudders uncontrollably, licking his still-beautiful softening cock and kissing the lines of muscle that curve around his hip bones until Mingjue slumps to the ground.

“Aitapaho, what...what you did...ah Xichen, why are you so kind to me?” Mingjue stammers, still catching his breath, brushing his fingers over Xichen’s face as though memorizing the planes.

Xichen wants to laugh. Kindness hasn’t been his first thought, but he had wondered if he could soothe Mingjue’s sadness like he could heal a cut or scrape. He hadn’t known if it would help or if Mingjue would understand. But he had.

“Because you are kind,” he says. “Because you deserve kindness.”

With a sigh, Mingjue pulls him into a hug and does not let go for a very long time.

They walk the rest of the way around the lake before they rejoin the others, who don’t seem to have even noticed their absence. Titakau looks like she is sleeping, curled up next to Qingyang, who is reading and thoughtlessly looping Titakau’s pair of long braids through her hands. Huaisang and Guangyao are engrossed in maka, a strategy game Xichen hates playing. It’s not because he isn’t good at it. He used to love to play with his brother, but it is the one thing Huaisang is truly, deeply, passionately serious about, and it takes all the joy out of the rare times Xichen can outmaneuver him. Luckily, Guangyao is very good at it too, and he has proven to be a more enjoyable opponent for both Huaisang and Xichen.

Maka is also, curiously, one of the few things the Ikarahu have in common with Xichen’s people, and he wonders whether it was the Ikarahu who brought the game south, or whether his people took it over the mountains. When did everything go wrong between their lands? Before he came to live with them, Xichen had known so little about the Ikarahu, not the simplest basics of their language, not even their name for themselves. If more had been shared between their cultures, would there have been a war?

It occurs to him how much more Guangyao knows than he did, and he curses himself for never caring about what happened beyond the Cloud Recesses and beyond what affected him directly. He has been a fool for too long.

The winter light turns into long shadows, and there’s a snippy new cut to the wind by the time Huaisang stretches, looks around, and decides it’s time to leave. Once they’re packed up to return, Mingjue pulls Xichen behind Liebing to kiss him soundly, pretending the world contains only them, and no one else can see them here. Xichen clutches him tightly, hoarding every minute of Mingjue he can.

It is, perhaps, the reason they don’t notice the approaching horses until right before the soldiers attack.

“Anakau!” Huaisang screams, and there is the sound of metal clashing, but Mingjue is already reacting, drawing Kaumadis as he runs, Xichen right behind him.

Without thinking, Xichen heads for Qingyang and Titakau, blocking a rider who is thrusting a heavy spear at them. Spinning Sikunadis, he swings the sword toward the man, releasing a wave of blinding power from the iraho and immediately channels more into the blade. Xichen’s magic rocks the man backward, throwing him from his horse. Xichen slaps the horse on its rump with the flat of the sword, sending it running back the way it had come.

He does not want to kill this man, who he now recognizes is wearing the insignia of the Jin clan. But the man leaps to his feet and charges, and Xichen has only seconds to make a choice. He brushes the spear aside and runs the man through, giving him, at least, a swift and merciful death. He feels sorrow and a twinge of guilty betrayal, but it is not enough. Not enough to die for. Not enough to sacrifice his friends for.

Xichen is torn between staying to protect Qingyang and Titakau and finding Mingjue, but Titakau grabs the spear and hoists it.

“Ereda,” she tells him. “Ema outam eti eko.”

Xichen runs toward the sound of fighting. It must have been a scouting party, Xichen thinks, although they are very far from Jinlin Tai. There are only ten or twelve men, and already four have fallen, including the one Xichen killed. One of the Ikarahu guards is on the ground, injured or dead, Xichen can’t tell, and the other two are with Mingjue, guarding his back against the majority of the soldiers.

Huaisang has shoved Guangyao behind him, holding off one of the soldiers, but Xichen watches helplessly, too far away to help, as a second Jin soldier runs to the attack.

“Oridit!” Xichen yells in Orera, knowing Huaisang and Guangyao will understand him, and hopefully the Jin man will not.

Guangyao spins too late, and the soldier stumbles forward, shock and horror on his face as his sword slides deep into Guangyao’s chest. He mouths something Xichen can’t hear and Guangyao cries out in pain, falling to his knees. Huaisang lunges furiously at the man he is fighting, sword flashing across the Jin soldier’s throat. He kicks him away viciously before turning to the man who stabbed Guangyao.

The man holds up his hands, but Huaisang either doesn’t see or doesn’t care. He crooks his fingers, and flings what looks like a solid boulder of magic at the man, throwing him into the trunk of a tree. Xichen has no doubt that the dull crunching sound he makes on impact is a death sentence, and the man slides bonelessly to the ground.

“Mik! Xichen, nahima!” Huaisang shouts, panic and fear reverting him to his native tongue. He braces Guangyao, holding him up, careful not to jar his injured right side. “Yao-ti, mik, mik, mik, dak anot ainu?”

Guangyao’s skin is already pale and waxy, and he is fighting for every gurgling breath. Xichen tosses Sikunadis to Titakau, who catches it gracefully. Qingyang takes the spear and they move to guard positions. Xichen reaches inside Guangyao’s robes to press his hand against the wound, testing it with his magic. It is deep, and he heals the punctured lung immediately, knowing that to be the greatest danger. The blood is still flowing more swiftly than Xichen likes to see, but nothing else vital is damaged, and there are no broken bones.

“Huaisang, I will heal him. Go help your brother,” Xichen orders, but Huaisang shakes his head mutely, his expression blank. “Aurakat,” Xichen says more firmly, and Huaisang’s chin snaps up, still defiant. “Ereda. Nahima eko Mingjue. Ako.”

He does not say because I can’t, but Huaisang finally seems to understand. With a frown, he releases Guangyao and goes, and Qingyang takes his place, bracing Guangyao as Xichen heals him.

“He knew me,” Guangyao whispers, and Xichen nods. It was what he had suspected.

“I do not think he meant to strike you,” Xichen says, and Guangyao tries to shake his head but grimaces in pain.

“No,” he agrees scornfully. “I should be relieved that at least they were not here to kill me.”

Xichen wants to ask Guangyao if he thinks his father would try to kill him, and why, but he doesn’t want Guangyao to waste his strength. When he meets Qingyang’s eyes, she nods, teeth clenched. She, at least, would not doubt it, he thinks.

“Perhaps they are here for your horse,” Guangyao says, managing a reedy, but Xichen has to strain to hear his rasping words. “Your Liebing used to be my father’s, you know. Only the finest possessions for...”

His voice trails off as he bites back a pained grunt, and Xichen touches a hand to his forehead, adding a second stream of magic to ease the hurt.

When the sound of fighting abruptly stops, Xichen looks up to see Huaisang and Mingjue—safe, they are safe—with the two Ikarahu soldiers. The third is lying motionless, and when Mingjue checks him, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, motioning the other two soldiers to secure the dead man to his horse for transport.

Xichen is sick. This day that had started so beautifully has turned so ugly, and even though his friend will heal, Xichen is shaken by the possibility of what might have been. No one interrupts him as he heals Guangyao, but Mingjue rests a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing a soothing circle. When Xichen takes his hand away from Guangyao’s shoulder, the skin is as smooth and unblemished as it had been.

“You are very skilled, Zewu-Jun,” Guangyao tells him faintly. “But why am I so tired?”

Xichen pats his hand. “Thank you, Guangyao. You were injured badly and lost a great deal of blood, so you may feel weak for some time. Can you ride?”

Guangyao’s eyes flutter shut as he considers, but eventually, he shakes his head.

“Aurakat, will you ride with Yao-ti?” Mingjue asks. “I do not wish him to fall.”

It makes sense, Xichen thinks. After all, Huaisang is the lightest, and it will put the least strain on his horse. It will leave Mingjue free to guard them, as they are down a soldier. But he can’t help but think that Mingjue looks calculating. Perhaps Huaisang is not the only brother who can scheme.

Huaisang nods, even though he looks unusually anxious, and Mingjue lifts Guangyao, helping him sit in front of Huaisang. Xichen doesn’t think the man is feigning this weakness; he doesn’t think Guangyao would ever intentionally show true weakness. The ride back is uneventful, although slower than the ride out had been, and when they get back, Guangyao has fallen asleep, leaning back against Huaisang’s shoulder.

It seems that being stabbed has made Qingyang dislike Guangyao less. She and Titakau help him into his tent, staying, Titakau says, to ensure he doesn’t slip into an unwakeable sleep. Huaisang looks caught between two minds, as if he wants to follow them, but instead, he turns away. Mingjue catches his arm before he can flee.

“Aurakat, we must end this,” he says gently, “Heto romi heti romi eidar.”

Huaisang’s eyes close. He looks forlorn and heartsick, and Mingjue pulls him into a quick hug before letting him go.

It is one of those things Xichen doesn’t understand, and they aren’t willing to explain yet. He waits as Mingjue hands the reins of the horse carrying the dead man to the other soldiers, resting a hand on the man’s head with a frown. He murmurs something that sounds like “mau ato.” My fault. Xichen doesn’t know what to say, so he only takes Minjgue’s hand and leads him to his tent. There will be work to do tomorrow, but tonight, he needs to be held and loved, and he suspects Mingjue does too.

Xichen hopes that someday they’ll trust him enough to share the grief that brought them south.

Notes: Ereda. Ema outam eti eko. = Go. We’re behind you. Mik! Xichen, nahima! = Shit! Xichen, help me! Yao-ti, mik, mik, mik, dak anot ainu? = Yao-ti, shit, shit, shit, how bad is it? Ereda. Nahima eko Mingjue. Ako. = Go. Help Mingjue. Please. Heto romi heti romi eidar. = One way or the other (literally one road or another road).

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #soaring au #lan xichen #nie mingjue #nielan #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #sangyao #luo qingyang #Kristina writes tiny stories #complete on ao3

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lemonsandstrawberries · 4 years

Text

An after Christmas Snack

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU

summary: Christmas season had ended, but Steve is still finding some things to remind him of the past celebration and, oh boy, he intends to celebrate.

length: 1 449

a/n: HEY, LOOK AT THAT, FIRST FIC IN 2020! And I think it is a very me kind of fic, buuut I am not gonna tell you what I mean exactly, I am sure you can figure it out while reading *wink wink*. you will get one hint though, this fic is inspired by this lovely post. also, I still have a Christmas tree at my house so this fic is totally valid ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . as always, feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated and needed!

——————–

An after Christmas Snack

"Tony, I brought you a snack - what the - ?!"

Steve stopped, catching a shining object with the corner of his eyes and staring at it. Silver branches, blue and red ornaments. A Christmas tree. A Captain America themed Christmas tree Tony had proudly decorated and put on display in his workshop and he and Steve had a good laugh about it, while Steve had been secretly flattered.

Back in December. It was the end of January.

"Huh?" Tony turned around from his workbench, stopping the spinning hologram of his suits. Always upgrading, adding something to make his armor better and more efficient. "Oh, hi, baby. Is that for me?" Tony smiled, eyes lingering on a cheese grilled sandwich Steve was holding on a plate.

"Uh, yeah, but - why you didn't put the Christmas tree away yet?" Steve asked while Tony walked to him, taking the steaming hot sandwich in his hand and then tossing it to his other hand, just to blow on his fingers as the hot bread stung his fingertips. There was a reason people used plates.

"Duhno," Tony shrugged, biting into the sandwich, cheese strands stretching from his mouth. "Tho shoon."

"Too soon?" Steve laughed, watching his boyfriend getting his mouth dirty with ketchup. Tony shrugged again, grinning adorably. There was something really sweet about Tony's love for Christmas trees. Each December every corner of the Tower had a Christmas tree, no matter if it was a conference room, one of the gyms or private floors of the Avengers team. While on the main floors, they tried to limit the number of Christmas trees and keep them in the main rooms, Tony didn't have the same composure on his and Steve's floor. They had a full-size Christmas tree in the living room, bedroom, Tony's study, smaller one in the kitchen standing on the window sill, and even in the bathroom - the smallest one of them all, decorated with figures made out of soap. It was a very unusual place to put a Christmas tree in, but soon became Steve's favorite one and it was a pleasure to catch one of the apple-cinnamon scented soaps and use for his showers or baths shared with Tony. Gradually, Christmas trees were slowly disappearing from the Tower after 6th January, safely stored for another year, but somehow Tony managed to keep the one in his workshop.

"Do you plan to keep it till Valentine's Day?" Steve teased.

"Easter if it goes well," Tony answered and Steve wasn't sure if it was a joke or not, but he just shook his head fondly. There was a crash coming somewhere from the workshop and Tony whipped around with an irritated look on his face. "Dummy! I told you to watch out!"

Steve blinked, noticing another thing when Tony turned around and away from him. Something that he didn't notice earlier, hidden under layers of shirts and suit jackets or baggy Christmas sweaters, but becoming perfectly noticeable when Tony wore his undersuit compression shirt.

Seemed that Christmas trees were not the only thing that was left after the Christmas season. Steve remembered the moments that led to this one very vividly - the way Tony enthusiastically piled more mashed potatoes and roast beef on his plate, second helpings of sticky toffee pudding cake, and that their evening kisses tasted of hot chocolate and sugar cookies. Denying anyone food wasn't in Steve's nature and he had happily cooked with the rest of the team and they all spend many good days, eating and laughing and relaxing, and it was a pleasure to watch them all and especially Tony, his Tony who loved food, but had days when he was neglecting eating in favor of working. Steve had been just happy to see his boyfriend slow down and enjoy the season.

Steve couldn't turn his gaze away. He always had some sort of weakness for Tony's softer shape, not as angular and sharp as his own body, but rounder and more delicate with a round, bubble butt, curved hips and a belly that formed a soft slope and wasn't rock hard and didn't have to be. The compression shirt fitted snugly around Tony's shape, pronouncing the belly that became a bit rounder in the past weeks and little more sticking out and that coupled with the way how low Tony liked to wear his pants and how it left his whole tummy on display was making Steve's breath quicker. Yet, the worst (or best) was to come. When Tony turned away completely from him, scolding Dummy about something Steve didn't register, he saw Tony's silhouette and while the sight of his boyfriend's ass was gorgeous, as always, something new appeared. Little rolls above the belt on both sides of Tony's waist. Love handles.

That made Steve's mouth water. He wanted to haul Tony over his shoulder and carry him out to kiss and touch and admire.

And what exactly was stopping him?

Despite, Tony still going off on the increasingly sorry looking Dummy, Steve sneaked to his boyfriend and wrapped arms around him, pressing Tony's back into him.

"Stop being so tough on Dummy," Steve whispered into his boyfriend's ear, and Tony huffed, still irritated.

"Dummy, clean it!" Tony ended his rant, pointing his finger in the direction where his creation made a mess. They both observed as Dummy used his claw to grab a broom and swiped the floor from broken bits of something and Tony couldn't stay mad for long seeing his special bot's honest effort. "Good boy, Dummy," he praised and the bot perked up and resumed cleaning, looking a lot less sorry.

Steve ran his nose over Tony's ear delicately and inhaled. God, Tony didn't only look delicious but smelled delicious too.

"Whatcha doing?" Tony asked in a singing voice, twitching his head away from the tingling feeling on his ear. Encouraged by the playful tone, Steve brushed his fingers along Tony's sides, gently and light, testing the new curves.

"Steheve," Tony giggled, still open and enjoying the closeness, just twisting his hips a bit, causing the nicest friction between their bodies. Steve made some approving sound in his throat, liking what he was feeling, just a soft and warm and wonderful body. The material of the compression shirt was very thin and clung to Tony's torso like a second skin, and was smooth and allowed his fingers to glide down easily and feel every curve. Speaking of curves -

"HEY!" Tony jumped, a startled laugh escaping his throat when not knowing when the sweet contouring of his sides changed into firm burying of fingertips, right into his belly, just in the very center. "Dohahan't," Tony laughed, batting on the hands that tried to come back, this time deliberately teasing and tickling around his belly button. The shirt hugged his rounder tummy snugly and there was a small dent in the material, just where his belly button was, something Steve had noticed right away, making it a very easy target. "No no nohoho, come ohohn," Tony continued to laugh, successfully knocking Steve's stubborn hands away and managing to turn around. Still wrapped in an embrace of strong arms, Tony looked at his boyfriend with a playful smile, hoping that, despite the short distraction, it all was going in the direction he thought. It felt very nice, when Steve's hands firmly slid down his back, smoothly gliding on the slippery material, stopping above his butt, thumbs resting on the small pockets.

"You can go lower if you like," Tony encouraged in a low murmur.

Steve smiled hungrily, wondering if his hands were big enough to still cup each cheek. Tony's breath stopped when it turned out that yep, they still were. Nice and firm and round globes, sitting perfectly on each palm, carrying a nice weight. There was no other feeling like digging his fingers into the glorious thing that Tony's ass was, and Tony shivered, pressing closer into him. Steve made some very needy whimper that escaped without his consent, when Tony's softer belly pressed into his hard one, the contrast driving him crazy.

Tony was warm and eager and Steve wanted to make his boyfriend melt like he had melt butter for Christmas cookies Tony had so enthusiastically devoured.

The very dark, promising look in Steve's eyes was a good enough reason for Tony to put his all projects on hold.

"Dummy! You're on workshop duty!" Tony called, pushing his hips into Steve's and hooking one leg around his soldier's thigh. With a more predatory smile, Steve slid his arms below Tony's butt and carried him out of the workshop, having his own snack to enjoy.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #tickle fic #fanfiction #fanfic #tony stark is ticklish #belly tickling #tony's belly #belly button tickling #light but still is #chubby!tony #body acceptance #weight acceptance #basically tony is curvy after Christmas season and Steve is mesmerized and enjoying his boyfriend's body #told ya it is my kind of a fic

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alllosersdownhere · 4 years

Text

Pegging Penny

(Posting for @theotherbloodfart so this big boi fic can be under a cut.)

This is a request made by @lovintheclown for some soft fem dom on Pennywise. Was assisted in this behemoth by the lovely @alllosersdownhere Enjoy some gratuitous clown pegging

"Sooooooo….. You wanna?" You feel the blood heating your face as you blush from your hairline to your navel. Standing near the bedroom door and very much naked, you fight the urge to look away from the clown that lingers by your bed.

Pennywise is gazing at the objects spread out upon the mattress with an oddly confused expression upon his face. You've been pointedly ignoring these objects as soon as you'd laid them out, the idea of acknowledging their existence again making your throat feel dry and cracked.

He picks one up. A large, thick, nylon collar in a brilliant blue. With a heavy-duty plastic clip. "You wish for me to put this on?" You blush again.

"Yes….. I thought it might be fun……. Maybe tell YOU what to do for a change." Your nervous laughter sounds more like a series of chokes. The sound dies in your throat as he places the collar delicately back upon the bed to focus on the leash next to it. It is also made of thick nylon. And bright red. You watch as he wraps an end around each of his gloved hands. Then pulls the leash taught in a rapid snapping motion as if testing its strength. Your body jerks at the unexpected whip-like sound.

The next thing he examines is the most embarrassing of all. A moderately sized, flesh-toned strap on. The expression on his face is wide-eyed and curious. Inquisitive even. You blanch as he sniffs it, before setting it back down and tilting his head at you.

You feel a strange twist in your chest. He's not innocent. You know this. But the endearing ignorance in his expression brings an inimitable warmth to your fluttering heart.

"This would please you? If I do this? If I submit to what you command?" His voice is somber, unsure. He is a predator... and that he is seemingly considering this at ALL...

"Yes, Penny." Your voice is a nervous whisper as you feel the warmth in your chest pool lower into your abdomen. Into your core. His nostrils flare and you know now he is aware, by your scent, of how much you desire this.

His gloved hand returns to the collar, briefly hesitating before he picks it up once more. He strokes over it with his thumb as you watch with held breath, your chest thrumming. Those sun-bright eyes flick to yours.

Pennywise reaches out to hand it to you. You shudder as the silk of his glove brushes your fingertips and the hefty weight of the object presses upon your palm. This causes a wicked grin to crease his face. Knowing and dark, his expression is lascivious.

"I await your command," His voice is now an amorous growl. "Mistress." The ‘s’ in this word is drawn out, a mocking hiss.

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your mouth falling open. A soft curse falls from your lips, and suddenly you know this is not a want but a need. Your mind has painted the picture of him laid before you more than you'd ever admit; this beautiful creature, this preying beast, surrendering to you.

"Take..." You stop and lick your lips to try again, forcing command into your tone. "Take off your suit. Strip for me." You close your eyes as your imagination rushes ahead, fiery heat coiling within your belly. “I want to see you bare.”

Pennywise’s throaty purr has your fingers clenching the nylon collar. “Yes, Mistress.”

You watch raptly as he obeys. First, he kicks off his boots, as well as a pair of clean white socks. Then he moves to the ruffle around his neck, pulling it over to leave the perfectly styled coif of his hair disheveled. It is a torturous reveal. You wish to touch and trace his porcelain colored skin. Feel the lean muscle flex beneath your fingertips.

The clown gives you a smirk as he reaches to his chest, the ruffles on his arms pressing upon the orange puffs, as he unsnaps his doublet. You reach out and back to hold the wall, as your knees suddenly feel as if they are stuffed with packing bubbles. Flushing at the realization that you've never seen what lies beneath that silk. Well…… you've seen his genitalia, if that is what it can be called. But you've never seen his FLESH. His SKIN.

The clown shrugs his shoulders, the thicker, vest-like material of the doublet sliding down his arms and flopping onto your bedroom floor. As Pennywise reaches up to the buttons of his shirt, your hungry mouth gets the better of you.

"I ought to make you give me a strip tease." You attempt to cover the burning flush on your cheeks by grasping your own chin and tapping your lips with your forefinger.

The clown freezes, his fingers stilling upon the small pearl colored buttons on the looser fitting undershirt. His retort is rapid fire.

"The mechanics of my dance might make such a thing difficult."

The instant mental picture of him doing his wagon jig in a thong and fishnets turns your cheeks a livid shade of fuschia. You can't help yourself. Wheezes of laughter begin to whistle thru your teeth.

Pennywise looks at you incredulously before his face darkens, his brows furrowing and molding into demonic ridges, his eyes darkening to vermilion. Without warning, he grasps large handfuls of silk in both of his hands and rips violently. You are not prepared for what you see. And the laughter dies upon your lips, already forgotten.

You had expected smooth pale flesh. You had expected an albino body of sorts. You had expected a man's body. And it IS similar in some ways. Iron tight ridges of muscle upon his belly flare into his trousers in a telltale sign of a silk covered iliac furrow. His pecs are well defined as well, tho not in an obnoxious overly muscled way. His body appears lithe and wiry rather than the slenderness you have been expecting.

But it is the skin itself which takes you aback. It appears smooth and supple, nearly shiny in its hairlessness. And yet, in certain joint areas... the tops of his shoulders, and his elbows and wrists as he lets the tattered remnants of his shirt fall away... the skin is mottled and cracked. Similar to the paint along his hairline. And yes, the color of it is as porcelain white as his face.

But there are blaring traits which you had never expected. Rising from his groin, the base of which is still covered by his trousers, are twin red lines. One in each of the dips of his hip bones, and the very same crimson as the lines which run along his face. They climb up and around his body, thicker at the base and tapering as they move upward. Several lines curve and branch from these main stems. They look as vines growing inside the pale luminosity of his flesh. Twisted replicas of the smaller lines on his face. Although the crimson color makes them appear vein like as well.

Words are stolen from you. You can only gaze in awed silence and trace over them with your eyes as surely as you wish to do so with your palms. However you had envisaged him... had not come close to the real thing. And you have not yet seen all of him.

With a wry, knowing smile gracing his lips, he asks, "Do you like what you see, Mistress?"

“The rest of it, Penny.” Your voice still quivers, though nerves are no longer the culprit behind it. "I want to see it all."

Rocking back on his heels, impossibly tall, he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers but does nothing more. Only smirking at you with a brow raised. He removes his thumbs again without removing his pants and splays his silken fingers, displaying them to you. Then, he reaches up and pinches the tip of the glove upon his middle finger and begins to pull at the material.

"Stop." The word is more like a croak. The clown halts what he's doing. "No. Leave the gloves on. Everything else off."

That mischievous grin slowly unfurls yet again. He releases the garment and allows it to snap back into place, and slips his hand back to his waist, purposefully drawing one of his large palms down his belly as he does so, the sound of silk running along flesh clearly audible. He begins to urge the pants over his slim hips, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Your mouth is dry. He is unhurried, savoring the reveal. And gradually you see him. All of him. He steps out of the trousers and kicks them away, now completely, brazenly and beautifully bare before you.

He is very obviously relishing in your reaction to him. Placing his palms on the back of his head, he spreads his elbows wide, his legs flexed and splayed shoulder width as if he's modeling himself to you. But quite frankly, you're too turned on to give a shit.

At first, it appears as if he has a woman's genitalia. But then a probing organ slithers out into your view. His cock is not like anything you've ever seen before. Thick and meaty, it only half hangs due to being quite stiff. But it is still writhing. It appears similar to a tentacle yet the firmness of it prevents it from being quite as flexible. It is the deep color of venous blood, quite wet, and you can see what appears to be barbs around the head, curving back wickedly. This head is not tapered but bulbous. As if the entire organ is its own entity, slithering against his thighs, seeking some unknown prey.

"That's…….. Different……" You know your face is aflame.

"Does this form displease you?" His brow is, once again smooth. His eyes, a glowing periwinkle blue. You can swear he sounds almost nervous. "Would you have me change?"

"NEVER." The word plows from your lips in a vehement rasp. "Come here, Penny. Come here and kneel in front of me."

Pennywise complies, moving fluidly and doing just as you say. Dropping to one knee, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, his face turned up to you, his gaze now almost childlike. Trusting. It is not often that you see him like this. Gentle. Obedient. And shorter than you.

You gulp shyly and wrap the hefty collar around his neck, the bottoms of your wrists brushing the cool flesh of his delicately formed decolletage. His nostrils flare at your nearness and you can clearly see his muscles rope and flinch at his effort to remain still for you.

Standing stiffly, you point a shaky finger back to the objects on the bed. "Get the leash, Pennywise. Get it and bring it to me." You are trying to sound firm and, although you are not shaking as badly as before, you realize you are feeling just a little more confident.

He complies without comment or his usual teasing, towering above you when he stands and yet obeying your words. He glides to the bed and lifts the leash within his silken gloves, turning back on his heels. You take it from him with flushed cheeks.

"Lower your head for me." He does so, and you clip the leash to the collar, allowing it to slide through your fingers to grip the end. He straightens once more, his eyes flicking to the last remaining object — the one you have fantasized about most of all.

“And the other, Mistress?” he questions, the sound dulled over the blood that rushes to your head. The thought makes you dizzy, so much more intense now that he is before you like this. “Do you wish me to retrieve it for you?”

"Not yet," you tell him, swallowing thickly. Forcing your legs steady. Soon. Definitely soon. Seeing him in this way… is exhilarating. You would not want the night over so quickly. No, you have more planned first. So much more. “Come with me.”

His bare feet pad along the floor to dutifully trail yours. On impulse, you whirl, finally feeling a carnal confidence enveloping your body.

"On your knees, clown." You bark out, this time your voice is soft and firm as velvet covering a cold loaded gun.

Galaxies and stars of an ancient past are visible in his widening eyes for the tiniest moment. But he does not speak. Those swirling blue irises remain fixed upon yours as the Eater of Worlds kneels to both knees.

"Hands too. On your hands and knees." Your courage bursts forth at his compliance. You are practically hissing "Crawl for me, my love." You wrap the handle of the leash around your palm, much as he'd done earlier, and give a firm yet soft yank downwards upon it.

For a moment, you are sure he'll resist. Absolutely certain he'll leap upon you and exact righteous vengeance for this callous behaviour towards him. Perhaps even hurt you. But he does none of these things. Instead, his body follows the direction of your pull, following thru with the action and command by falling forward onto his hands with a muted thud. The soft smoothness of the silk upon his palms causes his hands to slide a bit on the hardwood. You can't help but admire the way the muscle structure upon his back ripples as he instinctively uses his strength to keep his hands from sliding out from under him completely.

As his face slowly raises to return his eyes to yours, you feel your resolve slip the tiniest fraction. He's being so GOOD. You can hardly believe it. So you tell him so.

"That's a good boy." You reach down, with your free hand, and do something you've been dying to do since the first moment you saw him. Your fingers shake as they card thru his feathery soft ginger hair. You can see the skin between his ribs flexing inwards as his chest surges and his nostrils flare. You can feel him pressing into your hand. He's definitely enjoying this. His face remains perfectly smooth, his eyes impossibly wide.

You stand again and back away to the end of the length of the leash. "Come to me, Penny. Crawl for me."

And he instantly complies. And you are reminded again that he's not human. The crawling isn't the normal blocky surge of a human crawl. It is graceful, his bones and joints fluid as he glides forward to you smoothly. He looks like a pale, striped and collared panther. Almost feline.

You reach your hand down to him, palm up. He needs no cue, approaching and pressing his cheek into it. "That's a very very good boy." You trace his bottom lip with your thumb. Your eyes leave his to admire his lips. Painted and plump…… you've always loved his lips. Your body quivers with sudden, almost painful arousal.

Standing, you slowly back towards the bed, keeping the leash taught, watching that fluid crawl as he follows you. All this time…… and his eyes have never left yours. As you feel the mattress touching the back of your legs, you reach down to touch his lips again.

"You have beautiful lips, Pennywise."

His mouth curls into a smile which completely negates any innocence on his face. He looks absolutely wicked. Predatory. You straighten, lifting one leg to rest your foot upon the bed, opening yourself to him completely.

“You can start with kissing my thighs,” you tell him, gooseflesh raised on your arms in anticipation. “Go on.”

You feel his hot breath before you feel his touch. He closes the distance, brushing those lips against your eager skin. His kisses are feather-light, so gentle they bring an ache to your chest, teasingly peppered over and over. When you’re sure you can take no more, he presses his mouth firmly over you and pulls back briefly to swipe his tongue over his lips. You know he can taste you.

“More, Penny,” you urge, reaching out to rest your palm on the top of his head. Not pulling. Not yet. “More.”

He, of course, obeys. Leans back in and licks along the length of your labia, teasing you open with his tongue, the tip of it brushing your clit and stealing the breath from your lungs. One long swipe and your hips buck, seeking more of that pretty, talented mouth.

One hand raises and settles beneath your leg. The other rests now on your twitching stomach. Soft silk against your skin in contrast to the velvet sweetness of his tongue. He dips to lap up your wetness, a low and pleased growl thrumming through his chest at the taste, a pleasant vibration that sends an electric shock throughout your body.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “You feel so good. So, so good.” Your fingers curl in his hair, though you fight it. You know you cannot hurt him, but you do not want to even try. “My clit, Penny. You know what to do. Good boy.”

His teeth graze your hood as he sucks you into his mouth. His tongue lashes over you, your vision clouding over, your body overwhelmed. He does not press down or force you still. Instead he follows, refusing to let up. Refusing to disobey. And just as he follows your every motion, his eyes still never leave yours.

“Oh, God.” A moan is viciously wrenched from your throat. You feel him smirk against you. And you know he wants to please you; that he is doing this purely because it is what you desire. Your grip on his leash is so tight your knuckles are pale. “That’s it.” Another sound, high and keening. The ability to form coherent phrases is slipping from you rapidly, but you manage one final smattering of praise: “J-just like that, Penny… just like that, my love…”

You feel the muscles in your core clench painfully as his tongue circles just the right spot. Electric jitters of carnal energy shoot almost painfully up your spine and down your legs, making you lose your balance a bit as your toes instinctively curl. Your head falls back and you feel your center shifting. You are going to fall backwards and you DO NOT GIVE A DAMN.

Just as rapidly, you feel his strong hands, deceptively soft and silky on the surface from the gloves, grasp your bottom. Merciless squeezing upon each ass cheek as he holds you firm and steady. Helping you to stand as you cum powerfully into his hungry mouth. The sounds of his ministrations amplify to wet slurps.

He continues to hold you up until the last of the shudders fade. You feel tiny beads of sweat blooming between your breasts and upon your quivering belly.

"Look at me, Penny." A foolish command, as his eyes have been feasting upon you just as much as his mouth. He pulls his face back to give you another wicked grin, a string of saliva laden liquid connecting his mouth to you. His lips and chin glisten with slick fluid. For a moment you are frozen. For a moment you literally cannot speak.

His smile fades as he watches you, the smugness fading to predatory hunger. You can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your knees. Can feel the barbs against your knees, like wet rubbery nubs. He wants to take you. He wants to fuck you silly. Yet instead he makes the conscious choice to remain just where you'd told him to be.

"Did that please you, Mistress? Is Pennywise being a good pet?" His voice is a dark growl, his upper lip quivers in a mixture of arousal and a sneer.

"Yes." You cannot believe how calm your voice sounds. Husky yes. But still quite calm. "Now……. Fetch my cock."

Still smirking, he stands, turns, and leans over the bed to retrieve the flesh-toned rubber cock. You hadn't realized you have another blush left within you, but bloom it does as your eyes brazenly ogle his flexed ass. It's a thing of beauty, the flesh and sinew starkly tightening as he stands and turns to you, offering the offending object.

"No sir. You're going to put it on me." You lift the foot which had been sitting on the bed and wriggle the toes. You do not realize the expression upon your face is one of impish good nature.

He complies rapidly, sliding one loop onto your leg and holding it steady as you touch that foot to the ground and adjust your balance to lift the other. Sliding that loop on as well, he then begins to pull the device up your legs. He has to stoop quite far to do this and you can't help but enjoy the view of those taught ass cheeks from a different angle. As he buckles the device around your waist, you feel yet another deliciously wicked idea.

"Suck it, Penny." His eyes widen. "Suck my cock." Your voice falters a bit on the last word.

He doesn't hesitate in the slightest, immediately wrapping those painted lips around the rubbery tip and holding them there. His tongue slithers out of his mouth, inhumanly long, to wrap around the device and milk its length before his lips follow suit. Your body is already heating again as you watch his mouth sway along the cock in tandem with his extended tongue.

"That's right, my sweet clown. Make it nice and wet." You hear a strange thumping in your ears as your pulse seems almost too loud to bear. You watch him for a bit longer. Then, you suddenly feel impatient.

"Stop. Now."

He pulls his lips off, his tongue following suit much more slowly, sliding back along and around to disappear into his mouth, swiping one last circle around his lips to clean them.

"Now….. I want you to crawl into that bed. On all fours. Hands and knees. With that ridiculously gorgeous ass good and low for me."

Again, he does just as you say. Crawls upon the bed, steadies himself on his hands and knees, and spreads his knees a bit to lower his bottom. You position yourself behind him, nearly having to stand on tip toe.

"Lower, Pennywise." Now YOUR voice is a growl. He bunches his thighs to comply. He's even prettier like this than you imagined, his own cock hard and aching and writhing. You rest your hand at the base of his back, leaning some of your weight on him, unable to resist slowly roving over his skin. Feeling the powerful muscles beneath your fingertips. An electrifying reminder that he could so easily overpower you.

And yet…

You draw your hand back to where it was, your other rising to slip around the length of the thick rubber shaft. It is then you really get to see that it is not just a cock that hangs between his thighs, but that your first impression of feminine anatomy was correct as well, flushed and dripping with arousal.

You hiss out a breath between your teeth, a flood of want flowing hotly through your body. “Oh, you want this, don’t you?”

"I want you to be pleased." His response is a darkling plea. And yet is a snarl. As if he is battling his own instinctive will. You shiver as you watch the muscles beneath the flesh of his back quiver and twitch. You can see just how much he is restraining himself for you. “Mistress.”

“I am,” you promise him. “Oh, you’re doing so well for me. Such a good boy. Now relax, my heart." You finally give in to the urge to squeeze and massage his tight bottom and feel every sinew loosen as he complies. You run an experimental thumb around the tight ring. Too dry.

"Time for the good boy to get his reward." You dip you face to the more female parts of his anatomy and, without warning, begin to nip and suckle at the lips of it, reaching up to run your hands along the length of his cock.

A low snarl erupts from him and his entire body stiffens at this. You pull you face back, releasing the flesh from your teeth with a gentle snap. "I said relax." You feel him doing so again as you continue your ministrations. Focusing first on his alien cunt before running your tongue up to lash at his bottom. His body vibrates with hissing but he remains still.

Now that he's slick, you stand tall again and position yourself behind him. Feet firm upon the ground, you grasp the tip of the rubber cock and begin to press it into him. You go as slowly as possible, aware that you cannot feel thru this object.

So you are very surprised when he extends his thighs, taking the cock in and fully inserting it into himself with a garbled groan.

"Yesssss." His voice is demonic and cracked. "Take me, Mistress."

This time it is you who complies. Grasping his hips firmly, you pull out slowly, then thrust home experimentally. The clown snarls and purrs, bringing his hips to meet the base of the rubber, the action forceful enough to leave a sting on your thighs.

"Look at you! Taking this cock like a champ! Such a good, good boy." You reach up to touch and massage his back, brushing his hair with your fingertips, allowing him this small modicum of control. Allowing him to set the pace.

You watch him. Admire him. As he rocks himself and quivers and snarls. You cannot see his face but, judging by the sound of tearing material, you can guess that he's using his fangs to shred your bedding. He stretches out his long arms, claws snapping thru the silk of the gloves to slash and knead at your pillow.

This time when he rocks back, you meet him with your own push. You pull your hands back as you pull out, drifting over his skin to firmly grasp his hips. You take his lead and begin to follow his pace.

He is so wonderfully responsive. So needy, loosing pleased hisses every time you bury yourself within. Being unable to feel sensation through what is only a toy allows you to truly relish in his eagerness and in the way his body responds. You cannot feel him clutch around you, but you can watch him seek out more of the cock; can see the slickness coated on its shaft each time you draw out; can see the sweat building on his back, a thin sheen that seems to make his skin glow in the light.

The sight of it is enough to force a hiss through your own teeth.

You need to see his face.

"Pennywise." Your voice is thick and husky, startling even you. Never once losing momentum, you run your hand over the swell of his ass and lean forward, using your other to touch his cheek, urge him out of the fog of lust just enough to hear you. “Pennywise, up. Push yourself up for me, my love.”

He obeys without comment, without hesitation. The bed creaks as he rises, and once he's up, you wind both your arms around his torso to goad him back. Until he’s kneeling before you and your breasts press against his back. You’ve stilled your motions but remained within him. You do not want to leave him. You’ve ached for this, and now you gaze at him and that ache spreads through your chest like a blazing flame.

His hair is mussed, no longer curving up into the styled devil horns you are accustomed to. It is disheveled and disarranged. The curl in the middle now clings to his forehead, sticky with sweat. You flick your eyes to his lips, shining with saliva, hints of sharpened teeth that telltale his pleasure. He rocks back needily, his half-lidded eyes watching yours.

Pleading.

“Oh,” you breathe. You press your lips against his shoulder. Trail them to his neck, up until you may nip at his earlobe and whisper, “look at you. Beautiful. All of you.”

“Yes, Mistress.” His speech is rough. Slow. As if he is grappling to be articulate. “As are you.”

You circle your hips experimentally, rolling the cock within him. He utters a sound much like the mewl of a kitten.

"More, Mistress………. Please………" The tiny whispering growl of his voice, and the profound realization that he has just PLEADED with you, makes you realize a brilliant truth. It does not matter that his neck is bound and tied to your supposed will. It does not matter that he is doing as you say. It does not matter that you hold him here, quivering and impaled like a fuck toy. He could end you. Turn and kill you so swiftly that you would not even know it's happening. You realize…… it is YOU who are bound. You are the servant here. The slave. You would do anything he asked. Be anything he asked you to be. And with this realization, you do as you've always done. As you will always do. You obey him.

Wrapping your arms around his torso, digging your nails into his flesh in a way that would make any mortal man cry out, you hold him. Using his body as an anchor as you thrust your hips madly. Your thrusting is crooked and imperfect, the movement of one who is not accustomed to moving in this way. But it is guttural and primal. Harsh rasping breathing leaves you as your hips make wet slapping sounds upon his bottom.

You lower a hand down his belly, your fingers slipping in the sweat which trails down in rivulets, to grasp his own writhing cock. Unlike the one in the harness you're wearing, this organ is hot and pulsing and ALIVE. You squeeze and begin long, beastly and shameless strokes. Milking him as surely as he must be milking the toy.

You feel his body begin to stiffen. It even becomes more difficult to move the cock in and out as he is clenching so tightly. You can feel the muscles in his back stiffening to iron as you watch his arms extend and flex. The claws flailing and grasping at air. A demonic roar bubbles from him, building low in his belly, leaving vibrating sensations upon your forearms as it bursts up thru his ribcage and out of his maw to rock the very window sills in your bedroom. You know the neighbors must be hearing this just as surely as you know that you do not give a good God damn if they DO.

His cock pulsates in your hand and you feel his hot cum pour over your knuckles and drip down onto the bed.

You slide your hand back up his belly, not caring about the hot trail of cum you leave as you do so, and squeeze with both arms. Holding his panting body. Comforting him with gentle kisses between his shoulder blades.

"Are you finished with me, Mistress?" His body feels fluid and almost limp as he rumbles out the question.

"Yes. My sweet gorgeous clown. You were so good." You reach up and unsnap the collar, relishing in the dampness of the material and how you are the one responsible for it being this way.

Suddenly, the world around you is a blur. The curtains, wall, even your shorn bedding, all a blur as, before your mind can register what is happening, you're pinned face down upon your bed, your head sticking out and suspended over the edge of the mattress directly across from the full length mirror on the wall. Suspended also, by the dull pressure of that blue nylon collar around your own neck. How had he even gotten that collar around your neck??

In your current position, you can only see his reflection in the mirror as he crouches over the length of your body, the rippling muscles of his chest and belly wet and cool upon your back. His face is monstrous, fangs extended, drool pooling onto the nape of your neck. You can feel his thick cock pulsing and prodding at your knees, spreading them wide.

"Good. I’m glad I could be a GOOD GOOD BOY for you." His voice is a dark hiss. "And I must tell you, PET, I shall enjoy repeating this experience. Now……. Are you going to be a good GOOD girl for Pennywise?"

#hope ya like it lovintheclown <3

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lumberingleviathan · 5 years

Text

F!Shifter Witch x F!Reader

Thanks so much to @apassionatelife9 for the idea! Requests are still open for a bit, as well as taking Monster Mate requests for this Monday!

If you’re looking to get a more personalized story, or some juicy NSFW consider donating to my Ko-Fi, commissioning, or becoming a Patreon.

Hope you all enjoy, and thanks as always for the continued support, and wonderful encouragement you guys give!

-x-

Word count: 1046

Warnings: Lemon

The spill of moonlight slides across you like being bathed in silver. The way it all but caresses against your face, the cool breeze against exposed skin. You stand ankle deep in the waters of the small lake just east of home. Here where the waters so clear you can see the bed of the lake with ease, the rocks beneath seeming to give off a dull glow. How at home you felt in the cool embrace, stepping forward slowly, breathing in the scent of lavender where it grew shore side. The soft purple of each flower seeming to blur the world the farther from land you went.

The water slowly raising up to your thighs, sloshing like a lovers kiss against your skin. Your hands swirling through it at your sides, laughter lifting gently. How easy it felt to commune like this, to be free of the world, it’s pressures.

It also meant something else.

The soft sound of paws as they moved through the trees, how you felt eyes lingering on your naked form. Turning slowly the sight of a Jaguar rose up through the field of lavender. It’s pelt darker than the shadows around it, eyes seeming an iridescent sort of green. How your smile smoothes slow, and warm, “You’re late.” Comes the tease, arms raising to cross over your breasts. Water dripping down your arms, beads of it curving down your stomach, before meeting once more with the lake it came from.

The Jaguars mouth peeled back enough to flash fangs, before it lept upwards. It’s form turning into that of a raven, wings spread wide making a graceful arc over you, turning back to land soundly on one of the branches that overhang you.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” How much you enjoy this part too, trying to coax the witch into revealing herself. How months ago she never dared show even one of her forms, let alone two. Your hands draw down your frame, fingertips brushing against the hardening peaks of your nipples. Before the left dips, fingers threading through the plush curls, before splitting the seam of yourself. All but putting yourself on display, head tilting back in the process, “Don’t you want to touch?” You ask soft, breathy now as your fingers start up a slow circular rhythm.

The ravens gaze keenly stays on you, squaks a shrill noise before it dives towards the water. You watch transfixed as it shifts into that of an eel, curving elegantly through the water. Before it twists against your calves, drawing upwards as it moves. Your breath catching when a woman’s hand replaces your own, her face pressing to the curve of your shoulder.

“Tease.” She breathes out, and you turn your head enough to see the red of her hair as it cascades in soft waves down her back. Her skin tanned, and soft, but scars marring across her shoulders. The world is never gentle to her kind, but you resolve to give her more than just gentleness. That it would still not be enough for the devotion that pumps through you, hungry, and warm, and needy with the way she teases you now. Her mouth works at your shoulder, teeth drawing gentle red lines with each pass. Before her tongue sets to making amends.

“Is this what you want?” Avanka asks, her eyes still that haunting green when they lift to look at you. How you feel rendered speechless when her fingers press within you, curving somewhat in the process. Pushing against you until a moan crawls heavy from your lungs. How the noise seems to heat the air between you both.

You almost spear your tongue on your teeth, when her pace picks up. How her fingers fuck you with a kind of reverence, as if this in itself is a ritual beyond your understanding. Just that you can’t seem to keep yourself steady, hands reaching for her. How one tangles up into her hair, tugging at it with a hiss of a noise. How all you want is more, sweat starts to mingle with the water around you, as her laughter salves against your neck.

Her teeth all but taking your pulse against them where it races, and your knees start to shake. All but pinning her wrist between your thighs, trying to work your hips down against her. “Such a sweet girl.” She purrs now, noses against you even when you start to break. How her other hand holds at the small of your back, tilting you further against the water. “Always waiting for me, always teasing me, just to get this, huh?” Avanka can’t help but preen at the lewd noises that filter out of you.

When you finally come apart in gasps, and there’s a playful sort of air when she drops you. Your body submerging into the water, only for her mouth to find yours. Her kiss is deep, and you feel your lungs fill with air. Dizzy, and warm even with the lake surrounding you both.

How you can’t help but wonder how one day you might undo her just the same.

That one day you mean to make her plead, and beg, and come apart beneath your touch as well. The witch who holds so many forms, and yet always comes to you with a truth not many see, or know. Is this what they’d call love? The risks you’re willing to take even for the stolen moments, the precious feeling when you both surface. Her hair soaked, and shining, and how your limbs feel weightless, free.

“One of these days, I’ll get you to come home with me.” You tell her, and this time when she kisses you there’s a lingering sadness to it. Something delicate, breakable in that kiss, “Maybe, maybe one day you will.” Yet slowly she unravels herself from you, and how your heart stutters watching her lick her fingers clean.

You groan, sinking down into the water as she moves back towards land. Her frame shifting into that of a great bear, large, and looming as it forges onwards to places as yet unknown to you.

While the taste of her kiss still lingers, a ghost to haunt your heart for weeks to come.

#exophilia #x reader #witch x reader #monster girlfriend #my writing

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angeldoggowow · 4 years

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Ashes to Ashes

Amy treks the path up the mountain, determination shining on her face. With each step she can feel herself getting more and more tired, wanting to sit down, wanting to rest. She shakes away the feeling and jogs up the mountain trail, now forgotten by society. Wild thorn bushes stab at her legs and trip her, other plants grab her blond hair. The trees above drop leaves like rain and shake, seemingly with fear. Amy runs her hand along every tree she passes and gently grabs the leaves of plants as she passes. The crunch and crack of twigs and dead leaves under her feet calms her racing heart, but she’s thinking a million miles a minute. Every few steps her feet hit a wooden plank which is meant to be part of some stairs that have fallen away long ago. She looks up, the sky clouding over, “It looks like it’s about to rain!” Amy gets pulled back by her shorts. “Aaii!” she squeaks, ripping away from the rogue branch. She pats her shorts as she continues on her way.

Amy giggled as she watched the group of children climb the mountain. “They won’t ever find me up here!” she whispered against the trees damp bark. They trek away up the path. Minutes pass like hours, and the sky goes from baby blue to vivid oranges, purples, and even pinks. Amy dangled her feet over the edge of the branch absentmindedly. Have they forgotten about me? Tears pricked in her eyes as she hurriedly scuttled down the tree. She landed on the ground, dried leaves getting crushed under her tiny feet. Pushing herself away from the tree she now feared, she sprinted up the trail. Amy smacked away any leaves or branches in her way. It seemed like she stepped on every throne branch on the ground and tripped on every bump and rock. She finally got to the temple and ran into her friend’s arms, sobbing. “I-I-I wa-was so s-sc-scared!!” Her friends looked at each other, but shrugged. Amy’s heavy breaths ring in her head as she reaches the place she has been trying to get to: a old temple. The stone temple is covered in moss, vines, and other plant matter that has dyed the stone green. The roof curves downward and has holes in several places. Part of the roof has fallen in and one wall has crumbled to rubble. The wooden arches leading to the temple itself has rotted and fallen apart. Amy calms herself before stepping onto the stone path leading to the ruins. Her bare feet slightly stick to the cold stones. As she passes, Amy puts her hand on the arch. “Damp, like always,” she murmurs sadly. She looks at the stone pillars that were said to reach the gods. Behind her there’s a sickening crack and a thud. She turns, and sees the first wood arch has finally fallen. Amy stares at it, her green eyes clouding over with thought. Laughter rang out amongst the pillars as children ran in and out of them. Amy ran from the pillars to the arches and spun around them happily. The other kids follow her like ducklings, still giggling and laughing. “This is the gate of the gods!” Amy cheered, weaving in and out of them and her friends. The children stopped in their tracks, staring up at the wooden torii gate. “A-amy...we’re not supposed to mess with them…” one of them stuttered out. “But we’re not messing with them! We’re dancing around them!” Amy stated, twirling around. They looked at each other before a few shrugged and joined Amy in her frolicking. The rest, one by one, joined her. The only one who didn’t was a little girl who hadn’t followed them to begin with in favor of sitting on the steps of the temple and reading. Amy finally spotted her and broke from the rest of the kids. She stopped in front of her and smiled, “What are you doing?” “Reading.” “Well, what are you reading?” “A book about culture.” Amy sat next to her as she talked. “But don’t you want to go play?” she asked. “No, I’d much rather read,” the little girl responded, flipping a page. Amy frowned, but was not deterred. “Then I’ll stay here while you read!” she smiled brightly. “Y-you don’t have to…” the girl whispered. “But why would I leave you here by yourself?” “You don’t know me…” “I didn’t know I need to know someone to talk to them.” The little girl smiled shyly. Gently closing her book and setting it down, she got up. “What are you doing?” Amy asked. “Going for a walk; it’s obvious you won’t leave me unless we do something,” she said, walking away from Amy. Amy scrambled to get up, screaming after her, “Wait for me!” Amy keeps walking, but much slower than before. She walks to the broken entrance, the once lavish crossbeam missing from view. The jewels that were stuck into the building are also gone, taken by robbers looking for a quick buck. She runs her hand up the beam, the smooth dirty marble cold and damp against her finger tips. As Amy stands there, a few small droplets hit her forehead and nose. She lazily looks up, and it begins to pour. Rain drops the size of bullets pelt her face and any other bare skin and soaks through her thin, oversized shirt quickly. She stares up at the sky, seemingly not caring about the sudden downpour. The rain streaks down her face like silent tears, or perhaps they are tears, blending perfectly with the rain. Soon Amy’s golden locks stick together and become sticky wet ropes, clinging to her face. Sighing, Amy walks into the ruins.

The high ceiling has several holes which allow the pouring rain to break through, splattering the floor with giant droplets. The once colorful walls are now dull, and most are gray. The gold lining has been scrapped off and any marble chipped away. The once large statue of the Buddha is missing, leaving his stand unattended; covered in a thick layer of dust and vines. The tall torches next to it are missing the golden bowl meant to hold their flames, but the poles remain, buried by flora. The golden bowl for food for the gods is also missing; probably stolen like the rest of the valuables. The only thing remaining is the jade green and ruby red floor with gold, jade, and ruby colored balls mixed in; it’s nearly impossible to steal those without tearing the whole thing down and then some. But the once beautiful sight is obscured by years of dirt, dust, and dried blood. Amy looked around at the sight she found herself in; the temple built for the buddha and the gods. A group of maidens huddled together, speaking in hushed tones to each other while occasionally glancing at Amy. She traced the mesmerizing swirling patterns on the floor, which were seemingly mixed by a stick. It seemed like hours before a monk gently tapped her on the shoulder. “Come with me, young one,” he said, holding out his hand for her to take. Amy stood and took his hand carefully as he lead her away to the depths of the temple. She strolls to a pile of rubble that looks like it hasn’t been touched in eons. She gingerly picks up a stone chunk, stretching out a old dusty cobweb in the process. “He was right; not even a spider would stay here after what happened,” Amy sighs, throwing the chunk aside. At the bottom of the pile, a slight gleam catches Amy’s eye. She clears away the stones and vines to find a monk’s staff; a five foot pole made of redwood and gold. At the top is a golden ring, and a golden spike pierces through the ring. Other smaller rings occupy the two halves of the loop, six on each side. She picks the oriental staff from the ground and looks at it in wonder. “How did you survive? Perhaps…” she trails off as she twirls it around. Only then did she notice the numerous cobwebs keeping the smaller rings from clinking together or even moving. “Tiny pests, clogging my music,” Amy remarks with disdain, ripping the cobwebs away. Once the webs are cleared, Amy swings the staff around, allowing it to make a sound similar to a wind chime during a storm. Her racing thoughts slow to a near stop to take in the familiar sound. Amy watched as the other children starred past the wall into the main hall. “What are you all doing?” she asked them. “Watching the monks with their shiny staffs!” “And their special robes!” “Okay...what are they doing?” Amy asked, stepping closer to the hoard. “We don’t know! No one will tell us!” a few hissed, by most shushed her. Walking carefully around the crowd, she seen several tall men with bald heads, orange and white robes, and tall staffs. Most of them were seated on the polished ground, chanting something under their breath with their hands clasped together with ceremonial beads. Four were standing, chanting louder than the rest. A small girl with black hair sat in the middle of the four, with her back facing the crowd. Her face was tilted downward, hands together and finger tips touching her forehead. Unlike the monks, she didn’t have black beads strung around her hand, but a red ribbon. A red silk ribbon tied her hands together. Another monk stood in front of her with a wide hat that resembled a woven basket. He otherwise wore the same things as the rest. A loud noise rang out through the hall, making the children scatter and scramble away. Amy dived to the now empty wall and peaked around the corner. It sounded again, but this time Amy knew were it came from; that monk had hit his staff hard against the ground. The monk called out something in a deep voice, making the others begin to repeat him. He hit the staff against the ground several more times, and Amy noticed the tingling undertone of the staff. Her spinning slows to a stop. The joyful, childlike gleam in her eye fades just as quickly as it came, though. Amy glances around, her sad expression returning. A side entrance catches her eye from across the hall, it’s pitch black emptiness causing her to walk swiftly to it. Peering down the hall, Amy’s expression turns blank. “It’s like a black hole…” she comments somberly. She props the staff up against the wall and turns back to the great hall. She glances at the rubble piles until she sees a piece of wood sticking straight up out of one. Walking to it, she yanks it out of the pile of rocks. “You won’t be needing this at all…” She saunters to the stump of a marble column and presses one end of the stick to it. She pulls down with all her strength. A yellow-orange glow erupts from it, lighting up the area around it. For a fraction of a second, a shrill scream sounds, and the building shakes. Strong winds blow from all sides, pushing Amy down to the ground. But it ends just as quickly as it started, and the world is still again. Pushing herself off the ground onto wobbly legs, Amy stumbles her way to the hall.

She gingerly picks her staff up from the ground and thrusts the torch into the darkness. Webs are built up in the corners, with several bug carcasses frozen in time and covered in dust. Dust hangs in the air, and it smells musty. Parts of the stone ceiling and wall have fallen out but are nowhere in sight, like a puzzle missing it’s pieces. Echoes of water hitting water sounds from somewhere deep down the hall. She carefully begins the descent into the depths. The flame tries to grasp the cobwebs and reaches for the walls, but Amy holds it firmly in front of her. The only sound in the small space is the crackling of flames, the dripping water, the ringing of the staff, and Amy’s own breathing.

The darkness looms over the small girl as she stood at the end of the hall. She shivered, her black hair swinging noticeably. “Hey!” Amy screamed from behind her. The girl screeched and turned to her, her breath heavy. “A-amy? P-please, don’t do that!” she said. “Whatcha doing?” Amy cocked her head to the side. “I-I...have to use the bathroom…” the girl whispered. “Ooohhh...and the hallway is dark…” she said, peering down the hallway. “I can escort you there, Aya!” Amy held her arm out to her. Aya looked from Amy’s arm to Amy herself. She gently took her arm and clung to her. Amy’s face burned bright, but she smiled nonetheless. Hot air whips around Amy at seemingly random intervals, sweeping her hair and clothes back. The flames attempt to lick her face with each strong puff of air. Her clothes stick to her as she sweats, as does any dust or dirt that falls. After walking for a while, Amy comes out to another hallway. The staff rings with each step, and the crackling of flame fills the empty space Amy couldn’t hope to fill herself. She walks to the first dusty door and gently pushes it open. The door creaks heavily. Amy gently pushes the torch into the room, burning cobwebs in the way with a sizzle. Along the walls were beds with blankets of dust. “Hmm…” Amy hums, bringing the torch to the floor. Wooden toys are scattered among the floor, the paint wore off them and dirt ingrained in the cracks. Under them are slightly less dusty; but only slightly. Amy tiptoes her way to a bed in the corner; the only bed that has red blankets. She props the staff against the wall and makes her way to the bed. She smiles and runs her hand across the dust layer, digging up years upon years of crusty air. With a few swift motions, part of the vibrant vermillion hue shines through. “What happened to the girls bed?” “Why is it suddenly red?” “Is she using dark magic?” The whispers made by the priestesses echoed through the hallways. Amy sat just out of sight in the children's room, listening intently. “Should we switch whose going?” the youngest priestess asked, looking to the head monk and priestess. “Perhaps we should…?” The priestess murmured, looking down with a frown decorating her face. “No doubt; this is the work of the gods. We must change everything,” he replied firmly. The small group erupted with whispers and hushed tones. “Quiet now, quiet! It’s settled; she will our new sacrifice.” Amy’s eyes widen and water. “No...no!” she cried, bringing her hands to her face. Salty tears poured down her cheeks like waterfalls. She muffled her sobs with her hands. The group dispersed, but Amy stayed, sobbing quietly to herself. “I-I have to f-f-find a w-a-ay t-t-too...” she sobbed, getting to her feet. Amy sighs, her weary eyes scanning the bed. She stands, dust sticking to her shorts and damp shirt. She walks swiftly to the door and grabs the staff she left there. Her eyes meet a torch-holder on the wall across from the door. She swings her torch to the unlit burnt stick, lighting it. The hall illuminates, casting long shadows on the bland walls. Amy wanders the hall lazily. The next door she comes across has intricate carving in the stone. It’s slightly ajar. A strong smell is leaking through the door; similar to death. Her eyes connect with the torch holder next to the door; empty and covered with crusty cobwebs. She slides her torch in the holder. “Fits like a glove,” she remarks. Amy stares at it, watching the flames lick the ceiling greedily. She shakes her head and pushes the door open fully. Bookcases line the walls and a cot is pushed in the corner of the room like it’s a second thought. The upper shelves are sparse in terms of books, but holds trinkets, jars of things in a strange discolored liquid, and other random valuables that aren’t really valuable. Amy scowls as she walks in, the air musty like the rain had made its way in the room itself. She glances at the floor by one of the shelves. One of the jars have busted, and the liquid has already run down the book shelf, effectively ruining the books it touched. There is a pool shaped blob on the floor where the liquid had settled. “What are you doing in here?!” The monk screamed. Amy whipped her head to him, half terrified half angry. “Is...is THIS what you plan to do to her?! Turn her into...into...into THIS?!” she screamed back, tears pricking into her eyes. “How did you get in here?! Get out!” he growled, grabbing her arm. He pulled her away from the bookshelf, making her drop the book she was holding. “No! No no no no! I won’t let you do this!! You WILL NOT do this!!” Amy screamed, salty tears blurring her vision and running down her cheeks. The monk picked her up by the waist. She kicked, swatted, and flailed, all the while with her eyes screwed shut. Her hand connected with something smooth and cool, and with enough force to push it. Almost immediately the horrendous sound of glass shattering filled their ears. The monk froze. Amy froze, and slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she seen was one of the many jars on the shelf, broken, on the ground; she had pushed it off in her frenzy. She turned her head upward to look at the monk. His face read pure rage. With a animalistic growl, he threw her into the ground. Her head connected with the ground with a harsh thud. Amy growls, glaring at the bookcases. She throws her staff to the ground and reaches for the heavy object. She grips the edge and pulls. In seconds it tumbles to the ground like a tower made of bricks, but no mortar. The glass jars shatter on the ground and part of the bookcase itself seemingly crumbles, from what looks like dry rot. She tears down every bookcase in her brief, blind rage. After a few minutes, she calms down. She pants heavily while walking to her staff. Amy picks it up, and walks to the doorway. With a quick, almost mournful glance at the room, she saunters off down the hall.

Amy stops, just on the edges of the fires light. On the edge of her vision, she can see a door. She takes a few deep breaths and feels her way there. The door is plain, almost blending perfectly into the wall. There isn’t a handle, either. The only way to tell it’s even there is there’s a ever so slight sparkle in the space between the door and the wall; almost like there’s a light on the inside. Amy firmly plants her hand in the middle of the door. She gently leans in, her forehead connecting with sandy texture of the door. She chants something under her breath. A loud, odd click sounds from the door. Amy pushes the door open. The first thing that hits her is the heavy smell of sulfur and rotting flesh. She gags and covers her mouth, coughing like she’s hacking up her lungs. The faint, white outline of a pentagram stained with a unusually large amount of blood; certainly not enough for one person. She feels tears prick into her eyes heavily at the thought of her friend having come here, once upon a time. “NNNOOOO!!! NO, NO WAIT!!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!!” Amy cried heavily, crawling after the woman dragging her friend away. “W-wait! I-I change my m-mind! I don’t wanna go anymore!” Aya cried, tearing at the arms of the burly woman holding her. “Shut it!” The woman barked, re-adjusting Aya in her grasp. “I-I thought you s-said I c-c-could decide w-whether I wanted to d-do this or n-not!” Aya squeaked. “I did. Until just now,” the woman growled cruelly. Amy stretched her hand out as far as she could, and Aya did the same. Their hands catch and they latch on as hard as they could. The woman snarled and yanked Aya to her, dragging Amy closer to her with a yelp. The woman smirked, a sadistic glint in her eye, and whistled. Amy looked up at her. She then flew backwards, a meaty thud sounding through the hall. Aya screamed, tears now pouring down her cheeks. She stared at Amy, blood running from the fresh wound in her forehead. Amy sniffles. Her hand slowly comes to her face to feel the wet streaks. She braces herself before walking into the dark room. The walls and floor are a much darker color than the hall or any other room; more of the color of lava rock. In the middle of the floor is the blood stained pentagram. There are four long, lamp like torches like the ones in the temple over head, but almost pitch black. The walls are carved to match the image of the gods with no free space at all. Amy’s hand gingerly connects with the wall as she walks the outside of the room. The feeling of carved faces, ridges that make clothes, and smooth parts that form landscapes bring a very, very limited comfort to her. She gets to the wall opposite the door, and brings her hand to her side. She stares up at the figure. Though none of the carvings have color, she knows this one like the back of her hand. The female figure is in the middle, above the others with the sun behind her. Her face the epitome of beauty, and her clothes fitted to her slender form. Amy sighs, “I suppose I was prettier back then…” To Amy, it feels like staring into a mirror and seeing who you were, not who you are. She glances at the other figures; men, women, and animal alike were gods, like Amy. Her eyes connect with the ancient writing that spells out her name; her real name. “Amaterasu… a name I haven’t been called for some time…”

Amaterasu’s melancholy gaze is catch on the other gods she knew; she was their friend, their boss, and in some cases their lover and enemy. “I said we’d live forever. I said we’d never grow old. I’m sorry; I lied to you all,” she moved to the man on her left and touched his face as she spoke. She shakes her head. Moving around the stained floor, she makes her way out of the room. The door all but slams behind her. What does it mean to be immortal? Her slow footsteps, the ringing of the staff, and the faint crackling of the torches don’t seem comforting anymore. I have no one. They seem to haunt her. Amaterasu stops at the windy hall, her eyes glossed over. With a sigh and the snap of her fingers, she marches down the hall.

With every step her appearance changes. Her white, loose shirt and shorts blend together and grows longer so it becomes a kimono with a long train; it shimmers the colors of the sunrise and sunset. The sleeves grow and cloak her arms so they’re almost invisible. Her hair darkens from blonde to a blue-black color. Her face clears of any blemishes or marks. Even her eyes change; her bright yellow eyes that shined bright than the sun are now dull, having lost their spark. When she emerges from the hallway, she is no longer Amy; she is Amaterasu. Vermillion, violet, peach, and pink paint the sky outside. It’s sunset. She slows her pace as she leaves. Don’t worry, I will join you all soon. The light paints her face as she steps out of the temple. She walks through the first arch, and stops at the collapsed one. She looks at the sun. “You were right, weren’t you brother? Eventually, humans wouldn’t need us. Like now; they aren’t children anymore...I guess I’ll see you...whenever.” She heaves a heavy sigh and closes her eyes. She feels the wind pick up and she breathes in the scent of after-rain. Her feet and the kimono train fades into the wind slowly like dust mixed crudely with glitter. It continues up her body until she’s gone. The staff falls to the dirt and stone ground, clattering as it hits stone.

#writing #something I'm kinda proud of #wow that's a lot of writing

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synkiller82 · 5 years

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Seeing Things Differently

A while back, I found out the convention I attend was having a writing contest. With encouragement from my husband, my friends, and Mireille, I decided to take the plunge and write a one-shot fairy tale to enter. I just received an email yesterday that I had won the contest! I, honestly, still cannot believe that I was able to conquer my doubts and that I have won the contest.

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this labor of love. For some background before you begin, the main character has had her ‘condition’ since birth and wants nothing more than to be like the other children in her small village. After finding out there was a way to remedy her condition, she sets out to ‘fix herself.’

Please know that I am not trying to be mean, or pick on, people with disabilities. I just wanted to challenge myself and I thought by removing the sense we all relay on so heavily, it would force my writing onto another path. I hope it succeeded.

Here are some of the words I conjured up for the story, with (hopefully) helpful pronunciations, and what they mean:

Corsi (coresee) - a term of endearment for a Grandmother, much like Nonna, Grammie, or Nana Daerae (dayray) - a small fairy creature Nevaegyvar (ne-vayg-var) - The name of the 'demon'

Brea ran home, hands out in front of her to stop her from running into anything or anyone. Though the gesture did nothing to stop her from stumbling over rocks and holes in her path that she couldn’t find without the aid of her walking stick. The village bully, Veradisia, had thrown it into the well in the center of town while the other children called her names like ‘Batty’ and ‘Mole-face.’ She heard the creaking of her grandmother’s rocking chair before her feet touched the well-worn boards of the stairs. Unable to hold back her tears any longer, she collapsed into her grandmother’s lap, sobs wracking her small frame.

Her grandmother gently ran a hand through Brea’s raven hair in an attempt to calm the girl. “My child, what is the matter?” she asked softly.

Brea sniffled, burying her face further into her Corsi’s lap. “Why can’t I be like everyone else, Corsi? Why am I so different? I hate being different!”

“Your differences make you special, Brea. You are loved for who you are on the inside,” her grandmother said fondly, lifting Brea’s cheeks. Her heart was heavy as she gazed upon her granddaughter's anguished expression, pale blue eyes staring into the distance. Sighing, Corsi offered, “If you wish to gain your sight, there is one who can help you.”

“Who, Corsi? I have to find them,” Brea begged, reaching out to find her grandmother’s face.

“The Daerae has the ability to grant one wish, but no one has seen one in centuries. Legend has that Nevaegyvar captured one of the Daerae and is holding it deep within the Karask Forest.”

Brea shuddered as the name fell from her grandmother’s lips. The Karask Forest was a terrible place on the other side of Nim Chasm, past Alus Falls. No one who had journeyed to the Karask Forest had ever returned. If normal adventurers were no match for the forest and the evil within, what chance did a blind girl have?

Brea tossed and turned all night, thinking about what her grandmother had told her. She would have the chance to gain her sight, something she had felt deprived of all her life, if only she was brave enough to take the journey.

By the time the sun rose the next day, she had made her decision. Quietly, she packed a bag and was about to walk down the front stairs when her corsi’s voice stopped her.

“So, you are going?”

Brea stopped and turned toward her grandmother’s voice. “I have to, Corsi. I need my sight.”

Brea’s grandmother took her hand and gently placed her walking stick in it, which a neighbor had retrieved from the well. “Then take this, my child. I hope you find what you need.”

Brea gave her grandmother a tight hug and felt her way toward the familiar trade route that led out of the village, in the direction of the falls.

The sound of rushing water reached her ears and grew louder as she neared, guiding her to the river and the Alus Falls. Once there, Brea got on her hands and knees, edging closer to the riverbank to safely put her hand in the water and test how quickly the water was flowing. She realized there was no way she would be able to traverse the river; the fast current would carry her downstream, leaving her disoriented. She slowly made her way along the path, coming upon what felt like a fallen log. She remembered hearing the other children speak of such a log they would use to climb out over the river and jump from. She took a moment to place her walking stick in her backpack and gather her courage. Cautiously, she climbed on top of the log and slowly crossed the river on her hands and knees, using the broken branches to guide her way. One obstacle down , she thought as she reached the other side and continued down the unfamiliar path. The journey will only get harder from here. I hope I’m up for the task.

While she couldn’t see the rise and fall of the sun, the warmth it provided helped her know the days from the nights. The cooling air around her now told Brea that night was falling. She decided to stop and try to find a place to rest. Walking a little ways from the path, her stick struck a solid object and she reached out to find a large tree. Settling against the tree, she pulled out a small bit of cheese and bread for her supper. The sounds of the owls and crickets surrounded her like a lullaby as she drifted off to sleep.

She dreamed of the race of small fairy-like creatures known as the Daerae. Their fair skin glistening in the sun as they fluttered on wings like dragonflies, playfully eluding Brea, who chased them through a field of brightly colored wildflowers. The sound of bell-like laughter echoed in Brea’s ears as she awoke the next day.

The comforting sounds of the woods started to fade the longer she traveled, and she felt the path tilting forward--she was heading down into the valley. The fierce wind whipped at her cloak and drowned out her footsteps. Fear exploded into her chest when her stick slid off the edge of the path only a few steps in, finding no landing within reach. Slowly, she traversed the sloping path that led through the Nim Chasm. Clinging to the rock wall, she used her stick to alert her to obstacles in her path.

She breathed a small sigh of relief that she had made it without falling off the path. Humming a happy tune to herself to calm her shaky nerves, she continued for a short distance before she was unable to sweep her stick and reach both walls, signaling that the path was widening in front of her. As she searched around, she found four walls in front of her, indicating three different paths. Anxiety gripped her as she considered her situation. If she chose the wrong path, would she be lost forever? How could she choose the right path?

Brea willed herself to calm down. She had made it this far--she could make it the rest of the way. She just had to be resourceful and use what she had.

Stilling her mind, she began to listen for signs to indicate which way the forest lay. She heard rustling to the left, indicating tree leaves, and decided that is the path she needs to travel. Soon, she made it to the Karask Forest, the last part of her journey.

After wandering the forest aimlessly for what felt like days, she fell against a tree. The sharp bark bit into her back as she slid to the ground. It was useless. How was she supposed to find ‘the huge tree, bark dark as midnight’ if her whole world was dark? Even if she was able to find the lair, the stories of Nevaegyvar told of a demon taller than a house, with glowing red eyes and an aura of pure evil. Brea couldn’t even stand up to the village bully--how was she supposed to defeat something as powerful as a demon? She buried her face in her knees and wept until she fell asleep.

“Are you lost, little one?” A soft female voice called out.

Brea lifted her head and turned toward the sound. “I am,” she cried.

“Listen to your instincts, Brea. You have all you need to finish the journey. Believe in yourself.”

Brea woke up as the voice faded. Had it had been a dream? Standing up, Brea found the strength to continue. She slowed her breathing and concentrated on her goal. She would find the lair of Nevaegyvar, and she would free the Daerae.

She heard the soft voice whispering to her, as light as a spring breeze. Turning her head, she noticed the voice was stronger to her right and she headed that direction. Brea concentrated on the soothing voice, listening for the direction it was strongest to guide her, over streams and roots, deeper into the forest.

“I’m here,” the same voice whispered. “You have arrived.”

Confused, Brea reached out to find herself in front of a large tree, its bark chafing her hand as she walked around it. She found an area that didn’t feel like the rest of the tree-the bark was too smooth, almost fake. The more she ran her hands over the tree, the more unnatural it felt to Brea. She found a handle, which was nothing more than a curved piece of bark, and realized she was standing in front of a door. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she stepped on the landing inside the entrance, a feeling of foreboding washing over her as she closed the door.

Brea moved as quietly and slowly as possible down the spiral staircase she found within. Her hand ran along the smooth, worn wooden wall while she kept her stick in front of her to gauge the next step down. She counted forty steps before she reached the bottom of the staircase. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she continued to move toward the only sound, a flutter that sounded like hummingbird wings.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she heard a sound, a flutter like hummingbird wings. Turning in its direction, she found a narrow tunnel leading deeper into the bowels of the earth. As she walked down the path, the fluttering sounded louder and louder.

She had taken approximately a hundred steps when the narrow path opened to a larger room. A chill ran down Brea’s spine as a cool wind blew past her. She could feel a source of warmth to her left--the direction the fluttering noise was coming from.

“Hello?” Brea called out timidly. She knew she was playing with fire, announcing her presence when she didn’t know who or what was in the room, but it was her only way to know. “Is anyone here?”

“Brea,” the now familiar voice called back. “You must be swift. He will be back any moment.”

Brea quickly made her way toward the voice, hoping that it was the Daerae she had been searching for. “Who? Nevaegyvar?”

“Yes, and he is very powerful. No one has ever survived a confrontation with him.”

Brea’s hands traced the cold iron bars of the small cage and felt around for a way to open it. Finding the edges of a cutout section, and finally a latch, she jiggled at it, but it was locked. Thankfully, Brea was adept at picking locks after the many times she got locked out of the house by accident. Corsi liked to tease her, but now her hard-earned skill was going to come in handy! Brea placed her backpack onto the ground and rummaged through it, finding her lock picks. She reached up to the lock and felt for the keyhole. Once found, she began to use the tools to feel the inner mechanics, listening for the telltale clicks that would let her know the latch was undone.

A sharp inhale broke Brea’s concentration. She stopped and listened, hearing the nearing footsteps of something larger than herself. Brea went back to her work, moving the last two rods into place and releasing the lock. An eerie silence was broken only by the sound of a massive body shifting. Brea puffed out her chest defiantly while trying not to quiver with the uncertainty of what exactly the demon was doing.

A loud, snarling voice broke the fragile quiet that surrounded them. “How dare you come into my domain and take that which is mine!”

“She was never yours!” Brea shouted toward where she thought he stood, her voice wavering a bit. She could feel the warmth of the Daerae behind her, giving her strength. She had to protect this creature with the sweet voice and dragonfly wings. “You cannot cage her and you will not have her back!”

“And how are you going to stop me?” Nevaegyvar countered as he moved around the room. A sly smile came over his face and entered his voice. “You cannot see me, nor anything else. What will you do, little bat?”

Brea’s confidence wavered, trying to figure out how he knew. She shook her head. It didn’t matter how he knew, she refused to back down now. Squaring her shoulders, she turned toward his voice once more. “I am sure I can defeat you, Nevaegyvar. Let us leave in peace before this ends tragically.”

“You will not leave this place with the Daerae, Little Bat. Of that, I can assure you.”

Brea felt the air change and knew he was moving again. Due to his large stature, his movements were almost laughably easy to sense. She waited for the air to swirl closer to her. She knew from the sounds around her, the air’s movements, that he was about to swing. At the last moment, she dodged, and swung all of her might. She felt her fist connect with the creature and heard the air rush from his lungs as he hit the wall then slid to the floor.

“I told you, Nevaegyvar,” Brea began as she picked up her stick and held it toward his chest. “I will not give up the Daerae. She is not yours. I may not be able to see, but I am NOT helpless. I made it through every obstacle on the way here and released this creature from you. I am not afraid of you and I will destroy you if you try to harm us again.”

Brea wasn’t sure she could actually destroy or even banish Nevaegyvar, but she couldn’t let him continue to torture the innocent Daerae he has captured. If there was anything Brea could do to give the creature its freedom, she would do it without hesitation.

Suddenly, the warmth behind her overwhelmed her, wrapping her in it. Brea heard the anguished cries of Nevaegyvar. Confused, she listened for his retreating footsteps, but heard nothing.

“Daerae? What’s happening?” Brea felt a hand on her cheek and the calming presence intensified.

“You did it, Brea! I knew you could.” The Daerae’s voice exclaimed. “Your courage and conviction gave me back the power Nevaegyvar stole from me, allowing me to send him back to where he came from.”

Brea softly smiled towards the voice. “I had to protect you. No one should be caged.”

“True,” the Daerae agreed. “Yet, if you had found me in the village, you never would have had the courage you have now. Am I correct?”

Brea opened her mouth to protest, then closed it to think over what the Daerae had said. Brea thought over all the obstacles, over what she had said to Nevaegyvar. The Daerae was right--she never would have known she had the strength to defeat Nevaegyvar if she hadn’t gone on this journey.

“Now,” the Daerae’s voice broke through Brea’s thoughts. “As you know, I can grant one wish to you. Are you ready to make that wish, Brea?”

Brea nodded her head. “I started this journey with only one wish in mind, to gain my sight. However, that is no longer my wish.” She smiled at the slight hesitation in the wind from the Daerae’s wings. “As I told the Nevaegyvar, I no longer need to see to be me. However, I have a different wish, though I’m not sure it is possible.”

“Speak, then, and let us see what we can do.”

They both giggled at the Daerae’s joke. “I wish to see you,” Brea answered, her voice softening as she added. “Then I will be ready to go home. I’m sure my Corsi misses me, as I miss her dearly.”

Brea gasped as she felt an intense warmth over her eyes. She blinked, and slowly the world came into focus. She was ensconced in a bright glow, separated from her immediate surroundings. She looked down at herself, taking in her tawny skin, her dirt-covered feet, and her favorite cotton dress that Corsi told her was light blue. Her eyes darted to the creature responsible for this miracle, slowly drinking in the sight in front of her.

The Daerae was tiny, only about two inches tall, and dainty. Pale skin glowed in the warm light surrounding them, and her gossamer wings reflected every color of the rainbow. Her hair fell to her feet in flowing streams, while her eyes were the color of Brea’s dress. Her dress was a multitude of blues and other colors, shifting as she moved. In a word, she was gorgeous.

Brea felt tears stream down her face. She never in her wildest dreams thought she would ever see, let alone behold such a beautiful creature such as the one before her. She reached out tentatively, and the Daerae fluttered closer to give Brea a cheek nuzzle. Brea cupped the little creature to her face to return the gesture.

“Thank you,” Brea sobbed as she released the Daerae. “Thank you so much for this. May I ask one more thing?”

“Of course, Brea.”

“What is your name?”

The Daerae smiled warmly, reaching out to close Brea’s eyes. “My name is Shenae. Now rest, dear Brea.”

Brea awoke in her bed. She sat up and got ready for the day, wondering if it had all been a dream. As she walked into the living area, she was greeted by the feeling of Corsi’s arms wrapping around her.

“Brea, you’re home!”

She wrapped her arms around her grandmother as she felt tears fall on her head. “I’m home, Corsi, and I promise to never leave again.”

“Were you successful, my child? Did you find what you needed?”

“I did, Corsi.” She gave her grandmother another squeeze before she grabbed a piece of bread and headed out for the day. “And I don’t need to see to know it’s the start of a beautiful day.”

Nearing the center of town, Brea heard the familiar voices of Veradisia and her little gang of bullies. Brea briefly thought about going a different way but hearing them picking on someone else lit a dormant fire in Brea. She strode toward the voices, walking stick hitting the ground with every other step. Her foot bumped into something that moved at her touch, though not before she felt the shaking reverberate through her.

“Leave them alone, Veradisia!” Brea demanded.

“Well, well. Look who we have here, fellas. The bat has returned.” Veradisia sneered as she walked around the duo. “Do you really think we are going to believe that you weren’t hiding in your house, licking your wounds all this time?”

Brea listened to Veradisia’s footsteps, taking note of how close they were. “Stop, Veradisia. I won’t let you pick on anyone anymore.”

“And what are you going to do about it, Batty?” Veradisia challenged.

“Keep it up and find out,” Brea countered, steadying herself with her stick in front of her.

Veradisia shrieked as she lunged toward Brea. Brea’s ears rang with the noise, but she held strong, letting the wind tell her when to strike. Brea swung her stick, connecting with Veradisia’s shoulder as she moved out of the way. She heard Veradisia sobbing and turned to once again toward her opponent.

“Let this be a lesson, Veradisia. You no longer have power over me or anyone else. Your days of terror are over.”

The town center rang with cheers as the other children shouted and praised Brea for her bravery. No child in the village had the nerve to stand up to Veradisia.

Brea stooped down and patted the ground until she came upon what felt like an arm. She smiled and turned her hand over, holding it in the direction she thought the person was. “It’s okay, you can get up now. She won’t be bothering you anymore.” She felt a hand gently take hers and she helped the person to their feet.

“It’s Jermine, Brea,” one of the other children provided.

Brea pulled her friend toward her and wrapped her arms around him. After the brief embrace, Brea felt Jermine take her hand and place it on his cheek while his other hand moved her so she was facing him fully.

Brea smiled at the familiar gesture, knowing that Jermine was as deaf as she was blind. She ran her other hand through his thick curly hair as she spoke. “It’s over,” she repeated. “She won’t bother anyone again.”

Brea felt the muscles in his face move, letting her know he was smiling, before he nodded his understanding. Brea nodded back, knowing that this was the start of a new life for both of them. She felt a new drive to help others realize what she had discovered on her journey--that being yourself is enough.

#original story #blind character #finding self worth

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d-om · 5 years

Text

Falling in Love

Pairing: Soryu x MC ( Or You )

Genre: Angst

Words: 1585

this is made out of inspiration. xo.

“i love you. that’s why i need to let you go.” - j.

Strings of lights that illuminate the night sky hung decoratively from the branches of the tree. They flickered on and off every so often as the wind’s cool whisper of air tangled their way into their stillness. Magnificent..A word fit to describe the scene that laid before his eyes. The thought of Soryu setting up such a tender scene was almost laughable. After all, he was feared by mostly everyone he would encounter. Despite that, here he was. His hands fiddled with the cuffs of his coat as he shifted them around his skin to present himself in a more attractive attire. Was it nerves that kept him so jittery? Or maybe, fear?

“It’s not like you to fidget like that…” Her benevolent voice barely reached the depths of his ears. In an instant, Soryu’s eyes shot up from the ground that was overgrown by nature’s own creatures of green. There she was. Standing right in front of him.

Her gown was adorned with gorgeous jewels that twinkled in the light’s reflection. The eyes he longed to see now glancing right into his. Was..Was this real? He prayed to any higher being that the figure he saw was not just a figment fabricated by his imagination.

“I’m not fidgeting..” He said at last, cleaning up his posture as he started to walk over to her.

“Really?” She said with a small grin, “Well. I’ll take your word for it.” Her eyes followed his stiff movements that led him to her. It wasn’t everyday that she got to see Soryu act in such an adorable manner. Cheeks flushed, hands sweaty. Cutie was the word that bubbled in her mind as Soryu extended his hands towards her. A shy smile spread across his face.

“Will you dance with me?” Soryu’s voice cracked the slightest bit as he offered the dance to her.

“..Yes..” She whispered in response. His hand that was controlled by his nerves now soothed from her touch. How could she relax every terror in his body with just the sensation of her hands? A wonder he never wished to uncover.

Soryu led her body into the center of the starry night. Like before, the lights twinkled in the sky with the same scintillated glow as before. This time however, with her standing right in front of him, it seemed as if they had grown luster despite their brilliance before. The radiance of her presence seemed to outshine any form of forged or celestial gleam.

“You’re beautiful..” His breathy words slipped from his tongue as he gawked in awe of her beauty.

“I- um…” Her head rapidly ducked onto a lower level as she tried to shun her garnet colored cheeks. “T-Thank you..”

The roles that started at the beginning of the night seemed to turn around. Now, she was the one squirming with nerves while Soryu looked at her with doting eyes. This was all his. Every single part of her was.

“Soryu, I-“

Before her words could form, Soryu slipped his hands to her waist, seizing them with a firm grasp and driving her closer to him. The ache to touch her dominated any restrain he had left. Who could blame him? Shocked she winced a bit, securing her distance with her arms locked in front of her. But, his grip that cradled her so securely freed her arms from the chains of fear. This is the man you love..Enjoy this moment. Don’t pull away.

“...I’m sorry, I should-“

“No..” Arms that neglected their close distance now embraced around Soryu’s neck, drawing him closer. She didn’t want to let him go.. Not now. Not ever. “You said you would dance with me. Don’t break that promise..”

His hands that terminated further movement to avoid offending her now enraptured her in heat again. Free fingers that belonged to him slid from the edge of her shoulder and traced her smooth skin. It traveling lower into her palm. Soon, both of their fingers interlocked with each other and shut tightly. The undeniable warmth that radiated through both their bodies appeared to halt the time that surrounded them. In unison, they found a rhythm to match the wind’s gentle chime. Slowly. Slowly they rocked to and fro. This moment was the only thing he had ever wished for. To be with someone he loved. To feel their heartbeat through their chest. To know that someone else in this world loved him.. It’s all a man could ever want.

“So no music?” As in response to her question, the wind’s melody surged. Blowing stronger notes to fiddle with the strands of her hair.

“We can make our own..” His hushed rasp of a voice tickled with the lobe of her ear. Music wasn’t something he thought he would need. How could he design his own? Silence escorted his declaration, the sounds of nature’s creatures being the accompaniment. Abstract concepts swirled in his mind..

“Wise men say… Only fools rush in.”

“Pfft.” A petite but audible giggle rose within her throat.

“What?” Soryu could sense his cheeks sprouting a reddish hue.

“Is that our music?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No! No! I do- Please! Keep going.” She didn’t want his serenade to terminate. The lyrics when stood by themself were heavenly, enunciating raw emotions that dwele deep into the perforation of her heart. With his voice? Oh my god, his voice. It coaxed her ear and transmitted ecstasy throughout every fiber of her being.

“But I can’t help.. Falling in love..with..You..”

Every poetic line symbolized their love. They couldn’t help it. They couldn’t ignore the feelings that bellowed thunderously inside of their hearts.

“Soryu, I-“

“Shall I stay?”

“....”

“Would it be a sin?” Something was off. The melody that fashioned their bodies into one now seemed to shatter their love steadily. What? What was going on?

“Soryu..”

“But I..” Soryu’s voice that twirled every note bewitchingly before now started to show flaws, breaking the pitch with a sharp but quick curve of his tongue. The paced rocking motion now ceased into a firm halt. Soryu and her stood there, no words expelling from either of their mouths. This new feeling. A familiar despairing loneliness that flayed at his mind, his body, and his own soul. He knew what was coming. But, he didn’t want this to end.

Hugged hearts now disconnected. Thoughts of love now vanished. Both of them hung their arms and heads low against their body. Every force of nature’s beings that seemed to stop in time now entered their time space, revolving around them unlike before.

“Soryu…” How many times more could she say his name? She didn’t want to stop glimpsing into his eyes. She wanted to stay, to hold him, to let him know that she would always be there.

“I..need to go.”

4 words. It took 4 words to lacerate every blissful emotion they experienced just seconds before. Soryu’s hands that bore her body so delicately now curled against themselves. Was this really it? His fingernails sliced into his palm, blood exuding from the lesion.

“No! Stop!” She stumbled to him, reaching out as her legs unsteadily teetered from underneath. Her hands seized his and she cradled them in between hers, running her cheek along them as she wept. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Guilt suffocated her mind as she gazed at the haunting injuries he had obtained from her own mistakes.

“Please..don’t leave me..” Soryu lifted his head from the floor. His body shook slightly as he inhaled sharp intakes of his breath. Gasping them out one after the other. Never once did he think he would weep like this. And never, EVER, did he want his beloved to cry because of him.

“I-I..” She too stuttered from her overwhelming tears, “I h-have to…” Her fingers released Soryu’s from the bondage of her grasp. No matter how much they begged, they prayed, or wept, they knew full well they couldn’t be together.

“Why?” He still wanted to hear her enchanting voice. Or maybe, he wanted her to say it. Say the true reason why they couldn’t be together. Perhaps then, he could surrender.

“..Because I’m not real, Soryu.”

There it was, the truth.

“I can't have you suffering because of your mind..because of me…” Hands that felt so warm before now captivated his cheeks in a frosty embrace. Her body..it was fading.

“I can't have you grieve my death anymore, Soryu..”

“.....I know..” His hand decorated with dried patches of blood now overlapped with hers. What was this feeling? Love? Acceptance? He couldn’t comprehend it. Despite that, he smiled tenderly at the one he loved. Let her go, Soryu.. For you. For her..

“Soryu!” She bawled, her voice now echoing as her soul faded higher into the sky. “I love you! ..So much!!”

An icy velvet texture brushed Soryu’s lips.

He shut his eyes, a single tear rolling down the apples of his cheeks.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The strung up lights that gorgeously shimmered were now extracted and replaced with broken unlit glass.

She was gone. Truly. Gone.

Soryu’s body grew faint. His legs that lead the dance now perished deep into the forest’s soil. Whimpers. Inhales through clenched teeth. That. That was the beginning to their newborn melody. Soryu enraptured his own body with his arms and whispered,

“I couldn’t help..Falling in love with you…”

#voltage inc #voltage otome #kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #voltage games #otome #otome game #kbtbb soryu #kissed by the baddest bidder soryu #otome games #kbtbb fanfic #otome game fanfic #fanfic #soryu oh fanfic #voltage inc fanfic #soryu oh

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one-trigger-lullaby · 5 years

Text

Programmer Duo Katt

This work was inspired by this and this piece of artwork by @teaffeine

To the ship I didn’t know I needed until I saw Matt Holt leaned over Keith Kogane. Praise.

Perl One, Columbia Stitch Two-

Spindly tendrils of light weaved through the cracks of the wooden shades drawn firmly over the expansive windows, casting the room in dim, golden light.

The room was quiet, for the most part. The only sounds were a faint but constant tapping of keys and the quiet stroke of socked feet on polished wooden flooring.

Keith sat on the floor towards the middle of the room with his legs bent at an angle and his laptop resting on his knees. His long torso was curved, putting his face mere inches away from the sun-bright screen, his lips moving in a silent mumble.

The code on his screen moved along in front of his eyes like a multi-colored snake, digitalized and chalky as it slithered along to Keith’s whims towards making something new. Even as his eyes drooped, his fingers were consistent in their speed. His exhaustion wrought mistakes from his fingertips but, still, he persisted; groundwork with minor mistakes, while essentially useless, was better than nothing.

The slipping of socks grew closer.

Long, slender arms came to wrap around his shoulders and he sighed, a small smile fitting to his lips. His fingers finally paused as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, resting against the firm chest of his lover.

Lips in the shape of a smile pressed against his temple. He hummed contently as Matt ran a hand up his neck and through his hair, nimble fingers drawing through the knots at the top of his head while taking care in not undoing his four-day-old ponytail.

“How’s it goin’?” Matt asked, his fingers a gentle trail on his jaw.

Begrudgingly, Keith opened his eyes once more, leaning forward. Matt moved with him, straightening up until his chin rested on the crown of Keith’s head and his torso became a long line of warmth against his back. A frown tugged at his mouth as he stared hard at his work. “Perl is stupid.”

“It’s not that bad," Matt hummed.

Keith rolled his eyes. “This dude’s going to have a slow-running site because he decided that he needed the website programmed in Perl. Excuse the fuck out of me, but I thought we were the programmers—it’s not my problem if his ‘world-class’ nerds can’t read Java. Hell, I’d settle for C++ if I didn’t have to write this bullshit.”

Matt’s hand appeared in front of him, gently nudging his hands away from the brackets key and efficiently fixing an open line of code. Once he’d finished, he wrapped his arm around Keith's shoulders and pulled him to the side for a short kiss. “You should take a break. Crack open the camel book.”

Keith blinked hard, his eyes feeling like sandpaper beneath his lids. He sighed, looking at the clock at the corner of his screen. “I’m hungry.”

Matt laughed lightly. “Food’s already on its way.”

“You gorgeous life-saver,” Keith groaned, tipping his head back until his nose brushed the underside of Matt’s jaw, nudging.

Matt leaned down to meet him, his lips touching Keith’s softly. Keith pressed more insistently, opening his mouth to take Matt’s bottom lip between his own and deepening the kiss.

Matt’s hand caressed his neck as they kissed, rough finger pads a wonderful contrast against his smooth skin. Keith removed his hands from his laptop completely in order to entangle in his fingers into Matt’s scraggly orange hair.

Matt made a low noise into his mouth as he tugged on the strands, his fingertips pressing harder into Keith’s neck. As the kiss got more aggressive, Keith pulled harder, holding his lover’s hair in a grip that grew tighter by the second. Matt moved his hands from his neck, wrapping them around Keith’s waist and pulling them flush together—the motion was firm but gentle, always gentle.

Keith pulled away for only a moment to mutter, “Could do this forever.”

Matt’s laugh was nothing more than a puff of air over Keith’s lips. He pressed another kiss to his lips and spoke against them as he said, “We’d get in trouble.”

“Best kind.” Then they were kissing again, Keith wanting nothing more than to let his hands roam over every beautiful inch of his boyfriend. Sadly, the universe had other ideas.

The doorbell—The fucking doorbell—rang clearly through their apartment.

Matt started to move away and Keith opened his eyes to glare at the man. Still, he let his hair slip through his fingers. “No.”

Matt gave him a knowing look. “Not hungry then?” His smile widened at the sight of Keith’s pout. He gently flicked his nose. “Didn’t think so.”

Matt rubbed his sides before fully letting go. Keith set his laptop to the side as Matt made his way to the door to talk to the cock block of a delivery man.

A simple man such as himself was steadfastly unable to glare through a wall, but he gave it the old college try.

He heard Matt and the delivery person chatting at the door. He stood, wincing as his back straightened with loud pops and sickening cracks. He shook out his long-dead foot, opting to sit on the couch rather than test his luck walking on it.

Matt was finished a second later, walking back into the room with a Chinese takeout bag dangling from his fingers. He plopped it right onto Keith’s lap and looked down, brushing a socked toe against the side of his laptop. “Don’t leave that sitting there.”

Keith grunted his acknowledgment and turned his focus onto untying the knot someone had tied into the bag as Matt disappeared into the kitchen.

Over the rustling of the stupid takeout bag, Keith heard clinking in the kitchen accompanied by the opening and closing of cupboards.

Matt reappeared just as Keith had decided to tear a hole in the bag rather than waste more time trying to untie it. Matt dropped down on the couch next to him, handing over a can of chilled green tea.

Keith gladly took the drink, passing over the container of chow mein in return.

Soon, they were settled into their calm little bubble of comfort, eating and talking about their latest project for a new branch in the Garrison.

“I guess that’s one thing it’s been good for,” Keith muttered, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Matt quirked a brow. “Other than readability that other languages lack?”

“Please,” Keith scoffed, “that’s just lazy.”

Matt twirled his fork into his chow mein noodles with a smile. “HTML doesn’t work any better with Perl than it does Java or Javascript.”

“Bullshit.” Keith declared vehemently, roughly biting a piece of orange chicken off of his fork.

“What about JHTML? It’s made to integrate HTML and Java objects together smoothly.”

Keith gave him a dirty side-eye. “Do you want me to hate Perl?”

Matt took one look at his face broke down in unbidden laughter. It was hard for Keith not to smile as the display, even harder for him not to poke at Matt’s dimples as he rocked with giggles.

Overreaction, Keith thought with a short roll of his eyes. Never let it be said Matt Halt did anything in halves.

Once Matt finally got a handle on himself, he waved a hand at Keith. “Perl does server-side scripting just like Java, you just have a complex.”

“Not as well,” Keith shot back. “It’s slow as hell and it’s a damn sin to write up a site in something like that.”

“It does better than Ruby or Python,” Matt mused, his eyes dancing. Keith narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. Low blow, bringing Python into this.

“Debateable.” He stabbed another piece of chicken.

Matt seemed quietly pleased with himself and for a while, they sat in companionable silence, unhurried.

“You have to admit, though,” Matt said sometime later, “agile software development is easier when it reads like C than when it reads like Javascript.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating someone so lazy.”

Perl: 1 Keith:0

AO3

#Disclaimer: not a programmer #don't @ me #vld #katt #keith kogane #matt holt #katt fanfiction #teaffeine #voltron #voltron fanfiction #writing #writeblr #voltron legendary defender #ao3 #archive of our own #fluff #fluffy katt #programmer duo katt

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lovelyfictional-imagines · 6 years

Text

Colors. (The Tenth Doctor x Reader)

Honestly? You could plug almost any Doctor you want in, instead of Ten. I had yet to post any Ten, though, so I chose him for this. I felt like it was right, but I was literally a pinch away from choosing Eleven.

This was mainly a study in description. I’m trying to get better with them, I’m growing weary of using the same phrases each time. Gotta keep it fresh, spicy. Or whatever it is about my writing you like.

(S/o E/C) = shade of eye color. For example, amber, aquamarine, dust, etc.

I hope you enjoy, please feel free to send feedback!

Until next fic,

- Ashley

Word Count: 1380 Song: Song for Zula - Phosphorescent

Some say love is a burning thing

That it makes a fiery ring

Oh but I know love as a fading thing

Just as fickle as a feather in a stream

See, honey, I saw love,

You see it came to me

It puts its face up to my face so I could see

Yeah then I saw love disfigure me

Into something I am not recognizing

Blue. Blue. Blue.

Azure. Sapphire. Navy, almost, in some places.

The blue surrounded them, deeper than the distance between them. Mammals larger than them, larger than almost anything, to the human mind, twirled over them. Whines and whistles and clicks, inaudible, traveled through the water as they swam. Fish swam in their schools, striking pops of every incredibly impossible shade of the rainbow against the dark. In every shape, almost every size.

The Doctor watched in awe, unable to keep himself from being completely and utterly mesmerized by the sheer diversity in marine life. Across the transparent tunnel from him, (Y/N) stood, face lifted to the heavens, eyes wide despite her extreme exhaustion. Tucked into a navy coat and socks as thick as his fingers, she still shivered.

Easing towards her, the Doctor allowed his hand to fall free. Fingers reaching silently, hesitantly. Finally they slid clumsily into hers, and instantly she tightened her grip on them. He watched her face now, praying for change. Round and bright despite the circles beneath her eyes, dark against her flushed cheeks. It wasn’t until now he realized how ragged she’d been run, and his hearts ached.

Stepping towards her, close enough to lean over her, the Doctor cupped her face with a touch so delicate, tears formed in the corners of her (E/C) eyes. Their (S/o E/C) irises were almost eclipsed behind the circumference of her pupil, dilated and searching his face. Fear coursed through him, replacing adrenaline entirely.

His lips found her forehead as his other hand reached to join the other, holding her head with great care. A sigh of almost relief fell from her lips, and she all but collapsed into his arms. “We’ll fix it. Best we can. Patch it up, be good as new, eh?”

A weak chuckle rumbled in her chest, felt but not heard.

They both knew how it would work out. It always did.

See the cage, it called. I said, come on in

I will not open myself up this way again

Nor lay my face to the soil, nor my teeth to the sand

I will not lay like this for days now upon end

You will not see me fall, nor see me struggle to stand

To be acknowledged by some touch from his gnarled hands

You see the cage it called. I said, come on in

I will not open myself this way again.

Green. Green. Green.

Peridot. Emerald. Sage in the sunlight, seaweed in the shade.

Trunks as thin as rulers and as tall as buildings scraped the pale, melancholy blue sky. Hanging from them were long, dark branches with viridescent, curled leaves. Birds of every shape and shade flitted between each tree, singing their foreign song, different from every species known to mankind.

Rough, black terrain stretched to a mosaic of colorful rocks and shells, leading to the open sea, rolling away from them as they approached. (Y/N) spread her (B/T) arms around her, inhaling the deep ocean spray. A brown, lightweight cardigan flowed loosely around her body, thin gray dress beneath twirling with the wind.

The Doctor leaned back against a sharp rock, watching his companion with adoring eyes. Her bare feet sunk into the receding sand, and for a few moments at a time she’d curl her arms in, cradle herself as if she were made of glass, before moving down the beach again. The pockets of her outer layer were weighed down with discoveries, souvenirs to add to her constantly growing collection.

(Y/N) began to make her way back to him, jogging lightly to keep her toes from sinking again. The Doctor stepped into a confident stride, moving to meet her in the middle. A wide, lopsided smile curved across her face, cheeks dimpled with the happiness she held. He stretched his arms out to lift her, and she crashed into his embrace, squealing as he twirled her with ease. Bringing her down, tighter against his chest, her airy laughter died down to a pleased hum.

A last he set her down and back onto her feet. Leaning back into his chest, (Y/N) took his hands into hers, tugging them around her. The Doctor chuckled at her antics and allowed her to maneuver him any way she wanted. They ended up pressed together, his chin against the top of her head, arms shielding her body partially.

“I love being here.” her voice was delicate, fragile, barely there.

“Me too.” he whispered.

“I meant with you.”

“Me too.”

You see the moon is bright in that treetop night

I see the shadows that we cast in the cold clean light

I might fear I go and my heart is white

And we race right out on the desert plains all night

So honey I am now, some broken thing

I do not lay in the dark waiting for day here

Now my heart is gold, my feet are right

And I'm racing out on the desert plains all night

Purple. Purple. Purple.

Some grand painting, a natural work of art swirling above their heads. Mulberry merged with pomegranate in some places, fading into periwinkle in others, deepening to amethyst everywhere else.

Cool, damp grass bowed to the call of the wind, swaying with ease. The Doctor watched (Y/N) ahead of him, trudging onward as always, eager to see, to learn. Violaceous shadows above them and smatterings of white, the stars, their only source of light. He’d saved this planet for some reason, a long time ago. Now he realized he’d saved it for her.

“C’mon, old man. You’re taking your sweet time.”

“All the time in existence, why not?”

“Touché.” She smiled, sweet on her round face.

The Doctor cautiously eased to the ground, smoothing the grass back as she sat next to him. Sliding into his side, she allowed his arm to fall around her shoulders, and hers curled around his torso. Gentle brown eyes focused on her, and he tucked his glasses up, up into his messy hair. Her sweater was soft against his fingertips as they brushed against the hem of it, dipping beneath ever so slightly.

Watching her had become one of his hobbies, something he looked forward to. As her inquisitive, deep (E/C) eyes searched the skies, scanned the landscape, his etched the image of her in that very moment into his vast memory. The picture of her, (pale/dark) skin shimmering beneath the moonless, unending night, hopeful gaze cast up, cheeks rosy from the cold. (H/L) waves furled and unfurled, tickling his nose as he leaned in.

In perfect synchronization she turned to him, and their noses brushed clumsily. The Doctor chuckled lowly, husky in her face. Curling his hand around the base of her neck, (Y/N) moved into his touch. Her shy grin met his smirk, and it felt as if the impossible sky had fallen in on itself. Their lips melded together, beautifully and perfectly, just like the first time.

Every kiss they shared took his breath away. Molded his broken pieces together. The bitter, shattered shell of a man, a hero to some, was reassembled and glued together, every time he’d confess to something he’d done centuries ago, and she’d look at him with those kind eyes and fix him again. If he lost her, he’d die. In every way, and when he did, inevitably, he knew he’d perish.

He knew it.

The Doctor knows everything.

So some say love is a burning thing

That it makes a fiery ring

All that I know love as a caging thing

Just a killer come to call from some awful dream

And all you folks, you come to see

You just to stand there in the glass looking at me

But my heart is wild, and my bones are steel

And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free

#the tenth doctor x reader #the 10th doctor x reader #the tenth doctor #the 10th doctor #the doctor #the doctor x reader #doctor who #reader #reader insert #fandom #fandom imagine #fanfiction #song for zula #phosphorescent #songfic #doctor who imagine #romantic imagine

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years

Text

Forget Me Not Jim Mason x Reader 50 First Dates AU Pt 5

@michael-langdon-appreciation

Y/N figured it out.

Jim was determined to drive her crazy. Either that or he’d been taken over by aliens, and the body snatchers had forgotten to program the clone for sex.

No, that wasn’t right. She was still getting orgasms, lots of them, delivered in a timely and most enthusiastic fashion on a regular basis. The man's tongue should be enshrined- when it came to going down on her, he was talented and thorough enough she couldn't walk afterward.

Actual sex was the issue. Sex hadn't yet happened, and after three weeks of exploring lots of other pleasurable activities, Y/N was more than eager.

On the nonsexual side, her unsatisfied libido had her directing frustrated energy into a variety of art projects. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. The fight with numbers had turned into an addiction with creativity. As the baby growing inside started to make itself more apparent, her interest in things she had never tried before continued. Her brothers had been thrilled at the suggestion of getting her gift cards from craft shops for Christmas.

The doorbell rang, and Y/N turned to answer it. She peeked outside to discover Jim waiting for her.

She pulled the door open for Jim. How the man managed to make a jean jacket look sexy was damn unfair. "Hi."

He straightened from his easy slouch. "Hi. Can I come in?"

Y/N shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She turned back to her project, pretending to ignore him, but she knew he was there, all right. Just was tired of his bossy ass. Silence loomed until she finally peeked over her shoulder.

Jim shrugged. "It's a nice day. I wanted to go for a walk." For some reason his wording only upset her more.

"Fine. Have a nice time." She turned her back and ripped a page violently from the magazine, examining it for the best section to add to her mosaic.

Cold fabric wrapped around her as he leaned against her back. "You mad at me?"

"I thought you were walking."

"With you, Y/N. I want to go for a walk with you."

"That’s not what you said,” she pointed out snarkily. "And far be it for me to insert myself into your plans."

Jim lifted her from the chair and forced her chin up. "Okay, point taken. Will you come with me? It’s pretty outside, and we should take advantage of the nice weather."

Like some damn yo-yo, her mood rose instantly. Y/N couldn’t hold on to her anger. "I'd love to go for a walk. Give me a minute to change."

Thirty minutes later they were strolling through the birch trees at the edge of the town park. The cool January air burned her throat slightly as she breathed, but it was still refreshing. Flowers blooming on the branches against the shockingly blue sky.

Jim had her hand in his, fingers not interlocked but connected just the same. "You look like you’re having a ton of fun with the crafts. And sewing. And painting."

"Post-concussion syndrome. Doctor finally gave me a name."

"Really? That's cool."

"Yeah. I suppose. The brain’s a neat thing. I damaged part of it, so now the pathways or whatever shifted in new directions and poor, I'm an arteeeest:"

"Creativity everywhere."

His comment hit the wrong way.

"I know my house is a mess," Y/N snapped, then instantly felt guilty.

He squeezed her fingers. "I didn’t say anything about the house. Don't jump to conclusions."

"But it is a mess, and that’s not like me, but dammit ..." Y/N jerked her hand free and paced to the edge of the trail, staring at the sky as she attempted to find her sense of peace. "My God, this is insane."

He had the guts to laugh softly. “Y/N, I’m not judging you. Or expecting anything from you-"

"Yeah? Well maybe you should."

That dangerous grin of his widened. "Oh?"

Ass. "Is there something wrong with my body, Jim? You afraid of hurting the baby if we have sex? I mean, you can't be afraid that I’ll get pregnant, because, hello, that ship has already sailed." Jumping from arts and crafts to sex in under a minute. Go, Y/N!

"You're not happy with our sex life?" Jim asked.

A growl escaped her. She marched across the short distance between them to get in his face. "We don't have a sex life. We have you deciding when to turn off the heat, and I'm getting tired of it."

"Agreed."

His instant response pierced her bubble and deflated part of her anger. "You agree? Then why are you being such a pain in the butt?"

Jim let go of her hand and cupped his warm palm to her cheek. "You know how you wanted to be invited along on the walk? Not just me assuming that you would come?"

"Yeah?" Where was this going?

He stroked a thumb over her cheek. "You have changed since the accident, and I like the new Y/N. I like how she's bolder, and more outspoken. I think it's fascinating that you've suddenly got this artistic side, but there’s one thing you're not doing."

She nuzzled against his hand, placated a little. "And what's that, bossy pants?"

A low rumble of amusement escaped him. "You're still not deciding what you want then going for it."

There was a twist she hadn’t expected. "I thought you said I was bolder?"

"You are ...and you aren't." Jim enclosed her in his arms. "You're bold as brass for a moment then you cut back like your response is a bad thing. It’s not, Y/N. If you want something, take it. If you don't want something, stop beating around the bush."

Y/N slipped her hands around his neck. "Well, if you insist, I can think of something I'd really like to do."

"Hmm." Jim stroked her cheek. "Go on, Angeleyes, boss me around and get some practice."

They couldn't get back to the house fast enough. But when they arrived, Y/N didn't simply demand he take her into the bedroom. No matter how daring she felt that was one step further than she could take right now. There was something else she could do... "Take off your clothes," she ordered.

He lifted one brow, but his hands went to his buttons. "I like how this is starting."

She grabbed her drawing pad and a set of charcoal pencils, and his expression fell. A laugh escaped her. "You should see your face right now."

His shirt was open, sliding from his shoulders. "This is your call, Y/N. Take what you want."

Oh, she had every intention of it.

She rotated the easy chair, sitting to enjoy the view as Jim continued to strip. No fancy dance moves, just honest- to-goodness, solidly built and one-hundred-percent-naked male being revealed in her living room.

She stared at the curve of muscles across his shoulders. The flare of his biceps and lovely firm chest. He stood with his arms crossed, seemingly at ease in spite of being naked. Well- defined stomach muscles, that V-line muscle framing his lower abdomen. His cock nestled in a thatch of dark hair.

Y/N's fingers flew over the page, her gaze darting back and forth between the picture and her model. She was going to be drooling in about thirty seconds if she wasn't careful.

It took an amazingly short time to put on the page the sex-on-legs that was Jim.

"Out of curiosity, you putting a fig leaf over my cock?" he asked.

"No." Although, she wasn’t sure how to draw that part of his anatomy. It had most definitely changed appearance since he’d stripped, rising to a length she longed to explore more closely. "You're making it tough, dude. When I said nothing moves, you didn't listen very well, did you now?"

A burst of laughter escaped him. "I guess not."

Y/N abandoned the drawing materials behind her and rose to her feet. "I need to get hands-on for this next part."

Jim smiled, but said nothing.

It was like being in a candy store for grown-ups. She slid her hands over his arms and across his chest, savoring the warmth. The scratch of hair on his limbs against her palms. The rapid beat of his heart under her fingers as she explored his chest, pressing a kiss to the center of his torso.

"I think you should get naked as well," Jim suggested, his voice low and husky.

She thought about it for a second. "I'd like that."

He was over her in a second, helping her strip. Pulling off clothes and touching her everywhere and this was what she'd longed for. Both of them involved, kisses pressed over heated skin, hands touching intimately.

She wrapped her fingers around his cock and stroked, loving the softness of his skin in contrast to the hardness beneath. Jim covered her hand with his and increased the pressure, guiding her as his torso tightened, moans of pleasure escaping his lips.

A slow bend brought her close enough to lick the head of his cock, her tongue tracing the slit, teasing him. He let her play, one hand holding his shaft so she could access the head, wetting him briefly before covering him with her mouth and sucking lightly.

"You’ve got about ten seconds before I blow,” Jim warned.

Y/N pulled back with a pop as she released him. "Hair trigger?"

"It's been a while."

The realization it had been months since he said they'd had sex hit in a rush. "You've been abstaining for too long."

He went willingly with her into the bedroom. One firm push on his chest toppled him to the bed, and she crawled on top.

The pregnancy had begun to affect her body, but she loved the changes so far. Better skin, more sensitive breasts, just the trace of rounding to her belly.

Jim ran his hands over her as she straddled his hips, obviously enjoying the changes as well. "Whatever you want. I'm yours."

Y/N rocked herself over his cock, pressing the hard ridge against her clit repetitively. Smooth strokes that slowly brought up her pleasure and seemed to please Jim as well. He held on to her hips and helped her move, his eyes pinned to her chest as her breasts swayed.

Then she couldn’t wait any longer. Y/N lifted her hips and directed him into her core. Her hand brushed Jim’s as he held his cock upright, and their fingers connected as she slowly eased herself down. One rock after another as she opened around him, taking his thick shaft into her body.

"Sweet mercy, Y/N. So good."

She paused, filled completely, squeezing lightly to enjoy the sensation. Testing for pain, or anything that worried her, but all that registered was pleasure.

Connection.

An itch to be scratched ...now.

She shifted over him. Rose and fell with increasing tempo until she was at the edge of exploding. Jim cupped her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples, and she gasped at the streak of ecstasy that washed through her system.

Jim caught her by the hips and raised her slightly. "Stay there," he ordered, waiting for her to get into position. As soon as she obeyed, he thrust upward, increasing the pressure, the speed. One hand slipped down to touch her clit, thumb firmly in position over the sensitive point. He rocked his cock in and out of her body until she shattered.

Waves rolled her from the inside out, heavy and lingering from having been so long in the making. Anticipation had nothing on the reality, as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm, finally clamping down on her hips as she caught her breath. He jerked upright, his cock deep as he came. Another set of aftershocks rocked her core, leaving her head spinning and body swaying with pleasure.

He curled up and caught her against his chest, kissing her face, running his fingers over her back. They sat there for a long time, intimately connected, until their breathing got back to something near normal.

Jim stroked her cheek. "Was that what you were hoping for?"

"Hmm." Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, kissing his neck lightly. "I think so. We might have to try it again later, just to make sure."

"If that’s what you want."

They laughed together, slowly coming down off the high. Y/N felt different inside. Not the sex, but in taking another step forward. She might have lost some of her memories, but she was making new ones. She might have lost some of herself, but the new her wasn't that bad of a person.

And the guy currently is touching her like she was beautiful, precious and amazing? He wasn’t hard to accept as a part of the new life she was facing.

Credit to @carolthors

#jim mason #tribes of palos verdes #fan fiction

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