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delopsia · 10 months

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Dancing Beneath The Moon | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 10,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Brief Summary: How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you? Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Ghost!Rhett AU (with a twist! I won't tell you what kind but it's a twist!), friends to lovers, Trevor does not take rejection very well (please be advised that he does yell at the reader and scare them), unprotected sex, mentions of violence, and Rhett's 'murder.' Please refer to the user manual and wash your cowboy before sex.

"I-I'm sorry, I need to leave."

"Trevor, wait!" Your feet patter across the floor, struggling to keep up as he lets himself out the door, "I can explain."

Only on the front porch does he stop, ostrich-skin boots clicking against the old wood with every step, "You don't need to," holding up one hand, as if to ward you off, "I just...forgot my Dad asked me to interview our new ranch hand today."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, gaping like a damn goldfish.

"I'll call you later," and that's all Trevor leaves you with, skittering off the porch and clambering up into that lifted F-150, with its perfect, custom black paint that glimmers a deep blue as he tears down your driveway.

Ugh.

"Rhett!" Your voice echoes throughout the house, punctuated by the slamming of the door behind you. So loud, and yet you can still hear the vicious banging of your beloved cast iron skillet banging on your kitchen tile. A shrill clatter of noise that has you fighting the urge to cover your ears as you storm into the kitchen.

And there he is. The translucent motherfucker, sitting cross-legged beneath your table, peeking out from beneath it. "What?" A big, shit-eating grin lacing his barely there features, so innocent and childlike that you almost don't believe he was the cause of this mayhem.

Almost.

The skillet in his hand provides a pretty damning counterargument.

"I'd kill you if you weren't already dead," fuming, yanking that dented skillet out of his hand; Rhett's grip is strong, but not enough to stop you from taking your cookware back.

"I was playin' with that," he huffs, a cold wind that tickles your ankles.

The skillet lands in the sink with a clatter. "And I was trying to have a date," you hiss, throwing your hands up, "but I'm unfortunate enough to share a house with a ghost who doesn't have any fucking manners!"

"I have manners!" Rhett's up in the air now, a buzzing collection of mist that floats up to the ceiling, no longer human, "I just ain't got 'em for big shots that wanna play cowboy for a day!"

"He is a cowboy," he's not. You know he's not. But god, you are not giving Rhett fucking Abbott the satisfaction of you agreeing with him. "You wouldn't know, being ancient and all that."

The temperature drops. Mist scattering. You can't tell where he is anymore. "I would know 'cause I am a fuckin' cowboy!" His disembodied, roaring voice comes from all directions. "No good-minded cowboy wears a goddamn rolex on a work day, 'cause they know that shits fixin' t'get scuffed!"

"Cowboy or not, you're going to have to get over it," as you reach for the tap, you think you can feel his presence behind you. Some invisible thing that sends your skin prickling, even with the knowledge of how harmless he truly is. "Trevor's coming back, and if you keep scaring him off, I'm phoning a priest."

"Fine!" Booming behind you.

"Fine!"

He's gone for the rest of the night.

The pizza guy scares the hell out of you when he knocks on the door. Not because you had forgotten about your order but because you were waiting on the curtains to peel themselves open. Expecting to hear a deep, half-hearted grumble about how "your date is here" as the fella clambers out of his beat-up sedan.

But it never comes.

Rhett doesn't even bug you about giving him a slice that he knows he can't eat, but you catch yourself putting a plate out for him. You wonder if he's in the room to see you rushing to put it back in the cupboard. Maybe he's out in the field because the television doesn't miraculously change to the Animal Channel like it usually does. You don't catch a glimpse of him lingering in the mirror whilst you brush your teeth.

You're glad.

You didn't want to see his ugly mug anyway.

Strange how such a big presence can vanish so easily, without a trace or hint of where he went, leaving this big farmhouse feeling like a husk of what it usually does. The temperature drops a degree or two when he's around, but without him, it feels like you've set up camp in the Arctic. How can a dead man bring so much life to a place?

But the covers are tucked around you in the morning.

You can't see him, but when you step into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and yawning, you can feel him wisping around you. That invisible presence seeking for anything to get back on your good side.

The toast lifts itself onto a plate before it can be burnt by that old, barely functioning toaster of yours. On the table, the weekly grocery ad flips open to a discount on new toasters, a lazily written note scrawled beneath it. 'They even have the color you were wanting! :)'

He pulls the chair out for you to sit, and when you defiantly head out onto the porch to eat, he pulls the patio chair out for you too. You hate giving him the satisfaction of helping, but it's hard to avoid him when he's free to roam this entire property.

But the one thing you've forgotten is just how hot Wabang can get, even this early in the morning. Birds tiredly chirp from their nests, unwilling to take flight beneath the sweltering sun; the old wind chime is silent, not even the slightest breeze appearing to help it sing its tune. You've been outside for a mere five minutes, and yet sweat already beads on your forehead.

A cold nothingness wisps past you. Round and round your little patio table, stirring up a breeze that doesn't reach the trees.

"You can come out, Rhett," fighting your laugh is futile because it slips out as you speak, dancing through the air in tune with the wind chime.

The opposite chair scoots out on its own, a pale blue mist collecting in the seat; it'll take him a moment to get settled back into form. "Did ya happen to find my headstone yesterday?"

Your head is shaking before he can get his sentence out. "Are you sure you were buried in Wabang?"

"I don't know where else I'd be," Rhett's face isn't fully there yet, but his scowl is, settled deep into his nonexistent features. "Wabang was the only place my folks ever knew."

Your heavy tongue can't be brought to tell him about the graves you did find. Royal and Cecelia buried together, their son Perry right next to them, and their granddaughter Amy buried in the row in front of them, next to a headstone simply titled 'Autumn.'

Rhett should know. He deserves to know where his family rests, but you can't bring yourself to tell Rhett that his killer was given the privilege of being buried next to his parents. Don't know how to tell him that the Amelia County Sherrif dug up an old newspaper declaring Perry Abbott as not guilty of Rhett's murder.

"C'n I bug you to put a cup of coffee out?" Rhett chirps, and that permanently scruffy face almost looks real. His eyes must have been as blue as the ocean deep when he was alive, for even now, they glow with their color. The only thing off about him is his slight transparency and the rays of sunlight that spear through his body.

"You didn't smell it enough this morning?" You ask, but you're getting up anyway; you'd rather not deny his request and risk him making a mess by trying to do it himself.

His boots click across the old wood, in perfect tune with your step, "wasn't here."

"Where did you go?" You're already grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, other hand reaching for the coffee pot.

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "barn." When you turn around, he's no longer there, a plume of mist once more, but you don't need to see him to know that his eyes are transfixed on the ground. "Didn't think y'wanted me in the house after last night."

Most people would love it if their ghosts would leave the residence; let them live in peace without being heckled by the souls who can't move on. You'd know; you were one of them, once upon a time.

"You don't have to leave every time we bicker, Rhett," it feels strange to say, but those words are spoken directly from the heart, "this is your house too."

He manifests again. Back to his favorite spot beneath the edge of the kitchen table, cross-legged, where he can peek out to see what you're doing. A little too big to fit, but he makes it work.

Like clockwork, his right-hand toys with the cracked edge of a linoleum tile, the one he's pulled up numerous times in the past.

"Please don't tear up my tile," you try to say it as gently as you can; you know why he's so drawn to it, but you really don't want to spend an afternoon fixing your beloved floor again. Wordless, he leaves his spot, content to settle down in a kitchen chair and smell his coffee. The closest he can get to enjoying its flavor.

You wind up back in bed early in the afternoon. Downed by a migraine that refuses to pass, settling deep into your skull, brought on by an unknown cause. You think it may be from the obnoxiously strong air freshener you plugged in; Rhett blames it on your cellphone.

"Care for some company?"

You're fortunate that Rhett Abbott is easy on the eyes because it's difficult to open them. There he is, standing near the edge of the bed, in the same spot you met him three years ago.

At least this time, the two of you aren't screaming, startled by each other's sudden presence.

"As long as you don't hog the sheets," comes your conclusion, and the bed is dipping as soon as the last word has left your mouth. A weight that isn't there settles across from you, a human-shaped indent that by all means shouldn't exist.

Rhett's hair falls into his face as his pretty head lands on the pillow, snuggling against it, and you know he's trying his best to remain as solid as he can. He says he's not touch-starved, but you're starting to think that he's lying.

Your hand wanders out on its own, carefully settling against that misty cheek, trying not to go through him. "You look a little more solid than usual."

"Only took a couple years of practice," the corner of his lip rises with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh, why does he have to look so sad when your hand inevitably passes through him?

You don't know if ghosts can cry, but his eyes seem to water as he feels your touch falter. They always do, but it never gets any easier to look at. It never gets easier, watching his smile wobble back into a frown, and his form grow a little more opaque.

Opening your arms to him probably isn't the best move to make. You've both discussed this; roommates is as far as this relationship can ever go because anything more asks for nothing but heartache. Heartache, such as the crushing feeling of feeling him squirm closer and not being able to feel him when you wrap your arms around his waist.

The only sign that he's real is the coldness you feel against your chest as his head settles against there. And, maybe, just maybe, you think you can feel wisps of his hair tickling your skin.

"What the hell is that?"

You haven't even taken it out of the box, and Rhett is already puffing up like a feral cat about it. "What does it look like, Rhett?"

The living room light flickers, his blue mist settling into the corner of the couch, as far as he can get from the box sitting on the floor. Refuses to take any more form than he already has, doesn't know how to react to this new thing that now sits in the same room as him.

"I don't have a clue," he says after a moment.

"It's a video game console," you want to take it out of the box and prove that it's not going to hurt him, but you don't want him getting any more surprised than he already is.

Against all odds, it seems you've got his attention because you can see his face now, head cocked to the side like a puppy. "A huh?"

"It connects to the television," nodding your head toward the flat screen next to you, "you can use it to play games on it."

He perks at that. "You can play checkers on the TV?"

Checkers wasn't what you had in mind, but you're sure it's on there.

There's a lot of fumbling involved. All the various cords and manuals only serve to confuse him more than he already is, and though he tries his best to help, he's not much assistance. There are less than five cords for the system, and he thinks they're all HDMI cables. But he's helpful when it comes to squeezing behind the television, at least.

"So that box...puts the game on the screen?" He asks as soon as you've settled onto the couch together, scooted as close as he can possibly get. "And you use that thing to play?"

For a cowboy who grew up in the days of black-and-white television, he catches on quickly. "For the most part, yes."

You'd won this thing in a raffle held down at the Bison Valley Bank of Wyoming, entered just for the hell out of it while you were down there a couple of months ago. How you won a new gaming console and why it came with a second controller, hot pink in color, you'll never know.

Rhett's simply poking at the joystick, unwilling to pick it up just yet, but you know he'll take to it like he did your television. Later, you'll wish you hadn't, but for now, you'll download one of his favorite board games.

"Monopoly?" He's fighting it, but there's still a twinge of excitement in his tone.

Now he's picking it up.

And within the hour, you regret even bringing the damn console into the house because you lose. Horribly. As soon as Rhett figured out the controls and the slight change in rules, you knew you didn't stand a chance. You can't even be upset about your crippling loss because he's kicking his legs back and forth and giggling.

"One more round?" He pleads, those opaque eyes sparkling with their childlike wonder, and you know he's never going to let this controller go.

"Let me get a drink, and then we'll play another," are you only agreeing because you enjoy the melody of laughter coming from your household ghost?

Absolutely not.

...okay, maybeyou are, but still.

At least he can't see your smile as you head for the kitchen, socked feet pattering across the cold hardwood without much of a sound. Already formulating a plan in your head, the next surprise move that might help you beat Rhett at one of his favorite games. If you can buy all four railroads before Rhett does...

The floor bends beneath your foot. Something crackles.

"Rhett, can you come here for a second?" Frozen in place, afraid to make another move. The lights are off; you can't see what's going on, but something feels wrong.

His presence is there before you can think any further, a chill ghosting over your body as he breezes around you. Circling like he's making an attempt at thwarting your fears before he flicks the light switch on.

And now you see it.

The kitchen floor is beginning to cave in, bowing inwards, right where your kitchen table sits. Beneath your foot, the tile has begun to crack, breaking into smaller pieces that cannot withstand any amount of weight on top of it.

"That floor's fixin' to collapse, doll," comes his voice, seemingly from all directions.

You're moving to step off of it and venture back out into the presumably safe hallway. But the floor crackles even louder. Tiles buckling beneath both of your feet. Sinking lower.

"I don't think I can," your body sways, fighting to remain upright.

Rhett's silently wrapping around you, formless blue mist shaping around you like a hug, tugging you away with a surprising amount of force. Practically takes your feet out from under you as he hauls you out of the kitchen.

"You're stronger than you look," you mutter in the hallway. Where the floor is solid and doesn't threaten to come out from under you.

"Only when I'm wantin' to be," he mutters directly into your ear, and you're suddenly glad that you've never asked how strong he is, as a ghost and all, "Now what kind of drink were you after?"

Rhett's your kitchen boy for the next three days until you can get someone to come and take a look at your floor. Balancing drinks and plastic cups that occasionally end in a tragic spill because he's not as good at balancing small objects. The first person never shows up; the second arrives bright and early in the morning, interrupting your morning conversation with Rhett on the porch.

"Now, like I said before, I don't have my equipment on me, so I can't guarantee you that this is the case," the guy begins, and you really, really hope he doesn't look up and see Rhett's dumbass sitting on the counter, "but my biggest guess is that your foundation has been exposed to too much moisture for too long."

"What's the worst-case scenario for this?" Your attention flickers between him and Rhett; what if it's something that you can't afford to fix?

He pauses to press his foot against the floor one more time, carefully surveying the way it shakes beneath the weight, tile crackling once more, "now it's highly unlikely, but worst case scenario, in my opinion, would be a sinkhole."

Your face drops.

"But that's highly unlikely," and he doesn't seem too concerned as he turns to face you, "I wouldn't worry until we get back out here and tear up the floor this coming Monday."

So Monday it is. That will be the day you find out if it's a simple fix or if you'll have no choice but to move out and leave your beloved house ghost all by his lonesome. Rhett seems to catch onto that thought, too. Remarkably quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

You can't blame him. For about forty-five years, this house was occupied by a family of religious folk who used some sort of herb to quite literally render Rhett into a state of unconsciousness. One too many surprise appearances in the mirror doomed him to sleep for all those years, only -reawakening after you moved in and scrubbed this old farmhouse from top to bottom.

He's never known what it's like to be alone. The closest he's come to it is the sporadic vacations you've taken over the past couple of years. None of which have lasted longer than a week, but all of which have ended in him waiting on the porch, tackling you the moment you stepped out of your car.

Unless he can attach himself to you, he'll never be able to wander further than the fields that surround your home.

Rhett doesn't take form again until Sunday night.

You don't know why you've drug these two lawn chairs out into the lawn, past the gravel that eats up the area around the house, but you have. Lounging, gazing up at the moon and stars hanging high above your heads, pointing out all the shapes you find amongst them.

The portable radio drones lowly in between you, stuck on the same old country station, ever since Rhett and his ghostly ways accidentally jammed it last summer.

"Do you wanna dance with me?"

And you don't know if...did you make that up in your head? Or was that just the radio?

"You know I'm not drunk this time, right?" Your head tilts, aiming to get a glimpse of him. He's already looking at you, smiles weakly as you meet his eye. Laying here, cloaked in the silvery light of the moon, he looks...real. If you reached out, you're sure you'd feel the scruff of his cheek scratch at your palm.

He hums, "I know." Pausing, just for a moment, to look up at the stars one more time. Your eyes follow, scanning the speckled sky, delighted to catch the tail end of a shooting star. You should make a wish...but you can't think of anything to wish for. "I just...wanted t' know what kinda dancer you are when you're sober."

"Alright," comes your answer; dry, nothing more to add to it.

And you don't know where it comes from, but Rhett reaches off to the side of his chair and plucks a translucent cowboy hat off the ground. Takes care to dust it off with his scarred palm, even though nothing can possibly dirty it, before carefully placing it atop his head.

He holds his hand out for you to take as if it's something that's become possible all of a sudden, and against better judgment, you do just that. Slipping your palm into the chilly illusion of his, deceiving yourself into believing that you feel his fingers curling around your hand. It's not, but as he leads you out further into the grass, it becomes easy to deceive yourself.

"Whoever taught you to dance, anyway?" You giggle as he spins you around; catches you by the waist when you come to face him once more.

He grins, big and wide, and you think you see his teeth glint in the moonlight. "You give amazin' lessons when you're drunk."

Oh, how easy it is.

Dancing beneath the moon, in nothing but your pajamas, held close by the ghost of a cowboy whose soul fits against your own like a puzzle piece. He doesn't know what he's doing, and if he were human, you're sure he'd be stepping on your feet, but he moves in such wonderous tune with your body that it feels like a daydream. His cold forehead rests against yours, ocean eyes peering deep into the deepest crevices of who you are.

You're drifting away from the grass and into the driveway, feet kicking up loose gravel with each and every step. Sweeping past your car, your shoulder narrowly avoids the passenger side mirror. You should be looking where you're going, you're going to drift too close to the porch and fall, but Rhett's gaze is so captivating that you can't bring yourself to look away.

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy?

And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

"You're thinkin' awful hard," the hand that curls around your cheek feels so real, the vague callous of a thumb stroking beneath the corner of your eye.

"Just figuring out how I'm going to pack you up and take you with me," your words are a poorly collected lie; you both know it, but he doesn't call you out on it.

Oh, and he's pushing your noses together with all the boldness of a man who knows what he wants. Your fingers are trying to tangle in his hair, and it's of no use, but you do it anyway, uncaring of how your hands sink through that collection of mist.

"Take me with you, hm?" He's slowing to a stop, the arm around your waist drawing you closer to him. "What happens when y' find someone to settle down with? Y'gonna turn me into the ring bearer at the weddin'?"

"Fortunately," your gaze flickers down his face, and you're so, so sure he's real, "I've already found that someone."

Rhett has no need for oxygen, and yet he sucks in a breath of air anyway, a little reflex remaining even after all this time.

One of you should shut this down right here before it goes too far. But your arms are wrapping around those broad shoulders, precariously balanced upon the thick collection of mist that makes up Rhett Abbott's ghost. The hand on your cheek is dropping to cup your jaw, and the world spins even faster as both of you lean in. His cold breath fans out against your lips, your eyes meet one more time, and...

Kissing him is the only thing you have ever needed.

A heart-stopping boom tears through the silence. Glass shattering in hot pursuit. As your eyes flutter open, the kitchen light goes out.

"What was that?" Your feet are already moving, Rhett's form dissolving into a thin mist, following at your side.

"I don't know," his distant voice rings, "please be careful."

You can hardly heed his warning. Sweeping past the front door, not bothering to take your shoes off, as you head for the kitchen. It's too dark to see, forcing you to fumble for the dining room light that you never use. Your hands graze over the switch, flipping it on, and, and—

The kitchen floor is nearly gone.

Replaced by a deep, cavernous hole that seems to reach deep into the earth. Consumes over half of the floor where your table once sat, reaching from your cabinets to your teetering refrigerator, on the verge of falling in.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to get your spirit to attach to a living person, do you?" You hope Rhett can't pick up on the shake in your tone; there's no way insurance will cover a damn sinkhole.

But your question is met with silence.

"Rhett?" You're turning, and...he's not there. The air is unusually warm, not a speck of mist to be found. "Rhett?" Trying again, louder this time, as you head for the door, because maybe he's outside, maybe he's...

He's not there either. Maybe he's upstairs. Yeah, when he panics, he usually hides out in his old bedroom. He's just upstairs.

The door slams shut.

A second crash follows suit; you don't want to know if that was your refrigerator or if the sinkhole expanded even further.

"Rhett, this isn't funny," shaking the door knob. Locked from the inside. "Rhett, open the door!"

He doesn't.

The windows are all locked down tight. Even the one you intentionally leave unlocked. You find your car keys sitting atop the roof of your car, the paint scratched from where they've been thrown from a distance.

Rhett's chilly presence doesn't visit you when you sleep in the car that night.

He's not there to spook the contractor when he and his crew arrive early in the morning. You don't find him sitting on the couch when they kick the door down, and he's not on your bed when you sneak up the stairs, even after you're warned against going to the second floor. He isn't even there when countless faces enter your home to check out just what is going on in your kitchen.

"I've never seen this before," one of them tells you, her brows furrowed as she looks at her clipboard once more, "but it's not a sinkhole at all."

You don't know if you heard her correctly. "It's not?"

"It's a fifteen-foot hole that must have been dug by a past owner," she pauses to flip through her phone, presenting you with a photo of...just a dirt hole. Nothing special about it in the slightest. "They never refilled it, either; it was only a matter of time before the foundation collapsed into it."

Your mind flickers to your seemingly non-existent ghost. Rhett's never told a lot about his murder, but you know for sure that it happened in the kitchen. "Did you find anything down there?"

That seems to give her pause, ink pen tapping idly against her lips as she rechecks her pages and pages of notes. "Aside from your refrigerator and debris from the collapse...," flicking through another page, "it was completely empty! Nothing to worry about."

Well, at least now you know Rhett's not buried beneath the kitchen floor.

Even worse, his spirit no longer lurks within the paper-thin walls of this century-old farmhouse. You call for him in the fields, disturbing the cattle your neighbor keeps, and you beg for him to be there when you crawl out of bed in the morning. But the house remains warm; the only mist you find is in the fog that settles over your home after it rains, and he doesn't come out to mess with the teen boys employed to carry in bags of dirt, to fill the hole with.

Doesn't even appear when Trevor's F-150, with its irritating color-shifting paint, pulls into the driveway one evening.

"And so there was just a hole under your floor this whole time?" He's sitting in Rhett's favorite spot, cheap beer balanced carelessly between his legs. Has already spilled it once, leaving a stain on your cushion, and you'd tell him off if you weren't hoping it would infuriate Rhett into showing his face.

"The going theory is that one of the past owners dug it," glancing toward the mirror as you speak; still no ghost.

"I bet you more than anything that it's related to that Abbott murder," Trevor says, picking his drink up once more.

Your heart lurches in your chest. "Murder?"

"Did the realtor not tell ya?" Why is he scratching his cheek with the edge of his beer can? "That uh...what's his name? Perry, that's right, got into it with his brother and beat 'em to death in the kitchen."

"They told me someone died, but they never really elaborated," you mutter as he scoots a little closer. "Do you know what the argument was about?"

Trevor's heavy arm slings over your shoulder, drawing you near, musky cologne rudely meeting your nose. This is the same man you've been pursuing for months, so why is it that all of a sudden, your stomach churns at his touch? "Think it was...mmm, I think it was over some broad that went missing a couple of months before. Perry's wife, fiance, or something like that."

The alcohol on his breath has your senses reeling, overwhelmed with a sudden onset of nausea. Rhett didn't have much of a scent, but the little he carried was nothing but leather and honeyed sweetness. Your memory of his touch is brief, can count on one hand the amount of times he wrapped an arm around you, but he never dragged you into his chest like Trevor does.

"I'm sorry," speaking gently, you slide out from under his arm, rising to your feet, "I can't do this."

Trevor's face falls; you already regret speaking up, "what do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought I could, but I just..." shaking your head, eyes landing on the hot pink controller that Rhett once played with, "I can't."

"The fuck do you mean you can't?" He's shooting up from his seat, beer can hitting the floor, the golden liquid splashing across the hardwood.

Your mouth is opening, but you don't get a chance to speak.

"You sure could when you were begging me to stay in this freaky ass house of yours last week!" Roaring, face twinging with red as he tries to close the space between you. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Loud bangings that rattle you so hard the house seems to shake with it. "You put me through all this just to tell me no?"

"I didn't put you through a damn thing!" Your voice echoes through the house, tone fierce, yet your feet timidly take one step back for each one Trevor takes forward. The floor seems to tremble beneath you. An earthquake that only you can feel.

Trevor's quiet at that.

You'd rather if he just yelled.

Because now he's got you creeping backward, and there's only so much space you can back up into. Your voice is caught in your throat. Stifled by something invisible. Mouth opening, but nothing comes out. The light in the kitchen goes out. Glitters of gold flitter past your head like tiny sugar plum fairies.

All of a sudden, Trevor lurches toward you.

Your head smacks against the wall. Jumping away from him.

"You think that little of me," he laughs, incredulous, "you think that fucking little of me?"

"Trevor." Your voice bursts past your lips. Shaky. But there. "Stop."

"Or what, huh?" Spit hits your face. His hand slams next to your head. Breaking through the drywall. "You owe me! I didn't spend all this goddamn time just for you to up and change your little fucking mind!"

"They asked you to stop." That's not your voice.

And it's not Trevor's, either.

Heavy boots thump across the floor. Spurs jingling with every step. Next to your head, a dirt-covered hand takes hold of Trevor's wrist. Muscles flex as it tears Trevor's fist out of the wall. Shoves it into his chest.

Trevor's reddened face has gone stark white. Trips over his own boots as a hulking, dirt-coated figure steps in front of you. Broad shoulders, covered by a vaguely patterned flannel; plaid, it looks like. Dark brown curls rest at his nape, unruly hair flowing freely. Suspiciously similar to...

"Who the fuck is this?" Trevor's still backing up, and this vaguely familiar man eats up every inch of space that's put between them.

"The house ghost." And that's...that's...

Trevor runs for the door before you can finish your thought. Slams it shut behind himself, like it'll keep him from being followed. Truck already rumbling to life. Downright roaring as the vehicle tears out of the driveway, sending gravel clanking against your windows.

But that's not what you're paying attention to.

Truly, you should be concerned about your windows being broken. But all you can do is look towards your kitchen because the light flickers back on. Gives you a momentary glance at a bottomless hole that's returned once more. Leaving behind no trace of the dirt that once filled it. Thin wisps of gold dance through it like an aurora, seemingly alive as they move.

You blink, and it's halfway gone. The edges shrinking inward until the hole is no more. Leaving behind that same freshly packed dirt.

Leaving behind...

"Rhett?"

He jolts at the sound of his name. As if he's surprised you're even speaking to him. Has yet to speak; confirm it's really him, but you already know the answer to that. He turns. Slow. And you can't help but wonder if that really is dirt because it seems to be fading away.

Slow, your hand drifts out from your side, and when your fingers curl around his jaw, you don't know if it's you who sucks in a breath of air or him.

Scruffy. Unshaven face scratching at your soft palm, dirt sticking to your skin as your thumb soothes over a remaining patch stuck to his cheek. Warm. He's warm. And he's hesitantly pushing his head into your hand, and, and—

"Rhett." You say it once more. The only thing you know how to say.

Tears well in those eyes. They're as blue as you ever could have hoped they would be. So, so real, not a shred of translucence to their color. One spills over onto his cheek, rolling until it's caught and wiped away by your thumb.

His arms are moving, hesitant to wrap around you, and you know he's worried about getting dirt on you, but the only thing you care about is stepping into him. Wrapping your trembling arms around that big, warm body of his and feeling him squeeze you into his chest. Where his heart beats heavy, thunking against you with the strength of an ox.

"I don't know how..." he whispers, hot breath tickling your neck, where he's buried his face.

"You're still an ass for locking me out of my own house," you're trying to sound irritated, but it's difficult to feign annoyance when he squeezes you a little tighter.

"Didn't want you bein' sucked in like I was," it's so strange to hear his voice like this, no longer a disembodied sound, "I...it just...kept suckin' me in every time I got out."

You're leaning away, and God, you don't want to leave those strong, trembling arms, but you want to see that face of his even more. The wrinkles beneath his eyes, the wobble of thin, chapped lips as they rise into a meager smile.

The callouses of his fingers drag against the soft skin of your cheek as his big hand settles there. Not the misty, barely there touch you're used to, but just as gentle as it's always been. His nose bumps against yours. Don't know who's leaning in. You shouldn't. You shouldn't do this.

This time, you know for sure that it's you who closes the gap between your bodies. It's you who catches this cowboy's lips in your own, reveling in that surprised gasp of his.

If you thought that kissing his ghost was heaven, then this is something else entirely.

Molding together like you were made just for this, his hand on your cheek and yours delving into his messy hair. Feeling the strength of the arm that curls around your waist and breathing in those faint notes of leather and honey and something warm that you can't quite place.

He pauses for a moment, breaks into a big, dumb smile as you meet his eye once more. And then he leans in to kiss you once more, hands cradling your cheeks, like you're a delicate flower whose petals will fall if he doesn't hold you together. His body shudders with something torn between a giggle and a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he's smiling so much that your teeth clack together.

Your name tumbles off of his lips. Then again and again, like he's trying to memorize the feel of it in his mouth. The way it rolls off his tongue and twists through the air, the sound seeming to kiss your ears when it meets them.

"Rhett," mirroring him, and oh, how he perks at that. Has he always reacted so beautifully to you calling his name?

"Say it again," his nose bumps against yours as he speaks, "Please. Wanna hear you say it again." So eager to hear you that he looks two steps away from a puppy, the tears in his eyes shimmering with wonder as you open your mouth once more.

"Rhett," you whisper, like it's a secret shared on the playground, and then, again, "Rhett."

This time, when your back hits the wall, it's because a bright-eyed cowboy is carefully backing you into it, one hand protecting the back of your head as he dresses his body against yours. Smiling too much to kiss you, can't seem to get over the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming reality of whatever this is.

"We probably shouldn't be..." Higher thinking rushes back to your head in a whirlwind, thoughts running wild in the darkest crevices of your mind. What if's and why's and wonderings of how this happened, if it's permanent or temporary. "What if we cross that line, and you go back to being a ghost?"

You don't think you'll ever adjust to the sound of Rhett breathing or the way his eyelashes flutter as he thinks for a moment. He's licking his lips, mouth opening, and, "What if we don't cross that line and spend our whole lives regrettin' it?"

One too many kisses may leave you longing for him for the rest of your life, but one too few may leave you carrying eternal heartache. And that's only if he goes back to being a ghost. But he feels real. When you press your palm to his chest, his warm hand covers it, guiding it to rest over his beating heart. Little thumpings that shouldn't be there, full of life and love and all just for you.

He could have come back to life for anyone. But he came back for you.

To hell with it.

Your bodies collide like galaxies. Blinded by a frantic kiss that promises bruises to your lips. Flecks of gold fall from his body as your hands roam, tugging at a flannel, at his hair, at his hands. Legs tangling because you're moving too quickly, and he's still adjusting to walking rather than floating.

Only break apart long enough to tumble up the stairs; Rhett almost trips over every one of them. Struggling to keep his confidence but boosted along by the kisses you pepper to his reddened cheeks and the gentle tuggings of your hand in his.

Your back hits the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn, Rhett tumbling right along with you, chuckling into the crook of your neck. Under the dim lighting of your bedroom lamp, it's easy to catch onto the deep bruising that scatters beneath his right eye.

"These are from Perry, aren't they," it's more of an observation than a question, your fingers soothing over the marks as if they can somehow heal them.

Rhett's pressing a kiss to your wrist as it roams past, "Don' wanna think 'bout that son 'f a bitch right now."

You can work with that.

Especially when your bodies squirm further up the bed, his hips settling between your legs, forearms bracing themselves on either side of your head, heaving chests against one another. His lips solid against your own, hungry, urged on by the nails that dig into his shoulders for leverage.

"You'll tell me if I'm goin' too far?" He's speaking into your kiss, unwilling to remove himself any further.

Maybe there's a second ghost in this house because something possesses you to roll your hips up into his. Such a faint pressure, the rough bulge in his jeans rubbing against your soft pajama shorts, but it's so much compared to what used to be. "I will," you're interrupted by his mouth once more, "but I'm sure you'll be the one asking me to stop before the end of the night."

Your hand has a mind of its own, wandering down his chest, flattening out to feel the muscles that ripple along his stomach, hidden from view by his shirt. They flex under your touch, a simple thing that makes your head spin. By some method of madness, that shirt is still tightly tucked into his jeans, the material hard to get ahold of.

Rhett shifts above you, unintentionally moving when you feel for some slack in his shirt, something to get ahold of, and your hand wildly overshoots. Palm splaying out against the front of his jeans instead.

"'m not so sure 'bout that, sweetheart," he groans, a deep, guttural noise escaping him as he reaches down, catches your fleeting hand, and guides you to press against him once more. "I ain't had a dick for the better half of a fuckin' century."

These old jeans are thick, but even so, you can still feel him twitch against your touch. This wasn't what you were aiming for in the slightest, but watching him shiver as you massage over the outline of his bulge is a hell of a sight.

"Sensitive," you're only lightly teasing; any more words and you'll be fumbling with his belt buckle.

"You're one to talk," he mutters, head dropping to press his lips to the meet of your jaw, teeth tugging the skin there.

You think your eyes may pop out of your head. "I thought you promised to stay out of my bedroom when I didn't invite you in."

"Wasn't in the bedroom, baby," he's chuckling, breath tickling your ear as he works his way towards it, "When you're a ghost, you hear everythin'."

Then he's leaning back, leaves you feeling cold as he fumbles with his jeans, boots hitting the floor with two solid thunks. An involuntary whine works its way out of you, reaching aimlessly for him.

"Don't wanna get y'all dirty, sweetheart," he soothes, catching your hand and pressing kisses to your knuckles. Pops open his belt buckle with a pinch of his fingers, and soon those dirty jeans are sliding off, revealing milky white thighs, mottled with bright spots of red and deep purples, a badly bruised knee to match.

...as well as a pair of boxers patterned with bright red hearts.

"Y'ain't gonna believe me," Rhett's staring down at them too, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "but I have no fuckin' memory of wearin' these." The tips of his ears have gone bright red. Another quirk hidden until now.

"We'll get them off soon enough, I'm sure," you say, leaning up to let him peel your shirt over your head.

As soon as it's out of sight, Rhett's lips return to your neck, one wandering hand soothing up your side, not stopping until it reaches your breast. Does nothing more than feel you in his hand, sucking at a soft spot beneath your ear that has you fighting the urge to close your eyes.

Your hands wander, one wrapping around a surprisingly muscled bicep while the other delves between your bodies once more. Feeling down his sturdy chest, past his stomach, and not stopping until you can take hold of him through his boxers.

"Fuck," his body jolts, "'re you sure 'm not dreamin'?"

"I thought ghosts didn't sleep?" You're parroting something you so clearly recall him mentioning in the past, can't place the memory yet. Don't really care to, either. The only thing on your mind is the way your fingers wander past his waistband, wrapping around his cock that jumps at your touch.

He's thicker than you imagined he'd be.

Moans prettier, too, for that matter. A little bit breathy and so Rhett.

"Hands of yours are so fuckin' small," he's muttering in between kisses as he works his way back to your lips. Can't kiss you because a jolted grunt interrupts him, a symphony of sounds as you slowly stroke him. Oversensitive, the first touch he's felt in decades.

His hair drops into his face, acts as a curtain when you look down to where your hand is working him. Can hardly see what you're doing, but you do catch a glimpse of precum beading at his flushed tip, hearing his gasp when your thumb swipes over it.

"Y'need to stop that," he huffs, voice nothing but air, "gonna...fuck, 'm gonna cum if you keep..." And despite asking you to stop, he grumbles when you let go of him.

Hands now free, you reach for your shorts, not sure why you feel so shy when he helps you tug them down your legs; it's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. From you forgetting he's there to him accidentally floating into the shower while you were using it.

But these eyes are not the translucent ones you're used to, with their expression hidden by deviations in his mist. No, these eyes darken as they drink up the sight of you, every little thought in his head spoken through his gaze. But even as he kicks his boxers off, shirt going right along with it, you can't help but feel like hiding under the sheets.

"'ve I ever told you that you're beautiful?" His voice breaks the silence, stroking the inside of your knee as he speaks.

You don't have words for that.

He doesn't need them.

You really don't have words for when he takes hold of your wrist, guiding it up and taking two of your fingers into his mouth. Tongue carefully swirling around each of them, soaking them with a content hum. Your eyebrows furrow, to which he raises his other hand. Dirt beneath his nails and caught in the wrinkles of his hand.

Ah.

Reluctantly, you pull your fingers from his warm mouth, and you're pleasantly surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press them inside. Open and already wet, helped along by a moment of fun you'd had in the morning, hoping a familiar ghost may come to help you along.

"How did you know I kept my lube in the bottom drawer?" You can't help but ask, watching as he fishes around for it.

The tips of his ears are red again. "I learned the hard way not to float through bedside tables."

He's the one who uncaps the container, but it's you who reaches out for him to pour it into your palm. Not because you're concerned with dirt but because you want to feel him in your hand again. Twitching when you take hold of him, a thick vein running along the side of his length. He has to stifle a noise with each stroke, squeezing your knee all the while.

"You're sure you're ready for me?" He asks when you urge him closer.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, cowboy," fighting back a noise as you guide him down, letting him push between your folds, some lazy, teasing thing that has his plush head dragging past your clit. Sensitive, almost has you considering making him fuck you like this instead.

But he's catching against your entrance, and you've daydreamed about this man too many times to pass up the opportunity.

That tentative, forward tilt of his hips is enough to make your head spin. Pressure blooming as he pushes into you, careful, like you'll shatter into a million pieces if he's too quick.

"Rhett," you whisper, don't quite know why.

"'m here," he's coming back down, nose pressing against yours in his own little way of reassurance, "I've got you."

Your earlier rendezvous didn't end well for you, but you're so thankful for it in hindsight because his cock stretches you wide. Blunt head dragging against your walls, massaging past the bundle of nerves you couldn't seem to find with a toy, your thighs squeezing his pale hips.

"So tight for me," he pauses about midway, or what you think is midway, at least, "you're sure 'm not hurtin' you?"

Your head spins, loose on your shoulders, "I'm okay."

With a noise of his own, Rhett starts to move again, draws back a little before pushing further, and you can't help but wonder if he's holding his breath. Your nails bite into his shoulders, hanging on as he finally bottoms out, now flush against you. His mouth moves, but he can't speak. Only capable of releasing a shaky breath, lazily catching your lips in his.

He doesn't need to be asked to move, catching on the moment you grind yourself against him. Withdrawing slow, shallow, before pushing back in, and you're so, so full. Clinging to his shoulders to stay in place, feeling like you'll float away when he brushes against those nerves again.

Fuck, he's just begun to move, and you're already biting your lip. Don't know how you're going to keep yourself quiet because he massages past that little spot every time he moves, never lets it alone.

His thumb pulls your lip out from between your teeth, "Let me hear you, darlin'."

His words alone have your cunt fluttering around him, and you're leaning into the palm that cups your cheek, mouth falling open. "Rhett, fuck."

You don't think you need to reach down between your bodies, but you do anyway, fingers pressing to your long-neglected clit. Working in tandem with Rhett's quickening hips, jolting as his angle shifts.

"There?" He says as if he hasn't already found that damned spot. All you can manage is a nod, a whimpered 'uhuh' escaping you.

And he's doubling down, cock head kissing that oversensitive spot again and again. Grins wickedly when you shudder beneath him, nails dragging down his pale shoulders, panting into his mouth.

"Fuck, this sweet lil' pussy of yours feels so good 'round me," he groans, thrusts becoming harder now that he's remembered the ropes. Heavy balls smacking against you, and you really hope there aren't any more house ghosts who can hear the sinful sounds whistling through the air. "'s this what you've been needin', hm?

"Rhett," you don't know how to speak, his name tumbling off your tongue.

"Bringin' home all those dates that could never make you cum," his voice dropping an octave deeper, damn near growling, but the softness in his eyes suggest he wouldn't hurt a fly. "Wouldn't have terrorized 'em if they woulda treated you better."

That's why he chased them all off? God, how many times did you bring someone home, thinking he was gone? And how many times has he daydreamed about having you beneath him, whimpering his name as he fucks you nice and proper.

You should be mad, but you can't. Not when you're falling apart at the seams, hand sliding from his shoulders, barely clinging to his bicep. Bounced by every heavy thrust, can't keep your fingers on your pulsing clit, tightening around him as something warm blossoms between your legs.

And he must be able to feel it because his eyes flicker into the back of his head, if only for a moment. "You gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart?"

This is new. Fuck, this is so, so new and so much. No longer able to keep your eyes open, tongue lazy in your mouth, words long forgotten as you try to nod your head. Mind clouded with thoughts of Rhett, Rhett, Rhett.

"Shit, y'got me so damn close, baby," he rasps, hair tickling your cheek as he presses kisses there, "You want me to cum on those cute thighs of yours? Or your sweet little tummy?"

You don't have the answer to that question. Distracted by the crumbling of his rhythm, thrusts growing shaky, in perfect tune with the tightening coil in your lower belly. Almost there. Almost there.

He's still talking. "Or would you rather I cum nice 'n deep in this pretty pussy of yours," you regret opening your eyes. All you see is the sweat beading at his forehead and strong hips working you over. Fat cock disappearing into your wet pussy, elicits a dizzying squelch every time. "Pump you nice 'n full of me, just so you'll need me to fuck it out of ya in the mornin'."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where's your voice? Where's your voice? "I-inside."

Rhett's breathy "yeah?" is all you fucking need. Your back rises up off the mattress, head tilting back with a silent cry as you cum around his cock.

"There you go," Each pump of his length into you only sends your head higher up into the stratosphere. Whimpering, clamping down around him as a shudder washes over you. "Feel so good when you're clampin' 'round me like that."

And he's still fucking going. Fucking you through it, beating against that bundle of nerves even when you begin to tremble, after-shocks still tearing through you.

"Hang on for me, baby," his eyes are bolted shut, chasing his high, biceps shaking, so, so close.��

"Please, Rhett," you whisper, your hand soothing over his hardened face. Those deep blues flutter open, softening at the sight of you, like he's just seen an angel "Cum for me."

A whimper tumbles past his lips, a second one follows suit, and then those eyes are closing once more, hips stuttering to a halt as his orgasm hits him. Tiny noises escaping his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, the familiar tune of your name tumbling off his sweet tongue. Filling you with his cum, making good on his promise, jolting as you involuntarily pulse around him.

For a while, the air is silent.

Until Rhett lifts his head and kisses up your sensitive neck, sending you into a fit of giggles. "C'n we take a bath t'gether?" He murmurs, seemingly shy, unable to meet your eye.

"So long as you agree to bubbles, baby." Baby. You don't think you've ever called him that.

You can't wait to do it again.

For decades, the folks of Wabang, Wyoming, have whispered the tale of two brothers. Gossiping about a murder they presumed to have taken place, for they knew that Perry Abbott was a violent man, and it was only a matter of time before his little brother became the next punching bag.

Never have they whispered about the hole that opened beneath the kitchen floor, swallowing Rhett's near-lifeless body up, escorting him to an unknown safety while leaving his lonely spirit behind. They don't know of the decades he spent forced into an unnatural slumber, only to be awoken by another lonely soul with a heart made of the same glass as his own.

Nobody giggles about how a human scared a ghost or chatters about the adventures they've shared in that century-old farmhouse. They do not know of the arguments, and the boyfriends lost because a ghost wanted the best for his friend, appearing in mirrors and whispering their deepest insecurities into their ears. Worse, they don't roll their eyes over the many tales of him banging a cast iron skillet on the tile just to see them run.

But you do.

Only you know of how Rhett smiles, big and dopey, as you take him into town for the first time in decades. You are the only person who gets to explain what self-driving cars are and roll your eyes as some new thing scares him into jumping behind you. Nobody else gets to take him on a road trip, watch him fight with a GPS for the first time, and introduce him to the ocean and the concept of crabs.

"Why are they shaped like that?" Rhett's stumbling after you; not sure if he likes or hates this little creature, only knows that he wants to follow you. "Why is he following me?"

You wish you could see the little bugger, but it's so dark that you can hardly tell where you're going. The only light you have is a dull light in the parking lot and the silver moon hanging high above your head.

"Probably because you've pissed him off," you laugh, holding your hand out when he reaches for it, "are you going to survive two more nights this close to the beach, or do I need to take you back to the pasture?"

He hums, loud and dramatic as he can manage, scratches his freshly shaved chin for added effect, "I suppose I'll survive, but if that crab kills me, I'm comin' back as a ghost and suin'."

From the moment your feet are on the cool concrete of the parking lot, Rhett's spinning you around. It's still the only thing he knows how to do, and his feet tangle with yours a little more than they should, but oh, is it as magical as that night in your driveway.

"'ve I ever told you that I love you?" He smiles as he speaks; knows he says this every time you wind up dancing beneath the moon.

"Never," feigning surprise, as he pulls you in close, noses bumping together, "but I love you more."

And then you're running. Squealing as Rhett sets hot on your trail. He'll catch you before you so much as reach the hotel doors, trap you in his arms, and insist that no, he loves you more, punctuating every word with a wet, sloppy kiss. And you're so excited for it that you think you may let him catch you early.

Perry took away a lifetime from Rhett.

You're more than happy to give him a life worth waiting centuries for.

Even if he does still refer to himself as the house ghost.

#rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #reader insert #x reader #afab reader #ghost au #ghost! rhett abbott

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pinkluver93 · 1 month

Text

Words Left Unsaid

A continuation of my KehXReader fic "Is This Jealousy I'm Feeling?" Enjoy!

“Ovenist….you’re attracted to me in some way, aren’t you?”

Ovenist….Ovenist….

“Ovenist, you okay?”

You look up and Nasir, the special agent helping you with the case, is looking at you oddly. You nod. “Yeah, I just got lost in thought for a minute….”

You had called him to talk about the new evidence you’d found at Keh’s shop. He had come as soon as he could, since it’s busy at the WPA and it’s like he’s the only one there most of the time. It’s been a week since you investigated Keh, and you’ve reviewed all your notes. Now you two are reviewing the stack of papers you found.

“I think it’s some sort of….manifesto or something.”

Nasir studies it for a few minutes, looking at the pages. He nods with certainty and gives a determined smile. “So this appears to be a mockup for a pizza chain Keh is starting.”

You look at him confused. “A mockup?”

Nasir smiles. “Yes, it seems that he’s planning to expand his pre-existing pizza parlor into a chain…but it’s not called ‘Ambrosia’ now, it’s called….” He looks at the top of the paper. “Keh-lifornia Pizza Kitchen. Hmm, sounds familiar….”

You nod. “Yeah, I suppose. I wonder if that’s why he might’ve stolen the dough. Maybe he’s using the notoriety from getting the dough to start his chain?”

Nasir smiles. “Intriguing perspective, and it could be true, given his past….but I would talk to him and see what he has to say about it, since it could be motivation. Let’s keep our focus on the other suspects as well.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Do you have anything else to show me or tell me?”

You shake your head ‘no’.

“Cool, call me if you want to talk about a suspect or show me a piece of evidence.” With that, Nasir leaves, and you get lost in thought. Not just about the case, but Keh’s words still linger in your head.

How am I supposed to continue investigating Keh if he’s caught on to the fact that I kinda like him? Ever since PizzaPalooza ended, I’ve had these butterflies in my stomach I can’t control, and I SWORE I wouldn’t say anything! Ugh, why did I have to let him know how I felt about Angelica deep down? And how he shouldn’t be with her? What do I-

“Hello? Can I get an All-Dressed Pizza? Can I also get it well done?”

You snap out of your thoughts once again to take your customer’s order and move on with your day as usual.

At close, you print the daily sales receipt from your tablet. It was considerably low; you had only completed one ZaZoom order and had to do 2 refunds.

You document the day’s sales on the Pizza City Portal, where every ovenist had to input sales to show whether they are making enough to stay in business or not. You start to think about some aspects of the case you hadn’t thought of before and you grab your notebook and your special pen. Your notebook sits by you but your pen is not in its usual spot.

What the-where's my special pen??

You move everything around in your reach by your shop counter-receipt paper boxes, your store’s lost and found box (which hasn’t been emptied since you opened and is filled to the brim), and some of your personal belongings...but your pen is nowhere to be found.

Soon enough, you have searched your entire restaurant, from the kitchen to the one-person bathroom, and you have no luck. Your heart sinks as you pack up your things, lock the store and walk to your car. As you open your car door, you hear footsteps behind you, and prepare for the worst...

....but instead of a robber’s voice, it’s a gentle, familiar voice..

“Ovenist?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ovenist?”

You close your car door in shock and the first thing you see is a shadow..albeit a very tall shadow. Next you look at who the shadow belongs to.....

“Dr. Keh? What are you doing here?”

He reaches into his lab coat pocket and takes something out to show you....

Your eyes widen. “Wait, is that-? My pen!”

You mentally cheer, studying the golden fountain pen with a certain name engraved in it. You reach out to grab it, but pull your hand back....

“Hmm...”

Keh looks at you confused. “What’s the matter? You don’t want your pen? You only tore 3 quarters of your miniscule shop down looking for it...”

You do a double-take. “Wait what?”

“Incase you weren’t aware,” Keh starts. “Every business in this city, yours included, is not only under 24/7 constant surveillance, but it is also public record and uploaded to the WPA website nightly.”

You stand there, stunned. “Wow....that’s crazy...”

Keh snorts. “Yes, I’m not really rather fond of being constantly under scrutiny, but that’s the cost of having a business in this city, and...it does have benefits..”

“Yeah...” You absentmindedly say. “Wait, you see benefits of this?”

Keh smiles. “Yes, it was rather fun watching you destroy a good portion of your store only to spend your time to put it back the way it was again. It was better than watching TV, dare I say.”

You cross your arms and frown. “Real funny. That pen was very special to me, okay? The fact that I lost it and the thought that some member of the Deep Dish Gang had stolen it from me really messed with me.”

Keh was still holding the pen and nodded. “I wasn’t laughing at the fact that you lost something valuable and meaningful to you, Ovenist. I was merely laughing at you destroying your store for any reason whatsoever. I cherish my belongings as much as anyone.”

You nod solemnly, taking the pen from his hands. For a moment, your fingers touch his fingertips, which have a strong but silky-soft texture. It felt like a smooth lotion had just been applied to them. You think you saw Keh slightly blush at the contact, which you would’ve never seen if not for the bright street light by your car. “Well thank you for keeping it safe for me. I really appreciate it.”

While he tried to hide his blushing cheeks, he coughed. “Well uh...you’re quite welcome.”

“Do I owe you anything in return?”

Keh raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

You slightly smile. “Well it’s just....whenever you do or want to do something nice for me, you expect something in return, like with the artichokes. So I was just asking....”

Keh looks at you for a minute, then nods. “I see. Well, you dropped it when you quickly left my shop so I knew it was yours. I studied it and knew it was very special to you.”

You look up at him in confusion. “But....why didn’t you come by if you knew it was mine? You waited until now to come....”

Keh put both of his hands in his pant pockets and looked down a bit, then looked at you in the eyes again. “Well, we’re not exactly on good terms, Ovenist, given our history overall. I feared you would think I stole it if I brought it to you. I was originally going to have someone send it to you anonymously....”

“Anonymously? Well why didn’t you go through with it?”

Keh put his hands on hips and studied you. “Because for once, I wanted you to think of me as...well...”

You look him in his eyes. “What?”

“I wanted you to think I was a good guy, okay? I wanted you to...well, think at least somewhat highly of me...”

You blush a bit. “But....why me? Why not the other Ovenists?”

Keh rolls his eyes. “I could care less what Cicero thinks, I REALLY don’t care what Alicante thinks....but you, Ovenist....I don’t know. For some reason, you’re different.”

You start to fiddle your special pen in your fingers and shyly look up at him. “I’m....different?”

“I can’t explain it, but....yes.” Keh says. “For once in my life, I’ve found a puzzle I was never able to solve, and that’s you, Ovenist.”

Now is your turn to snort. “You could’ve fooled me! You’re always so mean to me....”

Keh swallows and nods. “Yes, and....I deeply regret it. I’m sorry. I’ve been trained since I was a youth to be incredibly competitive and ruthless, and.....because of that, I-”

You both hear a group of tourists approaching, walking down the street.

You widen your eyes. “I think we better go our separate ways for now. I’m sure you don’t want anyone spreading rumors, right?”

Keh nods. “Yes, I agree. Though I think the Pizzagram hashtags are already trending....”

You both get in your cars and drive away before the tourists see you both together....

#good pizza great pizza #dr keh #dr. michael keh #dr keh x reader #gpgpfanfiction #what you have together has to be hidden #he's incredibly vulnerable here #he starts to show his kinder side #you're still shorter than him in this lol #gpgp #teewritessmth

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admiringlove · 8 months

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[21:15]

"ugh, what is that smell?" you groan, scrunching up your nose as you open your front door and head inside. it's been a long day at work, and all you were looking forward to was a relaxing takeout meal and some much needed alcohol. you cover your nose with a handkerchief as you walk into the kitchen. and see hinata shōyō throw a pan into the sink.

"did you see that?" he asks meekly. your eyes soften, but a teasing smirk takes over your lips as you lean against the wall and cross your arms over your chest, "see what?"

he's turning the faucet on as he says, "i wanted to make you dinner. i even called omi-kun for help. then i went to the living room to watch highlights of the old game between the ejp raijin and the sendai frogs because atsumu said we should use one of their techniques in the next season so i got all excited. then i smelled something burning."

you let out a breathy chuckle as you walk up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso as you close your eyes. then, you mumble, "you don't need to cook for me, shō. you could've ordered take-out. that would've been fine."

"but i wanted it to be special. you've been working late this past week and you would've been tired. i screwed up dinner and now we have nothing to eat."

you peer up at him, but he avoids your gaze until you cup his cheeks and force him to look back. you hum, "how about we cook lunch together tomorrow?"

"you don't have work tomorrow?" he asks, eyes big.

"it's saturday," you giggle, "i have the day off."

"i lost track of what day it is after our last game," he rubs the back of his neck guiltily. and you laugh even harder as you get on the tip of your toes and press a peck to his cheek, "what do you want to eat?"

"tomorrow or right now?"

you give him a look, and he says, "pizza."

"good choice," you chortle, before giving his lips a peck and going through your work bag to find your phone, "i'll order breadsticks too."

"the ones with cheese?"

"the ones with cheese."

"thank you!" he groans happily. you narrow your eyes, "hey, you're the one who fucked up dinner."

"the wounds are still fresh, honey. don't wound me."

"want me to make up my vicious verbal attacks with cuddles?"

"and jurassic park?"

"i am so in love with you," he giggles, walking over to you and kissing your lips softly. you smile into the kiss, leaning against him. a sigh leaves your lips, and he frowns, "what's wrong, hon?"

"nothing's wrong, i'm just exhausted. and seeing you at the end of the day is the best thing that happens to me," you tell him. shōyō grins, as if you've stroked his ego, "i'm glad to be of service."

"no seriously, seeing you is like a free therapy session," you joke, giggling breathily. he takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. then he whispers, "come on. let's go get you in some pajamas and watch movies on the couch. then we'll makeout and fall asleep there too."

"that sounds like such a solid plan," you laugh.

"free therapy session?"

"free therapy session."

kinda short but based off this request.

#hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shouyou x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hinata shoyo fluff #hinata shouyou fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq!! fluff #hq!! x reader #hinata shouyou #hinata shoyo x you #hinata shoyo x y/n

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mattybraps10 · 5 months

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He Could Be The One | Trevor Zegras x Reader

Summary: After a long day of travelling, y/n and the guys settle in to watch a movie.

Word Count: ~916

By: M

part one | part three

PART TWO: Dinner and a Movie

Trevor's room is the complete opposite of what I was expecting. Instead of piles of dirty clothes and the occasional empty water bottle thrown on the ground, everything was neatly put in its place, freshly cleaned clothes folded on the edge of the pristinely made bed, waiting to be put away. I put my bag on the floor and start unpacking the essentials. I walk into the bathroom, surprised to see that Trevor does not in fact use a 9-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, body wash, etc. Instead, he has a variety of products, ranging from shampoo and conditioner to a step-by-step skin care routine. I placed my dopp kit on the counter next to the sink, carefully arranging my skin care products beside his. I then placed my hairbrush on the counter alongside my toothbrush and toothpaste, humming Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift to myself. I look up into the mirror, surprised to see Trevor leaning on the door frame behind me.

"Oh! How long have you been there?" I ask, completely startled.

"Not long at all actually... I was just going to ask if you wanted to come down for dinner. Jamie and Jack ordered pizza." He smiles, stepping back to let me through the door.

"Yeah! That sounds great thanks!" I say, starting down the stairs, looking over my shoulder to see him following close behind me.

-----------------------------------------------

"Thanks for getting my favorite pizza!" I say to Jack, helping him load the dishwasher.

"Of course y/n. I know how picky you are." He laughs, shoving me playfully with his shoulder.

I laugh, throwing my head back and once again noticing Trevor staring at me over the back of the couch.

"Guys. Time for a movie!" He calls, when he realizes I've noticed his stare.

"Ugh... Fine. But, I am not watching Parent Trap with you again." Jack says, addressing me.

My favorite movie has been The Parent Trap with Lindsay Lohan from before I can remember. Every time we sit down to watch a movie, it's the first suggestion I bring to the table. I remember when Jack finally gave in and let us watch it, only to become annoyed when he realized I had the whole thing memorized. Naturally, I quoted the movie back to him as we watched.

"Ok whatever." I reply rolling my eyes and walking over to take my place beside Jamie on the couch.

Before I can sit down, however, Jack rushes in front of me practically throwing himself onto the couch.

"Sorry! This seat's taken!" Jack says, looking up at me as if he didn't just steal my spot.

He turns towards the empty spot on the couch between Trevor and Jamie. I laugh to myself thinking there's no way Jack's gonna leave me to sit with Trevor, but, he makes no move to stand, and instead starts laughing at me. I roll my eyes at him, taking my seat next to Trevor and scooting way too close to Jamie.

"Ok, since you got to pick your seat, I get to pick the movie..." I start.

"Um- No. Actually I get to pick the movie, since I have to room with you." Trevor sneers, cutting me off.

"Well, actually... I think that's a great idea." I nod to him, deciding to be nice for once.

"You... What?" He says, shocked that I could say such a thing.

"You heard me." I reply with a smirk on my face.

After a long debate between Trevor and Jamie over who gets to actually use the remote to turn on the movie, Trevor wins and picks 10 Things I Hate About You.

The opening credits start, and as Kat's song starts blasting from her car drowning out the girls next to her, I turn to Trevor curious as to why he picked one of my favorite romantic comedies of all time.

"Trevor... Why did you pick this movie? It doesn't really strike me as something you would watch..."

"Oh? What? Because I play hockey I can't like romantic movies? You're so stereotypical." He rolls his eyes, turning back to the movie and muttering about something I can't quite hear.

We all watch the movie in silence, laughing when appropriate. By the time Kat is dancing on the table at Bogey Lowenstein's party, my eyes have become heavy. After a long day of travelling, I find myself drifting off to sleep leaning my head on the thing closest to me, which just so happens to be the shoulder of an unsuspecting Trevor Zegras. He jumps a bit, but, I am so tired that I don't really care. I nestle my head into his shoulder as he wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. I drift in and out of consciousness for the rest of the movie, tuning into snippets of conversations between Jamie, Jack, and Trevor.

"Trevor. Did you really pick 10 Things I Hate About You because you like it?" Jack asks curious to know why the movie was chosen.

"I- Uh- Well... No. I actually chose it because I remember watching it with y/n for her 15th birthday..." He sighs.

"OH MY GOD DUDE!" Jamie wheezes. "YOU-" I drift off again.

I wake up to a strong set of arms carrying me upstairs. All I feel is the warmth of a chest, and I nestle in, taking in the familiar scent.

"Ok, n/n. Time for bed." The voice says, gently placing my head against a soft pillow, and tucking me under the blanket. I drift off to sleep happy to be in a comfortable bed surrounded by a sweet honey-filled scent.

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #hockey fanfiction

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bellysoupset · 1 year

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She was starving, Bella thought as she impatiently tapped her foot, waiting for the elevator to reach her floor. It had been a very long day and then some kid had somehow installed a children's cartoon as the university background, in all computers, which of course had caused a huge ruckus and all of the IT people had been held up after hours to fix it.

She should've been home two hours ago, but nooo... Her belly growled, loudly, and Bella placed a hand over it, pressing on it to shut it up, cheeks burning as the old woman next to her politely pretended not to hear.

Lucas got home much sooner than her, so it was to her absolute dismay that she opened the door to find him hunched over his university books, nose buried in one, and no smell of food in the air.

He raised his head when the door shut and then glanced at his watch, "Bell? What the hell, it's almost 10..."

"Ugh, I know, some kid caused a minor crisis," Bella dumped her school bag near the door, kicking off her combat boots, "I'm starving."

"Ah..." Lucas cringed, "I was waiting for you to order in, so I didn't-"

"Uuuh," she whined loudly, but she wasn't exactly pissed at him. It was sweet he had waited for her and she should've texted, but in all of the mess, it had completely slipped her mind, "pizza always takes a million years to arrive..."

Bella walked straight to the kitchen, knowing he'd follow and too hungry to properly greet him. She opened the fridge in search of leftovers, "I'll just eat whatever's in the fridge."

"We've got nothing in the fridge, we were supposed to grocery shop tomorrow, remember?" Lucas' voice came from right behind her, as she expected and Bella ignored him, pushing away the bottles of sauce and the many many bottles gatorade. Really, who bought Gatorade in bulk? Lucas did.

"Aha!" she straightened up, opening a red plastic container and revealing the mini chimichangas her mother had sent her, "there's nothing you can eat, gringo," she teased him lightly, getting on her tip toes to press a kiss over his lips and then moving for the sink.

Lucas barely reciprocated the kiss, frowning at her container, "Bells, didn't Marisa send this like... Weeks ago?"

"Did she?" Bella dumped the lid inside the sink and then sniffed the snack, "smells fine to me."

"...I don't think this is smart, Bella..."

"You," she pointed at him, putting the plastic container inside the microwave, "worry too much."

"I worry enough," Lucas rolled his eyes, "well, I guess I'll order pizza just for me then."

"Sorry," Bella had the decency of blushing for not waiting alongside him, but he shrugged.

"I really think you should wait for the pizza, babe," then moved back into the living room to find his phone. He didn't come back, so Bella figured he had gotten sucked in by his essay once again.

She waited impatiently as the container stopped spinning inside the microwave, serving herself a glass of Gatorade and then moving back into the living room with her now warm food. Just as she guessed, Luke was once again squinting at the page.

"I think you need glasses," she said, taking a bite of a chimichanga and then huffing as it burned her tongue. She chugged on the cold drink, pushing it all down, but didn't wait another second to take yet another bite.

"Uhm, no," Lucas scoffed, turning the page of his book, "I'm just tired," he rubbed his neck, straightening up on the chair.

"Denial is a river in Egypt," she grinned, kissing his temple and moving away from the dining area and into the living room, sitting down on the couch. Seeing as Luke wasn't paying her any mind, she tunned in her show and started to eat while watching it.

A whole episode later, her tupperware was almost empty and Luke's pizza arrived, so he finally shut the books to come join her. Bella eyed the last chimichanga wearily, debating if she should eat it. She hadn't eaten that much, only four mini ones, but still she felt full already. Probably a result of eating too fast.

"Do you want my last chimichanga?" she asked as Lucas sat down next to her on the couch with a satisfied groan.

He wrinkled his nose, "hell no," then bit on his pizza. She sighed, picking it up and trying to take a bite, but a wave of repulsion ran through her. Bella sighed.

"I guess it's garbage for you, buddy."

Her boyfriend let out an amused snort at her pitying comment and she got up to throw it out in the kitchen. Bella opened her jeans, suddenly feeling squeezed into it.

"I'm gonna take a shower and change, brb," she shouted, poking her head out of the kitchen and then heading for their suite.

By the time she made it back to the living room, twenty minutes later, Bella was feeling dead on her feet. She collapsed on the couch, resting her head on Lucas's arm and glancing at his pizza. Only two slices were gone.

"Are you feeling alright?" Bell yawned, wrapping an arm around his middle so she could use him as a pillow. He hummed, licking on his fingers.

"Yeah, cutting down on carbs since season is ending," he explained and Bella nodded in understanding, even though she thought putting Lucas on a diet was unneeded.

"How was your day?" she asked sleepily and smiled as he promptly launched on a rant about his evening lecture, a rant he probably had been waiting all evening to speak.

She chuckled here and there as he got clearly passionate over the issue, but slowly Bella lost focus on what was being said and fully sank against him.

Lucas must've carried her to bed, because she woke up snuggled against him, hours later. Their room was fully dark, not even the TV was on, and she wondered what had woken her up, all warm and cozy...

Too warm. Her belly gurgled unhappily and she immediately knew. Slowly she pulled away from Lucas, sitting against the headboard and placing a hand on her stomach. It was bloated and sore, a whine answering her soft touch.

Her upper belly felt overly full, as if nothing had digested at all, but she knew it had to be a lie, by how her intestines were cramping. Sweat started to collect over her brow and then a sharp cramp ran through her, painful enough to have her gasping and curling around her belly.

Next to her on the bed, Lucas stirred and turned so he was facing her, still oblivious and asleep. Bella cringed, she was not in the mood to receive Lucas' I-told-you-so. Worse of all, she didn't want to be on the receiving end of his overly concerned glare, he always made such a fuss about health...

She crawled out of the bed, but instead of heading for their suite's bathroom, she tiptoed out of the room and for the guest room's bathroom.

"I'm so smart," she said sarcastically to herself, shutting the bathroom door and sitting down on the toilet, hugging her sick belly. Her intestines cramped fiercely for a couple more minutes, before a loud gurgle all but doubled her queasiness and then they emptied out quickly.

She was shaky and nauseous as she cleaned herself up, fifteen minutes later, forced to brace against the sink as she attempted to wash the cold clammy sweat from her face. Her hands were shaking and when Bella bent down, a sour burp sneaked past her lips. She groaned, swashing cold water in her mouth and spitting it out, hoping to get rid of the acidic taste that was pushing her closer and closer to puking.

Seeing as it wasn't going to happen at right that moment, she slowly made her way out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen, retrieving one of the many Gatorade bottles - sweet irony - and a mixing bowl, just in case.

Bella curled up on the couch once more, a shiver running down her spine and unscrewed the bottle, bringing it to her lips. However, the sweet scent only made her gag and she didn't have the nerve to drink it.

She settled the bottle back down and wrapped an arm around her angry belly, rubbing wide circles on it. Curse her impatience and stubbornness. Another wet burp rolled up and Bella groaned, eyeing the mixing bowl still on the coffee table. She really didn't want to puke...

Her mouth filled up with salty saliva and she gagged suddenly, scrambling to get the bowl, but despite the fact a nasty burp rolled out of her all, she got up was some orange collared spit. Her throat hurt and her belly was pulsing, gurgling non stop.

"puta chimichanga," she mumbled darkly, coughing to get rid of the taste. Just then Bella heard the soft noise of the bedroom door opening and then Lucas appeared in the hallway, rubbing his eye in a sleepily manner.

"What are you doing in the liv- Aw, Bell..."

"I'm fine."

"I can tell," he snorted, ignoring her scathing glare and stepping closer, "why are you in the living room?"

She didn't have it in her to answer, only whined, curling up forward and Lucas sighed, cupping her forehead.

"Have you thrown up already?"

"No-Oourpe-" she burped mid word and cringed, "I'm so queasy though..."

He breathed in through his nose, raising an eyebrow and Bella glared at him, holding a fist to her mouth as she scoffed, "just say it already, I know you want to."

Lucas snorted, "I told you not to eat those things, Bella."

She huffed, unimpressed and swallowed in another gag, "happy now?"

The little smug smile that was tugging the corner of his lip fell, "I'm not happy you're sick, Bell, c'mon..." Lucas sighed, circling the couch so he could sit behind her and pull her hair up and away from her mouth. It was long enough that he could twist it around itself, no tie necessary.

Bella slumped against him, hugging her stomach, "it hurts, Luke..." she whined, dignity and embarrassment forgotten.

"Will rubbing it help?" He asked, but she shook her head, sitting up straight in order to spit more salty saliva in the bowl.

"Don't touch it, you're just gonna make me puke."

"Okay..." he settled for rubbing her back, cringing at the wet burps rolling off his girlfriend and the gurgles emitting from her belly. She gagged again, bracing against the bowl, but it wouldn't come up, nausea keeping her mouth open regardless.

Lucas reached to grab the gatorade bottle abandoned on the floor, just as he caught sight of Bella shoving two fingers in her mouth. He grabbed her hand, "babe, no, don't do-"

"No, I have to throw up, my belly hurts," she whined, pushing his hand around her wrist away and going for it again. He cringed even more and a second later Lucas heard as she gagged around her hand, barely pulling it away fast enough to vomit into the bowl.

It was red and chunky, smelling strongly of tomato sauce. Lucas couldn't help but gag lightly, looking at a spot over the couch and making sure the bowl was secure in her lap.

"Just let it up, Bells..." he mumbled, as he felt her heave and choke, trying to swallow back down.

"It burns," she whined and he grimaced. He was well aware of how horrible it was to throw up spicy food.

"I know, I'm sorry..." he rubbed at her arm, which was covered in goosebumps. Bella groaned again, then heaved one more time and he had to rush and hold at her forehead, as her whole body shuddered with it. More puke rushed out of her mouth and it went on for a long minute, causing her to pant and cough for air.

"Jesus, Bella..." worry started to eat at Lucas. He was very aware this was just food poisoning, caused by her own hand, but still... "are you done?"

"Not sure," she spluttered, struggling to breathe, "hurts."

"Okay, uhm- I'm gonna empty this..." he said uncertain if it was wise to move, but she didn't complain, so he took it as a hint to get moving, "I'll be right back."

Once he returned to the couch, now with a clean bowl and a blanket, he noted how severely Bella was shaking. She lifted up her blue eyes, a pitiful grimace on her face.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Lucas scoffed, draping the blanket over her, "you're the one sick."

"...'cause I'm stupid," Bella groaned, making grabby hands for him and he circled the couch, sitting down so she could rest her head on his lap, "so stupid."

"Don't call my girlfriend stupid," Lucas scoffed, stroking her hair, "she's a dummy at best."

It caused her to chuckle, before a cramp hit her again and Bella rolled onto her side on the couch, muffling a wet burp against his thigh. Lucas' hand hovered, ready to grab the bowl.

"Bella?"

She didn't answer him, struggling to swallow the nausea back down. Lucas heard as her belly let out a nasty wet gurgle and he rushed to grab the bowl, just as Bella let out a queasy, "Oh god-" and lurched forward.

She was so harsh that her hair fell out of its knot and Lucas had to quickly switch the bowl from one hand to the other in order to stop her auburn curls from getting coated with vomit. It was a much lesser amount and more liquid this time, but once she finished bringing it up, Bella didn't straighten back up, instead continued to heave emptily.

"Babe," he planted the bowl on the coffee table, "Bells, you're empty, breathe-"

She nodded, breathing in and then being interrupted by another gag. Lucas' hand went for the bowl, but all that came up was a wet burp. Bella sniffled, tears had ran down her face and her nose was red.

He cupped her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb and the drool that still clung to her lips with the back of his sleeve. Bella grimaced.

"You have to start being more normal about puke," she mumbled hoarsely, leaning against him, "I think I'm done-" a wet burp cut her off, "for now."

"...I'm going to get you a hot water bottle, can you drink some gatorade for me?"

"No promises it's staying down," Bella groaned, but took the bottle he passed to her. Her hands were shaking, badly and Lucas frowned.

"Please try to keep it down, baby," he said, voice thick with concern as he once more went to empty the bowl and bring her the hot water bottle.

She was curled up in a ball when he came back, hugging her stomach and Lucas' heart squeezed in her behalf, a tinge of annoyance flaring up as he thought she wouldn't be in such pain if she wasn't so stubborn.

"Bell, open up, let me-" he slowly peeled her arms away from her gurgly belly and placed the hot water bottle against her skin. Her pained frown cleared up minimally.

"It's so crampy," she whined as he sat back down and pulled her to lie across his lap. Lucas sighed, rubbing her back up and down, applying more pressure. It dislodged another burp and it seemed to calm her down for the moment.

"I'm never eating again."

"Maybe just don't eat week's old food," he yawned, causing her to let out a huff and squeeze him a little tighter.

"Be nice to me, I'm dying."

"Uhm," he couldn't help but pull her up, so she wasn't as much resting her head on his lap, but his stomach. Lucas slid down on the couch, legs stretched ahead of him, "I'm not ready to be a widower, so don't die... Try to sleep."

"I'm still really queasy," she sounded uncertain, even if exhausted, "I don't wanna vomit on you..."

He rolled his eyes, stroking her cheek, "I don't mind, just try and take a nap, baby."

"Remember you said this," she mumbled, before hiding her face against his stomach. He smiled, tipping his head back, letting his eyes close again.

#food poisoning #sickfic #emetophilia #emeto fic #isabella martinez #lets gooo #mywriting

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froggyworlds · 1 year

Text

ugh fuck listen. I’m on mobile and the formatting on here is whack idk how to put things under the cut on mobile I’m sorry. inspired by the HTB AU, tw for suicide and body horror and all the usual fun mandela catalyst things

update: got the cut in there.

it was all good until things went wrong.

okay. okay, that was a lie. it stings a little in the back of his throat, even now, even when lies are all he is. it is? he isn’t really sure, and bites his tongue a little too hard and is met with something thick and tasteless that definitely isn’t blood.

Adam spits it out with a gag, ignoring how it’s darker than red.

^ my skin is not my own. ^

no fucking shit.

he sucks a breath into lungs that don’t need air, and wonders briefly if he ever really needed to breathe at all, or if this whole time it’d just been one big lie.

as noted before: he’s made up of lies.

^ lies and shadow and static. ^

he feels his eyelids start to droop, not in a really tired way, but in a my-humanity-is-slowly-seeping-out-through-the-cracks-in-my-body-into-the-floorboards-and-my-eyelids-feel-like-they’re-lined-with-needles way.

no. no, he cannot close his eyes. they’re too far open and if he sinks he doubts he’ll be able to claw his way to the surface again. it’s so dark back there.

^ I am a cog in the machine. ^

he can’t feel anything. it’s not an entirely foreign sensation, but in this context it makes awful sense that he wishes it didn’t.

it’s bizarre, for certain: being… vaguely aware, somewhat, of your surroundings, but every detail becomes blurred, every emotion only half-processed. his screams don’t even reach his own ears, but his throat still burns with anguished, staticky wails and the taste of chlorine and saltwater and soap.

^ please, just fucking kill me. ^

Adam’s skin feels awfully like rubber, and moving makes the partially-melted substance shift over his bones horrifically uncomfortably, so he can’t even bring it in himself to try and get up. not that he really wants to. he’d be content to sit here until he rots, until the thing in his mind with him dies.

he has a terrible feeling, though, that if one half of him has to go, his humanity will drain first. it already is, in a steady drip-drip-drip like a leaky tap or an IV filled with black ichor instead of plasma, into a murky puddle that stains his palms and soles of his feet.

^ there’s not enough room for the both of us. ^

except there’s only ever been one of it. it was wearing a very well-crafted mask, and it has worn that mask for a very, very long time, but there was never an internal war to be had for long. it remembers now. it knows what it is, and it knows that Adam Murray died 17 years ago.

he shoves that away. no, no, he's alive. he has to be. there must've been something there that was real: the way his fingers felt intertwined with someone else's, the way cheap arcade pizza always tasted better when he was eating it on a date with Evelin. the way a laugh tasted in his eyes when Jonah told a stupid joke, the way his teeth ached whenever he stared at the mirror for too long even though he couldn't remember what he was looking for, the feeling of metal against skin even though it never cut through, stop, stop it, stop fucking messing with my head.

^ PLEASE, JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. ^

he hates the way his skin feels like plastic shrink wrap over his tendons, shifting around inside him like an action figure over an open flame. without really thinking, he puts a hand over his mouth and forces out a sob into it; why would he have to force out a sob? crying is one of the most natural things to do in this situation.

oh. that answers itself. crying is the most human reaction.

^ I’m not the real me. ^

he hasn’t stopped to breathe in a little while now. he doesn’t cry anymore, but he thinks there is something streaking down his cheeks, blurring his vision even more.

coils and claws grab the back of his mind and yank downwards, and instead of gasping for air he grasps for purchase on the slippery glass-smoothness of reality, trying to hold himself away from the cracks that it knows it would be oh-so-easy to slither into. it cannot close its eyes now.

^ my eyes are wide open. ^

Adam (or whatever it is that’s been Adam since it killed him) screams again, jaw swinging open like a door on broken hinges. it can’t keep clinging on like this. sooner or later it- he will falter.

^ no one is coming to help me. ^

Sarah and Evelin wouldn’t. what reason would hey have to? neither of them owe Adam anything. they probably wouldn’t even recognize him as the Adam they know if they were to see it now, curled up and screaming and frantically trying to hold onto his humanity as his insides roil.

who would even come into this house on accident? generally peoples’ first instinct when they hear a static-filled scream is to run in the opposite direction.

so he's fucked. that's it. he's going to lose himself here, and that's that. he can almost hear his friends' the others' voices clamoring inside his head, shouting nonsense ranging from weather reports to "are you still there?" to "Adam, please, I know you're in there-" to "we always knew you were weak." it doesn't make sense, it's just pointless cacophony, and Adam thinks that might be the point.

^ PLEASE, JUST FUCKING KILL ME. ^

Adam curls into himself a little more and keeps screaming.

#mandela catalyst #adam murray #alternate adam murray #the mandela catalogue #tmc fic #tmc #the mandela catalogue fic #tw suicide #tw body horror #ask to tag #godd I’m so tired sorryyy #might post. same/similar scene but fairly different vibe. maybe tomorrow #god I can’t keep my eyes open anymore #I’m literally abt to pass out lmao #mmmkkkk gnight #stay safe out there guys #mythic's drabbles

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dre6ming · 1 year

Text

The delicate beginning rush

Chapter VII ~ mixed signals

Masterlist <all chapters here>

Instagram photo dump masterlist

To be added to the tag list click HERE

Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

Warning: cursing, fluff, crying … idk that all I think

Plot: after meeting Joshua there’s a part of you that feels like he would be a wiser decision of a boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean you can just wash Austin away. FaceTime calls become your thing with him and all the mixed signals have you twisted.

Word count: ~6900

Disclaimer: everything is fake !!!

"Does this look ok?" I ask twirling around in front of my phone for Timmy to see. I'm in the bathroom of the studio cursing myself for not thinking to bring a backup outfit when I left the house, once again in sweats. "Sweet dumpling you're going with him on walk in the park, sweats is the best thing to wear." He says. "Ugh of course you think so, you're a boy." I sigh exasperated, throwing my hands up in the air.

Timothee giggles at my worked up stance, which only makes me more angry. "Ok that's it, I'm hanging up and calling Roxi." Before he gets to defend himself, I end the call and dial Roxanne on FaceTime. The only reason why she wasn't my first option to call, was because she got back very late last night and I wanted to let her sleep as much as possible. It takes a minute for her to pick up, but she does eventually do it. "Ugh what?" I wince a the fact that I woke her up from her sleep, beating myself up for being selfish here. "Need help, do I look ok to go out with Joshua?" I ask.

In a second, she sits up on the bed, trying to fix herself up a bit and concentrate on the matter at hand. Giving me a good look over, I can see the wheels in her head turning. "Yeah, it's a park date and you look extremely hot, just let your hair down." Taking the hair elastic out of my messy bun, I let my hair fall on my back, brushing my hands through it to detangled some of the knots. "Perfect!"

"Of I don't know what I'm doing Roxanne, last night all I could think of was Austin. He called me" clutching my head in my hands I rest my elbows against the bathroom sink. "He called?" She seems just as surprised as was when it happened. "Yeah" I nod. "He did and we cooked together, then he asked me to come over at his house in LA, so he can make me home made pizza, then we said good night, except he said: sweet dreams, my darling. My darling? What the fuck?" I vomit words at a fast speed, my voice raising a bit as I get more frustrated. "Woah (y/n) breathe, you're turning purple."

"I'm being serious Roxanne, what am I to understand from all of this? He has a girlfriend" this whole situation is so twisted and confusing, I've been dreaming all night of him, but here I am now, stressing for a date with another guy, because I have to get Austin out of my system. "I know and I am taking you serious. I don't know what to say, I think he likes you. Plus you said he told you the relationship was just PR, so maybe it doesn't count to him or Kaia." I see Roxanne's point of view, but still it's not that easy.

"Maybe, but the public eye still counts them as a couple and I don't want me and Austin to be dragged any more than we already have." She sighs, bringing the covers up to her nose, as I chew on my lips waiting for her input. "Well why don't you just see where this thing with Joshua goes and then you can talk to Austin-"

"Talk to him? Do you actually think I have the courage to do that?" I yell at her, cause she must be making fun of me. No way am I going to embarrass myself and tell him about my crush. "Ok but won't he know 'dandelions' is about him?" Biting at the inside of my cheek, I play with the ends of my sleeves. I have thought about it, of course I have, but I tried to make the song as vague as possible. "It's too vague for him to figure out."

"Are you sure? I mean..." I shake my head, not wanting to go over that hill just yet. "But you want to know what's the craziest thing?" I ask, picking her interest back up. "What?" Roxanne asks excitedly. "When we were talking at one point he saw the bracelet on my writs and he seemed jealous?!" I'm still not sure that's what he saw or if that was what his reaction meant, but it's the best I could come up with, to explain his behavior. Roxi gasps, covering her mouth with the blankets. "There you have it, he for sure likes you."

"But what if it was all in my head?" She's quick to shake her head. "Noooo first of all, he called you, then made sure you ate, then he invited you over, not to say he called you 'my darling'" she swoons on camera, making me giggle. But the nagging feeling in my stomach stays. "I have to go, I'm going to be late. Love you" I wave "Good luck!" She says throwing the phone somewhere on the bed before I end the call, giving me a good view of the ceiling.

Walking out of the bathroom still laughing, I hug Jack on my way out. Matt is already waiting for me in the car, driving in the direction of Central Park, as soon as I get in. Today is a beautiful day, the temperature is high enough that you don't need a jacket to keep warm, my favorite kind of weather. I put the window down and take big gulps of air, it's very rare that the air smells clean enough for it to be enjoyable, so I'm profiting of it now.

Central Park looks beautiful this time of year, it's still too early into spring for any over the top nature growth, but it's late enough in the winter time, that the grass is a dark fresh green. Joshua is waiting for me right where I told him to, wearing a grey sweater and black shorts, which seems a bit too little clothing for the day, but whatever if he's not cold who am I to tell him what to wear. A smile paints itself on his lips when he sees me and I can't help but reciprocate.

"Hello." He says going in for a hug which I welcome putting my arms around him, hiding my face in the crook of his neck enjoying his minty scent. "Hi!" I whisper back and Joshua laughs a bit, making me relax in his embrace. "You look gorgeous!" He says, after letting me go and roaming his eyes over my frame. "Thank you!" I try to play it cool, but I know I'm blushing a deep red shade.

"After you!" He says, motioning for me to walk forward, imitating a valet and rotating his hand dramatically, which causes me to smile. I start walking and he follows me close, only a few inches away from me, our dangling hands barely touching. There's this irresistible current between our hands and when his pinky finger brushes the back of my hand, I pull it away, bringing it to my chest. "Sorry." He says looking forward and licking his lips. With my heart beating out of my chest, I decide to just take a leap of faith and I slowly reach my hand out to tangle my fingers with his. We lock eyes and in that moment this doesn't feel right nor wrong, it just feels numb, a burning question being branded into my brain: how would it feel to hold hands with Austin?

Shaking my head, I blink looking forward, I can't think like that, I'm with Joshua right now and Austin has a girlfriend. I laugh at myself a bit, I keep telling myself the only thing stopping me from fully accepting my crush is Kaia, but I know it's in fact just my own stupid insecurities. "What's your favorite color?" Joshua asks, breaking the silence. "Hm red? Or purple. Yours?" He smiles at me, before answering. "Light blue, just like the sky right now." As if on queue, we look up at the clear sky. The same shade of blue as Austin's eyes, I notice, so I have to force my eyes away. "It's a good choice for a favorite color." I mumble as I drag him over to the grass, before sitting down. Joshua sits next to me, playing with the hem of his sweater. This meet cute feels so different form the previous one, it's like there's this awkwardness between us.

"Did I do something?" I ask out of fear, that I might be the culprit in this. He's quick to deny with a shake of his head. "No, I'm just, well I don't mean to pry, but that article." I suck in a breath, praying to god his next words will be anything but the judgement I expect, because I don't think I can hold it together if he's about to say something mean. "It's nothing, I know how the press works" Joshua says, holding his hands up. "I was just wondering, are you and Austin?" He doesn't dare to actually speak the words, leaving the question hanging. I brush a nervous hand through my hair, picking my next words carefully, licking my lips, before speaking. "We're friends, just friends." Why did that hurt? It's the truth, so why did it hurt? Oh, yeah, because I like him and I want him to be more.

"Oh, ok, cool cool" Joshua says, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. And then there's silence again, awkward silence. I absentmindedly pick at the grass, counting in my head up to 100, to occupy my mind, because if I let it sail free it will go back to Austin. "So I saw that you were in the studio yesterday, how's it working?" He asks. "It's good, it feels amazing to give my words meaning through music. I used to write them just as poems and now I have to make up melodies for them, which only adds to the power of what I'm saying."

"So if you were to choose, lyrics over melody or melody over lyrics?" This catches me a little off guard and it takes a second to come up with an answer. "Lyrics." I say confident in my choice. "Why?" Joshua pushes. "I love words and yeah I guess, as I said, melody adds some power to them, but I'm the kind of person that listens more to the lyrics than the actual melody." He listens to me closely, while his eyes search for mine. When we lock eyes there's this connection between us. It takes my breath away and I fiddle around with the bracelet on my wrist, which causes Joshua to look down. He smiles, moving one hand over to my wrist. He twists the bracelet around so that the purple gem faces him and he brushes his fingers over it. "You like it?"

His eyes lock back onto mine, glimmering with excitement. "I do." Pleased with my answers he brings my wrist up to his lips, kissing it tenderly, while holding eye contact. My cheeks feel hot and I can't help the way my heart skips a beat. "I'm glad" he says.

I clear my throat and take my hand out of his, ignoring the voice in the back of my head saying not to. "Do you want to play a game?" I suggest, even though I have no game in mind that we could play to make time pass. "Sure" he says, leaning back on his hands. "What game?"

"I haven't thought that far in advance" I confess laughing. "Truth or dare?" He suggests and even though that game always felt kind of like a trap, I agree. "Ok ladies first."

"Truth or dare?" I ask and Joshua replies instantly. "Truth" tapping my pointer against my chin, I think of something to ask, if it were me and Austin playing this game I'd have so much to ask, but with Joshua there's not much I'd like to know. Taking a cold shower mentally, I focus back on the task. "Favorite flavor of ice cream" he giggles before answering. "The classic chocolate" of course he'd like chocolate.

"Truth or dare?" What if I wanted to be a little risky? "Dare" ok I might regret that later, but the adrenaline I feel, is a plus for now, so I'll focus on that. "Do a hand stand" I laugh thinking he's joking, but I can see that he's very much not. "Ok but I'll need some help"

"Sure" we both stand up, shaking some of the dust off of our clothes. Sighing I bend over and prompt my palms in the grass, spreading my fingers. "Ok I'll hold your legs. On one" I breathe in "two" he puts a hand on the small of my back and the other before my thighs. "Three" I halt my legs up in the air and he helps me up, holding me by the waist. My top is sliding down, but he's quick to catch it and hold it up so that I'm not exposed. "I can't believe I'm doing this" I say surprised by the fact that actually managed to do it.

Joshua chuckles asking if I'm ready to come back down. "Yeah, I'm ready" I say and he supports me as I put my feet back down. Standing up straight feels weird with all the blood that had rushed to my head, but he catches me before I fall, holding me close to him. Our faces are inches apart, our breaths merging into one. I don't know who moved first, but his lips brush against mine and when I don't pull back he tightens his arms around my waist, deepening the kiss. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let myself be engulfed by the kiss, his warm lips dancing in sink with mine. I feel butterflies in my stomach and dizzy in the head.

"Wow" he says pulling back a bit, holding his forehead glued to mine, both breathing heavy from the previous lack of air. I feel like Joshua is expecting me to say something, but I don't know what I should say. The kiss felt nice, but it felt no more passionate than the ones I had to do on screen for a script, it lacked something. It lacked someone. Or maybe I'm just self sabotaging.

Screwing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath. "I think we should probably stay friends" I say, taking a step back, working on unclasping the bracelet for around my wrist. I see the hurt in Joshua's eyes, but I know that if I don't do this now, we'll get too far down a road that will lead nowhere. "I'm sorry if I moved too fast, I should've-" he says and pain shoots through my chest. "N-no it's n-not I'm n-not. Please just - I'm sorry. I just don't think I feel like that for you." Lie, that's a lie, but I won't admit that now, I'm not yet ready to, tears sting my eyes and the breath gets caught in my chest.

"Please understand, I don't want to hurt you, I think we're better off as friends, I understand if you don't want me to still do the music video with you" closing his eyes, Joshua shakes his head. "No I still want you to do it, if you want to and I guess I appreciate you being honest" he takes my hands, which are still struggling to get the bracelet undone. "But please keep the bracelet, it's a gift." I hate the glossy look in his eyes, knowing I'm responsible for the tears he tries to hold back.

"O- ok, um I should go" I say dropping his hands and walking away. I try to keep my footing normal, but all I want is to get in the car and get home. I find Matt waiting by the car on a park bench and without a word I get in. "Everything ok miss?" He asks concerned, turning to look at me from his drivers seat. My tears start flowing and through the thick curtain of salty water pouring from my eyes I can see he's trying to stay calm, but half failing. "Y-yes I , I'm - he's"

"Did he try something?" Matt says through gritted teeth and I shake my head, wiping away at my tears. "No I just, I think I was mean? I said I just want to be friends"

"And did he push for more?" He asks, giving me a good look over. "No, but I just feel bad for rejecting him." Finally Matt relaxes in his seat, turning back to face the wheel. He turns on the radio and we drive away, no more questions asked.

Getting home, feels nice, my apartment is warm and as soon as I fall on the couch, my two cats come to cuddle with me. The mistake I make is checking my phone, only to see that, me and Joshua were photographed by the paparazzi. They caught us kissing and him helping me do the hand stand. I resist the urge to look at the comments and instead I open FaceTime.

I don't know what goes through my head when my finger rests on top of Austin's name or what ungodly force pushes my finger to actually tap the name and make the call. I panic and I try to hang up, but Austin is way too fast answering, before my better judgment wins. "Hey ther- (y/n)? What's wrong? Were you crying?" Austin asks concerned and I look at my face in the corner of the screen, my eyes are red and puffy and my cheeks are wet with tears. "No" using the back of my hand I wipe at my face, trying to rid of the evidence that I have been bawling my eyes out.

"Please tell me what's wrong" he pleads. "I kissed Joshua and then I told him I want to be just friends" Austin sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. "And did he not take it well?"

"No he was sweet about it, I just feel bad" he smiles at me, which kind of makes me feel better, I don't know why, but it does. "That's sweet of you, but you shouldn't be crying, unless of course you didn't mean to say it." There a twinkle in his eye, almost like he's hoping that's not the case. "No, no I meant it. I just, it didn't feel right, it felt scripted, in a way." I say, trying to explain why I did what I did. "Well there's nothing wrong with the fact that you didn't reciprocate his feelings." Austin says licking his lips.

My eyes get fixated on the pink plush skin of his lips and suddenly I realize I had no business calling him, we are friends I guess, but this is something I should talk about with Timmy and Roxanne, not Austin, we're not that close yet, we barely know each other. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy and I don't even know why I called you." I try to excuse myself, making him laugh. Oh gosh how good his laugh sounds, it's like the sound rings through my bones, turning them to jelly. "No worries, darling, I don't mind"

'Darling', there it is again, that unholy pet name. My tears are long forgotten, but my cheeks keep burning hot, blushing at his every action. "You look so pretty when you blush" Austin mumbles under his breath, almost like he's hoping I can't hear him. But I did hear him, loud and clear, blushing harder and sucking my lips, to stop the whimper resting on my tongue to fall. Austin is now just a frozen picture on my screen, eyes wide open and mouth agape. No one dares to speak, so there's just thick silence filling the air.

"I should go, I have to go over at Taylor's house." I mumble looking away from the screen and picking myself up from the couch. "Sure, yeah, talk soon, (y/n)" I offer him a shy smile, before ending the call. Trying to grip myself back to earth I count my breaths, while I get ready. Putting on a simple dark blue, long sleeve velvet dress and black tights, I braid my hair and apply some perfume. Checking myself out it the mirror, I conclude that I look pretty.

"Come on Matt, I don't want to be late for dinner." I say running out of my bedroom, finding Matt waiting by the elevator already. He smiles at me. "You look very beautiful miss." He says, holding a hand out, making sure the doors to the elevator don't close as I walk in. "Thank you" smiling I lean back against the wall and enjoying the short ride, applying some lip balm before walking out. Slipping into the back seat of the black SUV, I pull my phone out to tell Taylor I'll be there in 20 minutes. The New York dawn is a sight to remember, since it's still cold out, there's steam coming out of the pipeline underneath the city, the steam getting colored by the slowly setting sun. Shades of blue, pink, red and yellow, creating this beautiful painting, of ethereal scenery.

"Text me 20 minutes before you need me to come get you miss, have a good night!" Matt says, as I slide out of the car, saying goodbye to him. I can't wait to see Taylor and talk to her about this whole situation I have on my hands. We speak often, but it's been like a good week since we got the chance to really talk, she was over in London and I was busy, but as of next week I'm supposed to be back in the studio with her as she begins the recording of her new album.

I say 'Hello' to the security and make my way to her door, which she opens expectedly, coming my way with her arms stretched out for a hug. "Ugh I missed you terribly, (y/n)!" Taylor says, welcoming me in. "Hi Joe!" I say and he comes over to share a hug as well. "And hello to you too Benjamin." I lift up the fluffy cat and it starts purring. "Nice to see you, (y/n)" Joe says. Just like Taylor, he is a very nice person and despite the age gap between me and them, we all find each other's company entertaining, so dinner nights like this are an often occurrence, sometimes some more of our friends join, but tonight is just us three.

We make our way into their living room and sit down on the couch. "Do you want wine?" Joe asks going to the kitchen to grab glasses, I know I'm not 21, but in Europe I'm have the appropriate age to drink, so stop judging. "Yes, please." As he disappears into the kitchen, Taylor wiggles her brows at me, before speaking. "So when were you going to tell me you have a boyfriend?" She asks squealing. I blush, trying to hide my face behind Benjamin's furry head. "I don't, he asked me to be in a music video for him and I agreed, then he asked me for lunch and I went, but then we went on that stupid walk and he kissed me and I said I want to be just friends." I vent to her.

"And did you mean it?" I shrug my shoulders, not really knowing the answer, at the time when the kiss happened I was so sure, but the more I think about it the more I doubt it. "Earlier I did, but now?" Sighing I take the glass from Joe, thanking him, before he goes back to the kitchen. He's respectful and knows when some discussions are just for me and Taylor, so he busies himself with taking care of dinner, letting us girls to our own devices. "Ok, but you wrote a song?" I lift a brow at her, not really surprised that Jack told her about 'Dandelions'. She blushes sipping from the glass. "I did, but it's not about Joshua" that's when I get to read a thousand emotions over her face, worry, confusion, curiosity, excitement, all at once. "It's about-" I move my eyes to the side not daring to say his name. I haven't actually admitted Austin is the object of my inspiration for writing 'Dandelions'. Sure Roxi knew about it, but she said it and I just nodded, I didn't actually get to say the words out loud.

"(Y/n)" Taylor says setting her glass down, taking the one I have in hand and doing the same. She then cups both my hands in hers, smoothing the skin over my knuckles. "I saw some of the pictures and you know I hate the media, more then some and I know better then anyone how vicious and untrustworthy it is, but no matter I feel like it's my responsibility as your friend to tell you this. I've been 19 and I've met 30 year olds and they are charming and enticing, but they have no business dating someone ten years younger." I sigh deeply, knowing she is right, but then there's this loud voice in the back of my head saying "he's different", but how could I know, when I just met him. "I know, I just, the song came to me and I couldn't stop writing. Taylor I don't understand myself" before I even know it I'm crying again, my mind is too confused over what's happening. All the mixed signals and all my emotions have been toying with me.

Taylor brings me closer to her, hugging me and letting me cry on her shoulder. "I don't know what to tell you, other then it's so easy to get swept away." She soothes me. "But w-what if-f h-he nice, what i-if he likes me?" She sighs, petting my back as I shake in her arms. "And then there was that stupid article, they called me a serial dater, saying I'm going for another girl's boyfriend, bringing my parents into this." I feel Taylor squeeze me harder, trying to calm me down a bit. I look up from her shoulder as I hear the floor creak and see Joe come in, with a sympathetic smile, handing me a tissue as he sits in a chair across from us. "If I may be allowed to say something" he starts in his thick British accent. "I don't think you should be reading anything the media writes, especially now when you're growing. Developing feelings for people is sacred and it's no one's business. We humans are very susceptible, so reading stuff like that won't clear things. Maybe just let yourself be a lil more free, live in your narrative, not theirs" he's right, reading shit on the internet has often influenced my everyday life and my chronic fear of feelings only got lit up by that article. "(Y/n) do you think you rejected Joshua just because of that piece of crap?" Taylor asks.

I give it a thought, as it seems like something I would do. It did seem a little strange that after all the attraction I felt towards Joshua, I just didn't feel it anymore. "I don't know. Thank you Joe, for the kind words" I say directing a smile his way. "And that doesn't make things with Austin any easier. I like him, I'm sure of it, I can't stop thinking about him. I don't feel like that for Joshua, I mean yeah I guess I find him attractive and such, but I don't have him on my mind all the time like I do..." Taylor's eyes look sad hearing me talk, I guess that for her it feels like looking at a young version of herself doing the same mistakes again. "I can't tell you how to go about it, (y/n). I haven't met Austin, maybe he is a nice guy, just because I've dated douchesbags, doesn't make every 30 year old, one." I can tell that she only half means what she's saying, but I can see she feels for me and understands, probably better than anyone. "Maybe give Joshua another shot? Best romances start with being friends first. You're still young and it's hard to distinguish between lust and love" Taylor says. "Plus dating is about finding what you like, sometimes it take a couple of tries to get it right, so there's no need for pressure of commitment." Joe adds, sharing a knowing look with Taylor. The two of them are so in love, it basically radiates off of them.

Giggling at their love sick affection, I wipe the rest of my tears away. "How about we get some food in our bellies?" Joe suggests clapping his hands and rubbing them together, before standing up. "Ok yeah, I'm kinda hungry." I admit, following them into their dining room, where the table has been beautifully set. The food smells amazing, making my mouth water. "This looks amazing as always." I compliment sitting down, ready to dive into the food. "Thank you, (y/n)!" Joe says, as he starts cutting up the turkey he cooked, placing in on each of our plates. "So any new songs?" I ask, eating some of the food, watching Taylor nod excitedly. "Yes, oh my god, I have a new one, but it's not done, I'll play it for you. I've really been loving this new concept, sleepless nights, you know, words just come to me so easily." She says, making me chuckle.

"Mmh don't I know it, I haven't been sleeping in a week, writing songs at 3 am has become a bad habit." I know for sure the dark circles under my eyes tell exactly that. Before this whole debacle with Austin and Joshua, the Met kept me up and now I'm back into that vicious cycle of sleeping 3 to 4 hours a night. "How many more songs do you need till the album is done?" Joe chimes in, directing the question my way. "I'd like to have like 15 songs? And well right now I have 12? Yeah, around that."

"Any features?" Taylor asks and I answer by shaking my head. "Not yet, but I've been writing this song "Past life" and I feel like a male feature would sound amazing on it, but we'll see" I say shrugging my shoulders.

The rest of dinner flying by quite quickly, filled with funny jokes and music. Before I leave Taylor plays me her latest song which she called "Mastermind". A song talking about how strategic women have to be in relationships, to get it right.

Saying my goodbyes to them, I hug them and head down, where Matt waits for me, to drive me back. I can't get Taylor's song out of my mind, I can definitely claim this will be my favorite off of the new album she's working on. I can't wait to record the background vocals for it. My phone buzzes pulling my out of my train of thought. Looking at it I smile at the name popping up on my screen and answer without a second thought.

"How was dinner?" Austin asks smiling brightly at me. "It was great, Joe cooked some great turkey, it was delicious." I say and make Austin laugh, showing him the doggy bag they gave me for home. "They even gave me extra" I say just in case me showing him the bag wasn't enough, which makes him laugh more. Matt opens my door, helping me out of the car and I mouth a low "thank you", before stepping into the elevator and waving at him. "Are you just now getting home?" Austin asks me. "Yeah" I sigh, sitting down on the elevator floor, my legs tired from all the standing and walking I did today. "Did you just sit on the elevator floor?" Austin questions, smiling from ear to ear and scrunching up his nose, making me mirror him. His happy energy rubbing off on me. "Maybe" I say biting my lip to stop myself from laughing.

Austin rolls around in his bed, rubbing his face into the pillows. "Ugh I had like a thousand interviews today, all the same fucking questions." I giggle at his frustration and get up walking into my apartment, heading straight for the kitchen, after I take off my shoes. "Been there done that, but I tell you it gets better once you get to do talk shows, especially if you do Fallon, Jimmy is the funniest ever." I say, as I put food for Simba and William, the two coming quickly to eat. "Yeah, I guess, it's still a bit too much." He says dragging a hand over his face, then he focuses his eyes back on the screen. "You look very pretty tonight by the way." Austin states making me blush, so I hide my face behind my hands. "Hey none of that, come on show me your beautiful eyes." Austin demands

I remove my hands from my face, blushing terribly as my breath is coming in short gasps. I hear my heart beating in my ears, feeling dizzy. He has to stop saying things like this, talking like this. I swallow thickly as he looks at me, deep blue eyes burning holes through me, making me feel like a small gem being watched through a glass window. His stare is so strong and soft at the same time. Austin licks his lips, biting them, making me wish I could feel how soft they were. "What are we doing?" I whisper, not expecting my thought to come out loud, surprising both me and him.

Austin's eyes are still locked on me, as he sits up on his bed, scratching his chest. His naked chest, he doesn't have a shirt on. "Talking?" He questions faking not knowing what I meant. He's either avoiding it as to not embarrass me or because just like me, he doesn't understand what this is. This delicate beginning rush, we feel when we talk to each other, when we see one another. "Why?" I ask, pushing further, even when every fiber in me, screams to stop, to let it go, to enjoy the rush of the moment. "I like talking to you" he says, blushing.

Blushing?! He's blushing? My heart picks up faster, feeling like it's about to fly out of my chest. I try to breathe deep and I clench my fists around the velvet fabric of my dress, making an effort to stop my body from trembling. "It's late, you should get to sleep, night my darling!" Austin says and I'm left with my mouth agape, not getting a chance to answer before he ends the call.

"My darling" he called me that again. I can understand one time being a little mistake, but a second time? He's toying with me, he must be. And I wish I could say that all the things people around me have been saying didn't get to me, but they did. Everything I've been hearing ever since meeting Austin, is to be cautious and smart, to not let myself fall, but I'm afraid I already fell. And now I feel this fear building inside me, fear of getting hurt. I'm not stupid, I understand how he's too old and I'm too young, but the fact that so far this and his fake girlfriend, have been the only reasons keeping me from crushing on him, tells how little I know him.

Stepping into the bathroom, undressing, I turn on the shower, looking at myself in the mirror. You can read, the amount of sleep I've been losing, on my face. Closing my eyes I see flashes of him, his smile and his eyes, I even hear his laugh ringing in my ears. I'm going crazy.

Breathing in, I let the boiling water soak me from head to toe, wishing for it to relax my petrified muscles, but to no avail, I'm too tense. Giving up on trying to relax, I get out, drying myself quickly and putting on pajamas, going straight to the piano. I'm tired but I don't feel sleep crawling up on me, so the best thing to do is sit down at the piano and play until hopefully I can sleep.

Thinking back to Taylor's song, I play it over and over again, until it's 3:15 am and I'm still at the piano, pushing the keys with my now, numb fingers. Picking up my phone I open the camera and rest it on the piano, to film myself. I look like a mess, with hooded eyes and tangled damp hair. "Hi Taylor, um I've been thinking, since I left, I loved the song and the concept of it, you know. Um and I just was thinking, there's a starting point to everything, so why is this girl in our narrative so strategic? Something happened right? In the past." I put some of my hair behind my ears, playing the piano softly. "So I asked myself, what started my overthinking and over analyzing? So I kinda wrote a verse?" I wince a bit at myself, this is the second time I highjack one of her songs. "So here it goes, I'm sorry in advance"

I keep playing and then start singing.

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless

This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

And I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian

'Cause I care

So I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then

Saw a wide smirk on your face

You knew the entire time

You knew that I'm a mastermind

And now you're mine

Yeah, all you did was smile

'Cause I'm a mastermind"

I finish playing and take the phone in hand, bringing the camera close to my face, giving the worst possible angle of myself. "Ok that's it, anyway, tell me what you think, sorry for bothering you and for pushing myself on this, you don't have to like it or add it or anything. Um anyway it's like 3:30 am so I should sleep, talk soon" I end the video and send it to her, knowing she's see it in the morning.

After that I run up to my room and jump on my fluffy bed, praying to get some sleep, before my 8 am alarm starts ringing. As my body sinks into the soft bed, my thoughts go blank for the first time in so long and I find sleep takes over me, dreamless resting sleep. Rare, but so sweet.

When my phone rings at 8 am I'm too tired to wake up just yet, so I shoot a quick text to Levis telling him that I'm sleeping in today. I put my phone on silent and get back to sleep, but it's not the same dreamless sleep as before.

I'm in my living room and it's dark, soft music playing in the background, music I quickly recognize as being my song - Dandelions. Everything is a bit blurry and in slow motion. Then out of the dark a figure makes it's way over to me. The musky, citrusy smell lighting my senses on fire as Austin circles his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. "You wished on a dandelion for me, well here I am darling. My darling." His lips brush my cheek, his hot breath fanning over my skin, raising goosebumps everywhere. I tremble in his embrace and try to move my head to get a good look at him, but my eyes can't focus, it's weird and I feel the anxiety creeping up on me as I try to see him, but everything is hazy. "Austin" I say, but it's like my voice is coming from under water, muffled and weak. "My darling" it's all he says, tightening his arms around my waist, making my knees go weak as I melt into him. "My Austin" I say giving in. "My darling" he repeats, like it's the only thing he knows.

Suddenly I'm woken up by something jumping up on my chest. Sitting up quickly, I cause William to fall rolling on the bed. I grab the kitty and bring him close to my chest, whispering little apologies. I try to come back to the real world, but I can still feel Austin's breath on my skin. I need to find a way to shake him off, this is getting out of hand. Taking my phone from the night stand, I ignore all notifications and open the message app, texting Joshua.

Me:

Want 2 come over 4 dinner? @ my place?

🎶Joshua🎶:

Yeah, text me the address. What time should I be there?

Me:

6 pm, sound good?

🎶Joshua🎶:

C u at 6pm

Me:

Can't wait 💟

Tags: @kittenlittle24 @amorx @cryingabtab @lexicox044 @lrissa @feral4austinbutler @sageskywalker @jesssssicaa @rainydayz101 @flwersgarden @bobthefishiesworld @captured-memory @homebodybirkin2003 @galaxygirl453 @butlerslut @chrisevansgirl34 @myradiaz @pennyroyalcreep @macey234 @im-lame-irl @lordandmistress @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @poppet05 @gabbywontlose @4shbug @0-thegoodwitch-0 @hauntedarchivesx @chewiethecatus @sunnyx07 @francesbloomer @jessaroni19 @finelineskies @stargirlbytheweeknd @cerenaydins-blog @girlblogger2002 @gigisworldsstuff @my-baexht-Is @xmusselisims @denised916 @bluepeacheslandia @kibumslatina

@samaraannhan20 @goldobsessionworld @silliypapercreatorangle @cmrxac @donnamarie23 @justarandomfamdomblog @marlowmode @natsnosehair @xxgggooomm @banksmars @namoreno @areuirish @choppedlamphandscowboy @yeetfack-blog @fangirl125reader @aliceforbes @k-1898 @lucid315 @numberonepaperbeard-blog @denised916 I’m trying, but tags don’t really work

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simonsapelsin · 1 year

Text

american high school au . part three . go to part one

Simon sits in Spanish class, bored out of his mind as usual, daydreaming about the perfect senior year he thought he’d have, two weeks ago, before everything changed. Simon and Wille, Wille and Simon. Holding hands in the hallway. Eating pizza together in the cafeteria, sharing the cookies Simon’s mom always packs in his bag for him. Passing lewd notes and silly doodles to each other in math class. Making out in Wille’s car after school.

But no. Wille is homecoming king. He has all these meetings to go to with Felice and the rest of the homecoming court, planning dances and fundraisers and spirit days. He never has free time to hang out with Simon. But worse than that, school tradition dictates that the homecoming king and queen must be seen together at all times. They’re always strutting down the hallways together, sitting together in class – even their lockers are next to each other.

Simon likes Felice but the sight of them together like that, all the fucking time, just hurts.

And it’s not just for a week or two. They’ll reign for the entire year, until graduation.

Life sucks.

Why did Simon even take Spanish anyway? He thought it would be an easy A, which it is, but it’s so boring, and it’s so unbearable to hear the other kids not even try to pronounce the words right. Like how hard is it to say the LL sound correctly? Ugh!

He tries not to look at Wille, who is sitting across the room from him. He looks at Marcus, tries to imagine kissing him, what would that feel like? Would it feel the same? He closes his eyes, imagines walking up to Marcus at his locker after class, Marcus smiling and pulling him in by his waist, bending down–

“Wilhelm, ¿Qué has escrito en tu ensayo sobre las sentimientos?” Señora Ramírez asks.

Wilhelm clears his throat and turns in his seat facing Simon’s direction as he reads, “Amor. La mayoría de la gente ama el amor. Pero yo odio el amor porque no puedo tener al chico que amo. Yo sueño con él todas las noches. Me despierto y lo extraño mucho.” He looks up from his paper and directly at Simon. “¿Qué puedo hacer?” [translate]

Simon’s heart sinks. Wille's puppy dog eyes, his stupid cute nose, his little pout. He's just so…perfect. Even his Spanish pronunciation is perfect. Simon loves him. But they can’t be together, because Wille is a fucking coward. Simon hates him. He decides he’s gonna talk to Marcus after class.

part four

#young royals #yr fanfic #ficlet #homecoming king wilhelm #umm this is too fun to write #maybe i'll make it full length #qué puedo hacer?

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nothere2010-blog · 5 months

Text

ghost new chapter preview by Natatat

“Oh come on her lack of impulse control is kinda cute.”

“Ugh I guess.”

“And besides are you gonna tell me that those doughnuts don’t look delicious?”

“I mean…”

“See?”

“I guess.”

Hmmm she was thin but a bit soft. Big boobs, big ass, small waist. She would probably put on weight evenly but even if she didn’t put on any I could have them both.

“Here we go.”

“How are we going to get it on her?”

“Come on up we go.”

Hannah had already finished the pizza and doughnuts. She was quite a sight. Her flabby tits resting on her flabby bloated belly. All of her spilling out of the chair. I tried tugging her out but she was really wedged in there.

“Oh no.”

“Fuck Hannah I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Hahaha this is actually hilarious.”

“How am I supposed to get out?”

“Well we could just starve you till you lose enough weight to get out.”

Hannah looked horny and horrified.

“Or we could just try pulling again.”

Brittany and I each took a hand and tugged.

“Ooooof maybe we could just grease her up.”

Hannah got all flushed at that.

“Yeah like the greasy pig you are.”

Brittany was playing with Hannah’s belly. It was so hot to watch Hannah be teased by another girl. And it would be even hotter if Britney accidentally started gaining as well. Oh god the irony and karma was so hot. So many fantasies were now possible.

“This isn’t funny.”

“It is though. You ate so much you busted out of your costume. Yoh also got yourself stuck in an armchair. That is funny.”

“It is kinda pathetic.”

“It’s so hot. And it was so hot seeing you bust out of your clothes.”

I whispered that in Hannah’s ear while pretending to check something on the chair. It also gave Britney a chance to look at my ass.

“Maybe you could pry me out?”

She was really rather brilliant at that moment. Sitting there stuffed, drunk, and horny as fuck. Biting her lip and squirming in anticipation of me fondling her fat rolls. Pushing on them to try to wrench her free from the chair. My hands sinking into the spongey flesh. Having to grab and grope god it was making me hard.

“Maybe. Here let’s see.”

Finally I got to grip her overflowing fat. It was pure heaven. I tried pushing them in further while Britney pulled at her arms. Loathe as I was to give up my grope fest we had to get Hannah out and into some clothes. Britney simply was not strong enough to tug her free.

#fantasy feeder #weight gain story #teasing #belly play #fat belly

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my-shields-are-down · 2 years

Text

Come satisfy me….

Lucy had had enough. Time to do something. If I’m going to do this, I need to figure out when to do it and then no second guesses, just do it. Great! My life has become a 1990s Nike commercial.

Six weeks had passed since the undercover op - where the most “action” Lucy got was a grandmother kiss on her cheek and a side hug. Good thing we practiced kissing like old people. The Feds had taken over the case and blocked them from future collaboration, leaving the team at a loss for next steps.

Personally, she and Tim seemed to be in a holding pattern, trapped in a Groundhog-Day-like existence repeating the same things each night, but not resolving anything. She was so frustrated. Ugh. They’d grab take out, go to his house, eat, watch a movie or walk the dog and then nothing. No conversation, no resolution, no sex. Nothing. They were acting like the kiss never happened.

Lucy knew it happened. She remembered and replayed every glorious second of that kiss and how she felt in super-slo-mo. She got off on those memories most nights with “scream-in-your-pillow-so-your-impressionable-roommate-doesn’t-hear-you” orgasms. Good god, if fingering herself made her come so hard and so quickly, what would actual sex with Sergeant Zaddy be like? Lucy was determined to find out.

The following Thursday when Tim suggested Pizza, Lucy said that there was a new Asian place by her house. Since she had to grab some stuff for Tamara -who was home with a cold (not), she’d grab the food and be along shortly there after. She made sure to special order Tim’s noodles to include the secret spices her girlfriend told her we’re aphrodisiacs and ordered a spicier version for herself. She also ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell and caviar - big time obvious aphrodisiac. She also swung by the house to take off her bra (freedom!) and replace it with a lavender, wafer thin cami top with strategically placed peonies on it, and a matching deep purple v-neck cardigan that never stayed on her shoulder (oops!), she mussed up her hair and put it in a soft ponytail that hung down her back and applied plum lip stain and smudged it slightly off center which made her lips look plumper. Lastly, she swapped out her sensible shoes and jeans for curve hugging stretchy leggings and her peony covered CFM ankle boots which made her butt more grabbable. She looked like she’d just been savagely kissed. Perfect.

Twenty minutes she’s walking into Tim’s house with bags of food. He sees the changes in her looks and his body starts to respond - much like it did during that kiss. He swallows as he watches her sweater fall off her shoulder, taking the slim strap with it and leaving her shoulder bare. She makes no move to lift it up and it continues to sink lower as she sets the food onto platters. Oh god, he can see the side of her breast from this angle. Oh my. The sweater keeps dragging the camisole down.. and just as it looks like her breast might be freed, she pulls the sweater back up into place… but he realizes she’s not wearing a bra…. He’s now semi hard, and growing harder by the minute.

They sit down to eat in silence until Lucy asks him questions about the future he sees for himself… “I know a fair amount about your past, but now what you dream about for your future. Tell me something I don’t know. She talks about wanting to travel the world and have passionate love affairs on every continent and getting married and having babies. He talk about family and making Deputy Chief and being head over heels in love. Lucy makes sure he eats the bulk of his meal and encourages her sweater to slip a time or two more.

After clearing the dishes, they move to the sofa and she makes sure to lean back right next to him- their shoulders are touching. When Tim asks what she wants to watch - she suggests an older documentary on Sade…. Soon his house is full of Sade’s music. When “No Ordinary Love starts playing in the background, Lucy starts glancing at him, well at his neck really. Tim is totally relaxed, yet hyper aware of Lucy, and insanely turned on. His mouth still burns from some unknown spice and he’s pretty sure Lucy is seducing him without touching him. For now he’s content to have her take the lead, but if she doesn’t do something soon he’s going to.

Tim notices Lucy glancing at him and turns to look at her. “hi -what’s going on?” She shifts her position and grabs his head (her sweater is off her shoulder!), looks behind his ear, and says, “hang on, I thought I saw something. “Tim sits up a little straighter… Lucy thinks to herself - now. Do it now. She flips her leg over his legs and moves so she’s straddling him, and simultaneously grabs him by the chin and turns his head to the right. His hands fall to her hips.

“Let me check something.” She releases her grip on his chin, spreads her legs farther apart so she slides further into his lap until she can feel how hard he is and he can feel her shape line up with his. As he pants out her name, she kisses him like she did before and the world explodes in pleasure. She rocks her hips against his and he can’t help but groan. His hands slide up inside her camisole to grab her shoulders and pull her down closer to him.

Lucy and Tim are locked together in a passionate embrace. She breaks the kiss and pulls slightly away. “I thought so. Kissing you is the most fantastic thing ever. I really want kiss you with no clothes on in this position and ride you into oblivion. Could we do that? Please?”

Tim gazes at Lucy through hooded eyes, swallows and says, “Alexa - please turn off the tv, dim the lights, light the fireplace and play “Me Fucking Lucy Fantasy” soundtrack on shuffle, starting with #3. No Ordinary Love starts again as the light in the room dims. Tim looks at her while reaching down to undo his zipper, “now you’ll live out the fantasy I’ve played in my head every night since we kissed. The playlist is 5-hours long as I usually come 10-15+ times minimum. You ready?”

“Challenge accepted. Let’s go!”

#chenford #i love them #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #seduction #a little less conversation a little more action please #just do it

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mckiwi · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022 Day 8: Stomach Pain

Characters: Stephen Strange, Christine Palmer, Wong

Summary: The toll of magic is different for everyone. Apparently for Stephen, it means a change of diet.

Ugh. He knew he shouldn't have gone back for a second helping. Stomach full and content, Stephen threw his breakfast bowl in the sink to wash later. He plopped into his favorite chair and took out the book he had been reading. He hadn't gotten through three paragraphs before the Sanctum rumbled in warning. Something was wrong. A light flickered in the hallway, then a little further. Trusting the Sanctum to lead him, Stephen followed the flickering lights to the relic room. He immediately saw the problem.

A vase was shattered on the floor with a black cloud surrounding it… demons… an amazing start to his day. The black cloud quickly formed snarling faces, all of them chanting we're free, we will reign yet again, we have escaped, and other victorious cries. "Oh no you don't," Stephen said and cast the Shield of the Seraphim around the unwanted guests. They, of course, didn't appreciate it as they immediately started clawing at the golden runes caging them. He then fastened the vase back together and trapped the demons back inside. Not a permanent fix, but long enough for him to find a better containment.

Stephen lightly clutched his stomach as a sudden wave of nausea rolled over him. That wasn't even a taxing spell? Why would he be feeling affects? Perhaps it's just because he recently ate. Yes, that had to be it. His stomach just hadn't digested the food yet.

Later that day, Stephen only took about five bites of his pizza before his heart started to burn and his gut twisted. What was going on? Two instances in one day? He was healthy, wasn't he? He felt the best he had in years. He wasn't diabetic or at risk for most medical emergencies. Maybe it was time he called in that favor with Christine.

————————

"Check again," Stephen demanded.

"I can check again all you want me to but the fact still remains you have a stomach ulcer," Christine explained, slightly sympathetic. "There's multiple reasons a stomach ulcer can appear, there's-"

Stephen raised a hand to stop her, "I know, Christine. Thank you, but I'm aware of the causes as well. I've still got a doctorate, not that anyone cares."

Christine sighed, "you know I didn't mean it like that. What do you think caused it, then?"

Stephen returned the sigh, "the only thing I can think of is-"

He opened the fridge and immediately gagged as he saw its contents, "Wong! Please tell me there's a perfectly good explanation for why there's eyeballs in the fridge!"

Wong meandered to where Stephen was and made a small noise of realization, "so that's where those went."

"Why are they in there?" Stephen asked. "That's gotta be at least twelve biohazards."

"Magic," Wong answered and opened the jar.

"Magic?" He repeated, watching as Wong snatched an eye from the jar, "for what? Potions? Spells?"

Wong popped the eyeball in his mouth like a grape, "for a snack." Stephen heaved.

"Crap," Stephen groaned.

"Crap? What's that mean? You need to take a crap?" Christine asked.

"What? No. Well… yes, but that's not what this is about," Stephen deflected. "Magic takes a toll. That's why we have relics to take the strain our bodies can't. That's not to say the body doesn't get away scot-free, though. The toll can take many forms as it changes your biology to be a better conduit for magic. It can affect the blood, brain, eyes, lungs, ears, and even the stomach."

"What's that mean for you then? You'll have stomach ulcers from now on?" Christine asked worriedly.

Stephen shrugged, "I don't know. I'll ask Wong about it. He should know. It's probably nothing serious."

————————

"I'm perfectly serious, Stephen. Your stomach can't tolerate human food anymore," Wong explained.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, "this can't be happening."

Wong laid a hand on his shoulder, "it's alright. You'll just have a slight change in diet. The other sorcerers who have a similar toll have adapted. So will you."

"I don't wanna eat eyeballs, Wong! I live in New York City! I want to eat pizza, french fries, and all the other greasy foods that'll shave at least twenty years off my life!" Stephen protested. "What if I ate human food anyway? I'm used to pain, I can deal with heartburn if that means no interdimensional… whatever is gonna enter my stomach."

Wong pressed his lips together, "I assure you the food isn't that bad. You can still eat salad, it'll just be lettuce from another dimension. As for eating human food, you still can, it'll upset your stomach and give you bad reactions. Similar to someone who's lactose intolerant. You're just human-food intolerant."

Stephen dropped his head on the table. A moment later, he heard a click beside him as Wong set down a bowl. It almost looked like spaghetti, but Stephen wasn't fooled. "What's in this? Alien intestines? Bug guts?"

"Pasta, meat, and sauce," Wong deadpanned. "From the Elysium dimension. Grains and fruits grown from the Elysian Fields. Meat straight from the Farm." Wong pushed the bowl to Stephen's elbow.

It did smell quite pleasing, far better than the sandwich he tried to choke down earlier. Stephen stared at the bowl incredulously, then at Wong. His stomach growled. "If this kills me, I guarantee you I will come back to haunt your every waking moment." Stephen twirled some noodles onto his fork, raised it to his mouth, and took a bite. The flavor exploded in his mouth so suddenly and-

Oh.

That actually wasn't half bad. A bit more of a herbal taste than spaghetti normally had, but not bad.

Wong smirked at Stephen's surprised face, "told you."

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whole-wheat-trolls · 1 year

Text

The Only Way

(Warnings for some graphic violence)

You watched that shuttle fly into space. You stared at the point where it exited the atmosphere and left you alone for an entire hour. You wished more than anything that it would come back, that some mistake would be made and they would turn right around and land back on Alternia. That you could run for hours and see Marais again. Deep inside, you knew it would never happen, but what else could you do? This was the closest you would get to having your goodbye, it was all you had left. Staring at a point in the sky with what little hope was left inside you.

The walk home hurt. Not physically, you were used to that kind. You saw Marais everywhere and it made your eyes sting, the restaurants you went after class, the odd hangouts you went when Bouros wasn't relentlessly giving you drills to perform. The studio where Marais tried to get you to pierce your ears, a pizza place you only went to for the arcade cabinets, a thrift store where she successfully convinced you to buy a dress shirt and tie. The trinket store... Marais bought you a black bear carved out of obsidian there, she said you reminded her of one. It's sat next to your bed ever since. You didn't know if you would be able to look at it when you got home.

Home. Ugh. Bouros would surely want to see you like usual after a tournament. You considered not entering, sleeping outside so you could watch the sky for a while longer, just in case. You thought about it until you remembered Aurora. She would make up for whatever trouble Bouros gave you. You tried to sneak inside, quiet as you could be, but right on cue the Serpent's voice boomed.

"Lilian? That is you isn't it? Come here, would you," he sounds almost. Taunting. Like he has been waiting for this, but you do not pick up on it. Ruefully you obey, and enter into the room that houses your lusus.

"What do you want Bouros?"

"I was simply curious about how the tournament went, you are… back early after all. Is something bothering you?"

"It didn't take that long, I've fought every one there before."

"Ah, so you were victorious? Isn't that wonderful."

"Yeah, right. Did you need anything else?"

"Are you SURE that's the entire story," the dragon suddenly bursts his accusation. It rocks you to your core. Your eyes clenched close, your heart beat almost as loud as Bouros's voice. You almost forgot the feeling. Of being scared.

"What-" you barely squeak out before he demands you speak louder.

"And do not LIE to me Lilian. I do not appreciate your futile deceptions."

"I LEFT. I couldn't be there-"

"Now why is that? You seemed fine staying late every time before this one," he hisses.

"Something happened! I needed to clear my head-"

"What you need is to FOCUS, Lilian. Clearly you were incapable of such a feat yourself and that is why I was FORCED to intervene."

Your blood runs cold. You think you could feel your heart stop for a moment. Then it sinks in.

"You- WHAT DID YOU DO? WHY DID YOU-"

"Is that what you call rage, dear? I send your little friend into space and all you can muster is a little yelling? You do not need the distraction girl, you are supposed to be strong, and she would only serve to make you weak."

"Why… why did you get rid of my only friend," you fall completely and utterly into defeat. Your attempts to think of a reason why this happened to you of all people come up barren. "We didn't. You couldn't even let me say goodbye."

"Those are hollow words. You would learn that lesson sooner or later and I know you THINK it hurts now but I am merely bringing the inevitable. One day you will thank me for this," his words kick you while you are already down.

"What am I supposed to do now??? What is so important to you that you put me through this," yet still, you seek him for guidance. You know no other way.

"I am so very glad you asked. I've enrolled you into a different… School, one could call it. It is good you came back early you know? You are scheduled to begin tonight."

"Is that- is that really it? Is that SERIOUSLY-"

"Save your rage, Lilian. It finds no purchase here, and surely you will need it later."

"And what if-"

"Oh please, do not start with what-ifs. This is what you will do. You have but two choices and you will surely choose your brother over leaving this hive forever."

He stares daggers through your silence. Shreds you to ribbons before you've said a single word on the matter. Now, of all times, he is waiting for you to say he is right, though the wording matters not to him.

"Where is it," you concede.

He tells you where it is, his sickening smile plastered across his serpent features. You have barely enough time to make it if you leave now. As you slog to the doorway, too defeated to even storm out, he gives his final advice.

"Oh, and Lilian? Take your sharp sword. No time to question it, just listen to what you are told."

You stand before a door in a dark alley. Faintly you can hear the ruckus taking place right behind it, it is so loud you are almost overwhelmed before even opening the door. You force yourself to enter, you can not think of a way out other than through, Bouros planned. All of this. He will know if you did not enter, did not fight. The inside is a festival of scum in all its forms. You are accosted on your right by the sounds of people yelling over each other to place their bets, on your left by people arguing over what sounds like petty personal squabbles, and on all sides by the smell of smoke and alcohol. Morbidly curious, you step forward, the room slants into rows of bleachers, with a pit in the middle. The clash of metal can be heard, alongside cursing as people shout. Encouraging words to the fighters, like "rip his face off," and "fucking kill him already."

"Hey- FREAK. I'm talking to you! Turn your ass around already," regrettably the words catch your attention, and you turn to face the source. A cerulean in a booth similar to the man taking bets beckons you over, trying to invoke your lusus' glare you walk over to the man.

"Sheesh, they told me a mutant was coming but you're right fucked up ain't ya? Lilian ain't it- I'll get you checked in. We don't get mutes often- least they don't last long when we do. Gods you are somethin' awful t'look at-"

"Shut up. I'll-"

"What, kill me? Good luck, they got me locked up tighter'an the empresses asshole in here girlie. Now how old are ya before the murderous thoughts take over?"

"I'm five and a half."

"Five, got it- you're a little fuckin' young for this don't ya think? Got nothin' better to do than enter an underground fightin' ring?"

"My best friend just got shuttled off to a fleet academy," you don't know why you confide in the man at this time. Bouros didn't let you get a word in edgewise and, you guess you had to tell someone.

"Don't go makin me feel sorry for ya, all my sympathies are half assed. Two more fights before you, wait back there," he gestures to a door nearby, a light turns from red to green and you walk through into some kind of locker room.

It smells like mold and body odor, the wafting steam doesn't help any with the stench. You hear the sound of weights being dropped on the floor somewhere, guess it's a gym too. You walk past some racks of metal plates, armor crudely made out of spare sheet metal, never meant to protect the body fully, just enough to look the part though. You touch one of the helmets and notice how easily you can dent it, then put it back into shape. You'd feel safer wearing the helmets from longsword practice.

"Oy," just then footsteps appear behind you, you inhale deeply preparing for the worst, judging by the kind of place you wouldn't be surprised if preemptive fights occurred back here too.

"Since when do they let kids in here? You sure you got the right place? Ysvars' class is-"

"I got kicked out of there," you lie, it's easier to say than the truth.

"Scrappy then ain't you? Word of advice, all that armor's basically bait. Shit'll get dented in and you'll wish you'd never wore it," the stranger says, no longer questioning your age. Guess that's just how it is now.

"I realized that, it's all cheap metal," you say, denting the helmet for whatever emphasis it applies.

"You're gonna need some kinda armor if you're here- want my advice? Chainmail, then don't get stabbed," the stranger laughs, "seriously, you got somethin' right?

"I didn't know this place existed before I walked through the doors, so no," you hold up your sword, "this is all I came with."

The stranger circles you, you hadn't looked at them yet, focused on your own things. They look you over, but you largely ignore them.

"You think you're good, girl? They're gonna eat you alive out there. The crowd around here doesn't root for mutants."

"I'm good enough-"

"This place- the fights go until the other person submits or they can't say anything. That usually means dead."

"I don't care, all the better even."

"You're gonna have to fight still. The only way out here is through. Door you came through opens one way, the door in the arena is the only one fighters can exit. If you don't win you don't leave."

You grit your teeth, you don't like the way they're talking to you, as if you don't realize what's going on. Like you're stupid.

"I know, okay? Fighting is all I've got right now. I'm not going to lose."

"I wish I didn't believe you girl. You should get out of here as soon as possible. There's more to live for-"

"Maybe for you. Whatever else I had is gone now."

"My condolences. They ain't empty, I promise-"

"Are you. Done? I'm pretty sure this is the worst day of my life, I get you're trying to be helpful but you can't be," you say so coldly. The last thing you could have wanted was more people who think they know everything.

"Fine- fine. Suit yourself, good luck out there."

You stare at the wall. You drown out every other sound through sheer willpower. And you think optimistically. You intend to win, to find a way onto a ship, or something, anything that can get you to Marais. Even if it's just for a while, just long enough to say goodbye. To make plans to do it again.

A man calls your name, certainly not a referee, and ushers you through another one way door. No backing out. What must be a recycled garage door opens in front of you, the ringleader becomes audible. He is introducing you, the crowd bursts into a fit when you step forward. They are booing you solely on the principle that that is what they do here. You hold up your sword and the roars grow louder, they're pissed off now. Good.

Your opponent steps out from the other side, hailed to great applause. He is taller than you, older than you, but you can tell he is cocky. He does not know who your teacher was. He holds up twin axes, and all those that booed you cheer like he just saved the world. He takes off his shirt, eugh, his body is scarred but it compares nothing to yours. He feels proud of them, you feel ashamed. You are polar opposites. He twirls his axes and takes a wide stance, his center is left open. You remember that.

A bell rings, as predictable as it is your opponent yells and rushes forward, you take the fool's guard. It is just like practice you tell yourself, mind the edge alignment. Do not swing in haste. Go for the openings.

He lifts his arms to swing down on you hard, you deliver a rising cut that catches him on the left arm, and you transition to the next guard. One ax comes down, the other stopped short, you deflect it to your right, and your next cut digs into his back and you create distance with your sword tip. They're not deep enough, your heart isn't in it. You grip the sword tighter, the crowd yells jeers at your display of talent as the two of you circle each other.

"I'm gonna rip that tail off before I'm done with you doll," he tries to threaten you, to shake your resolve. You're sure it works on some, the way the crowd flips again. You don't respond to such hollow threats, you focus on your breathing instead. You watch his face only grow angrier.

"Got no voice- mute mutant or something huh? I'll make you scream for help," it all sounds so cliche, you beckon him to come at you with a hand and he promptly obeys.

It is clear he is trying harder now, he doesn't yell this time, he stops just out of range of your sword, despite his height you have the advantage of reach. He tries to pull the tip of your sword aside with his axes, but you deftly pull it away, and cut the back of his hand during one of his attempts. You let out your first word, one solemn "damnit." You intended for more than a cut. You wanted to cut his hand clean off.

"So you can speak," he smirks. You can't understand why.

"And you can bleed, now are you going to FIGHT ME or are you just going to talk a big game," you're furious, with no other outlet than the damned loudmouth in front of you you explode. For once the crowd doesn't boo your every action, they're silent, he seems to realize it, he cares more about the crowd's favor than his safety. He rushes at you again, swinging wildly as the crowd roars once more. You step backwards. Wait for the opening. You find it between swings as he closes in, his stance too wide to defend himself. You thrust your sword into his gut, it offers little resistance as indigo blood spills from the wound. The fight should be over but he cracks the handle of an ax down on your face, catching you off guard. Your head rings, noises become warbled as the crowd's shouts fill the room. You twist the blade inside of him, from the handle you can feel his body tense at the sensation, but he doesn't stop. You see him raise the other ax, it appears all you've done is put him within range. You react before your brain has even decided what to do, you let go of your sword left embedded within him. You jump back, his swing misses you by inches, you wind your body up and punch him while his weapon is still lowered. You feel bones crack. The force pushes him several feet back, when he looks at you again his left eye is bloodied from the blow, and his jaw isn't set straight. You think there is flesh stuck to your fist.

Your sword is still stuck inside him.

He laughs now, and pulls the sword out of the wound. The crowd eats it up but you see the bleeding worsen. He tosses it behind him.

"There goes your little toy, what are you gonna do now?"

You feel for a moment like you are helpless, you are standing under the gaze of your lusus again. It lasts a mere moment though, you look at the back of your hand, stained with indigo. You raise your fists to continue fighting, and remind yourself that the only way out, is through.

He steps forward slowly now, he feels cocky, even after that punch. For some reason he still tries to intimidate you, scraping the ax blades together as he approaches. When he thinks he's gotten close enough he swings at you, you dodge backwards. He swipes sideways and you duck underneath it, you've done the same so many times with Bouros. Before he can swing again you punch what must be the weakest part of the body- the hole you left in him. It's a sickening noise as your hand enters the gaping wound. You grab the first thing you can inside and rip it out. He drops one of the axes and coughs up blood, crippled by whatever you just tore from his stomach. You grab the ax off the floor, and slam it into the side of his head while he's still stunned. He doesn't go down immediately, you do it again and he falls to the floor. You don't stop even when the crowd explodes into scattered applause and screaming. It does little to drown out the crunching of bones. When you finish what's left of him is scattered across the arena floor, the bell chimes finally and you snap out of your stupor, long enough to grab your sword before someone beckons you through a door you hadn't noticed before.

"Congratulations, you know most fighters don't make such a first impression- people LOVED that guy-"

"Yeah, I see why," your sarcasm surprises you. The weight of what you did hasn't fully set in just yet it seems.

"You're a riot kid- we got showers, go clean up you're a mess. Dex will give you your money on the way out."

"Money? I get paid for this?"

"Duh? People don't fight to the death just for the glory- seriously girl, wash up you're a mess. Got his blood everywhere. I gotta start the next fight," whoever that was walks away and leaves you by yourself.

You catch a glimpse of purple in a mirror, and take a closer look. Your forehead is split open from where he hit you, it's bleeding worse than you realized, but not enough to ignore all of his blood splattered across you. You really are a mess, looking at your right hand now you worry that the indigo will never wash out and you'll live forever with this blue stain covering your arm. You turn the water to a nearly boiling temperature. You scrub, and scrub, and scrub, and scrub. The blood comes off but you keep scrubbing. You wish you could pupate again, your entire body feels dirty and the feeling refuses to be expunged, it clings to you now like other painful memories. You remember his cocky laughs, how they pissed you off every time. Then you killed him, not because of the laughs, but because there was little else that could be done. Fights to the death are not very forgiving. The only way out is through, you remind yourself. You're not sure how you are supposed to feel about it now… but at the time? It felt. Good. You can't dance around that fact. You can try to justify it as all your frustrations coming out at once focused on the wrong person, but you can't deny the catharsis you felt painting the arena with innards. You put your bloody clothes back on and leave, the troll at the exit to this shower area hands you your money without a word. You decide quickly that he is your favorite person here.

You step out into the cold night, and take a deep breath. All at once it feels like your body gives up on you, adrenaline is one hell of a drug, but you have other things on your mind now. You take your fight money, and walk the opposite direction of home, instead heading in the direction that will take you to Marais. You head to the shuttle port where she left Alternia, sword tied at your side, one of the few things you can trust. It's a hell of a walk, and it seems like most of the nightlife around here isn't interested in bothering someone carrying a weapon, and already covered in blood. You bless the troll working the front desk for not asking any questions. She does ask if it's your first time flying off planet though, and you answer honestly. She tells you everything that could go wrong while you're barely listening- not that it will, she insists. You buy a ticket. You wait patiently. They call for boarding and you trudge your way to the dock, all the way to the loading platform. You are so close now.

But you freeze.

Mid stride your every hair stands on end, and you look up. Into the infinite. You find yourself hyperventilating, you try to focus your breathing, to take the next step.

But you can't.

The only way out is through. It is the only way. You have to push through. You take a step.

Backwards.

And you watch the shuttle leave without you.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes but you choke them down. Why? Why couldn't you do it? You are so strong Lilian, she told you that hundreds of times. So why couldn't you get on that stupid fucking shuttle? You survived a fight to the death. You survive the onslaught of your dragon lusus on a regular basis. Still the question rings in your head like tinnitus. Why? Why are you scared? What are you scared of?

#fantroll #homestuck #oc #lilian #drabble tag #don't mind how I switch between third and first person every Lilian drabble #tw graphic

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zensations35 · 2 years

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Not Faire (Part 1)

Okay, I have four new characters that have been getting so much attention from me, I had to make a story out of them. Skye, Sasha, Ren, and Leo attend a faire, trying to work out their feelings for each other.

Get ready for some angst.

You can find the story at my AO3 account as well. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39027285/chapters/97621992

______________________________

Part 1 - Skye

If I had known he’d be here, I wouldn’t be. Maybe that’s a lie. I might have come anyway. I never miss the yearly festival and my breakup with Ren isn’t going to change that. Plus, I need the money.

I’ll be working half the time and partying with 50 other people so the odds of me bumping into him are slim. At least there’s that.

The campgrounds are divided by rows. Some rows are for parked cars, others for tents. Two committee members are hanging a banner with our group name and symbol on it for all the members to find us easily.

People have already arrived before me and they’re busy setting up the double canopy at the front. The grass crackles under my feet as I make my way toward them.

“Hey all!”

I get a few waves, a cheer for the pizza I brought, and my best friend Sasha comes up to greet me.

“Girl,” she throws an arm around me, brown eyes sparkling, dark skin shiny with sweat. “Bout time you made it!”

“I got held up at mom’s,” I say. “Need help?”

“Always.” She laughs and we start piecing together poles.

Afterward, I meander around the campsite, fixing up my tent, helping Sasha with hers, and Dix with his …well, Dix insists he doesn’t need my help. He has male friends for that. Dix is slender and round-faced. His hair is short and bristly, his eyes large, lips thin. I hate him.

The row is almost full of people and I’m in a good mood after a couple beers and slices of pizza.

Then, Dix does something horrendous.

At first I didn’t know it was him. I’m sitting under a canopy with a group of my friends lounging in foldable cloth chairs, just bullshitting together. Someone sneezes. I hone in on it. Then I realize it was Dix. Because he does it again.

“Hep-KshhhhT!” he sniffles, “Fuck, sorry,” he wipes his face with a nearby hand towel. “I’m getting over a cold.”

Before I can process that, Leo laughs and says, “Yeah, everyone’s got that this week.”

I swallow. Everyone?

I hear the word echoed from my thoughts and I realize in horror, I’ve said it out loud.

Leo shrugs, “I’m exaggerating. But I know at least five people in the club who have it. Six now, with Dix.”

My hopes for a relaxing weekend fade fast. If I’m going to be around a bunch of people doing that…all weekend?

Oh fuck. What if Ren has it? Not like I could ignore his. Even if he stifled I could hear it across a room of people.

I just have to hope he is well. Or too sick to come. Wait, no. If I heard he was laid up in bed with an illness…

Ugh! Don’t go there!

That part of my life is over.

I fill up my cup with beer and begin to stroll down the row of campers, looking for anyone in need of help. The sun is sinking into the horizon, its edge dipping behind the trees surrounding the campsite. The clouds are ablaze with watercolor pinks and creamy oranges.

My flip flops make swooshing sounds over the half dead grass as I wave to all of the campers. I stop by a group setting up late. “Need any help?"

They are more than willing to let me take on some poles. Twenty minutes later, it’s done and they are thanking me with homemade mulled wine.

“So, Skye, you working on a stall tomorrow?”

“Nope. Saturday. What day are you?”

“Sunday. So I’ll already be exhausted and hung over before my shift.”

I laugh, knowing I’m slowly on my way there tonight. I’ll have to watch myself.

I get back to the supervisors area and Dix is having a fit into the same hand towel. Lacey is rubbing his back while he curls into himself with each spent sneeze.

I find myself staring. It must be the wine. I blink away and gurgle a growl under my breath. That asshole does not deserve my attention.

“Anyone up for a game?” Sheldon asks, holding up a deck of cards.

I nod as murmurs of agreement circle the pack. Then another voice stills me cold.

“I am.”

Even those two harmless words have enough power to punch my insides. You don’t spend a year pining for a voice to not notice it when it finally appears. I feel my neck move in a jarringly slow motion towards Ren. He’s standing not five feet away from me, a red solo cup in his hand, that sexy grin on his face.

He hasn’t changed that much. Maybe put on a little weight. His shoulders are still wide and he still towers over most everyone here. It’s getting dark but by the lanterns I can see his face--freshly shaven--and blue eyes over lavish lids like Bob Ross himself painted those eyelashes. His dark hair is styled so it swoops over his brow, barely covering his eyebrows.

I look away fast. Either he hasn’t noticed me or he’s ignoring me. Both options widen the pit in my stomach.

Fine. I can ignore him, too. I take a seat around the game area. Four fold out tables squished together, surrounded by different colored lawn chairs.

Seats start to fill. Ren claims one way across from me. We aren’t near each other but I can see him. And his stupid face.

Fuck. I forgot how good his nose looks. It’s been broken three times. Two of those times were my fault. Only one was purposeful.

Now it’s got character, and when he breathes his left nostril flares. Not as wide as when he--

Oh no. I am not about to start thinking of him sneezing.

Cards are dealt and we play.

“Okay, first is Llane. And it’s a truth card.”

Wait, this is a truth or dare game?

“Llane, pick someone for a truth.”

Llane claps his hands together and rubs them, peering around the circle. He points at Sasha.

Sasha’s head dips, causing her hair to bounce forward. “Fuck.” She inhales. “Okay. My parents are off-limits. Go.”

“Alright,” Llane smirks, “Have you had sex this week?”

The group giggles but Sasha doesn’t hesitate. “Nope.”

“Alright, Casey, your turn--and your card is a dare.”

“Ooohh,” the group hums together. Except me. I don’t make a sound.

More cards come out. Someone gets dared to ask another person out. Someone has to tell a true story of how they got an embarrassing tattoo. I’m never picked, and I’m grateful I’ve made it this far without anyone being terribly interested in making me blush.

We’re 20 minutes into the game when Dix starts up again. Sasha and I share an eyeroll. He’s fumbling for the hand towel he’s been using, dragging breaths in and out of his chest.

“HGSH!” Hmphhh! EX-stshh-ahh!”

Everyone’s focused on the game, nobody notices my gaze constantly flicking to him.

Except Ren.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Be my guest,” Ren said, voice rich and deep, all posh and a bit rigid. He and I were sitting up on his bed. My stomach was in knots. I wanted to tell him. I had to tell him.

I was quiet for too long. Ren lifted a graceful eyebrow, “Are you going to tell me?”

I closed my eyes. “I…uhm…I have…a fetish.”

His eyes rounded, “Do you now?”

“I’m really nervous to tell you what it is.”

“Do you believe I could successfully guess it?”

“I mean, you can try but I doubt you will.”

“Feet?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“BDSM?”

I glared at him. “It’s not something that would be found at Spencer's.”

“That makes this more difficult. Is it a body part?”

I chomped my lips, not answering.

“Hm. Body-part adjacent.”

And then, like magic (or because the window was open in Spring), Ren’s eyes flitted closed. His heavy chest expanded, cocking his neck up, head back.

He held up a finger. “One Moment…”

Then, “TZZZrrrsh!”

He saw my face after that demonstration and his eyes squinted. Then his lips parted, “Oh.”

I was beet red and hiding behind my trembling hands.

He rolled over, fingers rubbing my stomach, a grin curling his lips. “I believe I am prone to sneezing.”

I bit my lip, “You are.”

He leaned in, nose drifting down my neck, causing my whole body to tingle. “Tell me what you want right now.”

And I did…

He’s looking at me. That look he gets when he knows I’m thinking about my fetish.

We used to call it my ‘thinking’ face. The face I get when I’m thinking about or hearing a sneeze. He used to think it was cute.

Does he still?

I pull my cup up for a drink to hide my face.

“Ren,” Sasha mentioning his name makes me choke on the punch. I look up at her and she has a mischievous look on her face. Sasha’s finally drunk enough to make me miserable.

“I dare you to kiss someone at this table.”

My eyes bulge. Why? Why would she say that? Of course he’s going to pick me!

“Sasha,” he says calmly. I think he’s about to argue against the dare but my mouth drops when he leans into her and brushes his lips across hers.

Sasha jerks back, stunned. The group erupts in laughter.

“Got ‘er!”

“Hilarious!”

Ren’s already leaning back again, sipping his drink. Sasha is silently touching fingers to her lips, eyes flicking to me.

She thinks I’m mad. She thought he’d pick me, too. I don’t know if that would have been better or worse. But I’m done playing.

I stand, setting my cup down, and I stalk off, ignoring the oohs from the group. I hear someone call “Dramaaaa~”

Whatever. I’m not falling for this bullshit. He clearly did that just to upset me.

I lay in my tent, ignoring the screaming, whooping, and hollering from the new games everyone is playing. I’m just drunk enough to drift off to sleep under my huddle of blankets.

I am always an early riser. I pace back and forth down the grassy road, my toes wet from dew. I pass out water bottles to everyone. They’re all hung over. Most of them. Ren’s tent isn’t far from mine. Thank gods he’s not up. I leave him a bottle near his cooler. He’ll find it.

I meet up with Sasha so we can help each other with hair and makeup. Not that Sasha needs help. Ever since she was young, she’s been obsessed with clothes and makeup. Accessories, too. She loves her body and loves to flaunt it.

Pink and purple eyeshadow hover on her lids in a gradient. She doesn’t need mascara, her lashes are dark and lovely. She wears her thick hair in an afro, dotted with lines of silver throughout.

Her dress is a pop of emerald green, beautiful against her dark skin. Her nose scrunches when she sees me and she waves me over.

“Oh my goddds. Look at your hair!” she tuts at me. “Did you sleep on a rock last night?”

“No,” I bite back a yawn. “It’s just frizzy from the humidity.”

“You’re lucky I have products with me.”

“I count on it.”

Sasha brushes my hair and braids it. As she’s inserting clips, she speaks low to me. “Hey…are you going to be okay this weekend? With all the colds going around?”

Sasha is like me. We both have this fetish, that’s actually how we met. Through a website. We found out we lived in the same city after a few months of chatting, and we met up. We’ve been almost inseparable since.

She also knows my situation with Ren.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, even though I’m not sure I’ll stay fine. “How about you?”

“Oh don’t worry about me,” she laughs. “I always handle my business just fine.”

She’s right. She’s way less obvious than I am. I would never have known about her if I hadn’t known. She’s so cool and breezy about it.

She pokes my cheek and hands me the mirror.

I look at my plump face, the braid highlighting my smile, since it always leans left. I have round hips and midsection, which only certain dresses look good on. I chose one with frills. I like frills. They sort of disguise what I don’t want people to focus on. But this time, the dress doesn’t feel right. Nothing has felt right lately.

But Sasha did a good job. I tell her it looks good because it does.

“Ready for faire?”

“Who all is coming today?”

Most of our club works in the stalls while we’re here on the weekend. Everyone gets 1 work day, 1 faire day, and at night we all get plastered and rain chaos over the campgrounds.

Today, Saturday, is my and Sasha’s fairgrounds day.

“Ummm…Leo’s coming. And…” her hesitation on the name fills me with dread. “And Ren…”

My head falls into my hands and I groan.

“Really?”

“I’m sorry,” Sasha says. And she means it.

“You both ready?” Leo flounces toward us, dressed like a pirate. He looks pretty cool in his outfit. His face is all sharp angles and a prominent nose. His skin is lighter than Sasha’s but darker than mine. White looks good on him, the billowy sleeves of his costume pouf up in the breeze.

“I’m ready,” I say.

“Same.”

I catch Leo staring at Sasha. Not in a creepy way either. In a googly-eyed kind of way.

Sometimes our club will ship some of the members together. Some ship me with Sasha. Others ship Leo with Sasha. And then there was the oldest ship in the book: Me and Ren. I stomp that one out anytime I hear it.

“Ren!” Leo calls, “Get your ass out here!”

Ren backs out of his tent, “I believe the rest of me will follow my ass.”

Sasha giggles as he joins us.

“Alright,” I say, “We’re off.”

“To Faireland~”

As soon as we get into the faire proper, Leo points at the first coupling of stalls. “You folks still hungry?” As if we didn’t just finish breakfast.

Whatever. I’m always hungry.

We all order street corn and meander down the lane. Vendors call out their wares to passersby. One man is comparing his pickles to his penis.

Sasha shimmies up to a shop with wrap skirts. They have little jingle bells on them so when you walk, you jangle.

“I have wanted one of these forever,” Sasha grins, plucking a purple one from a rack. “Next year I’ll finally have saved up enough to get one.”

Sasha works at IHOP in a small town. Her tips aren’t great. She does have a patreon and a decently successful Youtube channel where she does makeup videos. She makes enough to get by.

Not enough to blow $60 on a skirt. Not without saving up.

I take the fabric in my hands. It’s silky, not your average polyester skirt. I wouldn’t mind having one myself but I’m also on a budget. I only get to buy one extravagant thing (i.e. over $30). This skirt isn’t it.

We end up leaving without buying anything, which always makes me feel bad here.

When I exit the shop, I catch Ren on the tail end of a buildup. He’s facing away from me, head bent down.

“--ih…hhng…” he’s got his nose trapped between two fingers and a thumb. He rasps, “Ah, fuck…” and sniffles. Then he peers up at the sun.

“Ren!” I snap at him, causing him to jump slightly. He turns to face us and frowns.

“Where is Leo?”

That’s it? He’s going to act like he wasn’t just trying to make himself sneeze right in front of me?

“Ren,” Sasha comes from behind. She struts up to him and slams a map to his chest, “Figure out where the sports are.” She glares, “I suddenly want to hit something.”

I choke back a laugh. Sasha knows what just happened. She’s just as angry as I am that Ren would induce in front of us.

And he knows why, no matter how blindsided he looks right now.

Sasha marches forward for a minute, then pauses to yell back, “Y’all comin?”

The ‘sports’ Sasha referred to are the ax-throwing, archery, popguns, and balloon pops. Several stalls are set up for each game.

Sasha chooses axes first.

I watch her steady movements as she lines up the ax. Her muscles bunch and I can’t help finding her insanely attractive as she whips the ax. With a crunch, it hits the red ring on the wood.

“Fuck,” Leo grins, “That was, like, good scary!”

Sasha lands two more hits and wins us free drink vouchers.

Fuck yes!

Ren points a thin finger at a wooden folding sign. “I believe the next show will begin soon.”

Murmurs of agreement follow and we fight the crowd to find seats. Most of the front row people didn’t leave so we’re stuck in the back.

The show is funny. I won’t recount it all. But near the end, the actors’ voices drop and I can’t hear.

“What’d he say?” I ask, forgetting who I’m sitting next to.

Ren leans into my ear. He’s not touching me, just whispering, but I can feel his breath, warm against my skin. He repeats what the actor says.

And then he sniffles.

That fucker sniffles right into my ear.

My skin prickles and I can feel my muscles clench.

He pulls away and lets out a soft exhale, a subtle “hhh…”

Bastard.

When I peek at him, he’s watching the show, like nothing unusual happened. Of course, I can’t focus now. All I can think about is how much I wished that breath had gone further.

I sip air, hoping I’m not obviously unsettled. Am I too stiff? Too alert? Not alert enough?

The performers bow and I’m about to be relieved for the end. But then they announce Act II.

Great. I’ll be stuck here another half hour.

When the play is finally over I’m eager to get on my feet and walk. Sasha and Leo edge out first, Ren and I following.

“Where to next?” Sasha asks.

“I need a drink,” I say. Leo whoops.

“I will be right back,” Ren says. “If you would order me a drink, I prefer something pink.” He walks rather hurriedly away, leaving the three of us to line up at the nearest bar.

We each order very tall, very cold, multicolored drinks in oddly shaped plastic flutes.

Ren finds us and Leo hands him the pink one.

“You alright, man?”

“Yes. Needed a moment.”

Needed a moment.

He chose those exact words to describe why he needed a few minutes away from us. From me.

I was sitting on the couch with Ren. We were playing some dumb hack n slash game. We were way overpowered and just tearing these monsters apart.

Ren paused the game and sniffled.

He lifted a finger, lip quivering around a raspy, “One…moment…”

My legs were fire. My face fully red.

One more inhale.

“HTZH-sHH!” he bowed his back, sneezing into cupped hands.

I was already prepared. I slid a tissue into his hands. My knuckles grazed his nose and that’s all it took for round two. “ii…AKTZH-eh!” He caught it in the tissue.

Then he looked up at me and we laughed.

“Was that good?”

I moaned, “Soooo. Good.”

It made him smile.

I take a giant slug of my drink and instantly regret it. “Fuck,” I moan as my head feels like it’s been dipped in ice water.

“Take it slow, Skye.”

Leo laughs. “I want to chug this whole thing and then go rock climbing!” he punches Ren. “First to the top buys lunch!”

Ren smirks. “I accept.”

The climbing wall is a 50ft gray cylinder, small multicolored holds dotting the surface around. The line is just long enough for us to finish our drinks. I’m nice and tipsy when they call for Ren and Leo.

Sasha and I aren’t climbing. We’re saving our money for other activities. Leo has no spending limit. I don’t know Ren’s situation.

So, the guys go and we wait below, watching.

Leo is quick at first. A burst of energy, nigh leaping from hold to hold, seeming to only graze each one before moving onto the next.

Ren is more steady and sure footed. He makes sure he’s grounded before moving up.

Halfway up the wall, Leo slows. His movements become sluggish, like someone trying to wake after a day of heavy drinking.

Ren catches up. Leo used up his energy in the beginning and now he’s tired. Ren steadily passes him.

Leo slips. His knee slams into the foothold and I hear him swear from down here. Ren throws his arm back and catches Leo’s hand, helping pull him up.

They’re in a precarious situation now. Leo has to use Ren to get back on the wall.

Sasha’s hand is over her mouth.

“Don’t worry,” I say, my hand on her shoulder, “They have harnesses on. Even if they fall it won’t--”

Sasha whimpers, her fingers plugging her mouth as she fixes her gaze on the guys.

Ren is trying to pull Leo back up but he keeps having to pause. It takes me a minute to figure out why. Ren is rubbing his nose against the arm stretched up, gripping the only hold that’s bracing him.

Oh gods.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see it. But I hear it. “Hngxsss!”

He’s doing his best to stifle. I risk a peek. Leo’s back on his own footholds. I spin, sipping air. My gaze flicks to Sasha.

“They’re okay,” I breathe.

“They’re okay,” she mimics.

But am I okay?

Ren ends up winning, we hear the bell at the top ring, and the guys slide back down with us.

After rock climbing, we set off to watch the joust. Sasha and Leo are the big cheerers. Ren and I just watch. My brain feels like it’s in overdrive.

Should I say something to him about it?

Did he forget about it?

No way. He will never forget it--not after everything we’ve done together.

#zenocs #oc leo #oc ren #oc skye #oc sasha #snz fic #snz #fluff #angst #sneeze tease #allergies #illness #LSSR ship #LSSR

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redactedthegreat · 1 year

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Paul’s Vagina | KINKY KUFFS Chapter 4

Paul felt the tingle move through his wrists, down his arms, and into his body. His mind was drawn to the command, to the idea of growing a pussy. Sarah watched intently, still stroking his dick. Her eyes darted between his face and crotch with bemused curiosity.

The tingle got stronger, spreading all the way to his toes and scalp. Paul still hadn’t accepted the command, his mind reeled with weight of the decision. The handcuffs hadn’t been able to reverse his erection, what if the changes were permanent? No, he had felt the commands, they just weren’t strong enough; not like this one. He was beginning to feel dizzy, even his teeth were buzzing. There was no denying the idea turned him on, it tickled a powerful curiosity in the back of his mind. And what if this was his only chance to get rid of his painfully permanent boner? The tingle was beginning to fade away, he could tell his chance was expiring. Paul made up his mind.

“O-oooh” He said. He had meant to say “okay”, but the moment he opened his mouth he had a stomach-clenching orgasm. His dick had nearly gone numb from over-stimulation, but now it was spurting cum onto his chest and belly. Sarah kept stroking, even speeding up a little. She had a sly grin on her face and a mischievous look in her eyes. This was fun.

“No more” Paul said, rolling his hips away from Sarah’s jerking hand. She reluctantly let go, moving back to the edge of the bed to watch.

Paul’s orgasm had taken on a throbbing sensation, spreading from his dick down into his balls. His scrotum scrunched up, like he just got out of the pool. His dick was still rock hard, tingling and twitching, leaking a thin stream of cum. Sarah watched as one of his balls wriggled up inside him, closely followed by the other. Paul let out a soft groan, moving his shackled hands down to his stomach.

The tingle in his dick started to trickle down, following behind his testicles; as it did his dick became smaller. Sarah couldn’t look away, she watched his dick shrink down inch by inch, sinking into his body. To Paul it felt like his penis was a stick of warm butter melting from the bottom, the warm tingle sinking into him, oozing over the void left by his balls. His breath came in shuddering pants, the rolling orgasm was finally fading away. But it was followed by a wave of intense nausea.

Paul paused for a moment, his breath caught in his chest, trying to keep from heaving. Another wave rolled over him and he jumped out of bed, running naked out of the room. Sarah followed cautiously behind, not sure what to do.

“Do you want some privacy?” She asked gently, following his footsteps. She was answered by the distant sound of vomiting.

Sarah peeked around the bathroom door. She saw Paul kneeling at the toilet. Handcuffed hands clutched between his legs. Half-digested pizza floating in the toilet bowl.

“Ugh” Paul groaned. His entire crotch had the pins-and-needles feeling like it had fallen asleep. He felt a wetness on his fingers, he was pretty sure he had peed a little. One last wave of nausea swept over him, but he was able to keep from heaving. He could feel in his guts things had changed, it felt like his balls were in his hips; and between his legs, where they used to be, the tingling had finally faded away.

Paul lifted his hands, steadying himself with the toilet bowl. He looked down at his crotch. His dick and balls were completely gone, all that remained was a field of curly pubic hair. At the bottom of the pubes, about where his balls had been, was a narrow vertical slit, the top of his pussy. The sight of it left him speechless.

As Paul regained his composure, he realized that he badly needed to pee. He lowered the seat and turned around to sit down, thankful that he was already so close to the toilet. Peeing now felt about the same as it had with a penis, the biggest difference being that instead of aiming the stream, it just flowed out of him. While he was sitting, he noticed Sarah watching him from the doorway.

“You can come in” He said, beckoning “I think it’s over now.” Sarah walked into the bathroom cautiously. She wasn’t sure how Paul felt about the command, or its effects.

She removed the handcuffs and put them on the counter “Are you okay?” She asked, with gentle concern.

“Yeah, I think so.” Paul said, clumsily wiping his new equipment with a bit of toilet paper. “It wasn’t really what I had in mind, but at least it stopped that erection, it was starting to hurt.”

“Yeah, now you don’t have to worry about erections at all.” Sarah said optimistically. Paul did not seem amused. “But we can probably get you back to normal now” Sarah offered “I think it has to do with how sexy the commands are.”

Paul considered it. He certainly didn’t want to stay like this forever. But now that the change had completed, it seemed like a waste to reverse it so soon. “I think I’ll keep it for a little bit. We can change each other back tonight.” he said.

“That works for me” Sarah agreed. She was glad he didn’t want to change back right away. “I’m going to give you some privacy.” She said, closing the door behind her as she left.

Paul cleaned up in the bathroom and considered his present situation. He decided to take another shower.

The warm water was refreshing. He went through his usual routine, scrubbing and rinsing. He spread his legs towards the stream of water to rinse off any lingering fluids. The hot water tickled as it ran over his labia and down his inner thighs. He reached down and spread himself towards the stream, letting the water pulse on his inner lips.

A jet of hot water hit him directly on the clit and made him recoil. He tenderly touched the area with two of his fingers, nursing the unexpected shock. It was sensitive, like the top half of his penis was concentrated into a jellybean. Gentle touching really seemed to help it feel better though.

He took a half-step forward, so the water was spraying onto his stomach and flowing down. He put one foot up on the side of the tub and steadied himself against the back wall. With his other hand he reached back down between his legs.

He gently pressed a finger into the top of his slit, moving it down one side, avoiding direct contact with his clit, letting the water flow over it. A warm feeling was building up inside him. He started to wiggle his finger a little, tensing up from the sensation.

For a while he stood in the water like that, letting it flow over him as he played with himself. It felt amazing, but he wasn’t getting off, he would have to speed up with his fingers, or maybe move directly under the stream. Wait, what was he doing? Paul stopped, withdrawing his fingers and rinsing them off. He had literally just come all over himself not ten minutes ago. There would be plenty of time to experiment tonight.

Paul shut off the water and dried off with a towel. He hadn’t grabbed a change of clothes while running to vomit, so for the second time that day he hurried back to the bedroom naked. There was something liberating about rushing around without anything dangling between his legs, but it also weirded him out. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d lost something.

In the bedroom Sarah was surrounded by several open boxes of clothes with garments hanging out of them. She had hung an outfit on a few spare hangers in their otherwise empty closet.

“I picked out some clothes for you and put them on the bed” Sarah said from deep within a cardboard box. She lifted her head and blew a strand of hair from her face “I can grab some clothes for your interview tomorrow if you like.” She offered.

“Um, no thanks. I have an outfit in mind.” Paul said. He had already devoted a section of his suitcase to tomorrow’s interview so that he wouldn’t have to wrinkle all the other clothes rooting through boxes the night before. He looked around the room with a mild irritation. On the bed he saw the clothes she had gathered for him. A pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and two pairs of underwear: a pair of his boxers and a pair of her panties.

“I wasn’t sure which you would prefer.” Sarah said, noticing his hesitation. “You don’t have to wear them, but as someone who has had a pussy for many years, I recommend the panties.”

Paul held the panties for a moment, they were a black pair of bikini briefs. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but why not, this would probably be his only chance to wear them comfortably. He stepped into the leg holes and pulled them up. The crotch of the panties fit snug against him, but the elastic was stretched to its limit.

“I don’t know” Paul said, stretching his legs “They feel a little tight.” The top of the panties didn’t seem to come up far enough. He felt exposed and a little confined. He took them off and opted for the boxers.

After getting dressed Paul started hanging up clothes. He fetched a box of hangers and Sarah helped hang up the mess she had created.

By the time they finished it was almost time for bed, Sarah had to be up early for her first day of work at the new location. They had just kept putting things away until the box of hangers was empty. Sarah yawned, she was getting sleepy. Paul was looking around for any loose hangers that might be hanging around. In his mind he was thinking about those handcuffs. Who had sent them? The box said Amazon, does that mean other people could have bought them or discovered how they work? Maybe there was more information online.

“Do you want your dick back or what?” Sarah asked, breaking the silence. Paul froze for a moment. Lost in thought he had nearly forgotten about his anatomy, but her comment brought on a sudden awareness of his new genitals. A pang in the basement of his stomach.

“Yes please” Paul said, giving up the hunt for more hangers. “I guess I lost track of time.” He said, looking at the clock “I’m gonna go brush my teeth first.”

“I’ll wait here, I’ll probably just want to brush them again anyway after I go down on you.”

In the bathroom Paul considered what she'd just said. She was going to go down on him, to eat him out. As he brushed his teeth, memories of cunnilingus flashed in his mind. Just last week his head had been between her legs, licking and kissing. He could almost taste it, even with a mouth full of toothpaste. Tonight that would be him on his back, spread open for her. He was filled with a nervous anticipation.

In the bedroom Sarah moved the boxes back out of the way and made the bed. She found the box labelled “bedroom:adult supplies” and left it open next to the bed. She made sure the handcuffs were nearby on the nightstand and began to undress. Paul walked in as she was unhooking her bra and started to take off his shirt.

Sarah was down to just her bulging panties. She walked behind Paul and wrapped her arms around him. She ran her fingers down from his chest, along his sides, and back together at the button of his jeans. Paul finished pulling off his shirt and tossed it aside.

“Let me know if I’m going too fast.” Sarah said, as she slipped a hand into the front of his pants.

“You’re good.” There was a tremble of anticipation in his voice. Sarah cupped the emptiness of his crotch through his boxers. She pressed in a little with the tips of her fingers, pulling them up in a slow caress and running them back down around his slit. With her other hand she worked on unbuttoning his jeans.

“You know, I’ve never actually been with another woman before. Someone with a vagina, I mean.” Sarah admitted. “But I’ve always been curious.” She continued stroking Paul as she undid the zipper and let his pants fall to the floor.

“Well I’ve never had a vagina before, I’m pretty curious about that.” Paul said “Perhaps we can satisfy our curiosities together?”

“Sounds like a plan.” With that she put her hands on his hips and pulled down his boxers. Now Paul was standing naked in front of her, both of them facing the bed. “Lie down on your back.” Sarah suggested, nudging Paul towards the foot of the bed. He climbed into the center of the bed and rolled over, spreading out like a starfish. Sarah got her first good look at his new anatomy, it looked about the same as hers had before he told her to grow a dick.

She climbed on top of him, straddling him around the hips. She leaned over him, her hair falling around his face, and kissed him passionately on the lips. While they were making out Sarah ground lightly against him, like she had earlier that day. But this time, instead of growing hard, Paul’s body responded with its own hot wetness. A fuzzy-tense feeling was building inside him and spreading out.

Sarah, on the other hand, was growing hard. Her dick was sandwiched between the two of them, stimulated by the friction. She started kissing her way down his body. Slowly down his neck, and then a few pecks over his chest and stomach, until she was between his legs. Face to face with his pussy she took a moment to ready herself. This was the closest she had ever been to someone else’s vagina. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, right at the top of his slit. She ran her tongue down the split, keeping to one side and then running it up the other. Paul closed his eyes and spread his legs a little further for her.

Sarah took that as a sign of encouragement and dove in, licking and kissing with more passion. “I love the way you taste.” She said while eating him out.

“I love the way it feels” Paul said, somewhat breathless. Her tongue felt incredible, way better than his exploration in the shower. Sarah moved up to his clit, delicately licking around his little nub. Paul opened his mouth in a silent moan. She started working in some light suction; to Paul it felt almost like a blowjob with the volume turned up.

“You should put on the handcuffs, I think you’re almost ready.” Sarah said, coming up for air. Paul grabbed the fuzzy pink handcuffs from the nightstand, and hesitated a moment. He wasn’t sure he wanted to change back yet, his curiosity was still raging.

Sarah picked up on his hesitation “Do you want to try sex first?” she asked, leaning back on her knees. Her dick was jutting out from under the waistband of her panties; it looked like eating pussy agreed with her. Paul nodded a little and handed handcuffs over. He felt embarrassed admitting it to her.

Sarah took the handcuffs and climbed back on top of him. She grabbed his wrists and clasped them above his head with the soft pink shackles. She leaned down next to his ear, Paul could smell his pussy on her breath. “I want you to beg for it.” she told him in a firm whisper.

Paul felt the command tickle over him and he went for it “Please” he said, trying to sound sincere. “Please fuck me.” he pushed his crotch up against her “Please” he said again.

Sarah rolled off the bed and stood up “Hmm, well now I’m not sure.” She teased, strutting to the foot of the bed.

Paul wasn’t expecting that, he begged harder “Come on Sarah, please? I promise it’ll feel great. I’m super wet, I want you so bad.” He pleaded. He wasn’t thinking, just talking, saying whatever came to mind.

“I don’t know...” Sarah said, taking her time slipping off her panties “Are you sure you want this inside you?” She asked, giving her rigid shaft a stroke for display. “It might hurt.” she warned.

“Yes” Paul said “I don’t care if it hurts.” He reassured her. “I need to know what it feels like.” He was desperate to convince her. “I played with myself a little in the shower but I didn’t cum, I wanted my first time to be with you. I wanted my first time to be like this.” He babbled. It took his brain a moment to catch up with his mouth.

“Is that true?” Sarah asked. Paul wasn’t entirely sure himself; it wasn’t exactly what he had been thinking at the time, but it felt true, he felt right saying it.

“Yes. Now please, put your dick inside me.” He begged. Sarah reached into the open box beside the bed, her hand came back with a small glob of something clear on her fingers.

“Okay, but I’m going to use some lube. Let me know if it starts to hurt, okay? Just try to relax.”

“Okay” Paul said, relieved. Though now that the magic was fading, he wasn’t sure why he had been so desperate in the first place. Sarah positioned herself over him. She spread the lube over her cock and then wiped the excess onto Paul’s pussy lips. He pushed back against her fingers hungrily.

Sarah positioned the tip of her dick at the entrance of his vagina and leaned forward slowly. “Take a deep breath.” She suggested, as she began pushing into him.

At first Paul felt like he was being split apart, it felt like her dick was impossibly large for his hole, like there was no way for it to fit. He took a deep breath and braced himself.

Sarah pressed on, with just a little push the head of her dick slipped into him. It felt hot and warm inside; a pleasant contrast from the cold lube. She lowered herself onto her elbows and thrust deeper into him, pulling on his shoulders for leverage.

Paul wrapped his legs around her and pulled her closer, sinking the last inches of her dick into him. The feeling of her cock was fantastic. He hadn’t realized how much he needed something inside him, but now that she was there, it felt right, it felt perfect.

Sarah pulled out a little and thrust back in, getting used to the motion. She tried to get a bit of a rhythm going. It felt so good to press herself completely into him, she couldn’t help speeding up. She grabbed at the bed for more leverage, pushing harder into Paul.

Paul tensed his legs and let out a soft moan. He couldn’t help it, the feeling was overwhelming him. He felt himself clenching against her dick with his pussy. He didn’t have a dick to flex, but he could squeeze onto hers. He felt the distinct sense of a building orgasm, but it was different than before. It wasn’t just building in his clit, he felt it building up from within him too, pulsing through him. He wrapped his arms around Sarah, holding onto her as he started to cum on her dick.

“Oh my god.” Paul moaned, as the orgasm crashed over him. If his previous orgasms had been like tossing a rock in a pond, this was like skipping a stone. The bursts of pleasure came with every thrust, and it just kept rolling on, second after second. “Ooooh fuck.” He said as she continued to pound into him. He could feel his pussy spasming all on its own. He just closed his eyes and held on as the last waves rolled over him. Even as it passed, he could feel the next orgasm starting to build up inside.

Sarah was breathing heavily, sweat streaked down her face and dripped off her hair. Her stomach muscles burned from the constant humping, and her shoulders ached from supporting herself. But seeing Paul cum had put a big smile on her face. She was getting close to her own orgasm. As she began to climax she lifted herself up onto her hands and pressed as deeply into him as she could. Paul held her tight with his legs as she pumped her load into him with short shuddering thrusts.

“Holy shit” she groaned through the climax. She collapsed onto him and rolled off, panting for breath. “That was the most incredible… I never… Holy shit.” Sarah was at a loss for words.

Paul was catching his breath as well. “You’re telling me.” He said “I’ve never felt anything like that.” He sat up “And now I really have to pee.” He said, getting out of bed.

“It’s important to pee after sex.” Sarah mumbled, breathlessly staring at the ceiling.

Paul padded his way back to the bathroom. As he neared the door, he felt something wet leaking out of him. He rushed to the toilet and sat down. A glob of Sarah’s cum had dribbled out onto his labia and down the side of his thigh. He wiped it off with a bit of toilet paper. He hoped they were right about her shooting blanks.

He peed, wiped, and washed his hands. By the time he got back to bed Sarah was already fast asleep. The sex had taken a lot out of her. Paul gently shook her shoulder “Hey, Sarah.” He said, trying to get her attention “Hey, wake up. We still need to change back.”

“Ugh” Sarah groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Can’t we do it in the morning? I’m so tired, I don’t think I could even make the magic work.” She complained.

Paul was tired too, he let out a yawn as he considered it. “Alright, I guess. But don’t forget, okay?”

“Okay.” Sarah said with her eyes closed, falling back asleep.