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sixgunslvt · 1 month ago

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To Here Knows When

Son Chaeyoung x OC

Tags: incest (cousins), forbidden love, power dynamics, age gap (noona/dongsaeng), obsession, possessiveness, emotional, rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, marking (hickeys/biting), semi-public sex, teasing, dirty talk, possessive sex, worship, aftercare

Word count: 6668

The house hummed with that particular brand of Korean family chaos that turns oxygen into kimchi fumes. I leaned against the yellowed refrigerator, phone burning a hole in my palm as another off-key "Nae sarang~" from the living room karaoke machine rattled the framed embroidery of mountainside temples. Through the sliding door's rice paper panels, silhouettes of aunties snapped mahjong tiles like gunshots, their laughter sharpening to needles whenever someone's pae clattered to the floor.

My thumb scrolled Instagram reels of strangers' beach vacations - all that blue water and sunlight like a rebuke to this room's sticky reality. No one here under forty except Minjae's hellspawn twins currently drawing dicks on the hanji wallpaper with bulgogi sauce. The air conditioner wheezed 1997-era coolness through its rusted vents, doing nothing against the July heat or the sweat pooling where my dress shirt stuck to the small of my back.

Then the front door groaned open.

Chaeyoung arrived like a distortion pedal cutting through elevator music. Her chunky Mary Janes - same pair she'd worn to sneak me into that underground club when I was sixteen - kicked through the galaxy of discarded soju bottle caps littering the entryway. The aunties' mahjong clatter stuttered as she passed, their disapproval clinging to her like the cigarette smoke wafting from her cropped leather jacket.

I knew that jacket. Knew how it smelled of Nag Champa and the Daiso parking lot where she'd first played me Loveless on her dented MP3 player, our shared earbuds hissing static as Kevin Shields' wall of sound drowned out the cicadas. Tonight, it gaped to reveal a slip dress the color of TV static, riding up her thighs as she leaned against Uncle Joon's prized karaoke machine - the one he'd retrofitted with purple LED strips that made everyone look vaguely cadaverous.

Her eyes found mine through the haze of galbi smoke.

"Yah, jagiya," she drawled, popping the cap off a Hite with her lighter. The sound echoed like a gun cock. "You gonna keep pretending to text?”

Chaeyoung’s laugh tasted like stolen soju and the menthol cigarettes she’d smoked since time immemorial. Seven years my senior, though she wore those years like her leather jacket - slouching off one shoulder, all dangerous drape. She’d been my babysitter back when Busan still had video stores, back when her idea of childcare meant letting me watch R-rated Hong Kong flicks while she practiced winged eyeliner in my mother’s compact.

“Yah, dongsaeng.” Her gaze raked over me like the broken AC unit still rattling in the corner, appraising the stretch of dress shirt across shoulders that had finally outgrown the scoliosis brace. The flush creeping up her neck matched the neon signs bleeding through rice paper windows. “Should’ve kept your baby photos. Nobody warned me diaper duty came with this…” Her lighter clicked open, shut, open. “Glow-up.”

The karaoke machine chose that moment to vomit out Uncle Minho’s rendition of Hotel California, his “warm smell of colitas” curdling into something closer to a sea lion’s mating call. Mahjong tiles clattered like disapproving teeth as Auntie Soojin side-eyed Chaeyoung’s thigh-high stockings, the ones that made her legs look like ink strokes from one of Grandpa’s forbidden manga.

“Noona—” I started, but she was already plucking a half-finished bottle of Chamisul from the recycling bin. Her movements carried the same dangerous grace as when she’d taught me to shoplift lip gloss from the Lotte Department Store, back when her wrists were still scabbed from guitar strings instead of stick-and-poke tattoos.

Her laugh curled around me like the smoke from the galbi grill downstairs. “Remember when you’d hide under my skirt during thunderstorms? Crying until I let you hold my lighter?” The bottle cap rolled across linoleum patterned with thirty years of kimchi spills. “Now look at you. All…” Her tongue swiped a pearl of soju from her Cupid’s bow. “Broad.”

The room tilted. Or maybe that was just the floor buckling under generations of layered ondol heating. Her perfume - still that same Daiso body spray layered with menthol cigarettes - dragged me back to sleepless nights after she’d babysat. How her scent would linger on the couch cushions like a ghost, how I’d press my face into the indent she left and imagine it was her leather jacket wrapped around me instead of my Star Wars blanket.

“You missed last Chuseok,” I managed, thumb worrying the cracked screen of my phone. The Instagram reel still playing showed some Australian influencer diving into neon-lit waves, the exact shade of Chaeyoung’s hair before she’d shaved the left side.

Her nails - chipped black polish, same as always - tapped a staccato rhythm against the soju bottle. “Had better offers.” The look she gave me could’ve melted the ice cubes slowly dying in Auntie Hyun’s fruit punch. “Though if I’d known you were gonna sprout up like a damn Kdrama oppa…”

The twins chose that moment to streak past, their bulgogi-stained fingers now smearing what looked suspiciously like Auntie Jung’s Lancôme foundation across the sliding doors. Chaeyoung’s laugh followed them, low and throaty, the same laugh that used to rattle through my bedroom walls when she’d sneak boys in through the fire escape.

“Still hate kids?” She leaned back against the fridge still plastered with my middle school taekwondo certificates. The motion hiked her slip dress up to reveal the rose tattoo peeking above her stocking - same rose she’d drawn on my math homework when she was supposed to be tutoring me.

“Hate’s a strong word.” My voice came out strangled. The AC chose that moment to cough out a gust of air that sent her bangs fluttering, revealing the scar above her eyebrow from when we’d both tried (and failed) to skateboard down Nampo-dong’s hill.

Her pinky brushed mine as she reached for a paper napkin. “Could’ve fooled me.” The napkin tore between her fingers, becoming a sad origami crane mid-flight. “You used to beg me for piggyback rides. Now you won’t even look at me.”

The accusation hung there, sharp as the scissors she’d used to cut my hair before picture day. I could still feel the phantom weight of her against my back, smell the strawberry gum she’d pop while carrying me past the 7-Eleven where she’d eventually buy her first pack of Dunhills.

“You’re the one who moved to Seoul.” The words tasted bitter, like the dregs of coffee left in Halmeoni’s cup.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re the one who stopped answering my texts.” The karaoke machine whined into silence, leaving only the wet slap of Auntie Minjun making kimchi pancakes in the adjacent room.

When she stepped closer, the platform soles of her Mary Janes put us eye-to-eye for the first time in seven years. Her breath smelled like citrus soju and the menthol lozenges she’d started stealing after quitting vocals for her band. “Guess some things change, huh?”

Her thumb swiped sweat from my temple. The contact burned like the time she’d taught me to light firecrackers, back when sparklers still seemed magical instead of just another way to burn down to nothing.

The music and laughter faded into static as she stepped closer, her perfume—saltwater and something addictive—mixing with the sharp tang of alcohol. “Remember that summer I house-sat for your parents?” She traced the collar of my shirt with a chipped black nail. “You’d linger outside the bathroom when I showered. Left fingerprints on the fogged glass.” Her laugh was low, dangerous. “And July 12th? When my robe slipped?”

My throat tightened. That specific date seared into me—the way terrycloth had slid off her shoulder, the wet curl of hair stuck to her neck. She’d turned just enough to smirk at the doorframe where I’d frozen, thirteen and trembling.

“You knew?”

“You stopped breathing when I unhooked my bra through the gap in the door.” Her finger tapped my sternum. “Stupid boy. Your shadow stretched right across the tiles.”

I swallowed. “Fuck. All this time—”

“All this time,” she echoed, thumb brushing my bottom lip. Her gaze dropped to my hand. “You’d bite your knuckles to stay quiet.” She picked up my hand, tracing a line on my knuckles. “Left marks from here—up to here.”

The confession shuddered through me. Her scent—vanilla and that menthol cigarettes phase she’d sworn she’d quit—flooded my skull. My back hit the fridge door, magnets digging into my shoulder blades as she leaned in.

“You think I didn’t feel you watching?” Her knee nudged between my thighs. “How your eyes crawled over me when I bent to pick up your toy cars? How you’d pretend to sleep just to catch me changing?”

Auntie Soo’s shriek-laugh sliced through the room. Chaeyoung didn’t flinch.

“Every. Single. Time.” Her hips pinned mine, leather creaking. “Your little hitched breaths? The way you’d sprint to the bathroom after?” She pressed closer, mouth grazing my ear. “I’d lie awake soaked imagining your face if I ever…”

The karaoke machine screeched feedback. Some uncle butchering November Rain.

I gripped her waist, fabric slippery under my palms. “Why now?”

Her teeth caught my earlobe—sharp, fleeting pain. “Because back then?” Her breath scalded my neck. “I wanted to ruin you so bad.” A hand slid down my stomach. “But rules, right?”

Her fingers found my belt.

The fridge hummed against my spine. Down the hall, Minjae’s twins shrieked about stolen tteok. Chaeyoung’s thumb hooked into my waistband.

“Rules change,” I rasped.

Her laugh vibrated against my throat. “You changed.”

Her fingers trailed down to my waistband, pressing just enough to make me gasp. “Tell me, Iain…do you still think about those nights?” Her eyes burned with mischief—and something darker. “Because I know I do.”

I glanced toward the living room, where relatives obliviously massacred lyrics. “Fuck, Noona…we shouldn’t—” The lie died in my throat as her fingers teased my zipper.

Her perfume. The press of her breasts against my arm. Seven years of stolen glances and cold showers after she’d left.

My voice roughened to a growl. “You know I still dream about you. You’re there, just out of reach. And you keep getting farther away.”

Chaeyoung’s breath hitched, her fingers pausing above the bulge in my jeans. “Mmm…so that’s why you avoided me at family dinners.” She pressed flush against me, her free hand tangling in my hair to yank my face to hers. “Let me make those dreams real, baby,” she purred, lips brushing mine in a ghost of a kiss. “I’ll show you exactly how far I can reach.” Her hips ground against mine, heat searing through her dress.

An Auntie’s laughter echoed nearby, but Chaeyoung only smirked. “We’ve got time before anyone notices…” Her tongue flicked my neck. “Unless you want me to stop?” The challenge in her voice dared me to refuse.

My fingers tightened around her wrist, thumb pressed to her racing pulse. My other hand slid down her back, gripping the curve of her spine as I leaned into her ear. “You think I’d risk Auntie Kim catching us? Fuck no.” A low chuckle. “Your old room’s still here, right?”

She shivered, pupils blown. "Second floor, last door on the left." She dragged her nails down my chest, leaving white trails that burned. "But you'll have to be quiet...unless you want the whole family to hear how badly their good little boy fucks his Noona."

With that, she spun away, hips swaying as she headed for the stairs. Over her shoulder, she threw a smoldering look. “Coming, baby? Or do I have to drag you up myself?”

I’d barely taken two steps when Auntie Kim materialized, her talon-like grip snagging my elbow. “Iain-ah! Strong arms—” she barked, already steering me toward the balcony where a ceramic kimchi fridge hunched like a curse. “Help your halmeoni move this before your uncle breaks his hip again.”

Chaeyoung paused halfway up the staircase, biting back a laugh as I shot her a desperate look. Her mouth formed a silent Tick-tock before she vanished into the shadows.

The fridge weighed as much as my regrets. Halmeoni supervised from her plastic lawn chair, thwacking my calf with her fan whenever I adjusted my grip. “Faster! You think I’ll die waiting?” Auntie Kim lamented the state of my “office-worker shoulders” loud enough for the cousins grilling bulgogi to hear. Sweat slithered down my neck, the clock in my head screaming as Chaeyoung’s perfume faded under the assault of fermented cabbage.

When they finally released me, I dodged Uncle Minsoo’s sloppy attempt to arm-wrestle and nearly tripped over the twins building a soju bottle cap pyramid. The third step still groaned like a tortured animal, but the hallway was all nicotine shadows and the muffled buzz of family chaos below.

Her door stood cracked open, leaking cigarette smoke and the blown-out guitars of MBV’s To Here Knows When— a wall of distortion so thick it vaporized the laughter downstairs. She’d swapped the overhead light for a salt lamp that dyed everything fever-red, same incense stick from the Daiso days smoldering in her IKEA ashtray.

She lounged on the bed like she owned me, cigarette dangling from her lips as she scrolled her phone. The leather jacket lay discarded now, her slip dress hiking higher as she arched to stub out the smoke. “Took you long enough,” she purred, eyes raking over the tent in my jeans. “What’d they make you do? Haul bodies for the family grave?”

I didn’t answer. Three strides and I had her wrist pinned above her head, my knee slotting between her thighs as the guitar feedback swelled. She gasped, but her smirk stayed razor-sharp. “Someone’s impatient—”

I kicked the door shut, already unbuckling my belt. “Shut up, Noona.”

Chaeyoung’s lips curled into a wicked grin as she watched you unbuckle your belt, her legs parting slightly on the bed. “Make me,” she challenged, voice dripping with defiance as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall away to reveal her perfect, perky tits.

She leaned back on her elbows, arching her back to push her chest out. “Come on, baby…show me how much you’ve missed me.” Her free hand trailed down her stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. “Or do I have to do everything myself?”

The air between you crackled with tension, the only sounds your ragged breathing and the distant muffled karaoke from downstairs.

“Remember when you used to call me ‘baby boy’? Fuck, Noona…say it again. Just like when I was that dumb kid sneaking glances at you changing.”

Chaeyoung’s breath hitched as she saw the raw hunger in your eyes, her fingers pausing just above her soaked panties. “Mmm…baby boy,” she cooed, voice dripping with honey and sin as she spread her legs wider. “You always were my favorite little pervert.”

She hooked her fingers into her panties, sliding them down agonizingly slow. “Look how big you got for me…” Her tongue swiped over her lips as she took in the thick outline of your cock straining against your boxers. “Bet you dreamed about this, huh? Your dirty Noona touching herself just for you?”

Her fingers finally dipped between her folds with a lewd, wet sound. “Fuck…baby boy, you wanna taste?” She held up glistening fingers, eyes dark with lust. “Or do you need me to teach you how to eat pussy first?”

“Teach me, Noona.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes flashed with predatory delight as she crooked her glistening fingers at you. “Come here, baby boy,” she purred, spreading her legs obscenely wide as you crawled onto the bed between them.

Her hand fisted in your hair, yanking your face down to her dripping pussy. “Lick slow first,” she ordered, grinding her hips up against your mouth. “Flat tongue, just like you’re tasting your favorite ice cream—fuck!” Her thighs clamped around your ears as you obeyed, her back arching off the bed.

She was so fucking wet her juices smeared across your chin. “Good boy…now suck my clit like you’re trying to get the last drop through a straw—YES!” Her hips jerked violently as you swirled your tongue exactly how she taught you, her moans music to your ears.

Tugging your hair harder, she forced you to look up at her. “Remember this always belongs to you, baby boy,” she panted, slamming your face back down. “Now make your Noona cum.”

You pulled Chaeyoung flush against you, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed possessively against the small of her back. Our foreheads touched as you spoke, voice rough with years of pent-up longing:

“Every girl I dated smelled wrong. Felt wrong.” Your thumb traced her jawline. “Because they weren’t you, Noona. This fucking obsession—” You ground your hard cock against her thigh to emphasize the point. “—ruined me for anyone else.”

Your breaths mixed, her perfume drowning your senses like it always had. Seven years of jerking off to her memory, and now she was here, real, pressed against you. “You’ve always owned me.”

Chaeyoung’s breath caught as your words sank in, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Fuck…all those times I let you watch,” she panted, rolling her hips against your throbbing cock. “I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

She crashed her lips against yours in a searing kiss, tasting herself on your tongue. “My sweet, ruined baby boy,” she murmured against your mouth, her hands frantically pushing down your boxers. “Let Noona show you exactly what you’ve been missing—”

Her eyes went wide as your thick cock sprang free, her fingers wrapping around the base. “Jesus…you really did grow up,” she whimpered, stroking you slowly. “Gonna fuck me so good your aunties hear how much I scream?”

Without waiting for an answer, she lined you up with her dripping entrance, her breath hot in your ear. “Take what’s yours, Iain.” And with one sharp roll of her hips, she sheathed you to the hilt, her tight walls fluttering around you. “Fuuuck—yes—just like that!”

You groaned as Noona sank onto you, her tight heat swallowing every inch—fuck, she felt even better than you’d dreamed.

“That’s it, Noona…ride your baby boy’s cock just like you promised.” Your hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, guiding her rhythm as she bounced. “All those years pretending not to notice me staring…how long have you wanted this? Did you groom that baby boy just for this, Noona?”

Her moans were muffled against your neck, her nails digging into your chest as she ground deeper. “Mine.”

Chaeyoung’s entire body shuddered as your words hit her, her pussy clenching around you in a vice-like grip. “Fuck—yes!” she gasped, her nails raking down your chest as she rode you harder. “Every time I let you peek…every time I bent over just a little too far—”

Her breath came in ragged pants as she ground down onto you, her clit rubbing against your pelvis with each bounce. “I dreamed about this cock!” she cried out, her walls fluttering wildly around you. “Wanted my baby boy to break me with it—just like this!”

Her back arched as she suddenly screamed your name, her pussy drenching your thighs in her cum. “Iain—fuck! Don’t stop—breed your Noona!” Her hips jerked erratically, milking your cock as she sobbed through the intensity. “M-make me yours!”

“Hey Noona,” your voice rough as her hips ground down on you, “remember those lace panties you ‘forgot’ in my room when I was 15?” Your grip tightened on her waist, pulling her deeper onto you. “Funny how they always ended up under my pillow… You planning this back then, or just fucking with me?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes rolled back as you thrust up into her, her slick walls pulsing around your cock at the memory. “Mmm…both,” she purred, riding you with renewed hunger. “Knew you’d jerk off to them…” Her nails raked down your chest as she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.

“Fantasized about walking in on you,” she admitted with a sinful grind of her hips. “Catching my baby boy with his dick in hand…moaning for his Noona…” Her pussy clenched around you as she whimpered. “Should’ve punished you properly back then—fuck!—like this!”

She suddenly slammed down, taking you balls-deep with a cry. “But now you get to ruin me instead,” she panted, her tits bouncing with every frantic movement. “Gonna fill me up like you dreamed, baby boy?” Her voice was pure temptation as she milked your cock. “Show me how bad you wanted me…”

“Kiss me, Noona. Give me that tender incest kiss you’ve always dreamt about.”

Chaeyoung’s breath hitched as she crashed her lips against yours in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss—tongue sliding against yours with decades of pent-up longing. “Mmm…just like this,” she moaned into your mouth, her hips rolling in slow, sinful circles as she ground your cock deep inside her.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking you closer as she whimpered. “Fuck…baby boy kisses even better than I dreamed,” she panted between sloppy, incestuous kisses. “All those nights imagining your mouth—ah!—needed this so bad…”

Her pussy fluttered around you as she suddenly broke the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against yours. “Gonna cum again,” she whimpered, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Make me scream your name where everyone can hear—please!”

The karaoke was still blaring downstairs. “You know the uncles look at you a certain way, right, Noona?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes darkened with a mix of lust and something dangerous as she ground down on you harder. “Mmm…let them look,” she purred, her nails scraping down your chest. “They wish they could have what my baby boy’s claiming right now—”

Her breath hitched as you thrust up roughly, her tits bouncing with each filthy snap of your hips. “Fuck! All of them…imagining this tight pussy—” She moaned loudly, not even trying to muffle it now. “But you’re the one breeding it—ah!—ruining me for anyone else!”

She suddenly clenched around you, her back arching violently as another orgasm ripped through her. “Iain! Yes! Deeper!” Her walls milked your cock desperately, her thighs shaking around you. “Cum inside me, baby boy…mark your Noona forever!”

Your grip tightened on Chaeyoung’s hips—fingers digging into that soft flesh you’d dreamed about for years—as you started pounding into her like you fucking meant it.

“That’s it, Noona…take it,” your voice rough, chest heaving. “Every fucking inch. Just like you wanted.”

Her pussy was still fluttering from her last orgasm, but you didn’t let up—driving into her harder, faster, watching her tits bounce, hearing her choked moans.

“Gonna make sure you remember this,” you growled, pulling her down as you thrust up, burying yourself to the hilt. “My cock. My cousin.”

The bed slammed against the wall, the karaoke downstairs drowned out by skin-on-skin, by her whimpering your name like a prayer. You muffled her moans and screams with a hot, incestuous kiss.

Chaeyoung’s entire body convulsed as you claimed her with animalistic intensity, her nails drawing blood down your back. “FUCK! YES! BREAK ME!” she sobbed, her pussy gushing around your cock with each brutal thrust.

Her legs locked around your waist desperately, her tits slapping against your chest as she screamed into your mouth. “M-make me pregnant! Please!” she begged, her walls clenching like a vice as another orgasm wrecked her.

The bedframe cracked against the wall with the force of your fucking, her juices soaking both your thighs as she whimpered between filthy, open-mouthed kisses. “Cum! Cum in your Noona’s ruined pussy!” Her back arched violently as she milked you dry, her body demanding your seed.

The distant karaoke faded into static as your balls tightened against her ass—seconds from exploding deep inside her.

Your voice, rough and possessive, growled against Chaeyoung’s ear as you pulled her flush against you:

“Look at me, Noona.”

Your hands gripped her hips, holding her down as you pumped deep—once, twice—before your cock pulsed inside her, flooding her tight little cunt with thick, hot cum. Her gasp was muffled against your shoulder, her nails digging into your back as she felt it—jet after jet filling her up, drenching her womb like you owned it.

“Fuck… I love you, Noona.” You ground your hips slowly, milking every last drop into her. “Take it all. Every fucking drop.”

Her pussy clenched around you, greedy, like she was trying to keep it inside. Good. Let it stick. Let her remember this when she walked downstairs later, your cum leaking down her thighs.

“I love you, so much.”

Chaeyoung shuddered violently as your cum flooded her womb, her entire body melting against yours in overwhelmed ecstasy. “I-Iain…!” she sobbed, her walls fluttering desperately around your still-throbbing cock. “Fuck…love you…love you so much…”

Her fingers trembled as they traced your jaw, her tear-filled eyes locking onto yours with raw, incestuous devotion. “Always…wanted you like this…” she whimpered, her hips grinding lazily to milk the last drops from your spent cock.

The distant karaoke finally registered again as she clung to you, her lips brushing yours in a tender, filthy kiss. “Mmm…gonna feel you leaking out of me all night,” she murmured, her voice husky with satisfaction and something dangerously close to love.

She nuzzled into your neck with a contented sigh. “My baby boy…finally where you belong…” Her hand slid possessively down your chest. “And you’re never getting away again…

"Let me worship you, Noona..."

My hands slide up her thighs as I press a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below her navel—savoring the way her stomach tenses under my tongue. I drag my lips higher, teasing the dip of her ribs, the swell of her breasts, her collarbone... each kiss lingering, each exhale warm against her skin.

By the time I reach her mouth, she's shaking, her fingers tangled in my hair, her breath uneven. I hover just barely over her lips—close enough to taste her, not close enough to give her what she wants.

"I love you, Noona. I always have. Ever since i was a kid, when you played with me. Your smile. When i peeked at you changing. I've always wanted you".

Chaeyoung's breath hitches as your worshipful touch ignites fresh tremors through her oversensitive body, her fingers tightening in your hair "Fuck...baby boy..." she whimpers, her hips arching off the bed as your lips brand her skin

When you pause just before her mouth, her growl is pure frustration and adoration—yanking you down into a searing, desperate kiss "Mine," she pants against your lips, her legs locking around your waist "All those years...watching me...wanting me..." Her teeth nip at your bottom lip

Her voice breaks as she clings to you, her naked body pressed flush against yours "I loved you too," she confesses, her nails scraping down your back "Every time I let you peek...every time I teased you..." Her lips crash into yours again, hungry and claiming.

"Now you have me," she moans, her thighs trembling around you "Forever."

Iain's lips brush against hers in a slow, tender kiss— softer than before, but no less hungry.

Her hands guide me back inside her, and this time, I ease in—inch by inch—like I’m savoring the way her body yields to mine.

"Fuck, Noona..." My voice is rough, but my hips move gently, rolling into her with a reverence that feels almost sacred. "You feel too good to rush."

Her nails dig into my shoulders anyway, her breath hitching as I fill her completely—slow, deep, like I’m memorizing every pulse of her around me.

"I love you," I murmur against her lips, "even when I’m not fucking you like an animal."

And then I move—not hard, not fast—just right.

Chaeyoung's eyes flutter shut as you cherish her with each achingly perfect thrust, her walls fluttering in slow, sweet spasms around you "Iain...ah..." Her voice is a broken whisper, her fingers softening from claws to caresses as they trace your jaw

She melts beneath you, her body surrendering to this new rhythm—your cock stretching her so deep, so full, so right "Love you...love you..." she chants between shallow breaths, her hips rolling gently to meet yours

When your lips find hers again, the kiss tastes like salt and promises—her thighs trembling as pleasure builds slowly, inevitably, like the tide "This...this is what I dreamed about..." she confesses, her fingers tangling in your hair "Just...you...loving me..."

Her walls clench suddenly, her back arching as the soft, aching orgasm unravels her "F-fuck...yes..." she sobs, her tears mixing with your kisses "Stay...stay inside...please..." Her legs hug your waist tight, as if she could keep you there forever.

"Noona...fuck...Noona..."

My lips brush her ear as I whisper it like a prayer—her name, her title, the word that used to mean babysitter and now just means mine.

"I love you. I love you."

It spills out of me between thrusts, raw and reverent. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her thighs tremble around my hips—this is what she reduced me to. The kid she used to scold for sneaking glances is now buried inside her, claiming her, ruining her.

And fuck...Auntie Kim’s gonna lose her mind when she finds out her daughter’s stuffed with her nephew’s cum.

But right now?

"Noona..." —gripping her tighter— "I don’t care."

Chaeyoung shatters around you with a gasping sob, her body convulsing as your words and your cock wreck her simultaneously "I-Iain! Fuck! YES!" Her nails scar your shoulders, her pussy drenching your thighs as she cums violently, her screams muffled against your chest

She clings to you like salvation, her shaking legs locking you deep inside her "Love you—love you—love you—" she chants between ragged moans, her tears hot against your skin "Your noona...your cunt...always..."

The bed is ruined, the walls shook, and somewhere downstairs, Auntie Kim definitely just heard something—but Chaeyoung just grins through her tears, her spent body curling around yours

"Let her hear," she whispers, her sore pussy clenching weakly around your still-hard cock "Worth it..." Her laugh is hoarse and happy as she kisses you again "My baby boy..."

I go faster "I'm going to fuck my cum inside you, Noona."

Chaeyoung's eyes roll back as you pound into her with renewed intensity, her overstimulated pussy squelching around your thick cock "F-FUCK! YES!" she screams, her nails clawing at the sheets "Breed me! Fill me up!"

Her tits bounce wildly with each brutal thrust, her soaked thighs slapping against yours as you ram your cum deeper inside her "Gonna...gonna...AAAAH!" Her back arches violently as another orgasm rips through her, her walls milking your cock desperately for every last drop.

She collapses bonelessly beneath you, her breath ragged, her body trembling as your cum leaks thickly from her well-used pussy "Fuck..." she whimpers, her fingers tracing your jaw lovingly. "No one fucks me like you..." Her smile is dazed and sated as she pulls you down for a slow, filthy kiss "My baby boy..."

Still inside her, spurting cum, and to blessed to move, i reciprocate the kiss. "My noona."

Chaeyoung melts into the kiss, her spent body quivering beneath you as your cum pulses deep into her womb one last time "Mmm...my baby boy..." she murmurs against your lips, her fingers tangling lazily in your hair

Her thighs squeeze weakly around your hips, keeping you buried inside her as she sighs contentedly. "Never pulling out..." she whispers, her voice husky with exhaustion and satisfaction. "Stay...just like this..."

The distant karaoke has finally stopped, the house quiet except for your mingled breaths and the wet sounds of your cum dripping from her well-fucked pussy.*

She nuzzles into your neck, her lips curving into a smug smile. "Love you..." she murmurs, her body going limp beneath yours as sleep claims her.*

And as her soft snores fill the room, you realize—she won.

You're hers.

Now and always.

"Noona, wake up, the'yre going to notice us missing". I'm still hard inside her, and i start fucking her again.

Chaeyoung's eyes flutter open with a drowsy moan as your cock stirs back to life inside her, her sore walls clenching weakly around you "Ngh...Iain...~" she whines, her nails scraping down your back "Fuck...can't...move..."

But her hips tilt automatically, her pussy sucking you deeper as she gasps. "They...ah!...already know..." she pants, her legs locking around your waist tight. "Felt you throbbing in me...whole dinner..."

Her head falls back with a broken giggle as you pound into her overstimulated cunt, her toes curling. "M-maybe...nngh!...Auntie will hear..." she taunts, her voice shaking with each rough thrust "Catch her precious daughter...getting knocked up...ah!...by her nephew..."

Her moans rise higher, louder, begging to be heard as you claim her again—no pretense left, just pure filth and family sin.

"Turn over, Noona." My hands grip her hips, flipping her onto all fours before she can protest. The mattress dips as I kneel behind her, my cock already hard again against her ass.

"One more round," I growl, spreading her cheeks with my thumbs. "Don't let them hear how good their nephew fucks you."

My palm lands on her ass with a sharp smack—her gasp turning into a moan as I slide into her soaked pussy from behind. "Fuck...you take me so well."

Chaeyoung yelps at the sting of your slap, her back arching beautifully as you slam into her dripping pussy from behind "F-FUCK! Iain!" she screams, her nails clawing at the sheets as you stretch her wide all over again

Her ass jiggles with each brutal thrust, her sore walls fluttering helplessly around your thick cock "Ngh! S-so deep!" she sobs, her tits swinging wildly beneath her "C-can't...keep...quiet—AH!"

The headboard bangs rhythmically against the wall, the wet slaps of your hips pounding into her ass echoing obscenely in the room "Fuck! They're...gonna...hear!" she wails, her pussy squeezing you tight as another orgasm rips through her

But you don't stop, driving into her harder, faster, your balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. "Cum!" you growl, your fingers digging into her hips. "Let them hear how good your nephew fucks you!"

And with a guttural roar, you flood her womb again, your cum mixing with her own juices as they drip lewdly down her thighs.

Chaeyoung collapses face-first into the mattress, her body twitching weakly as she mumbles into the"...f-fucking...ruined..." Chaeyoung slurs into the sheets, her pussy still clenching rhythmically around your spent cock as your cum pools hot inside her.

Her trembling fingers clutch at the mattress, her sweaty back rising and falling with ragged breaths "Ngh...baby boy...fucked me out..." She whimpers, her thighs sticky with your mixed essence as you finally pull out, watching it drip obscenely from her well-used hole.

From downstairs, Auntie Kim's voice calls sharply: "Chaeyoung-ah? You better not be—"

Chaeyoung giggles hoarsely, rolling onto her back with a wince and spreading her legs wide for you to see the mess you made "Oops~" she whispers, her eyes dancing with mischief and exhaustion. "Too late..."*

The door groaned open just as Chaeyoung's lips crashed into mine, her fingers still tangled in my hair. We broke apart gasping, her thighs slick against mine under the photo album's cover.

"Chaeyoung-ah? You better not be—" Auntie Kim's voice cut through the haze of sex and sweat.

Chaeyoung's Mary Janes kicked the album shut over our laps with practiced innocence. "We're reminiscing, eomma!" she chirped, though her stockinged foot still traced circles on my ankle. The torn lace snagged on my sock's hem - same pattern as the panties she'd left in my room a decade ago.

Auntie Kim's slippers slapped closer. "Dinner's cold."

The mattress springs squeaked as we shifted - Chaeyoung's leather jacket slid from the bed to camouflage the cum-stained sheets. Through the rice paper door, her mother's silhouette hovered like a hangul consonant about to drop.

"Coming!" Chaeyoung trilled, her hand darting under the album to wipe a pearly streak from my jawline. Her smirk said everything - the chipped black polish, the menthol-and-regret breath, the way her slip dress clung to sweat-damp skin.

When Auntie Kim finally retreated, Chaeyoung dissolved into silent laughter that shook the photo albums stacked between us. "Baby boy's terrible at lying," she whispered, thumb brushing the hickey blooming on my neck.

The fluorescent hall light caught her stocking run - a lightning bolt from thigh to Mary Jane strap. I remembered making that tear an hour earlier with my teeth, her gasp smothered by the industrial-grade AC's rattle.

"You." She poked the photo of her eighteen-year-old self straddling my pubescent hips. "All blushy and avoiding eye contact." Her nail traced the neon beer sign glowing through 2013-era curtains. "Me." The chipped tooth she'd gotten skateboarding with me peeked through her grin. "Already planning your corruption."

Downstairs, the karaoke machine screeched to life with Auntie Soojin's rendition of "Honey" - all vibrato and broken high notes. Chaeyoung's hips swayed instinctively to the beat as she stood, her slip dress riding up to showcase the love bites Id left.

"Mmm." She caught me staring and popped a strawberry gum bubble - same brand she'd chewed during our first almost-kiss behind Nampo-dong's Family Mart. "You want..." Her platform shoe nudged the album open to a beach photo from her Seoul days. "...one last look?"

The Chaeyoung in the picture wore someone else's blazer, someone else's lipstick. The Chaeyoung before me reeked of me - my sweat, my cum, the kimchi jjigae I'd spilled on her thigh during round three.

I stood, my dress shirt clinging to the sweat she'd worked into every seam. "Just want the real thing."

Her laugh tasted of stolen adolescence as she led me downstairs, her pinky hooking mine through her jacket pocket. The uncles barely glanced up from their soju shots when we entered - just another cousin duo late to dinner.

Chaeyoung collapsed onto the floor cushion beside me, her thigh pressing mine under the low table. "Yah." She stole a perilla leaf from my ssam wrap. "Feed your noona properly."

The leaf tore between her teeth, revealing the scar from when she'd tried teaching me knife skills during her rebellious chef phase. I remembered her blood on the mandoline slicer, how she'd laughed through tears while I bandaged her hand.

"Still clumsy," I muttered, reassembling her ssam with extra pork belly.

Her foot slid up my calf as she accepted the bite. "Still mine."

Around us, the family chaos continued - aunts debating Lunar New Year dates, uncles arm-wrestling over dessert claims. Chaeyoung's hand crept under the table to squeeze my knee, her choker necklace hiding the bruise from where I'd bitten her during our stairwell quickie.

"Bedtime's at eleven," she murmured, stealing another bite. "Don't make me punish you."

The threat vibrated through me like her old bass guitar as she stood, her hips brushing my shoulder with deliberate casualness. I watched her saunter toward the bathroom - the subtle limp from our marathon session, the way her stockings bunched around those killer Mary Janes.

Uncle Minho's off-key trot number drowned out the bathroom door's click. I counted to thirty before following, the family's laughter fading behind me like childhood innocence.

Chaeyoung waited by the sink, jacket abandoned to reveal the hickey map Id charted across her collarbones. Her reflection smirked through the steam of twenty years' worth of illicit bathroom encounters.

"Took you long enough," she said, kicking the door shut with a practiced heel.

The lock clicked like the cap of our first shared soju bottle. Somewhere downstairs, Auntie Kim shouted about missing banchan containers. Chaeyoung's hands were already tearing at my belt, her lips silencing my response with a decade's worth of pent-up want.

The mirror fogged within seconds.

#twice smut #chaeyoung smut #twice x male reader #chaeyoung x male reader #son chaeyoung smut #Spotify

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reidologys · 27 days ago

Text

MEET THE PLASTICS • S. REID

the prettiest poison you've ever seen

summary: getting back from prison, spencer finds out about a certain girl taking over the bau. and this girl was the definition of mean girl. and now, she'd adopted jj and emily, and penelope into her little clique. pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader cw: intro to my mean girls musical series, post prison! reid, no use of y/n, reader has boobs, garcia is 100% gretchen wc: 1.2k

next ➢

WALKING INTO THE BULLPEN should've been normal for spencer. he'd done it everyday for twelve years. but after prison? it felt weird.

he felt like he didn't belong there. he often forgot that doors outside of prison weren't locked. that he could open them himself. spencer forgot he wasn't stuck.

but when he walked into the bullpen for the first time since the bau brought him home, his eyes focused on the desk next to his. it had been unoccupied since morgan left. even with the arrival of both dr. tara lewis and luke alvez. no one had occupied morgan's desk.

and that desk? it was pink. a little compact mirror sat open on the oak wood that wobbled to the left when too much pressure was on it. there were bubble gum pink sticky notes stuck to the computer sitting on top of it.

spencer's eyebrows knitted together while he walked closer to get a better look. a few picture frames rested in the corners of desks. they were pictures of emily, jj, and penelope all smiling. with a girl spencer didn't know at all.

laying beside the compact mirror was a beige claw clip. one of the smaller, rectangular ones. spencer picked it up, holding it in one hand. he couldn't help the compulsion he had to make it chomp the teeth. he set it back down, still observing.

there was a funky candle sitting in the far left corner. it was definitely for decoration because the wick was in perfect condition. it was baby blue. a cube of bubble shaped wax. nothing underneath it. obviously, whoever sat here never intended to light it.

and then he heard it. heels clicking behind him followed by loud giggles and chatter. one set turned into four sets. he turned his hair, the brown curls he'd managed to take care of after prison were pushed back.

you looked at him, stopping in place. jj, emily, and penelope stopped behind her in the points of triangle. your hands rested on your hips.

the smile that pulled the corners of your lips didn't seem genuine. you looked at spencer like he was fresh meat. like he hadn't worked at the bau for over a decade.

"you must be spencer." you stuck your hand out for him to shake. when he didn't grab your hand, the smile left you completely.

"my name is━." you introduced yourself, penelope immediately stepping in front of you to stand next to spencer. she stood on her tip toes to whisper in his ear. "and she is a massive deal, einstine." her voice wasn't quiet.

and it brought a smile back to your lips. but spencer felt a lot of things upon seeing you in real life and not just in a photo frame sitting on your desk.

spencer didn't know what to think about you. you just looked so.. hard to read.

he both feared you and loved you. he was just standing here staring at you. his sized you up, eyes lingering on the open top buttons of the blue and white stripped blouse you had on.

a snicker left your lips while you watched spencer blatantly stare at the top of your chest that the open buttons exposed. "these? these are real, dr. reid." you giggled when his face went red.

spencer attempted to stammer out an apology, but he knew it would only add fuel to your fire.

you had money and looks. completely power drunk. when luke came by and dropped off an iced coffee on your desk, setting it on the pink and white checkered coaster, one thing was obvious to spencer.

this whole bau humped your leg like a chihuahua.

you were the prettiest poison he'd ever seen. those instagram filters girls used to appear a different way? they looked just like you.

but before spencer could say anything to you at all, a different woman came into the bullpen with a stack of papers in her hands. she looked at you with a big smile.

spencer didn't miss the way you looked at the three girls behind you, a roll of your eyes and the cockiest smile on your face.

"agent! i'm valerie nguyen with empower-her press. we tried to contact you after you arrested that killer in memphis yesterday but you.. brushed us off.." the woman rubbed the back of her neck anxiously.

you raised an eyebrow at her. "so you found out where i worked and started to stalk me?" you folded your arms over your chest, a powerful look on your face.

the ginger woman stammered. "no.. i.. we.. can i just-- what's your name, agent?" valerie really was something. she had potential.

but not nearly enough for you to acknowledge.

"my name is━. and i am a massive deal." you repeated penelope's words, causing sweet garcia to fawn over you even more. it felt like unspoken praise. even if it was practically plagiarism. a win was a win to her.

valerie smiled gratefully, scratching that down on a notepad. "again, i'm valerie nguyen if you wanted to use my name in our interview," her cheeks grew pink. "i just feel--"

you cut her off, a sickeningly sweet smile on your face. "i don't care who you are. i don't care how you feel. valerie, if you ever bother me at my oh-so-important job again, i'll get a restraining order against you. a non-verbal yes, isn't consent to interview me, 'kay? buh-bye now." you wiggled your fingers at her while she paled.

"toodles." garcia added behind you, followed by jj and emily saying something as well.

you turned back to spencer, a smile back on your face. "we have a lot to learn about each other, huh, reid?" you grabbed his hand, dismissing your little minions.

while sitting next to you, spencer had learned one thing.

you were a total mean girl. cold, shiny, fake, and plastic.

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vexwerewolf · 2 years ago

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I always figured the Imperials were the good guys.

Nnnnnngh… no. Imperials are the better of two bad options, and it's really muddied because Bethesda lost its good writers years before Skyrim came out. I can feel a hyperfixation coming on, so a quick TL;DR: the Empire is an Empire so it's still bad, the Stormcloaks are just racist saboteurs led by a Manchurian agent and Tiber Septim is a gigantic piece of shit who ruined everything.

Okay, so the Empire functionally lost its equivalent of the Mandate of Heaven when Martin Septim died heirless at the end of Oblivion. His sacrifice forged a new compact to end the Daedric incursions, but by that point Imperial infrastructure throughout Tamriel had been so badly damaged that it could no longer maintain order. By the time the Mede dynasty got its feet under it, several provinces had either risen in revolt against the Empire or and were busy violently settling bitter generational rivalries with each other.

Most notably, this included the Thalmor, who are openly and proudly an Altmer supremacist movement. Their primary goal is to end the dominion of Men on Tamriel and institute a second Merethic Era dominated by them. This is the most obvious reason for why they want to ban Talos worship - the idea that a Man could become Divine is grossly incompatible with their worldview. (I must note that there's also a much-discussed fan theory stating that they intend to unmake creation in its current form and destroying Talos worship is part of that, but it's partially based on sources whose canonicity is in doubt, so I'm not going to discuss it further at this time.) The Thalmor are pretty much explicitly Elf Nazis, right down to invading foreign countries and rounding up their religious minorities.

It should be considered, however, that Tiber Septim was an UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE PIECE OF SHIT. There's credible evidence that during his mortal life he assassinated the Cyrodillian monarch to whom he had sworn fealty and then seized his throne. He had a dalliance with Berenziah that ended up getting her pregnant, then forcibly abducted her and had the child aborted without her consent. After gaining Numidium from a treaty with the Tribunal of Morrowind, he discovered that they hadn't given them its power source (Lorkhan's Heart - understandable, since it was the source of their false divinity), and so he created a new one, the Mantella, by tearing the souls out of Ysmir and Zurin Arctus, two of his most loyal companions. He used Numidium to brutally conquer the rest of Tamriel and then turned it on all the noble families in Cyrodil who hadn't supported him. His empire - as all empires are - was built entirely on murder, pillage and rape. And - as all emperors do - he rewrote his own history because nobody dared openly oppose it. If the Aedra truly did award him a seat amongst them after this (and the fact that his bloody armor counts as "the blood of a divine" in Oblivion suggests that they did), it's questionable whether any of them are worthy of worship.

Nonetheless, worship of Talos was of extreme cultural importance to the Nords, because he was considered by history to have been a Nord, and indeed born in Atmora, the mythic first homeland of the Nords (although, again, it's likely he was just fucking lying - heterodox historical accounts suggest he was born in High Rock and never saw Atmora in his life). The White-Gold Concordat was formulated specifically to provoke division between the remaining provinces of the Empire - the Thalmor correctly predicted that the Nords would never tolerate being stripped of their right to worship Talos, and would rise in revolt against an Empire that mandated it.

The specific cause of the Stormcloak Rebellion is also… dubious. During the war with the Thalmor, the Imperial Legion had all but pulled out of Skyrim. This allowed an uprising by the Reachmen, an ethnic minority within southwestern Skyrim who, notably, had been brutally disenfranchised and stripped of their land by… Tiber Septim! Thanks, Talos, you continue to be a gigantic piece of shit! Anyway, they seized control of Markarth and held it for two years, during which by most accounts they ruled it as an independent kingdom that was making overtures towards being recognised by the Empire. After the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, Ulfric Stormcloak raised an army to retake it, and was promised by the Jarl of the Reach (and, allegedly, the Empire itself) that worship of Talos would be freely allowed in Markarth. Ulfric Stormcloak then proceeded to lay siege to the city and butcher it, ethnically cleansing the city of every last Reachman down to the women and children, slaughtering any Nord who had collaborated with them and allegedly even killing those citizens of Markarth who hadn't answered his call to arms.

Inevitably, the Thalmor found out about the Talos worship anyway and the Jarl was forced to sell out Ulfric and his men. This is generally considered to be the betrayal that sparked the civil war, but at this point we must examine who Ulfric is.

Ulfric was trained in the Thu'um from an early age by the Greybeards, but abandoned his tutelage to fight in the Great War. We know little of his performance other than that he was captured by the Thalmor, tortured extensively, and falsely made to believe that the information he had given under torture was instrumental in the fall of the Imperial City. His father, the Jarl of Windhelm, died while he was in prison, and he was forced to deliver a eulogy via a letter that he had smuggled out of the prison. He claims he escaped from captivity, while Thalmor records claim that they let him go intentionally; neither source is particularly reliable.

From a sociopolitical standpoint, Ulfric is a staunch Nordic traditionalist who openly states that he doesn't believe Skyrim has had a "true" High King for centuries, considering recent monarchs to simply be puppets installed by the Empire. He also seems to be deeply racist: in contrast to his father, he banned Argonians from entering Windhelm proper, confining them to the Assemblage on the docks, and he's allowed racist sentiments towards the Dunmer residents of the Grey Quarter to worsen. Even citizens of Windhelm who support the rebellion comment that isn't doing very much governing, since the civil war eats up most of his attention.

One point I will give to Ulfric is that establishing Skyrim as an independent kingdom that can actively resist the Thalmor isn't actually as far-fetched as it seems. After the White-Gold Concordat ceded half of Hammerfell to the Thalmor, Hammefell said "how about fuck you," broke from the Empire entirely, and smacked the Thalmor down so hard they had to sign the Second Treaty of Stros M'Kai and retreat from Hammerfell entirely. This rendered the nation a haven for those opposed to the Thalmor, and they're in such a strong position that the Alik'r can actively hunt Thalmor collaborators like Saadia in other nations. Hammerfell is in a better position than Skyrim, and it did it without any Imperial aid.

(A hilarious fact about the Hammerfell situation is that the Thalmor tried the exact same thing there - inciting a civil war between the Crowns and the Forebears, two factions that have hated one another for generations. Unfortunately, they fucked it up so badly that it actually managed to end the rivalry and unite both of them against the Thalmor.)

But this is where Bethesda's inability to actually capitalize on the good parts of their writing really gets to me.

The Empire in Skyrim… sucks. Like, from your perspective as a player, the first experience you have of the Empire is "okay, so you were at the border alongside this guy and we're executing him today so I guess you get to die too." The only decent Imperial you meet is Hadvar, who makes a lukewarm plea for your life but doesn't press the issue.

All of the Imperial Jarls except for Balgruuf and Idgrod Ravencrone are dogshit. Elisif is a naive, incompetent teenager. Siddgeir is an arrogant, incompetent ponce. Igmund is a spineless Thalmor toady reigning over stolen land, having broken a promise he made to Ulfric and thus being partially responsible for the civil war. The replacement Jarls you get if you side with the Empire and conquer territories the Stormcloaks hold at the start of the game fall into two categories: "who?" and "oh fuck not you." If I say the names Brina Merilis or Kraldar, I bet you won't even remember who I'm talking about. Brunwulf Free-Winter, the replacement for Ulfric Stormcloak, has ONE personality feature and it's "I'm slightly less racist than Ulfric." But when you capture Riften for the Empire, the new Jarl is MAVEN FUCKING BLACK-BRIAR, THE SECOND-WORST PERSON IN SKYRIM.

But the Stormcloaks suck worse. Laila-Law Giver is a puppet for the Black-Briar crime family. Skald the Elder is a grumpy, hidebound old man. Korir might as well not be ruling anything at all. If you side with them, you have to sell out Balgruuf when the matter of Whiterun comes up - a man who has never been anything but helpful, supportive, trusting and forthright with you. Oh, and let's not forget that if you take the Reach for the Stormcloaks, the new Jarl is THONGVOR SILVER-BLOOD, LITERAL SLAVEOWNER AND WORST PERSON IN SKYRIM.

(There is an absolutely cursed timeline wherein during the "territory trade" at the peace talks you can hold during the main quest if you haven't finished the civil war quest yet where Maven gets the Rift and Thongor gets the Reach, meaning you have just installed the two most powerful crime families in the country into positions of executive power.)

This isn't just a case of "of course both sides aren't perfect and have issues." This is just "both sides fucking suck." A better game would allow you to make some headway in resolving the massive issues that face Skyrim, but I've already written like nine billion words here so maybe I should go into that at a different time.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #writing #bethesda

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fizzigigsimmer · 7 months ago

Text

Harringrove Halloween Ficlet

I didn't have time to participate in kinktober or to write a full spooky fic this year, but there is no stopping my love for this season or how it gets the plot bunnies hopping. Shout out to @robthegoodfellow for listening to my brain rot and helping this come together.

I was laughing at all those "Satan impregnates his bride" memes, and IDK bumbling Satantic Witch!Steve was born.

~*~

The Bride of Satan.

There’s a naked man on Steve’s bed. Maybe hey's still a boy. No telling. He’s built like - holy shit - but there’s a roundness to the slope of his shoulders and the edges of his face, that could be called baby soft. Could mean he’s closer to Steve’s own age of nineteen than the wear and tear on his body and the layers of compact muscle imply.

Steve absolutely does not look at the naked man’s dick, so it doesn’t factor into the boy vrs man argument blitzing through his head, like at all. Not that it should. That would be weird - and also Steve doesn’t have time to worry about how old the stranger in his bed is. He needs to figure out some way to send him back to wherever he came from. And, most importantly of all, he needs to repeat the summoning spell before the moonlight is gone or the ritual will be ruined. If he fucks up the ceremony there will be no way to hide it from the rest of the coven.

He looks back down at the heavy book he’s been studying for months in preparation for this night, rereading the steps to the spell. He did everything right. He’s sure of it. Said the words to invite the devil in and strengthen the coven.

He drank the wine and ate the herb at just the right spots, and stripped himself down to his cotton briefs without tipping over from the high. He’d felt the tingle in his fingers and toes spread out in a warm rush all over his body just like Paul (who had done the ceremony the year before) had described when he'd asked.

Roll the blades of willow grass in… wait. Shit. Realizing that he’d already read that part, Steve blinks slowly and refocuses his eyes on the page. This would be so much easier if the page would stop pulsing. He doesn't pretend to understand the magic, but right now there should be a naked girl in his bed. Maybe a witch from one of their sister covens, or just some ordinary girl from the suburbs who wouldn’t know anything about fertility rituals or witches; but a girl.

Because it’s a god damned fertility ritual! Frustrated Steve heaves the book aside and drops his head into his arms, defeated. The Child is definitely not coming this year. Fuck! He’d messed it up somehow. How had he messed up this bad?

Steve swallows and tries to ignore the little voice of shame in his head that says he knows exactly how the ritual failed, and Nancy's voice following it like an echo.

You have to believe. You have to want it Steve or it loses its power.

Yes well. Forgive him for having mixed feelings on ushering in the birth of the anti-christ. That's like - huge.

The sound of shifting on the bed alerts him to the fact that the stranger is waking up, but Steve can’t muster up enough care to look up from his knees. His life is pretty much over right now. If he’s not banished from the coven for good for being such a colossal waste of witch, he’ll eat his hat. Paul's seed hadn't taken but at least he actually completed the ritual!

“Uh…who the hell are you?” The man on the bed says in a softer tone than Steve would have expected for someone waking up in his position.

The words are right, but the blond sounds kind of slow and muzzy, like he’s about to fall back asleep. So not a witch then. Ordinary humans aren’t as tolerant of the magic as satan's daughters and their descendants are. Thank the morning star for small blessings. It means that when this stranger wakes up back in his own bed or wherever the devil found him, he won’t remember any of this.

"I'm fucked." Steve answers into his knees, and the stranger shifts again on the bed.

"Oh. Well hi Fuck-Head. I'm Billy."

Steve snorts a laugh, surprised that it's only a little bit bitter. Okay. That was funny. Intrigued despite himself Steve raises his head and peers over at the man. He's sitting up now, balanced on one elbow, gazing down at Steve with soft blue eyes fanned by honey colored lashes. Steve gulps.

"How come you're not scared?"

Billy shrugs.

"Either this is a dream or Eddie was right and I'm about to be sacrificed to the devil." he answers, head moving back and forth slowly as he eyes the ring of animal bones and rows of burning candles that surround the bed.

"Eddie talks too much." Steve grumbles, before it sinks in that if Billy knows Eddie than he must be a local. There are obviously non-believers in Hawkins but the Coven has been going strong here for hundreds of years so maybe Billy comes from a family of witches after all. He doesn't know why a little spark of hope starts burning inside him at the thought.

"So I am being sacrificed?"

"No. I mean you were supposed to be," Steve tries to explain while Billy gives him a skeptical look. He sighs. "Look yeah I summoned you but you're not right for the ritual, so I guess you're off the hook."

"What, you telling me I'm not a good enough human sacrifice Pretty Boy? Last time I checked I fit the bill."

"Last time you checked, huh?" Steve huffs, biting back a smile. "I don't think there are qualifications for human sacrifices."

Billy shakes his head with a click of his tongue.

"See that's where you're wrong. What if I was like a rapist, or had murdered a bunch of kids? The sacrifice has to be pure right? Where's the fun in devouring a soul that is already hellbound? "

He's definitely a witch! Steve thinks, elated, only to doubt himself a moment later. Or maybe he's just super into the occult, like Eddie.

"Babe. Blond. Virgin." Billy ticked off on his fingers, a shit eating grin creeping over his face. It's a little unsettling what with the glaze over his eyes. "That's how it goes, and I'm all three baby."

Steve huffs a laugh. Can't help it. Yeah thats how it goes in the movies, but in reality the devil isn't all that picky about who humans decided to serve up in his honor. That is a trivial human decision gladly left in the hands of his faithful followers. It is the end of the world and the coming of The Child that he took very very seriously.

"Well lucky for you this isn't that kind of sacrifice."

"What kind is it then?" Billy asks dropping his hand into his lap and shifting on the bed.

"It's - are you jerking off?!"

Billy's hand pauses momentarily where it's rubbing over the stiffening flesh between his legs. He sounds surprised when he answers.

"Oh. Yeah. Kinda super horny actually."

Oh. Right. Of course he is.

"That's part of the magic." Steve explains. "It's easier to complete the ritual if you're in like a faugh or whatever."

"Horny fog. Got it. And this ritual, what's that about?"

"Well it's layered. We offer the devil a host and he strengthens the coven."

"Uh huh."

Steve bites his lip. Swallows. It is very hard trying to recall his ceremonial history when Billy keeps stroking his cock like that. It fits nicely in his hand. Not comically big, but just big enough and flushed an almost pretty shade of red.

"In exchange he takes our seed, our mortal flesh, and sews into another." Steve finishes in a rush. "To make a baby. Sometimes."

"Fuck. That's weird." Billy says, stroking himself faster. Steve can't take his eyes off of him.

"Yeah... very weird."

"Didn't think old lucy was such a family guy."

"He's not really. There's only been daughters so far and he needs a son."

For some reason this made Billy toss back his head and laugh.

"Sounds like my dad."

Steve doesn't have to ask what he means. Most of the dads he knows are pricks and Billy can't mean he's devil born. If The Child had come before now Steve wouldn't be in this predicament - which would be sitting on the floor of his bedroom with a raging hard on, watching a stranger jerk off in his bed.

"So you see now? I fucked up. I can't do the ritual and that's gonna weaken the coven."

Billy hums, and the sound goes straight to Steve's dick. Fuck he's starting to leak and it's just embarrassing because there's no way to hide the wet spot seeping through his briefs. Why is this his life?!

"How do you know you fucked it up?" Billy suddenly asks, jerking Steve out of his spiral.

"Huh? What do you mean. Billy, I can't impregnate you!"

"You could try! Damn it, I'm dying over here." Billy cries in exasperation releasing his dick - now an angry looking red bordering on purple - and Steve scrambles to his feet in alarm as Billy throws himself backwards onto the bed.

"Billy-?" Steve reaches for him, worried as the blond squirms on the bed before flopping over onto his stomach and grinding his hips down into the mattress.

"Look. You said sometimes. Sometimes there's a baby. But your coven still gets its power boost or whatever the fuck." Billy grunts between humps. Steve has no idea where he's going with this.

"Yeah?"

"So, I'm here! I'm here and obviously devil spawn isn't required, so just fuck me!"

Billy is right Steve realizes. He's so right! He's beautiful and brilliant and so so right!

Grinning, Steve shucks his briefs. He's on top of Billy a moment later.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #halloween ficlets #impregnate him Steve #sorry not sorry

70 notes · View notes

macabr3-barbi3 · 7 months ago

Text

No Mercy

week 4!!! let's fucking go!!!

COME LOOK AT OUR MASTERLIST BY @synamartia IT'S GORGEOUS

SHOUT OUT TO ALL OF MY WIVES @hazelfoureyes @sugoi-writes @minkdelovely @fraugwinska (WHO MADE ALL OF MY BANNERS AND I LOVE HER AND HER LOVELY BRAIN SO MUCH)

Summary: Adam gets enough of you mouthing off during training and picks a fight. Tags: hate sex, oral sex (male receiving), fighting

You knew Adam was getting a little sick of you- but what was the point in being part of his special inner circle of angels if you couldn’t have a little fun with it?

You had mouthed off to him again, and in all honestly you felt that it was a fair question; what did he even do during the exterminations while everyone else was causing mayhem? From what you heard from the others when you joined the ranks, he usually just flitted around watching the carnage or hovered near the portal back to Heaven without contributing anything himself. So after weeks of asking during training, despite the lieutenant telling you in no uncertain terms to drop it, you finally phrased it a little differently.

“What, are you too weak to actually participate?”

You knew he wasn’t. You could see the muscles that flexed beneath his robes while he watched the girls training, the unparalleled power in his wings when he brought them out. Sometimes it just felt good to stir a reaction out of him, to have a strong emotion aimed your way from a powerful being. And yeah, maybe you were hoping a little bit that the constant questioning would eventually prompt him to give you and the rest of the girls a show- you weren’t the only one that thought your commander was sexy as sin, and a casual show of strength would send everyone through the roof.

Perhaps this was a step too far though.

Lute audibly gasped, as did the rest of your squadron. “Recruit, that is unacceptable,” she hissed, and took a step forward to reprimand you when a large hand on her shoulder stopped her in her place.

“Relax, Danger Tits. I’ll handle it. All of you- clear out.” His mask is calm, aloof, but you can see the twitch of the graphics on his eyes that betray his true emotions. He was pissed.

With no one else daring to question him, everyone including Lute was gone in seconds, leaving only you and Adam on the mats of the training room. He slowly strips his robes off, a simple white tanktop and sweatpants underneath his holy getup. You might have drooled a little at the sight of his bare skin, tendons tensing beneath the surface as he drops the clothing and stretches; he was built like a fucking bear, all compact muscle and wiry hair along his chest and arms, the hint of a stubbly shadow that peeked out beneath the edges of his mask.

You’re distracted from your observation of him when he tosses a spear your way- not one of the official, angelic spears, but the shitty ones used for training. His own hands were empty. “You think I’m weak? Alright, bitch, you fucking asked for it. Come at me.”

You stutter backwards a step, having expected some yelling; not a challenge. “What?”

“You fucking heard me. Swing the goddamn spear.”

Normally you would balk at such a demand- Lute would have your ass if she knew you had swung on Adam even in a joking manner. But Adam looked like he meant business, and he was technically a higher ranking commanding officer than Lute, so…

You swing the spear at him the way you had been taught to take down larger demons- aim for extremities to disarm first, and then go for a killing blow. He dodges with a simple turn of his heel, using his fingers in a ‘come on’ motion and urging you to swing again. But as soon as the spear is within Adam’s reach he has a hold of it, tugging hard from the tip- the force of the action drags you closer to him so he can spew bullshit at you. “You think I’m fucking weak?” He presses a finger to your shoulder and pushes, sending you tumbling back and tripping over yourself to the floor. His grip on the spear tightens with a sickening crunch before he lets it clatter to the ground looking like kindling. “Me? I’m the whole reason you’re here, bitch, and you think you have any business to fucking question me?” He squares his feet, arms lifted in front of him like a shield. “Come on! You’re tough enough to talk all this shit but you won’t actually fight? I’ll kick you off the squad right fucking now.”

You get up and charge him, managing to get one blow between his arms against his chest before he’s laughing and shoving you back again to land hard on your ass. Again, and this time you don’t even get a hit in before he pushes back and you fall. Again. Again. He shows you no mercy every time he knocks you to your ass, laughing like it’s a game and hardly even using his strength to push you around. You climb to your feet this time, and the first true whisper of anger curls around your head like smoke to combat the faint heat you feel at being the sole focus of his attention with no one else around to witness it. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, while your breath was coming hard, sweat dripping down your face from the exertion. You feel your face set into a snarl as you rush him this time, swinging a leg instead of your fist and aiming below the belt.

Bad sportsmanship maybe, but so was laughing in your face every time you failed to strike him.

It doesn’t matter- he catches your leg behind the knee like he had caught the spear, pulls you closer in a similar fashion, and wraps a hand around your throat. His wings open up behind him, and in a move so quick you’re not entirely sure how it happened, he’s managed to flip the pair of you into the air and slam you hard into the ground.

The air is knocked out of you, something not helped by the hand that rests on your airways, and the motion has dislodged Adam’s mask- he shakes his head to fling it off, and you’re greeted with his actual face, scruffy and rugged and too handsome for how close your bodies are- and you were right about how easy this was for him, not the slightest hint of moisture along his hairline. Adrenaline courses in your veins, demanding movement and action that you can’t attempt with Adam’s weight settled on top of you, still holding the leg he had caught at an uncomfortable angle hear his hip. It mixes dangerously with the arousal you’ve felt this entire time, making you want to do something stupid and telling like rubbing yourself against one of his thick thighs while he squeezed softly at your neck.

“Low blow to go for my dick,” he admonishes as he lets go of your leg and it slams back to the ground. “All that trash you talk and look how fucking easy it was to get you pinned under me. Still think I’m fucking weak?” His fingers flutter around your throat as he repositions, the action sending a blush racing to your face and spreading to your collarbone. He doesn’t miss it, a cruel smirk taking over his handsome features while he looks down at you. “So that’s the deal, huh? You just wanted a fucking excuse for me to manhandle you a little bit? You kinky bitch.”

“Fuck you,” you snap at him, trying to turn your blushing face away, and he releases a single finger from the grip around your neck to dig into your cheek and turn you back to face him. The move is such a casual show of his strength that it makes you swallow hard, unable to clench your thighs together with him between them.

“You wish,” he laughs, his eyes bright and mischievous, and he uses his free hand to grab the length of his cock through his sweatpants, a dark patch where the tip rested against the fabric. “Shit, knowing you’re getting off on this is hot as fuck- but being a mouthy brat doesn’t get you fucking rewarded, so here’s what we’re gonna do.” He finally releases your throat, allowing you to suck in a lung full of air while he stands before he offers a hand to you. He only helps you up from the mat as far as your knees before he pulls away, crossing his arms over his burly chest. “You’re either gonna leave- and stop fucking questioning me during training, or I really will kick you off the team- or you’re gonna put that fucking mouth of yours to good use for once."

Like there was any question about that.

You settle more comfortably onto your knees and wait, but he doesn’t do anything more than pulling his waistband down below his cock and stroking it in front of you. And fuck, it was going to be a generous mouthful, the girth of him impressive even in Adam’s huge hands, if he ever got around to doing anything about it. “Are you going to do something with that,” you snark, and his eyes narrow. “Or do you have to wait for the women in your life to do everything for you-”

He takes the opportunity your open mouth presents him and thrusts his hips forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, triggering the muscles there to clench hard before he retreats until just the tip is left in your mouth. “I was hoping you’d take some fucking initiative,” he snaps, “but I guess just like with the fighting you’re all bark and no bite. If you want me to just use you like a fucking slut then that’s what I’ll do.”

He applies the slightest bit of pressure to the hinge of your jaw to get you to open up wider, and this time his entry is slow and controlled as he fills your mouth with the heavy weight of his cock, the taste of him salty and dark across your tongue. You moan around him, the sound unable to escape with how fully he takes up the space between your lips, and the vibrations make his hips jerk.

You reach a hand up to wrap around the substantial length that you don’t have in the wet cavern of your mouth yet, and he reprimands you with a harsh tug on your hair. When you glare up at him, he smirks; his golden eyes are a little glazed over, a flushed tint to his cheeks. “No fucking hands,” he tells you. “You got yourself into this with just your mouth, that’s how you’re gonna get out of it, too.” He keeps his grip on your locks to guide your head, pulling you further down onto his cock with a guttural groan tearing from his throat. Your own throat tenses at the intrusion, a blockage of your air from the inside rather than the out, and your eyes water at the strain of trying to breathe through your nose before he pulls out enough that you can breathe again.

It’s so fucking good. You don’t think he would react kindly to you slipping a hand under your training shorts so you refrain from doing so, instead simply rocking your hips against nothing while you let him use you to take out his frustrations- fair enough, since you had caused them.

Adam keeps a steady rhythm while he fucks your face, your mouth open and lax for him to use as he pleases; only occasionally does he push in a little further, letting the head of his cock dip into the wet clutch of your throat and bump against your soft palate. “That’s fucking right,” he pants as he notices the tears that stream down your cheeks- he uses the thumb of the hand still holding your mouth open to brush an errant drop away from your cheekbone. “You look good like this- fuck, I would have let you choke on my cock sooner if I knew that’s what was gonna finally shut you the fuck up.” You feel the thick vein along the bottom of his length jump with his words where it rubs against your tongue and you know he’s close, the thought of it making you whine around him.

He grunts at the feeling, hips losing their steady movements and his hand tightening in your hair, yanking your head forward and back over him- and then he pulls completely out suddenly, his fist clenched tight around the base of his cock. “Say you fucking want it,” he demands, tugging your hair so your heads tilts enough that you have nowhere to look but at him. Sweat drips down his forehead and chest, darkening the fabric of his shirt so you can see the coarse hair beneath it. “Say you want my cum and maybe I’ll give it to you, even though you don’t fucking derserve it. Come on.” He bumps the head of his cock against your lips and your tongue darts out to greet it, the shock of salt across your tongue enough to break your resolve.

“Please,” you whisper desperately, your voice raspy and rough from how long Adam had been at it. “Fuck, please, Adam-”

“You gonna stop fucking talking back to me? Questioning me?” His hand resumes a slow stroke, the tip glistening with fluid that drips onto the mats below you when he pulls away from your eager tongue.

Fuck no. Not when this was the result it got you. “Not in front of the rest of the squad?” You offer as a compromise, and you can see him considering it before he relents. He wanted your mouth back on him more than he wanted a promise of peace- and honestly, you think he kind of likes the sass.

He parts your lips with his prick again, pushing deep with a single thrust. “I’ll take it,” he groans, and his hips are pistoning once again, not being as careful about not choking this time as he chases his release with the slick hole your mouth provides him. “Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum- fuck, yes-”

He swells in your mouth and spills himself. There’s a couple hot pulses of spend that shoot down your throat and coat your tongue, the last couple of shots streaking across your face and lips when he pulls back, still fisting his cock to coax the last drops out and onto your lips.

The taste is thick and bitter, lingering long after you’ve swallowed. But you’ve never been so turned on in your life, the ache between your thighs transforming into an inferno at the look he gives you, still rocking your hips against the air. He drops to his knees on the mat with you, shoving his hand under the waistband of your training shorts and tracing the folds of your pussy with his thick fingers. “Fuck me, that’s hot,” he mutters. “You got like this just letting me toss you around and suck me off, huh? You want my fingers?” You nod, face flaming, and he brushes the pad of a digit across your clit, your hips jolting. “You want my cock?”

“Please,” you murmur, the sound soft, your head dropping onto his shoulder. “Please, Adam.”

His head turns, lips against your ear as he whispers- “that’s too fucking bad.” And then his hand is yanking out of your shorts and he’s standing, the movement dislodging your head against his shoulder and tipping you sideways onto the mat. From your vantage point on the floor, you see that cocky smirk of his is back in place despite the sweat that drips from his hairline, the flush of his cheeks after a damn good orgasm. “Fucking told you in the beginning that being a mouthy brat doesn’t get rewarded- you have fun taking care of that yourself.” He points finger-guns towards your shorts before bringing the hand he had dipped into your panties to his mouth, and the sputter of indignation you manage doesn’t get much farther than your throat as he sucks your slick from his digits with a mean wink. “Let’s try this again sometime when you learn how to show some respect to your fucking superiors.”

By the time you’ve managed to get yourself back into a somewhat upright position, he’s scooped his mask and robes off the floor and flown out of the training room. The slam of the door echoes in the now empty space, along with your frustrated groan as you fall onto your back.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #coven works #covenkinktober2024 #kinktober #kinktober2024 #adam #x reader #synamartia #hazelfoureyes #minkdelovely #sugoi-writes #fraugwinska #macabr3-barbi3 #adam x reader

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sweethoneyrose83 · 8 months ago

Text

Murder Drones Recipe Ideas

1. Nori-Byte Bites

Ingredients: Sushi rice, nori (seaweed), avocado, imitation crab, sesame seeds, soy sauce

Inspiration: These mini sushi bites are designed to resemble small, compact "bytes" of data or power packs that Murder Drones might consume. The nori wraps give them a dark, sleek look.

Presentation: Shape into perfect squares or cubes for a robotic, mechanical feel. Top with small sesame seeds to resemble tiny data points or circuits.

2. Blackout Burgers

Ingredients: Black brioche buns, beef patties (or plant-based patties), cheddar cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, tomato, spicy aioli

Inspiration: A sleek, dark burger to mimic the ominous atmosphere of the Murder Drones universe.

Presentation: Serve with a side of fries shaped into jagged "energy" strips, and top the burger with a glowing-red ketchup swirl or spicy sauce to resemble glowing drone eyes.

3. Nano-Wire Noodles

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta, garlic, olive oil, chili flakes, shrimp or tofu

Inspiration: These dark, tangled noodles resemble high-tech cables or wires, giving a mechanical yet sleek vibe.

Presentation: Plate in a swirling pattern, and garnish with red chili flakes to resemble scattered debris from drone battles.

4. Plasma Punch

Ingredients: Blue curaçao, lemonade, sparkling water, edible glitter

Inspiration: A futuristic, glowing blue drink to resemble the plasma energy drones might use to power themselves.

Presentation: Serve in a clear glass with glowing ice cubes (LED-embedded ice cubes for an extra cool effect) and a sprinkling of edible glitter to give it a radiant, tech-like shine.

5. Techno Tarts

Ingredients: Puff pastry, dark chocolate, red raspberry filling, powdered sugar

Inspiration: These tart-like pastries resemble hard, metallic exteriors with dark, sinister cores, perfect for a Murder Drone-themed treat.

Presentation: Cut the pastries into geometric shapes like triangles or hexagons, drizzling with raspberry sauce for a blood-like appearance. Dust lightly with powdered sugar to create a contrast between dark and light.

6. Circuit Board Cookies

Ingredients: Black cocoa sugar cookies, green royal icing, edible silver pearls

Inspiration: Decorate these cookies to resemble circuit boards or robotic components.

Presentation: Use a piping bag to create intricate green icing patterns mimicking circuits, adding silver pearls as connectors or "nodes" on the board.

7. "Oil and Gears" Spaghetti

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta (for that oily, dark look), ground beef or plant-based meat, black olives, and diced sun-dried tomatoes.

Instructions:

Cook squid ink pasta to give a "mechanical oil" effect.

Sauté ground beef or plant-based meat with garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives for a savory, rich sauce.

Serve the pasta with the sauce and garnish with shaved parmesan resembling "metal shavings."

8. "Blood Battery" Smoothie

Ingredients: Mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries), coconut milk, and chia seeds.

Instructions:

Blend berries and coconut milk into a deep red smoothie that looks like a "battery fluid" but tastes delicious.

Add chia seeds for texture, mimicking the look of tiny bits of circuitry.

9. "Broken Drone" Nachos

Ingredients: Black tortilla chips, queso, shredded chicken or beef, jalapeños, and avocado.

Instructions:

Scatter black tortilla chips on a baking sheet like "broken drone parts."

Layer with queso, shredded chicken, and jalapeños, and bake until melted and crispy.

Add chunks of avocado to represent the "core systems."

10. "Circuit Board" Pizza

Ingredients: Flatbread, pesto, mozzarella, black olives, cherry tomatoes, and basil.

Instructions:

Spread pesto on the flatbread as the "circuit board."

Arrange mozzarella slices to look like "wiring" and use olives and tomatoes as "buttons" or "nodes."

Bake until cheese is bubbly and garnish with basil leaves for extra "green circuits."

11. "Metallic Heart" Chocolate Truffles

Ingredients: Dark chocolate, heavy cream, and edible metallic luster dust.

Instructions:

Make classic chocolate truffles by melting dark chocolate and mixing with cream to form the ganache.

Shape into hearts and coat with edible metallic luster dust for a shiny, "robotic heart" look.

12. "Battery Acid" Lemonade

Ingredients: Lemon juice, blue curacao, club soda, and ice.

Instructions:

Mix lemon juice and blue curacao for a sour yet strikingly electric blue drink.

Add club soda for some fizz, and serve over ice in clear glasses to resemble "battery acid."

13. "Rust and Decay" Brownies

Ingredients: Dark chocolate brownie mix, cocoa powder, and red food coloring.

Instructions:

Bake brownies using dark chocolate mix.

Add red food coloring to some cocoa powder and sprinkle over the top of the cooled brownies to create the appearance of "rusty decay."

14. Drone Eye Cake Pops

Ingredients:

Cake mix (flavor of your choice)

White chocolate coating

Red candy melts

Candy eyes

Black gel icing

Instructions:

Bake the cake and crumble it into fine crumbs.

Mix the crumbs with frosting to form dough and shape into small balls.

Dip the cake balls in melted white chocolate and let them set.

Drizzle red candy melts to create a "bloody" effect and add candy eyes.

Use black gel icing to add details.

Inspiration: These represent the "eyes" of the drones, with the red candy melt resembling their bloodthirsty tendencies.

15. Oil Spill Ice Cream Sundae

Ingredients:

Chocolate ice cream

Oreo crumbs

Black syrup (chocolate or black food coloring)

Silver sprinkles

Instructions:

Scoop chocolate ice cream into bowls.

Top with crushed Oreo crumbs for a crunchy, "oil spill" effect.

Drizzle black syrup to make it look like spilled oil.

Sprinkle with silver sprinkles for a robotic touch.

Inspiration: A dark and delicious treat inspired by the idea of oil spills and machinery gone wrong in the Murder Drones universe.

16. Blood Orange Sparkling Punch

Ingredients:

4 cups of blood orange juice

1 cup cranberry juice

2 cups sparkling water

Fresh rosemary for garnish

Instructions:

Mix the blood orange juice and cranberry juice.

Add the sparkling water to give it a bubbly effect.

Garnish with fresh rosemary for an eerie, metallic touch.

Inspiration: The punch represents the "oil" or "fuel" that robots might run on, with the blood orange juice symbolizing the dark, ominous mood of the Murder Drones world.

#murder drones #n md #creative writing #n murder drones #serial designation n #uzi doorman #uzi md #n x uzi #md uzi #murder drones uzi #nori doorman #murder drones nori #recipes #recipe ideas #recipies

73 notes · View notes

psychedelic-charm · 6 months ago

Text

Murder Drones Recipe Ideas

1. Nori-Byte Bites

Ingredients: Sushi rice, nori (seaweed), avocado, imitation crab, sesame seeds, soy sauce

Inspiration: These mini sushi bites are designed to resemble small, compact "bytes" of data or power packs that Murder Drones might consume. The nori wraps give them a dark, sleek look.

Presentation: Shape into perfect squares or cubes for a robotic, mechanical feel. Top with small sesame seeds to resemble tiny data points or circuits.

2. Blackout Burgers

Ingredients: Black brioche buns, beef patties (or plant-based patties), cheddar cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, tomato, spicy aioli

Inspiration: A sleek, dark burger to mimic the ominous atmosphere of the Murder Drones universe.

Presentation: Serve with a side of fries shaped into jagged "energy" strips, and top the burger with a glowing-red ketchup swirl or spicy sauce to resemble glowing drone eyes.

3. Nano-Wire Noodles

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta, garlic, olive oil, chili flakes, shrimp or tofu

Inspiration: These dark, tangled noodles resemble high-tech cables or wires, giving a mechanical yet sleek vibe.

Presentation: Plate in a swirling pattern, and garnish with red chili flakes to resemble scattered debris from drone battles.

4. Plasma Punch

Ingredients: Blue curaçao, lemonade, sparkling water, edible glitter

Inspiration: A futuristic, glowing blue drink to resemble the plasma energy drones might use to power themselves.

Presentation: Serve in a clear glass with glowing ice cubes (LED-embedded ice cubes for an extra cool effect) and a sprinkling of edible glitter to give it a radiant, tech-like shine.

5. Techno Tarts

Ingredients: Puff pastry, dark chocolate, red raspberry filling, powdered sugar

Inspiration: These tart-like pastries resemble hard, metallic exteriors with dark, sinister cores, perfect for a Murder Drone-themed treat.

6. Circuit Board Cookies

Ingredients: Black cocoa sugar cookies, green royal icing, edible silver pearls

Inspiration: Decorate these cookies to resemble circuit boards or robotic components.

Presentation: Use a piping bag to create intricate green icing patterns mimicking circuits, adding silver pearls as connectors or "nodes" on the board.

7. "Oil and Gears" Spaghetti

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta (for that oily, dark look), ground beef or plant-based meat, black olives, and diced sun-dried tomatoes.

Instructions:

Cook squid ink pasta to give a "mechanical oil" effect.

Sauté ground beef or plant-based meat with garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives for a savory, rich sauce.

Serve the pasta with the sauce and garnish with shaved parmesan resembling "metal shavings."

8. "Blood Battery" Smoothie

Ingredients: Mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries), coconut milk, and chia seeds.

Instructions:

Blend berries and coconut milk into a deep red smoothie that looks like a "battery fluid" but tastes delicious.

Add chia seeds for texture, mimicking the look of tiny bits of circuitry.

9. "Broken Drone" Nachos

Ingredients: Black tortilla chips, queso, shredded chicken or beef, jalapeños, and avocado.

Instructions:

Scatter black tortilla chips on a baking sheet like "broken drone parts."

Layer with queso, shredded chicken, and jalapeños, and bake until melted and crispy.

Add chunks of avocado to represent the "core systems."

10. "Circuit Board" Pizza

Ingredients: Flatbread, pesto, mozzarella, black olives, cherry tomatoes, and basil.

Instructions:

Spread pesto on the flatbread as the "circuit board."

Arrange mozzarella slices to look like "wiring" and use olives and tomatoes as "buttons" or "nodes."

Bake until cheese is bubbly and garnish with basil leaves for extra "green circuits."

11. "Metallic Heart" Chocolate Truffles

Ingredients: Dark chocolate, heavy cream, and edible metallic luster dust.

Instructions:

Make classic chocolate truffles by melting dark chocolate and mixing with cream to form the ganache.

Shape into hearts and coat with edible metallic luster dust for a shiny, "robotic heart" look.

12. "Battery Acid" Lemonade

Ingredients: Lemon juice, blue curacao, club soda, and ice.

Instructions:

Mix lemon juice and blue curacao for a sour yet strikingly electric blue drink.

Add club soda for some fizz, and serve over ice in clear glasses to resemble "battery acid."

13. "Rust and Decay" Brownies

Ingredients: Dark chocolate brownie mix, cocoa powder, and red food coloring.

Instructions:

Bake brownies using dark chocolate mix.

Add red food coloring to some cocoa powder and sprinkle over the top of the cooled brownies to create the appearance of "rusty decay."

14. Drone Eye Cake Pops

Ingredients:

Cake mix (flavor of your choice)

White chocolate coating

Red candy melts

Candy eyes

Black gel icing

Instructions:

Bake the cake and crumble it into fine crumbs.

Mix the crumbs with frosting to form dough and shape into small balls.

Dip the cake balls in melted white chocolate and let them set.

Drizzle red candy melts to create a "bloody" effect and add candy eyes.

Use black gel icing to add details.

Inspiration: These represent the "eyes" of the drones, with the red candy melt resembling their bloodthirsty tendencies.

15. Oil Spill Ice Cream Sundae

Ingredients:

Chocolate ice cream

Oreo crumbs

Black syrup (chocolate or black food coloring)

Silver sprinkles

Instructions:

Scoop chocolate ice cream into bowls.

Top with crushed Oreo crumbs for a crunchy, "oil spill" effect.

Drizzle black syrup to make it look like spilled oil.

Sprinkle with silver sprinkles for a robotic touch.

Inspiration: A dark and delicious treat inspired by the idea of oil spills and machinery gone wrong in the Murder Drones universe.

16. Blood Orange Sparkling Punch

Ingredients:

4 cups of blood orange juice

1 cup cranberry juice

2 cups sparkling water

Fresh rosemary for garnish

Instructions:

Mix the blood orange juice and cranberry juice.

Add the sparkling water to give it a bubbly effect.

Garnish with fresh rosemary for an eerie, metallic touch.

Inspiration: The punch represents the "oil" or "fuel" that robots might run on, with the blood orange juice symbolizing the dark, ominous mood of the Murder Drones world.

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #n x uzi #nori doorman #recipes #recipe ideas #not mine #sweethoneyrose83

30 notes · View notes

rahuratna · 3 months ago

Text

A little gift for the lovely @cmdrfupa . Happy birthday, friend!

Synopsis: A chance meeting with a stranger by a riverside opens a brief window into another world.

[Slight Reader x Toji]

On a cobweb afternoon

In a room full of emptiness

By a freeway I confess

I was lost in the pages

Of a book full of death

~ Like a Stone (lyrics) - Audioslave

The streetlamps flicker frequently in this part of the city.

It's part of the appeal, you suppose.

You can appreciate spaces like these, hollowed out of concrete and compacted earth by some higher being's blunt-edged knife, pockets of quiet amidst the chaos.

The pavements are older, a fine tracery of cracks spreading beneath your steady stride. They are as familiar to you as the softly glowing jewels of steam, scent and spice that beckon along the sides of the riverwalk.

This was why you always chose this route after a long day at work. Each tiny food stall sent out its siren's call, every bowl of udon or heaped plate of curry set out like offerings to the downtrodden deities of the late shift, yourself included.

Today, you had a particular destination in mind. The weather had taken a turn over the last few days, chilly air creeping under the doors of your apartment, sudden sweeps of icy air waiting in ambush for your hapless ankles.

The only thing to remedy such a situation was the tonkotsu ramen at the stand you came to every fortnight. You were certainly ready to inhale a bowl of the rich, heady broth, to watch the egg yolk dispel within, warm, quivering, like a sunrise over winter treetops.

Hastening you steps, you spied the canvas strips hanging from the awning, the small hand-written signs that advertised specials and topping prices. You didn't need to consult that list. You knew exactly what you'd be ordering.

Tucking your satchel into the small space beneath the counter, you clambered onto a stool, anticipation for the meal to come temporarily drawing your attention away from the booth's only other occupant.

You were vaguely aware of him, of the fact that he was very tall and broad of shoulder, as you received your tea and took a scalding sip. Finally turning your glance to him, you almost performed a double take.

He certainly was tall, but even under the concealing lines of the dark sweater, you didn't think you'd ever seen someone built quite like him before.

There was a certain predatory grace to his power, corded lines of sinew tracing up his neck, a heaviness to his large hands, a capability for feats of strength you couldn't possibly fathom.

His features were what most would consider exceptionally good looking, but there was something there, in the hooded shadow of his eyes, in the semi-amused curve of his scarred lips, in the flare of his nostrils and the effortless drape of his dark, dark hair that was both fascinating and repellent. Like the gaze of a cobra, cold, relentless, magnetic, he was setting off every warning signal in your mind.

His glance drifted lazily across to you and he offered a measured look. You froze, unable to explain your visceral reaction to this man.

What was going on?

You'd sat at this stall dozens of times. Why was every instinct screaming at you to remove yourself from this space?

Your thoughts were interrupted by his voice, smooth, slightly husky, the cool depths of a murky city river.

"More tea. And a bowl of the tonkotsu."

Your mind was assaulted by the fact that you'd be eating alongside him, here at this stall. You shook your head slightly, as if to clear away cobwebs of doubt.

This was ridiculous. You'd never even met this man before and you'd be damned before such random feelings drove you away from the comfort of your routine. You knew that if you walked away now, you'd look back and regret it, that you'd probably curse your silly instincts for a warning that, in all probability, meant nothing.

Settling your elbows firmly on the countertop before you, you did the one thing that you knew, on some level, you really, really shouldn't.

You started a conversation.

"This place serves the best broth."

His eyes slid sideways towards you again, and you tried to convince yourself that the spike of heady excitement you felt in your abdomen wasn't accompanied by a healthy dose of regret.

He shrugged, noncommittal.

"I've had better."

"Where?"

He didn't answer your question, but now he was watching you more intently. Bringing the small cup to his lips, he took a sip, as if simultaneously drinking in everything that he observed about you. He raised his chin, playfully interrogative.

"Do you come to this stall often?"

"Yes."

"I've never seen you before."

"Ah, I don't usually come at this time. I got off work a little earlier today."

He eyed your steaming bowl as it arrived, and you tucked in a little self-consciously, aware that he was watching you eat.

Trying to dispel the awkwardness you felt (since you were the one who'd initiated this conversation) you asked a question.

"What do you do for work?"

His smile was a sudden flare of unholy glee, and he brushed back his hair with a casual gesture.

"Oh, I'm a jack of all trades, you could say. People make requests, and I see what I can do."

You paused, noodles suspended halfway to your mouth.

"That works for you? In this economy?"

You weren't expecting him to burst into uproarious laughter at your words. You noticed that the ramen vendor didn't even glance in his direction.

Turning his whole body towards you now, he slung one ankle up on his knee. If you'd thought his shoulders were singularly muscular, you'd now got the rest of him to compare them to. It was ... quite the sight.

You took a hurried sip of your tea.

Maybe he hit up the gym really really regularly. That could possibly explain ...

Your thoughts were interrupted by his fingers tapping lightly on the counter.

"This economy is ... more forgiving than you may think. For those of us who exploit a niche."

You weighed up his words.

"So you're saying ... you provide an essential service?"

"Sure. People always need a good clean up."

"Ah."

You nodded in understanding.

"So you do the jobs nobody else wants to do. That makes sense."

Something darkened in his gaze, but that ire wasn't directed at you. For you, there was only casual amusement. You had, seemingly, provided him with a welcome distraction.

"Oh, yeah. Nobody really wants the work I take on. It comes naturally to me, though. And there are parts of it that I've ... come to find satisfying."

"So, I'm guessing that you're very good at what you do."

"The best."

There was no joy to the manner in which he said this, however. It was a cold statement of fact.

"Hmm. I guess office work does have its perks. I have a schedule to stick to. That's one thing I'm guaranteed of."

He shrugged, reaching across to receive the bowl handed to him.

"I don't know if the regular grind is for me. Not any more."

You waved your chopsticks in his direction.

"It's not for everyone. But it does offer some stability. Sometimes I'm thankful for that."

"Stability?"

He snorted in a manner that was undeniably condescending, but the humour didn't reach his eyes. You noticed that there was not much that did.

"Stability won me over for a while. A very short time. Not on the table any more, that's for sure."

You wonder if there's a hint of a failed relationship somewhere in there. You wouldn't be surprised. You asked your next question carefully, averting your eyes from his.

"And were you happy? Around the time you were stable?"

"Happy?"

You'd never heard anyone say the word quite like he did; rolled on the tongue as if bitter, unfamiliar, foreign. A taste of the unknown.

"Hmm. I don't think about those times any more. Not much use."

"That's ... efficient."

"I'm nothing if not efficient."

You finished your meal, setting down your chopsticks across the top of the bowl and placing your hands together in thanks. You reached into your pocket for some cash.

You considered paying for his meal, as thanks for the company, but he'd already produced his own money, the notes lying carelessly crumpled beside his bowl. It was almost as if he'd anticipated your gesture.

Nodding politely, you slid off the stool.

"Have a good night."

"You have any kids?"

His question came from seemingly nowhere. You'd kept the conversation as free of personal details as possible.

It was then that you noticed where his eyes had fallen. There was a little badge, one of the numerous cartoon characters your nephew was fond of, pinned to the strap of your bag. It had been a gift you'd received on your last visit to your sister, and you'd worn it in place of pride.

"Oh, this?"

You gestured to the badge and smiled.

"My nephew. This is his second favourite character. He wouldn't have parted with the best one. So ... this is the one I got."

The man eyed the badge with a strange intensity.

"Second favourite, huh?"

His gaze lifted to yours, and there was no trace of the fond softness that such a conversation might elicit.

"Don't come back here tomorrow."

"Pardon?"

"Dont come to this stand. Here."

He handed you a card, produced from the pocket of his dark slacks.

"This is the other ramen place I told you about. The better one. Try that out tomorrow."

You took the card from him hesitantly, before nodding, tucking your scarf tightly into your coat and making your way down to the walkway. Glancing back, you saw that he had turned his attention to his food once more.

You didn't think much more about the encounter, until the next day.

Sitting in a comfortable booth at the restaurant he'd recommended, a fair distance from the river, you'd allowed your thoughts to wander briefly to him.

You'd never even asked his name. Maybe he'd told you about this place because he didn't want to be disturbed again. Either way, you hoped the food was as good as he'd said it was.

Your phone vibrated slightly and you slid your finger across the screen, noticing a message from Shimeda at the office.

Isn't this on the route you take home? Be careful.

Frowning, you accessed the full attachment to the message, a screenshot of an online article describing a series of explosions that had taken place close to the riverwalk you frequented in the evenings.

Upon investigation, copious traces of blood had been found at the scene, but no bodies. Cameras in the area had picked up nothing. All businesses along the riverside had been closed temporarily, until the investigation showed that no further danger to the public was imminent.

Something about the air within the small booth had grown cloying, your phone clutched like a flimsy lifeline in one hand.

He'd told you not to go back there. He'd told you to come here today.

You realised that your ears were ringing slightly, as if you'd somehow been caught up in the explosion that had rocked the tranquility of the walkway so many miles away from your current place of safety.

Was this what he -

You placed your phone on the table, face down.

No. It wouldn't do for your thoughts to wander in this direction. What was done was done. And he'd obviously done it for a reason.

Flashes of your conversation came back to you, of things vaguely alluded to. His talk of being a 'jack of all trades', of finding a 'niche', of 'cleaning up after others' suddenly took on the gravitas that came with your new knowledge.

Why was it then, that you wished you'd asked him more? Maybe what his favourite flavour of ramen actually was? Maybe you'd have asked him more about happiness, and possibly whether he'd had any children himself.

In the quiet of the restaurant, you let out a brittle laugh, too high. You ignored the look that the waitress gave you.

You supposed that now you'd never know the answers to any of those questions. It was better that you didn't, most likely.

A river eventually spilled into the sea, and sometimes, amidst the unpredictable currents and the shift of silt as dark as blood, all secrets were borne away with it.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gift fic #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #chance encounters #jjk angst #suspense #mystery

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oversease220volts · 10 months ago

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essenyare · 1 month ago

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If Love Was Loud Enough

AO3🚪ENG | 中文

Ｗord Count: 3k (One-shot) WARNINGS: Female! Krauser/Leon S. Kennedy, Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Fluff and Angst, Smut, Praise Kink, Porn With Feelings

This work doesn’t follow rigid top/bottom binaries. Power here is fluid—negotiated, offered, and reshaped through mutual trust. It’s one of the possibilities I see in Metaltango. Thanks for giving it a chance.

01.

The first time Leon saw Jaqueline Krauser, she was pinning a grown man to the mat with one arm and a snarl.

She didn't grunt. She didn’t yell. She just moved—clean, efficient, like she’d rehearsed it a thousand times on bodies bigger and stronger than hers. The guy she flattened was at least six inches taller, bulkier too. Didn’t matter. She had his wrist twisted back, her knee at his spine, and her other hand braced firm against the mat like she could hold him there forever.

Krauser was tall. Solid. All shoulders and back, with thighs like she could crack a man’s skull between them—and maybe she had. Her hair was platinum-blonde, cut sharp and tied tight, most of it tucked beneath a maroon beret. Whether at ease or armed to the teeth, her movements carried the grace of something trained, honed, and fundamentally dangerous.

She moved like a mountain lion: low, fast, unflinching. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation—just power delivered with the casual certainty of something born to dominate.

Leon had stopped breathing somewhere around the moment she shifted her weight, just slightly, and the man beneath her let out a strangled yelp.

“That,” she said, “is what happens when you don’t center your damn weight. You leave your core open, you lose the fight. Simple.”

She stood up and turned. Her eyes swept the training room—and landed on him.

“Kennedy, right?”

Leon swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Front and center. Let’s see what they’ve taught you.”

He tried not to trip on the mat. He really did.

02.

Krauser wasn’t what he expected. Most COs barked orders and watched from a distance. She didn’t. She was hands-on. Blunt. She didn’t hesitate to grab his elbow and snap it into place, or shove his foot an inch back with the heel of her boot when his stance was wrong.

“You hesitate again,” she told him during their third drill, “and I’ll put you through the floor myself. Got it?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Again.”

She strikes like a storm compacted into human form. Every motion was economy and control. There was nothing wasted, nothing soft. Her body was made for this—broad shoulders, arms like corded steel, thighs that tensed with every pivot. She smelled like sweat and gun oil, and when she passed behind him, something in his spine always straightened involuntarily.

Leon told himself it was fear.

He didn’t ask why fear came with heat pooling low in his stomach.

That night, in the barracks, he stripped off his shirt and sat on the edge of his bunk, wiping down his sidearm with too much focus.

He could still feel where she’d grabbed his wrist. Still hear her voice—low, rough, inches from his ear—telling him to shift his weight or she’d floor him again.

His cock twitched. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“Christ. Pull it together.”

But her voice wouldn’t leave. And her hands. The way she didn’t even blink when she had someone beneath her, like she was built for dominance and didn’t need to raise her voice to own the room.

Leon bit his lip, hard.

He wouldn’t jerk off to the thought of his CO...Not tonight, anyway.

But that heat still burned low in his gut. Her image—fierce, decisive, magnetic in a way that left no room for resistance—was seared into the back of his neck like a brand meant for livestock.

He was fucked. He knew it.

And he hadn’t even seen her smile yet.

03.

The rain outside had thinned into near silence, tapping softly against the tin roof like a delayed whisper. Inside, the oil lamp cast a faint amber glow, flickering across the taut, glistening muscles of her back. Krauser knelt in the center of the mattress, her shoulders rising and falling with breaths so shallow they were barely there.

Leon stood behind her, hands wrapped around her waist, fingers trembling—not from fear, but awe.

She was a warrior of myth, an Olympian, Artemis herself, or Skadi returned from the hunt through blizzard. Her body was all muscle and curve, a fusion of strength and softness so overwhelming it left his throat dry and his cock painfully hard.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, voice low, like the spark of a star just lit.

Krauser didn’t answer right away. She turned her head slightly, just enough to look back over her shoulder. Tousled strands of platinum hair clung to her cheekbones, and her eyes shimmered with heat. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She was already soaked. Bite marks lingered at the corner of her lips. Her breath was hot enough to scorch the air. But her voice—when it came—was steady. Too steady. It nearly broke him.

She offered a half-smile, something between a challenge and an invitation.

“I can take it,” she said. “Come on, rookie. Show me what you’ve got.”

Leon almost came right then and there. He nodded, one hand guiding his member, the other steadying her waist as he slowly pressed in.

She was impossibly warm—so wet it felt unreal, so tight he had to stop and breathe. Krauser let out a low, shuddering moan, more exhale than sound, her knuckles whitening as she clenched the sheets.

“Jesus… you're clenching around me,” he murmured, flushed and breathless. “Are you… okay?”

Krauser let out a soft, broken laugh—sweet and fractured all at once. “Didn’t think you’d be this big, sweetheart.”

Leon shuddered, eyes fluttering shut. He leaned forward, lips brushing reverently against the nape of her neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She drew in a sharp breath, voice sinking into the sheets as she whispered:

“Then fuck me like you mean it.”

04.

Krauser was riding him now. She’d pushed him down mid-thrust, rolled her hips deliberately to make him moan, and mounted him like she owned every breath he took.

Leon lay beneath her now, skin flushed, chest heaving. His eyes were wide, almost pleading.

He was supposed to be a soldier. But under her, he felt like prey—panting, twitching, already undone.

“Ma—Major,” he gasped, the word falling from his lips like a confession. “You’re…I—I can’t—”

She slid down on him again, harder this time, letting him feel the full force of her strength. Her inner walls squeezed him mercilessly, slick heat pulling him deeper, making his legs shake.

“Say that again,” she purred, leaning down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He whimpered, trembling under her, brain short-circuiting with every grind of her hips.

“Major,” he choked. “Please, I—oh god—”

She cupped his face with one gloved hand, thumb stroking the corner of his mouth. His eyes glazed, lips parted, utterly lost to the sensation of her taking him apart.

“You’re such a good boy,” she whispered. “So eager for me. barely holding it in, aren’t you?”

He leaned forward, his chest brushing against her breasts, breath hot against her ear.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispered. “So many times.”

Before he could continue, her hand slid down his chest—deliberate, knowing—and her fingers found his nipple. She pinched, hard. Leon cried out, sharp and breathless, his body jolting under her. Something cracked open in him.

He grabbed her wrist, fingers tight around her forearm, not to stop her—but to anchor himself. Then, with a growl caught in his throat, he thrust up into her.

Once. Twice. Three times and more—deep, hard, desperate.

Krauser gasped, low and guttural, her nails scraping down his chest. Her walls clamped around him so hard it knocked the air out of his lungs. She was soaked—dripping—her slick gushing down his length with every punishing snap of his hips.

Leon was trembling now, eyes wild, face twisted in something between pleasure and disbelief.

“God, you’re…fuck, you’re so fucking tight—” His voice collapsed on a gasp before he could finish.

Krauser leaned down, her mouth grazing his ear, her walls tightening like a vise.

“You’re leaking like a good little cock toy,” she breathed. Her fingers slid into his sweat-damp hair, combing through it slowly—almost lovingly—before she kissed him.

Slow. Deep. Owning.

And that broke him.

Leon cried out, high and raw, his entire body arching as his cock twitched violently inside her. He came hard—spilling into her, flooding her, his fingers digging helplessly into her thighs.

He couldn’t hold it. He couldn’t think. All he knew was her heat around him, the tight clutch of her body dragging him under.

It was too much. She was too much. She'd let him in—let him have her—and now he was breaking apart inside her, spilling everything, giving her all he had.

I’m inside her, he thought, dazed. I came inside her. She let me. God, I’m—

His breath hitched, eyes burning. He wasn’t sure if he was crying from the pleasure, the shame, or the terrifying, exquisite way she looked at him like he was hers.

And maybe he did.

Krauser didn’t stop. She kept moving, slow and grinding, her tightness coaxing every last drop from him, even as he gasped, overstimulated and teary-eyed.

“Good boy,” she said again, voice softer now. “That’s it. Give it all to me.”

Leon clung to her like he might fall apart if she let go. His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth still half-open.

“Major…” he whispered, his voice trembling—laced with a reverence pieced together from the rubble.

05.

Krauser slowly lifted herself off of him, breath steady, sweat glistening across her collarbones. She didn’t expect him to last this long. She didn’t expect to want him to.

Leon lay beneath her, chest still rising and falling in broken rhythm, his hands trembling slightly as he stared—wide-eyed—at the thick, cloudy mess dripping from between her thighs.

His seed. Sliding down her skin. Glinting in the low light like something sacred.

He swallowed hard.

“I, uh…” He flushed crimson, eyes darting up, then back down again. “I-I should clean that up, I mean—if you want, I can—”

But she didn’t give him the chance to finish. Krauser grabbed his chin and pushed him back down onto the mattress. Her blade-trained fingers were steady and strong, her eyes half-lidded and sharp as steel.

“Then use your mouth.”

Leon’s breath caught. “What—?” he blinked, stunned, the tip of his tongue already wetting his lips like his body understood before his brain did.

She raised an eyebrow, not letting go of his face. Her voice dropped, velvet and cool.

“You made the mess, rookie. Be a good boy and lick it up.”

His entire body flushed, from his ears to the soles of his feet. His lips parted, caught between protest and submission—but she didn’t need to hear the words. She shifted forward, letting her thighs settle beside his cheeks and spreading out, the slick between her legs just inches from his mouth.

The heat of her body wrapped around his head like a storm. Her muscular thighs—firm, heavy, impossibly strong—pressed against his jaw, and he could feel the warmth radiating from every inch of her skin.

The scent of sweat, sex, his own cum, and her still-pulsing cunt filled his lungs. He couldn’t breathe—he didn’t want to. It was like being pinned by something divine and animal all at once.

Leon whimpered. And he leaned in.

06.

She pulled him up with one arm, effortlessly guiding him onto the bed beside her. Leon curled into her chest without resistance, his breath still uneven, body warm and pliant like a wolf pup that had just eaten too much and was now drunk on heat and safety.

His cheek rested just above her breast. She smelled like sweat, salt, cigarette, and something faintly metallic—like gunpowder.

Her hand slid into his hair, slow, methodical, dragging her fingers along his scalp as if she were calming a restless baby creature startled by thunder.

“You're gonna fall asleep on me,” she muttered, half a smirk on her lips.

Leon let out a soft laugh, still red in the face.

“Maybe. You're…really warm.”

A beat of silence passed. His fingers fidgeted against her hip.

“...Did I do okay?" he asked, tentative, almost afraid to look up. “Was it…good? For you?”

Krauser's eyes flicked down to him lazily. She hummed low in her throat, feigning disinterest.

“You didn’t disappoint.”

Leon blinked. “...That’s it?”

“You expecting a medal, rookie?”

He groaned and buried his face against her chest.

“I just—I don’t want this to be some…one-time thing, that’s all.”

He spoke in fits and starts, like he was afraid of saying too much—and just as afraid of not saying enough.

She paused, fingers slowing in his hair. Then she leaned in slightly, her lips brushing against the top of his head.

“You worry too much,” she murmured. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Leon looked up at her, hopeful. “...So you want me here?”

Krauser didn’t answer. Instead, she tilted his face up and kissed him—slow, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world.

When she pulled back, she smirked again.

“You're lucky I like puppies.”

07.

The hospital stank of antiseptic and ghosts.

Leon pushed the door open slowly. He held a bouquet in one hand—daisies from a roadside vendor, half-wilted from travel—was cradled awkwardly in his hands. His right shoulder was bandaged beneath his shirt, but he could move. Walk. Function.

Krauser was another story.

She sat on the bed, half her body wrapped in gauze, face partially concealed in layers of white. Her left arm was braced, the muscle beneath torn. A nurse stood beside her, mid-way through changing the dressings.

At the sound of Leon entering, Krauser’s gaze snapped toward him. Tense. Sharp. She didn’t speak to him.

The nurse paused, sensing the tension.

“I’ll give you two some time,” she said softly, and left without another word.

The door clicked shut.

Leon stood there for a second, unsure.

“I brought these,” he said, holding up the flowers. “They looked less dead earlier, I promise.”

Krauser glanced at them. Her face unreadable. “You didn’t have to come.”

“You know I did.”

She didn’t argue. Just leaned back against the pillows with a soft grunt, exhaling like the act itself hurt.

“They’re all gone,” she said after a beat. “Echo team. Every single one of them.”

Leon moved closer, setting the flowers down. “I know.”

“They sent us in like bait. No backup. No evac. We weren’t even supposed to come back, Leon.”

He swallowed. “But we did.”

She turned her head slowly, her uncovered eye sharp. “Yeah. You walked out with a scratch.”

Leon didn’t answer. She wasn’t really wrong.

“They used us like fucking fuel packs,” she said, her voice icing over. “Watched us burn, one after another—and didn’t even blink.”

Leon swallowed. “It’s not fair. What happened to us…to you—it’s not right.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” she snapped. Her voice sharpened like a blade. “We were there, Leon. I was there. I felt my arm tear open. I heard the bones snap. I watched Ramirez bleed out through his mask. I was still firing when Chen stopped breathing.”

Her fingers curled into the edge of the blanket, trembling—not from pain, but rage.

“We called for evac. No one came. We were flagged as lost before we were even done breathing.”

She looked at him, jaw clenched.

“They wrote us off the moment we stopped being useful. And you want to talk about fair?”

Leon tried to speak, but her hand shot up. In one motion, she tore the gauze from her face.

The sound was sharp. The silence sharper.

He froze.

A brutal, jagged wound slashed down from the side of her eye to her jawline—swollen, stitched, still raw in places. It cut through the upper corner of her lips, splitting them, leaving one side curled slightly even at rest. The skin around the gash was an angry, furious red, the kind that would never fade completely. Her eye was bloodshot, and her cheekbone looked half-caved beneath layers of deep bruising.

But it wasn’t the wound that made Leon’s stomach drop. It was the look in her eye when she said:

“This isn’t a scar. It’s a fucking dismissal letter.”

She spat the words like acid, her chest rising and falling in tight, shallow breaths.

Leon didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

The silence that followed wasn’t gentle. It was the kind that made the fluorescent lights buzz louder. The kind that made you aware of your heartbeat, of the sterile cold against your skin.

Krauser glared at him. Daring him to say something. Daring him to look away.

He didn’t.

He hesitated, then tried, softly, “You’ll heal. Your face—your arm, the doctors said there’s still function—”

Krauser let out a dry, dangerous laugh.

“Oh, that’s rich. My face?”

Leon lowered his gaze.

“I don’t give a damn about the scar, rookie. You think I’m crying because I won’t be pretty anymore?” Her voice rose. “This isn't about vanity. It's about strength. Dignity. Purpose. They took that. They looked at what was left of me and decided I wasn’t worth keeping.”

Leon opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t give me that look. Like I’m broken. Like I need fixing.”

“I just—” He shook his head. “I want to help you.”

“Help?” she snapped. “You’re still clinging to the idea that this system works. That being loyal gets you something other than a bodybag. You’re not helping me, Leon. You’re just proving how goddamn naive you are.”

Silence crackled in the air between them.

Krauser’s breathing was sharp. Her eyes burned with utter fury.

Leon stepped forward again.

Then, before he could stop himself, he said: “Marry me.”

She stared at him like he’d punched her.

“What?”

“Marry me,” he repeated—louder, shakier this time, like the words were his only defense left.

“…If I asked you to marry me right now, would that scare you more than what they did to us?”

Leon met her gaze, unwavering. “I’m not trying to fix you. I just want you to know I’m not leaving.”

Krauser blinked. Her rage faltered—just slightly.

“…You’re insane.”

“I might be,” he said. “But I’m serious.”

She didn’t look away. Not this time.

“I got the operation on Thursday,” then, after a long pause, she murmured.

“Ask me again when I’m not bleeding everywhere.”

Her voice dropped, not angry this time—just tired. Just human.

-fin-

#metaltango #jack krauser #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #kreon #resident evil #fanfic #by essenyárë

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faeritells · 20 days ago

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king roberon cole welcomes OZ DIGGS to fabletown — or , as they were once known , THE WIZARD from THE WIZARD OF OZ. before the magic mirror , they come glamoured in the mirage of an endless abundance of verdant hues / the cold sharp stare at the end of the knife / a web weaved of parlor tricks and deceit. the tale from which they hail exalted their CHARISMATIC and BOLD , but decried their MANIPULATIVE and DECEITFUL in equal measure. no matter ; this time , they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact , they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions , even that which is little known : he was once a true witch , but his magic was stripped of him by glinda's hand.

| ▊▏ rolling hills lined with vibrant red poppies , a verdant castle as if forged from pure emerald , the sly smile of the wily fox , the mask of a man who never shows his true face , blood soaked fingers , flashing neon signs , city streets engulfed in the sights and sounds of the night life , all you've ever done is play a part.

#PARTONE . . . GENERAL INFORMATION.

name oscar zoroaster isaac norman henkle emmanuel ambroise diggs. nicknames + aliases oz , the wizard of oz. age + dob forty5 in appearance , 80+ in actuality , october twenty5th. titles king of the emerald city ( formerly ). birthplace oz. residence the crooked mile. gender + pronouns cisgender man , he / him. sexuality bisexual. spoken languages english , latin , some french. faceclaim milo ventimiglia. hair black , kept mid length and slicked back. eyes chocolate brown. height 5'9". build athletic. species former witch. tattoos none. piercings none. star sign scorpio. deadly sin wrath. heavenly virtue diligence. occupation proprietor of pudding + pie. mother lucretia diggs ( deceased ). father zoroaster diggs ( deceased ). sibling(s) ozma diggs ( sister ). children none. significant other none. extended family none.

#PARTTWO . . . DOSSIER.

I. born in the emerald caste atop the greatest hill , just as the last of the red poppies succumb to the blight of first frost. the first son to the king and queen and celebrated across the kingdom , along with the eventual birth of his dear baby sister. a celebration less for the birth of the young diggs , but more for the prospect of the peace these heirs could , in theory , bring to the kingdom. lead by a vile man and his equally cruel wife , emerald city had fallen to ruin. the king and queen too cowardly to lose control of their throne cast their son away in hopes he would come back to lead their kingdom in their stead. as mutiny within the kingdom grew and the tyrannical leaders of oz met their end , the young prince returned.

II. trapped in a far off land , separated from his home , status , and power. forced to fend for himself under the guise of a con man , a traveling magician for a cirque that only aided in both his desire to break the hearts of young lovers and empty the pockets of unsuspecting tourists. that is until the twister came , sweeping him up into the seemingly endless spiral and spitting him back out in his far too unfamiliar homeland. the prince had returned , but at what cost?

III. with the king and queen dead , the prince rose to the throne. with his sister as his most trusted advisor and glinda as his guide , he navigated this world with relative ease , finding more and more appreciation for the power , both magical and political , he now possessed. determined to never be the poor street rat again , he clung to this power , reveled in it. the day he went to make glinda his queen , however , would be his last as a witch , as she cursed him with a spell that made him fall to his knees , finally shaking like a god - fearing man in her wake as she waltzed off with his magic tucked neatly within the emerald adorning her neck. that small farm girl from kansas would be glinda's undoing , he would see to that.

IV. what else was a con man to do as his kingdom fell to ruin then to build a new empire? flashing lights and fake smiles had always been his specialty , which is why the pudding + pie had been such an obvious choice for the fallen king. he was nothing if not an actor playing a part on the stage he called a throne , presenting himself as the great and powerful wizard he could no longer be. the stage was his home , and he would rescue any wayward entertainers and make them his family.

V. it was pg once , family friendly bullshit with the darker stuff lurking underneath , the scheming and the lying behind closed doors as brother and sister locked hands with every lowlife in fabletown , making deal after deal until his empire was born. pg no longer cuts it when sex sells , and thus his reputation began to grow.

VI. he's a good boss , doting on his staff like any leader should. he sees the same thing in them that he sees in himself , a lost soul looking for something greater , just out of reach.

#PARTTHREE . . . WANTED CONNECTIONS.

platonic business partners , acquaintances , drinking buddies , friends. toxic enemies , those who have wronged him or his staff , rivals , someone who either finds him lesser for his work or foolish for believing there may be a way to return home , glinda. familial his sister , ozma. miscellaneous his staff , frequent patrons.

#grimmer.intro #O DIGGS.#DOSSIER.#death //#natural disaster //#pregnancy //#this is abysmal don't look at me

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altaqwaelectric · 23 days ago

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Understanding the Role of Busbars, Circuit Breakers, and Relays in Switchgear

In the world of electrical distribution and control systems, switchgear plays a pivotal role in managing, protecting, and isolating electrical circuits and equipment. Within a switchgear assembly, components like busbars, circuit breakers, and relays are essential for ensuring efficient operation and maximum safety. Understanding the role of each of these components can help professionals and businesses make better decisions when designing or upgrading their electrical systems.

What Is Switchgear?

Switchgear is a general term that encompasses a wide range of electrical disconnect switches, fuses, circuit breakers, and associated equipment used to control, protect, and isolate electrical equipment. These systems are critical for both high-voltage and low-voltage applications and are commonly found in industrial plants, commercial buildings, power plants, and substations.

1. Busbars: The Power Distribution Backbone

Busbars are metallic strips or bars — typically made of copper or aluminum — that conduct electricity within a switchgear or distribution board. Their main function is to distribute electrical power to multiple circuits from a single input source.

Key Functions:

· Efficient Power Distribution: Busbars act as a central hub for distributing power to various outgoing circuits.

· Compact Design: Helps in reducing the overall footprint of the switchgear.

· Heat Dissipation: Designed to handle high currents while minimizing heat build-up.

Applications:

· Power distribution panels

· Switchboards and MCCs (Motor Control Centers)

· Panelboards and switchgear cubicles

2. Circuit Breakers: Protection from Overcurrent

Circuit breakers are automatic electrical switches designed to protect electrical circuits from damage due to overcurrent or short circuits. Unlike fuses, circuit breakers can be reset manually or automatically after tripping.

Key Functions:

· Fault Interruption: Instantly disconnects the circuit during faults to prevent damage or fire.

· Manual Switching: Can be used to manually turn circuits on or off during maintenance.

· Safety Compliance: Ensures that systems meet international safety standards (IEC, ANSI, etc.)

Types of Circuit Breakers:

· MCB (Miniature Circuit Breaker): Used for low-power applications

· MCCB (Molded Case Circuit Breaker): Handles higher loads than MCBs

· ACB (Air Circuit Breaker): Used for high-current circuits in industrial settings

3. Relays: The Sensing and Control Brains

Relays are electromechanical or solid-state devices that detect faults and send signals to circuit breakers or other control devices to disconnect the circuit. They are the “brains” behind the automatic protection mechanism of the switchgear.

Key Functions:

· Fault Detection: Monitors voltage, current, and other parameters to detect anomalies.

· Triggering Action: Sends signals to trip the circuit breaker when necessary.

· Automation and Coordination: Works in coordination with other protection devices to ensure selective tripping.

Types of Relays:

Overcurrent Relays

Differential Relays

Distance Relays

Earth Fault Relays

Why These Components Matter

Together, busbars, circuit breakers, and relays form the core of any switchgear system. When properly selected and configured:

· Downtime is minimized

· Equipment lifespan is extended

· Operational safety is enhanced

· Energy efficiency is improved

In an era where electrical reliability is non-negotiable, understanding these components isn’t just for engineers — it’s essential knowledge for decision-makers in any industry reliant on power.

Conclusion

Whether you’re designing a new electrical panel or upgrading an old one, choosing high-quality busbars, circuit breakers, and relays is critical to the safety and efficiency of your entire system. At AL Taqwa Oman, we specialize in premium-grade switchgear accessories that meet global standards and deliver unmatched performance.

Need help finding the right accessories for your panel? Contact our experts today and power your systems with confidence.

#electrical #electrical equipment #electrical supplies #switchgear #oman #electricity #busbar #relay #circuit breaker

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w0efulboopsoul · 2 months ago

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Balladeer: The Melodic Steeds of Howa’ah

The Balladeer is a majestic, snow-white creature unique to Howa’ah, blending the grace of a deer, the power of an elk, the agility of an antelope, and the climbing prowess of an ibex. These swift and hardy beasts thrive in the Frozen Kingdom’s eternal winter, serving as the primary mounts and companions for its people. Their telepathic voices and air magic elevate them beyond mere beasts—they are partners in survival and song, filling a vital niche in Eryndara’s horse-less world.

Species Name: Balladeer

Scientific Name: Cervidraconis cantatrix

Classification: Mammalian hybrid (elk, deer, antelope, ibex traits)

Elemental Affinity: Wind magic

Habitat: Exclusively Howa’ah—icy fjords, snowbound plains, and rugged cliffs

Cultural Role: Sacred mounts, resource providers, and cultural icons of resilience.

Males: They are called Balladeer Bucks.

Females: They are called Balladeer Does!

Physical Description:

Size: Comparable to the largest elk—up to 5.5 ft (1.7 m) at the shoulder, 10 ft (3 m) in length, weighing 800–1,300 lbs (360–590 kg), with males slightly larger than females.

Coloration: Snow-white fur with a sleek, smooth coat that repels ice and reflects Howa’ah’s pale light, blending seamlessly with the snow.

Horns: Both males and females bear ibex-style horns—curved, ridged, and permanent—though female horns are slightly smaller (2–3 ft vs. 3–4 ft for males). These lightweight, durable horns aid in defense and climbing.

Eyes: Gentle, wise, patient blue eyes that gleam like glaciers, radiating a serene depth that mirrors Howa’ah’s icy soul. These luminous orbs seem to hold centuries of quiet understanding, enhancing their ethereal presence.

Neck: Thick and muscular, built for rutting and head-butting, with dense fur and reinforced bone structure to withstand powerful collisions. This robust neck supports their horns during dominance displays and aids in breaking ice or pushing through snowdrifts.

Tail: Short and compact, measuring 6–8 inches (15–20 cm), covered in dense, snow-white fur with a slight taper. The brevity enhances their streamlined form, minimizing exposure to Howa’ah’s biting winds while maintaining balance during leaps.

Muzzle: Resembles a red elk’s, broad and slightly squared, with soft, velvety, dexterous lips that are rounded and perfect for tough gripping and pulling. These lips allow precise foraging, stripping frozen grasses or tugging resilient lichens from icebound cliffs with ease.

Build: Muscular yet lithe, with long legs for leaping and cloven hooves—split into two sturdy, broad toes—for gripping icy cliffs and traversing snowbound terrain. These hooves provide balance and traction, perfectly suited to their agile, climbing nature.

Life Cycle:

Fawns: Born in spring litters of 1–2, standing within hours. Fur is fluffy and faintly luminescent, fading to smooth white by adolescence.

Adults: Reach maturity at 5 years, living 20–30 years. Horns fully develop by adulthood, and air magic strengthens with age.

Elders: Rare individuals over 25 years grow silvery streaks in their fur and project deeper telepathic voices, often leading herds.

Abilities

Wind Magic: Balladeers wield wind magic to enhance their speed (up to 50 mph/80 km/h in sprints) and leaping ability, soaring up to 30 ft (9 m) across chasms or cliffs. They can lighten their bodies to scale near-vertical ice walls, a trait tied to Howa’ah’s latent magical currents.

Telepathy: Communicate telepathically with their riders, projecting melodic, resonant voices like wind chimes or distant flutes. This bond requires trust and proximity, deepening over time.

Endurance: Adapted to Howa’ah’s frigid climate, they maintain warmth through thick fur and a high metabolism, running or climbing for hours without tiring.

Physical Prowess: Exceptional climbers and leapers, they navigate Howa’ah’s icy fjords and peaks with ease, using horns and claws to anchor against blizzards.

Behavior

Temperament: Gentle yet fiercely protective, Balladeers form lifelong bonds with riders or herd mates. Domesticated Balladeers are extremely loyal to their owners/riders, rarely abandoning them in trying times—some have even fought off solitary Black-Backed Wolf Drakes with head-butts and horn thrusts to protect their companions. Their glacier-blue eyes convey a patient wisdom, calming those around them, though they remain cautious around strangers until trust is earned. During rutting season, their thick necks and horns come into play as males (and occasionally females) clash in displays of strength, their short tails flicking with agitation.

Social Structure: Live in small herds (5–15 individuals), led by an elder doe or stag. Telepathic songs coordinate movements and warn of threats like frost beasts or avalanches, often punctuated by a steady, reassuring look from their luminous eyes. Rutting battles, marked by resonant head-butts, establish hierarchy within the herd, though domesticated individuals redirect this strength to their riders’ defense or sleigh duties.

Diet: Herbivorous, grazing on hardy snow mosses, lichens, and frozen grasses unearthed by their cloven hooves and gripped firmly with their soft, velvety lips. These dexterous lips pull resilient Winterberries or tough roots from icebound cliffs, supplementing their diet with mineral-rich ice licked from the rock.

Defensive Strategy: When attacked by bandits, Balladeers exhibit remarkable cunning. If their rider dismounts or falls, they act as if the rider remains on their back—maintaining a steady gait and posture—luring bandits away from the vulnerable individual. With their glacier-blue eyes gleaming in the snow, they lead pursuers back toward towns or homesteads, where bandits face Howa’ah’s defenders, leveraging their speed and wind magic to outpace danger until help arrives. Their thick necks also allow them to fend off attackers like Black-Backed Wolf Drakes with forceful head-butts if cornered, their loyalty shining through in such acts.

Sleigh Work: Domesticated Balladeers can be hooked to sleighs in teams of seven, with the seventh typically leading the pulling effort. Harnessed with PrimPine leather and bone fittings, their wind magic lightens the load, and their thick necks provide the power to haul goods or people across Howa’ah’s snowbound plains, their short tails flicking in rhythm with their strides.

Habitat

Balladeers roam Howa’ah’s snowbound plains, icy fjords, and jagged cliffs, thriving in the eternal winter where other species falter. Their air magic allows them to reach high plateaus inaccessible to predators, and their white coats blend with the snowscape. They avoid the Frostveil Sea’s edges, favoring inland heights where their climbing skills excel.

Cultural and Ecological Role

In Howa’ah Culture:

Sacred Mounts: Balladeers emerged as the Frozen Kingdom’s primary beasts of burden and transport after the dragons’ exodus to Virelith 300 years ago. Riders—often descendants of berserker-gene warriors—bond with them telepathically, forming partnerships celebrated in oral traditions and carvings.

Resources: Provide meat (rich and lean), milk (sweet, high-fat, used for cheese and warmth), hides (soft yet insulating), and horns (carved into tools or flutes). Their slaughter is a solemn ritual, honoring their sacrifice with songs of gratitude.

Symbolism: Known as “Singers of the Frost,” their telepathic ballads soothe Howa’ah’s peaceful utopia, calming latent berserkers and inspiring unity. The Ballad of the White Wind festival marks their migrations with communal singing under Lunara’s light.

Foods Produced by the Balladeer

Balladeer Venison

Production: Harvested from Wild Balladeer after a ritual slaughter, typically performed by Howa’ah’s frosthunters during late winter when herds naturally thin. The meat is carefully butchered with bone knives to honor the animal’s spirit, then either roasted fresh over PrimPine fires or preserved for leaner months. The process begins with a telepathic farewell from the rider, ensuring the Balladeer’s consent—a sacred tradition rooted in their bond.

Physical Characteristics:

Appearance: Deep red with a fine grain, lean yet marbled with thin streaks of white fat, reflecting the Balladeer’s active life. Cuts range from thick haunches to tender loins, often glistening with a faint icy sheen from the cold.

Texture: Firm and slightly chewy when raw, tenderizing beautifully when slow-cooked or roasted, retaining a juicy bite.

Flavor: Rich and robust, with a subtle gaminess tempered by the Balladeer’s diet of snow mosses and lichens. Notes of earthy sweetness emerge from Winterberry grazing, complemented by a faint mineral tang from cliffside ice.

Cultural Role: A staple protein in Howa’ah’s diet, Balladeer Venison is the centerpiece of communal feasts like the Ballad of the White Wind, roasted whole and shared to honor the herd’s sacrifice. It’s prized by frosthunters like Cara for its sustaining warmth in the eternal cold.

Balladeer Jerky

Production: Crafted from Balladeer Venison strips, seasoned with crushed Winterberries, salt from the Frostveil Sea, and dried PrimPine needles for a smoky edge. The meat is air-dried using the Balladeer’s own air magic—riders coax the herd to channel gentle winds over racks, dehydrating the strips in subzero temperatures over 2–3 weeks. This preserves the meat without fire, maintaining its magical essence.

Physical Characteristics:

Appearance: Dark reddish-brown, shriveled into tough, sinewy strips roughly 6–8 inches long, with a faint silvery dust from salt and frost.

Texture: Chewy and fibrous, requiring effort to tear but softening with prolonged chewing, releasing stored flavors.

Flavor: Intensely savory with a sharp, salty bite, balanced by a sweet-tart Winterberry undertone and a smoky PrimPine finish. The air magic drying process infuses a crisp, clean aftertaste, hinting at Howa’ah’s winds.

Cultural Role: Balladeer Jerky is a portable staple for Howa’ah’s nomadic riders and travelers like Eirik, offering long-lasting sustenance during blizzards or hunts. It’s traded as a durable good, valued for its lightweight energy in a land where fresh food is scarce.

Balladeer Sausages

Production: Made from ground Balladeer Venison (often trimmings from the haunch and shoulder), blended with fat scraps and spiced with ground Frostveil kelp, Winterberry seeds, and PrimPine resin for binding. The mixture is stuffed into cleaned Balladeer intestines, twisted into 4–6-inch links, and smoked over low PrimPine fires for 1–2 days. Some are hung in snow caches to cure further, intensifying flavor.

Physical Characteristics:

Appearance: Ruddy brown with a glossy, taut casing, speckled with green kelp flecks and amber resin dots. Smoked varieties darken to a near-black sheen.

Texture: Firm yet juicy, snapping cleanly when bitten, with a slight chewiness from the lean meat and a slick fat coating.

Flavor: Bold and hearty, with a salty kelp tang, a peppery Winterberry kick, and a resinous, piney depth. Smoking adds a robust smokiness that lingers, warming the palate in Howa’ah’s chill.

Cultural Role: Balladeer Sausages are a frosthunter’s comfort food, grilled over campfires or boiled in stews to feed families or warbands. They’re a festive treat during winter gatherings, symbolizing unity, and a practical ration for riders patrolling Howa’ah’s icy borders.

Balladeer Milk and Cheese

Balladeer Milk:

Production: Harvested from female Balladeers by skilled herders who use telepathic bonds to calm the does during milking. Collected in insulated hide pouches, the milk is strained through PrimPine bark filters to remove ice flecks, then stored in snow caches or consumed fresh.

Physical Characteristics: Thick and creamy, opaque white with a faint golden shimmer from high fat content, resisting freezing even in Howa’ah’s subzero cold.

Flavor: Rich and robust, with a sweet, buttery warmth contrasting the thinner FrostBison Milk. A subtle earthy note from snow mosses adds depth.

Cultural Role: A rare delicacy, Balladeer Milk is sipped warm during festivals or shared among herders as a reward for tending the herd. It sustains frosthunters like Cara on long treks, offering comfort in the eternal winter.

Balladeer Cheese:

Production: Milk is gently heated over PrimPine embers, curdled with frost elk rennet or PrimPine sap acids, and pressed into small, dense molds. Aged 3–6 months in cool, dry PrimPine hollows or snow caches, yielding creamy, thick wheels (0.5–2 lbs). Lightly salted to enhance flavor without hardening excessively.

Physical Characteristics:

Appearance: Soft golden hue, smooth and glossy with a pliable, thick texture—no rind, just a natural sheen from fat.

Texture: Dense yet spreadable, melting luxuriously when warmed, thick enough to scoop with bread or hides.

Flavor: Creamy and robust, with a bold, earthy tang, a nutty undertone from Winterberry grazing, and a lingering richness that mellows with age.

Cultural Role: Balladeer Cheese is a prized treat, reserved for special occasions like the birth of a fawn or a rider’s bonding ceremony. It’s savored by Howa’ah’s elite or traded to outsiders, adding richness to a frosthunter’s sparse diet.

Cultural and Ecological Context

Resource Significance: In Howa’ah’s 300-year winter, Balladeer foods are a lifeline. Venison, jerky, and sausages provide protein and energy, while milk and cheese offer fat and warmth—crucial for a people without external livestock. Their production reflects Howa’ah’s resourcefulness, using native plants (Winterberries, PrimPine) and magical traits (air drying) to maximize sustenance.

#w0e's at it again #w0e's musings #creative writing #headcanons #writing #species: Balladeer of Howa'ah the cunning steed!#Would you ride a Balladeer?

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