#a second with no active abuse feels like a tender caress | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luesilust · 4 years

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What is something embarrassingly vanilla that each of the trash quartet are into? (The truest dirt is in the bland crap you're into when you're a trashy boi, am I right?) ☆

Hahaha what an interesting first ask from a “totally anonymous” anon… ✨ Anyway, I actually really liked this question, but holy hell did it fuck with my brain. I’m used to coming up with all the kinky and/or messed up scenarios and suddenly I’m supposed to do the opposite? My brain is confused. The second problem I encountered was: What is actually vanilla? My brain did not help me on this quest either, as every time I got close to thinking up something clever, my brain goes “SPIT IN THEIR MOUTH!” or something along those lines.

PARISTON

Among the trash quartet Pariston is the one I found the hardest to write this ask for. Mostly because Pariston is an enigma. First of all it’s impossible to know exactly what he does and doesn’t enjoy because everything he does is controlled and calculated. I can see him being into one thing with one partner and something completely different with another. His preferences always switch around.

Sometimes the sex can be very vanilla and tender, usually after he’s been partiularly cruel to you. It’s a way to get you to stay with him despite the abuse.

Pariston’s relation to pleasure is also an interesting aspect. I think that for Pariston sex isn’t the goal that drives his actions, but rather a means to get the reactions he wants from you. This means that if he thinks that a gentle “love making” session is what’s going to make his “game” with you more fun later on, you’re going to get the best vanilla sex in our whole life!

I did, however, think of a few of vanilla things Pariston would absolutely loathe in most circumstances! The number one thing being his partner whispering “I love you” lovingly into his ear, while he’s trying to make you hate him.

ILLUMI

First of all, I think very little will make Illumi embarrassed. That being said there are quite a few things he should be embarrassed about. He’s very motivated to continue the Zoldyck line, so sex would often be more focused on the result than what it feels like there and then. So unless he’s using sex as a way to manipulate or reward you, it would get quite mundane... And isn’t that like the most vanilla thing ever?

Another thing he should be embarrassed for is that he usually doesn’t make you cum very often. He almost never touches your clit, so in the beginning you wonder if he doesn’t know where it is, or that he’s one of those who think women's sexuality is a myth. That however, is not the case, because Illumi probably has extensive training on how to pleasure or sexually torture someone because of his assasin training. The reason for his behaviour is that he usually doesn’t prioritize using his precious time to give you pleasure. It doesn’t make it more likely that you’ll get pregnant, so why waste the time. Orgasms are a reward, not a necessity for his wife.

If you want to break out of the mundane sex, try to gently kiss his neck. It’s a really sensitive area for him that he associates mainly with killing. Gentle touches are new to Illumi, since his skin is used to getting cut, beaten and abused. The first time you dared ttrying to kiss his neck his body froze in the middle of one of your sessions. The kiss had made his body tingle in a very unfamiliar way. As he didn’t stop you, you continued, and following that was the first time you experienced the more gentle side of your husband. His focus was no longer on just being efficient, but rather on experiencing more of that new tingling sensation of your soft lips against his neck. His hips slowed down into a calmer and more sensual pace than the way his dick had thrust into you in an almost methodical way. As a reward he even brought one of his adept hands down to your clit to make you cum at the same time he did.

I don’t think he’d be embarrassed about liking getting his neck kissed, but I think it will puzzle him at first how much he enjoys it. Not only neck kissing, but touching him softly and stroking his back during sex or foreplay will make it more likely that he’ll feel motived to make the sex into less of a chore.

Outside of sex I think he really likes to get his hair brushed and generally taken care of by his wife. Be careful to be gentle though, as he doesn’t like you pulling his hair, and even doing so by accident will lead to some kind of punishment

HISOKA

Hisoka is another one of the trash men that doesn’t get embarrassed by anything. While Illumi can get puzzled by his enjoyment of some things, Hisoka is down right shameless. Nothing, and I repeat nothing, will make this man feel shameful.

Hisoka also has an unique talent of making any vanilla activity into something straight out of a porn movie. The reason being that his entire body is somewhat of an erogenous zone and that he’s, well, Hisoka, so the moaning will be extreme. Gently lick his neck and he’ll be like: *insert Hisoka’s crazy moaning here*

That being said, I can imagine him as being quite adaptive when it comes to his partner’s sexual preferences. If you’re kinky, he’s all for it, but I can see him enjoying vanilla sex as well from time to time, if that’s what you prefer. I feel like he’s more about his partner’s reactions, rather than exactly what is making those reactions happen. It would of course be situation based, as he sometimes would feel the need to be rough when he’s feeling pent up.

The most vanilla thing I can imagine, that even Hisoka can’t make kinky, is cuddling in bed while watching random reality TV. Hisoka actually enjoys cuddling a lot, so spending all day in bed lazily making out and occasionally having sex is something he’d enjoy. The sex would be soft, either missionary or some kind of spooning position combined with lots of kissing and groping. This could only take place after you’ve somehow managed to deplete his energy a bit, because if he’s feeling pent up or have some kind of project on his mind, he will not have time to spend all day in bed with you.

Lastly, he’d also enjoy massages and he will, for sure, always expect a “happy finish”.

CHROLLO

Despite being someone who mostly keeps people at a distance, Chrollo sometimes really enjoys sex where he’s embracing you. His favourite position being spooning you from behind, but sometimes plain old missionary will be his pick.

You were quite surprised the first time it happened. Chrollo has such a domineering personality and he’d usually demand complete obedience from you both in and outside the bedroom. It does however happen that you see a different side of him. It would happen late at night after you’ve both gone to bed. I see Chrollo as being a very lightl sleeper because of his upbringing in Meteor City. Said childhood has led to him having trouble relaxing when trying to fall asleep, so maybe the sex makes it easier for him to calm down. He’d hold your sleepy form close to his chest as he finishes inside you, falling asleep with you in his arms (inconsiderate bastard doesn’t think about the fact that you’ll need to get out of bed and clean yourself up after, unless you want cum seeping out of you all night).

Even if he won’t admit to it, it's really obvious that he really enjoys having his ears kissed and caressed. Chrollo is a very perceptive individual so his ears are very sensitive to any type of foreign touch. It’s probably also nice to give his lobes to get a little break from all the abuse from those ginormous earrings he’s wearing...

Chrollo is a also a man of deception and if he needs to play the role of a loving boyfriend to someone other than you to get what he wants, he’ll have no problem doing so. He’ll kiss his target lovingly and have the softest of vanilla sex. He says to himself that it’s all an act, but sometimes I think he’d find himself really enjoying the closeness and intimacy, since he usually puts himself above you when engaging in sexual acts. He’ll tell himself that he’s only enjoying it because he’s too immersed in the scenario he’s playing out with his target. This man is in denial and he’ll keep his soft moments far, far away from the troupe.

TW: Crack

He also really loves to recite gothic love poems that he wrote himself to you during intercourse. He’d hold his poetry book in one hand while he thrusts slowly in and out of you tenderly. It all ends in a crescendo as he reads out the last line as he cums, a single manly tear running down his cheek. (Sorry, I had to join the Drag Chrollo Gang haha).

#Look at me finishing this ages after I received it #hxh #hunter x hunter #pariston #hisoka #chrollo #illumi #hxh hc #pariston hc #hisoka hc #illumi hc #chrollo hc #pariston headcanon #hisoka headcanon #illumi headcanon #chrollo headcanon #hxh headcanon #hunter x hunter headcanon #Anonymous

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atiny-piratequeen · 5 years

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐞 𝐂𝐡. 𝟐/𝟒

Pairing: Poly Ot8 (Yeosang Focused)

Genre: Smut, Light Angst, Pwp

Word Count: 6k

Rating: 18+

Tags: Smut, Established Poly Relationship, Self Esteem Issues, Everyone’s a Switch, First Times, Cum Sharing, Blow Jobs, Biting, Gangbang, Fingersucking, etc

Summary: Yeosang is a very shy man. Everyone knows this.But he’s fed up of his shyness and insecurities being the reason he’s left out of sexual activities from the others. He wants them to look at him like they look at each other

AO3

Chapter One|Chapter Two|Chapter 3|Chapter Four

Yeosang felt a bit better after his evening with Hongjoong. Being the center of attention like that made him feel on top of the world. The next day, as he wandered into the bathroom to shower early in the morning, he caught a glimpse of the mark adorning his neck. He ran his fingers over the splotch, sucking in a breath through his teeth at the dull pain that pulsed from the spot. Yeosang smiled, lifting his leg slightly to admire the matching mark on his inner thigh.

He shuffled into the shower quickly, humming the lyrics of Mist as he stood under the spray. Their comeback was in a matter of days and they had a brief moment of calm before the whirlwind known as a Kpop comeback would hit them full force.

Yeosang sighed, tilting his head back as he let the water run over his sore shoulders.

Today, some of the trainees asked the boys to stop by and give them some pointers and Yeosang nominated himself to go early, much to the joy of Yunho and Wooyoung, who got to sleep in just a bit longer.

The door to the bathroom opened midway through one of his washes, but he paid it no mind. They only had one bathroom, so it wasn’t uncommon for them to share.

“Good morning, Hyung.” Came Jongho’s drowsy voice, and Yeosang couldn’t help the smile on his face as he heard their maknae’s voice.

“Good morning, Jong-ah. Why are you up so early?” Yeosang inquired, poking his damp head out of the shower to see Jongho was doing his best not to fall asleep standing up as he fished for his bottle of face cream.

“We have to give the dance lessons, right?” Was the sleepy response. Yeosang could tell by the way Jongho’s head drooped that he was struggling to stay awake.

“Yah, why are you forcing yourself when you’re tired? Hyung is going early so you all can come in later. Yunho and Wooyoung are gonna sleep in, too. Go get more rest.” Yeosang scolded the younger idol lightly as he reached out to try and grab his towel.

Jongho followed his hand, humming as he moved to stand in front of Yeosang, effectively blocking the older from reaching his towel.

“Wow, getting up so early so we can all sleep in? Is there anything you can’t do?” He playfully teased. Yeosang blushed at the compliment before waving his hand.

“Right now, I can’t dry myself off since someone’s in the way.” He shot back sarcastically, waving his arm once more. “Pass me the towel, Jong-ah.”

Jongho hummed, sticking his chin out defiantly as the older idol leered at him.

“Ah, this kid.” Yeosang grumbled half heartedly, his cheeks red as he stepped out of the shower, one hand covering his privates while the other tried to worm around Jongho to grab the towel. The slightly taller man hummed, tilting his head up to look down at his hyung.

“Yah, is Hongjoongie the only one that gets to see you?” He inquired, smiling when Yeosang’s face ignited. His lips parted for a moment before he swallowed thickly.

“No, I-”

“Hyung told us. Once you went to sleep, he made us to meet him in the living room and he told us how you really felt.” The youngest told him bluntly, fingertips ghosting over the dark splotch on Yeosang’s neck. Yeosang shuddered, a small gasp catching in his throat as Jongho leaned closer to kiss him. Yeosang kissed him back, running his fingers through Jongho’s hair.

“I’ll be quick, Hyung.” He promised, squeezing Yeosang’s ass lightly. The other man flushed, not quite sure where this was going, but at this point he was too hard to care. Yeosang nodded, dropping his hand away from his half hard cock as Jongho flashed him a smile. The maknae shifted their bodies until Yeosang’s hips were pressed against the counter, his ass sticking out like a prize for the other idol.

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m the younger one?” Yeosang mused, glancing back to see what Jongho was doing behind him. He got his answer in the form of Jongho sinking to his knees, pressing a kiss to the dimples at Yeosang’s lower back before palming the globes of his ass.

“I’ve learned a lot from the other hyungs.” Was his only response, and he shuddered slightly at the lust-filled pride in the maknae’s voice at the statement. Jongho spread Yeosang’s cheeks, circling over his puckered hole with his middle finger. Yeosang tensed for a moment.

“Hyung, have you ever fingered yourself? Played with toys?”

Yeosang’s grip on the counter tightened for a moment in embarrassment at how casually the question was asked, but he shook his head, biting his lip.

“N-no. Have you?”

There was a small laugh from behind him before Jongho spit on his hole, squeezing his hip when he instinctively moved his hips away from the situation. Yeosang whined low in his throat, shivering when Jongho repeated the action.

“I have, plenty of times. The other hyungs have fucked me, too. Word of advice though, if you want someone to fuck you, go to Yunho-hyung first. He’s the gentlest.”

Before Yeosang could properly respond, he felt something warm and hot run over his hole, drawing a sharp gasp from him. Jongho spread his cheeks apart, lapping at his asshole with purpose. His blunt nails lightly dug into the skin of Yeosang’s ass. The competitive side of him thought of the marks their leader left on the dancer, and Jongho was tempted to leave his own marks.

Yeosang’s soft gasps and the subtle way he pushed his ass back was enough encouragement for him. He pushed his tongue past the tight ring, dragging his nails down the pale canvas of Yeosang’s ass.

“O-oh~” Yeosang mewled, knees buckling slightly at the stinging sensation, his grip tight and white knuckled on the counter as Jongho ate him out. Urged to continue by the soft, arid moans coming from the older singer, Jongho pressed his tongue in deeper, working it in and out. He continued raking his nails down different spots on Yeosang’s ass. He stopped only when Yeosang let out a breathy, yet firm ‘wait’. The maknae paused, noticing the way Yeosang’s knees shook as he took a collecting breath. Jongho smiled to himself, sliding his tongue out of Yeosang’s wet hole long enough to kiss at the scratches he left in his wake.

“Did I hurt you, hyung?” He inquired. Yeosang shook his head, flinging water droplets left and right as he looked back. Jongho bit back the groan of surprise at the way Yeosang’s eyes were half lidded and blown with lust.

“N-no it felt…good. I was gonna cum.” Yeosang admitted, shifting his gaze away as soon as he’d said it. Jongho felt his cock twitch in his boxers as he let out a chuckle, standing to his full height. Yeosang looked at him in slight worry, afraid he’d said the wrong thing, but all he got was the stronger idol presenting his fingers in front of him.

“Suck them.”

“Your fingers?”

“Trust me.”

Yeosang nodded, leaning forward, curling his tongue around Jongho’s middle finger, blushing as the younger worked the digit in and out of his mouth. Jongho added a second and a third, smiling in satisfaction at the flush on Yeosang’s face and the trail of spittle that connected his fingers to the older man’s lips once he pulled them free.

“Spread your legs, Hyung. We have to hurry so you won’t be late, remember?” Jongho teased, guiding his hand back down to Yeosang’s slick hole. Yeosang nodded, doing as he was told.

Jongho eased his middle finger into Yeosang, positioning himself fully behind him so he could pin him to the counter. Yeosang whined slightly at the unfamiliar intrusion, but Jongho kissed his shoulder repeatedly, using his free hand to caress one of his abused ass cheeks.

That sparked a reaction, with Yeosang twitching in his arms once his palm ran over the tender skin. Jongho gave it an experimental squeeze, humming in surprise when he heard Yeosang moan.

“H-harder…” His voice was small as Jongho worked his finger in and out of him. Jongho smiled to himself, sliding another finger into him, twisting and curling them as he squeezed his ass harder before giving his ass a teasing slap over the scratches.

“Fuck!” Yeosang cursed, his whole body jolting from the sudden sting. Jongho licked his lips, finally piecing the full picture together.

“Hyung, you must have a thing for pain, hm?” He inquired, sliding his fingers in deeper. Yeosang shuddered, and he might’ve fallen had he not have been pinned between the counter and Jongho’s body.

“P-Pain? No, I-ah!” He cried out when Jongho placed another, harder slap to the same area, curling his fingers up as he pumped them faster into the smaller singer. Yeosang gasped, feeling precum dribble from his cock as Jongho spanked and fingered him.

“So perverted, hyung. Maybe Wooyoung and San have competition now for who’s the dirtiest hyung~” Jongho teased, watching Yeosang’s pants get more ragged and desperate.

“N-No I’m not-”

“Don’t lie, Hyung. Just admit it. If you like it so much, I can spank you harder, right?” Jongho mused, bringing his hand down harder on Yeosang’s ass. The older man bucked, tears welling in his eyes as he felt his ass burn with pleasurable pain. The lithe dancer gasped, bowing his head down as Jongho curled his fingers slightly different this time, brushing against something that made his whole body buzz with pleasure.

Jongho focused on that spot, occasionally giving Yeosang hard spanks as he watched the older man come undone in his arms.

“Look up, hyung. Watch yourself cum for me.” Jongho practically growled in his ear, fingers lacing in Yeosang’s brunette locks to pull his head up, watching as the older man cracked open his eyes, whimpering as he looked at his own reflection in the mirror over the sink.

He looked downright pornographic from this angle, lips plump and red from him biting them occasionally to stifle the noise, Hongjoong’s mark still dark and prominent on his neck, the flush that ran all the way up to his ears as he rolled his hips back against Jongho’s fingers.

“Look at that, Hyung. Look at how beautiful you are.” Jongho cooed, brushing against that spot relentlessly, kissing over the birthmark at the corner of Yeosang’s eye.

“Cum for me, Hyung. Don’t hold back.” He urged, making sure Yeosang was watching himself as he fucked him faster with his fingers.

Moments later, Yeosang came with a whine, grabbing Jongho’s arm so hard his nails dug into his skin as he did his best not to slump against the counter.

Jongho held him up, sliding his fingers out once Yeosang’s orgasm had subsided. He kissed the corner of his eye again and pulled away from him.

“You okay?” He inquired gently, holding back a snicker at the way Yeosang’s knees wobbled as he stood to his full height. He shot Jongho a half hearted glare, pouting at him.

“I’m the pervert?” He hissed. Jongho grinned innocently, stepping away from him. Yeosang dropped his glare when he noticed how hard the younger man was. He frowned, pointing at the telltale bulge.

“I…You didn’t cum. Should I try and-” He made a jerking motion with his hand before immediately getting embarrassed, hiding his face. Jongho laughed again before pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Maybe later, Hyung. Right now, you should probably go put some clothes on. Manager-nim is going to be here in like 10 minutes.” He whistled innocently, looking up at the clock situated on the wall behind the toilet. Yeosang’s eyes widened and he cursed, all but darting from the bathroom, nearly colliding with Mingi on the way out as he rushed down the hall.

The rapper watched him go down the hall before raising a brow.

“Does he realize he’s naked?”

Jongho shrugged one shoulder before smiling invitingly at his hyung.

“Probably not. Hey, I could use a hand here, Hyung. Help me out?”

- Yeosang had been at the practice room with the trainees for around two hours before any of the other members filtered in. Wooyoung, San, Mingi, and Yunho watched-enamoured-as Yeosang broke down moves bit by bit, explaining with his body and his words.

Yeosang waved at the others before telling the trainees they could take a break to get water and catch their breath.

"How was it so far?” Yunho inquired, surveying the room and holding back a laugh at how fast the trainees fled to rehydrate themselves.

“It’s going well. They’re fast learners.” Yeosang praised, wiping away his sweat with a towel San tossed his way.

“I’ll go get some water for you, Hyung.” Wooyoung offered, pivoting on his heel as he made his way out of the room. Yeosang blinked.

“A-ah, but I have a bottle already…” he smiled lightly and stood, bowing at the other three as he headed towards the door. “I’ll be right back, I don’t want him spending extra money at the vending machine.” He told them, jogging out of the room once he got confirmation from the stretching men.

The vending machine and the water fountain were down the hall, so it didn’t take long for Yeosang to reach his destination.

He didn’t expect Wooyoung’s furious tone, syllables flying from his mouth a mile a minute as he yelled at a trainee.

“Yah! I’m not going anywhere until you apologize for what you said!” He barked, jamming a finger in the direction of the taller man. A few of the other trainees had gathered, whispering behind their hands as the two men leered at one another.

“Why? I didn’t say anything wrong! Yeosang-issi is a good performer but he’s not the best and he’s clearly not the strongest singer, he doesn’t even get lines in your own group!”

Yeosang blinked, nearly dropping his bottle as the comment hit him like a slap in the face. He made his way out from behind the corner, noticing the way the other trainees squeaked and scurried out of his way as he made his way to Wooyoung and the teen. Yeosang knew him, a high school student by the name of Len.

Wooyoung jolted when Yeosang brushed past him, frowning when the older idol rolled his wrist out of Wooyoung’s grip when he reached for him. Len swallowed uncomfortably, looking flustered as Yeosang stopped in front of him.

“Yeo-issi, I’m-”

“How about we have a bet? You and me have a little competition. Sing and dance simultaneously and see who has the strongest performance and the most consistent vocals. If you win, I’ll be happy to give you my place in Ateez.” Yeosang proposed, his face neutral to everyone who didn’t know him well enough.

Wooyoung knew better.

The clench of Yeosang’s jaw, the way his body was rigid and stiff, the subtle way he rolled his shoulder before extending his hand out to ask Len if he wanted to seal the deal.

Yeosang was furious.

“Hyung, I don’t think-”

“This doesn’t concern you, Woo-ya.” Was Yeosang’s curt interruption. Len beamed, nodding much too excitedly as he shook Yeosang’s hand.

“Let’s do it.” He grinned, confidence rolling off him in waves. Yeosang turned first, eyes dark as he walked back to the practice room with Len and the other trainees hot on his trail.

Wooyoung frowned, hastily making a group chat with all the other members, sans Yeosang. His fingers flew over the screen as he hustled back to the room, heart hammering as he stuck his head in, seeing Len and Yeosang in the center of the room.

“No Ateez songs, obviously, and you’ll have to sing the whole song, while dancing.” Len proudly laid down his superfluous rules. Yeosang nodded along, his jaw still set as he gestured to let Len go first.

Wooyoung slipped over to the others, worrying his lip as the three men watched Len pick a BTS song to dance to. Yunho crossed his arms in disapproval as the first notes of Go Go filled the practice room.

“What the fuck is going on? What the hell is this competition bullshit about this guy taking Yeosang’s spot?” San hissed, voicing what the quartet felt. Wooyoung shook his head.

“I heard him talking shit about Hyung and yelled at him to apologize and Yeo heard him.” He explained, running a hand through his hair. Mingi scoffed, watching Len like a hawk as he missed steps here and there and got winded half way through the song.

It was increasingly obvious he wouldn’t win the contest, but Yeosang only held up a finger when one of the trainees moved to shut the music off at Len’s request.

“Let him finish it.” He ordered, his voice tense. Everyone in the room shuddered, and Len pushed through the rest of the song, out of breath by the very end.

Yeosang paid him no mind, grabbing the phone connected to the speaker. He switched it to NCT U’s 7th Sense. His eyes were half lidded and intense as he stared at his own reflection, recalling all the times he and the other members had practiced the choreo for fun.

His body moved fluidly, his voice strong throughout the entire song. Yunho chuckled lightly, smiling as he watched Yeosang move, proud of his boyfriend and band member at the display of his abilities.

They were an 8 man team, and it did suck that some didn’t receive as many lines as others from time to time, but they were all talented.

The song faded out and Yeosang lifted his head, sending Len a side glance as the teen bowed his head, embarrassed. He approached him, kneeling in front of him to give him a smile much too sweet for what came out of his lips next.

“If you have the energy to bash idols for their performances and circumstances, I would suggest humbly as your Hyung and mentor that you at least be able to back it up. Remember, people will like you a lot better if you humble yourself. Also, there’s no way you would’ve been able to take my spot, anyway. We do have contracts. Now, put that energy into improving your own performance, and learning some manners.” Yeosang informed him, clapping him on his shoulder before he stood to his full height, ignoring the way some of the trainees snickered at Len’s humiliation.

The quartet of his other bandmates released a breath they were holding, smiling at one another. Mingi held his hand up for a high 5 as Yeosang headed their way.

“Good job, Hyung!” He beamed, but it fell as Yeosang didn’t reciprocate, instead leaning down to grab his duffle bag.

“I’m tired since I came early. I’ll head out. Please pick up where I left off. See you later.” He told them with a curt bow and language much too formal, never looking any of them in the eye as he turned to leave.

The four watched him leave in worry before they exchanged a look.

If Len was worked just a tiny bit harder than the others this practice session, no one said a word.

Yeosang stared at the ceiling of his and Wooyoung’s room. Frustration and anxiety buzzing through his head. He didn’t need this kind of mindset right before comeback.

He nearly missed the sound of his door opening, had Wooyoung not have came in with a quiet; “It’s me, hyung.” when Yeosang lifted his head.

Yeosang made a small sound of acknowledgement, rolling over as Wooyoung turned the light out before approaching their bunk bed.

He crawled into his bed, pondering what to say or do to make this any better for either of them.

Nearly an hour had gone by, with Yeosang’s breathing nearly evening out before Wooyoung spoke again.

“Hyung, are you still awake?”

“Mmn.”

“Can I come up with you?”

“Mm, just don’t knee me in the leg like last time.” Yeosang murmured, scooting back so his backside was facing the window, a line of moonlight streaming in from the crack between the blackout curtains.

Wooyoung made his way up to the top bunk, immediately gluing himself to Yeosang, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. He set his head over Yeosang’s heart, nuzzling his cheek against his chest.

Yeosang ran his fingers through his soft blonde hair, making sure the smaller man was comfortable. Wooyoung idly ran his hands up and down the older man’s spine, humming to himself.

“Are you okay, Yeo?” He asked after a few minutes of silence. Yeosang’s grip on him tightened for the briefest of moments before he nodded.

“Yeah, it’s definitely a sore spot for me, but we’re still rookies. There’s plenty of things I can and will learn in the future and plenty of opportunities for us all. We just have to keep working hard.” Yeosang kept his tone positive, smiling when Wooyoung lifted his head to look at him.

“I knew I was right to follow you to this company, Hyung.” He mused. Yeosang laughed gently, kissing his head. Wooyoung sat up, looking down at Yeosang with eyes full of adoration. It made the older idol blush, and he playfully gave his arm a shove, breaking eye contact.

“Why are you looking at me like that? You’re going to make me all flustered.” He huffed. Wooyoung clicked his tongue, tossing a leg over Yeosang’s waist to straddle him, pressing their foreheads together.

“I mean it.” The blonde stated, his voice barely over a whisper. Yeosang looked into his eyes, heart hammering in his chest as Wooyoung held his gaze. He knew the younger man was fond of him, often bringing up their five years of friendship, but it still made his heart skip a beat when he got all sentimental like this.

“I know, I know. I’m glad you followed me.” He admitted, cupping the back of his head to pull him down for a kiss. Wooyoung braced his hands at either side of Yeosang’s head, sighing against his lips as he relaxed. They exchanged brief pecks over and over until Wooyoung nibbled Yeosang’s lip, smiling against his hyung as the man below him let out a hum, clearly teasing him about whether or not he’d deepen the kiss.

After another nip or two, Yeosang obliged, parting his lips as one of his hands found its way to rest by Wooyoung’s hip. Wooyoung kissed him eagerly, shifting his weight slightly.

Yeosang let out a small groan, his grip tightening when the curve of Wooyoung’s ass brushed against his half hard cock.

Wooyoung perked at the sound, breaking the kiss. His face hovered over Yeosang’s, panting slightly as he ground his hips down, a pleased smile coming to his face as Yeosang let out a hiss, his cock stirring even more.

“Hyung, let’s do something fun.” Wooyoung breathed, his tone sending a pleasant chill down Yeosang’s spine.

“Yeah? And what are we gonna do?” Yeosang challenged, lifting his hips to grind back, satisfied at the way Wooyoung bit his lip.

“I want to ride you.”

Yeosang paused, eyes wide as he stared up at Wooyoung. His lips parted, but Wooyoung pressed a kiss to them, scooting down so he was straddling Yeosang’s thigh, rolling his hips down so the older man could feel how hard he’d gotten.

“Please, Hyung? Play with me?” Wooyoung pouted, though he couldn’t help the soft gasp that left his mouth as Yeosang lifted his thigh a bit higher. He licked his suddenly dry lips, watching Wooyoung grind on his thigh, and suddenly he was keenly aware of how tight his clothes were beginning to feel.

Yeosang bit his lip and moved to slide his palms under Wooyoung’s shirt, removing it with ease as the other idol lifted his hands. Wooyoung was quick to reach for Yeosang’s in return, tugging it off hastily before his lips latched onto Yeosang’s collar, kissing and licking gently.

Yeosang shuddered, noticing Wooyoung had a different way of kissing at his neck than Hongjoong, but the performer honestly enjoyed both a lot more than he would’ve imagined.

“Hyung, can we take the pants off? I want to feel you.” Wooyoung pleaded, his voice arid. Yeosang swallowed thickly-an action Wooyoung felt as he kissed at his Adam’s apple-before he nodded, gently pushing him back. Wooyoung complied, pulling his pajama pants down hastily, shivering when his cock sprung free.

“You weren’t wearing underwear?”

“I don’t go to sleep wearing underwear anymore, Hyung.”

“Why?”

“Because I have seven boyfriends to fuck me or that I can fuck and underwear is just another layer of hassle when the clothes come off. Also because Seonghwa and Mingi have this thing for ripping clothes if it takes too long to strip down.”

Yeosang blinked, cheeks bright red in the dimly lit room. It was a simple comment, but he picked up on the casual way Wooyoung said seven. Seven boyfriends to fuck. Even though Yeosang had only recently actually started doing these types of things with them.

Wooyoung noticed the look on his face and smiled, baring his whole body over him once more, his elbows by Yeosang’s head as he rutted against his thigh harder than before. Yeosang could feel the heat from his bare cock, noticing the telltale feeling of precum already leaking from the younger idol’s dick and onto his thigh.

“That’s right, Hyung. You, too. I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me, Yeosangie.” Wooyoung purred, licking at Yeosang’s lips when the other man let out a curse.

Yeosang grabbed his hips, shifting his thigh once more so Wooyoung could grind harder on him. He let out a mewl, tucking his blonde head into the nape of Yeosang’s neck as he rocked his hips down.

“Hyung~ Ah, you’re rock hard, Yeosangie~ Are you getting off to me riding your thigh?” Wooyoung teased through his moans, reaching over to stroke Yeosang’s aching dick. The older man bucked, thrusting into his hand before he let out a muffled groan.

“Y-yeah. Roll your hips faster.”

It was quiet, but there was an undeniable growl in Yeosang’s voice. Wooyoung mewled at the dark tone, licking at his hyung’s neck again as he stroked him. He spread his legs wider, thrusting his hips against Yeosang’s thigh.

Wooyoung let out a series of gasps and moans, increasing in volume the more he rutted. It was desperate and breathless, and Yeosang found it hard to believe any of the others wouldn’t hear the young idol’s needy cries for more and how close he was.

“G-gonna cum…Hyung! Hyung!” He whimpered, hiding his face in Yeosang’s neck as he came against his thigh and hip, body shuddering.

Yeosang wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. He let out a small, disappointing sigh when Wooyoung stopped stroking him, but he favored kissing the slightly spent idol until he looked up at him.

“I made a mess-”

“It’s alright.” Yeosang ran his fingers through the cum on his hip, sliding them into his mouth without a second thought.

Wooyoung stared at him, feeling his cock already twitching back to life at the way Yeosang ran his tongue over his own cum-covered digits.

“Hongjoong swallowed my cum without a second thought when he blew me the other day. I-I just wanted to try it myself. You’re sweet.” He answered the unasked question, blushing and looking away. Wooyoung stared at him fondly, cupping his cheeks to kiss him deeply, humming at the taste of his own cum still lingering on Yeosang’s tongue.

“You have no business being that hot.” Was his playful response before he moved to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to go down for a sec. I’ll get a condom and some lube so we don’t make a mess.” He cooed before his pretty blonde head disappeared from view.

Yeosang smiled to himself, sitting up as he listened to Wooyoung shuffle around below him.

“Has anyone told you that you have really cute, needy moans?” He mused, snickering when Wooyoung let out a squeak below him.

“I…I mean yes, but normally it’s said while I’m being fucked into a mattress so I don’t process it at the moment.” Wooyoung explained as he climbed back up, a bottle of lube in his hand and a condom between his teeth.

“This should do. Your dick is a bit thicker than I expected but I think you and San are around the same size.” Wooyoung explained, wiggling his brows. Yeosang stared at him, brows pinched up.

How the hell was he able to say shit like that and not get embarrassed?!

Wooyoung snickered, crawling over to Yeosang while making a show out of ripping the packaging open. He slid the condom on effortlessly, giving Yeosang’s cock a few strokes as a reward for waiting.

He popped the cap open for the lube, letting the cool liquid run down onto Yeosang’s cock before he sent him a wide smile.

“Are you ready, Hyung?”

“I’ve never actually…y'know…” Yeosang squirmed, but Wooyoung only tossed a leg over his waist like before, holding his cock up.

“Don’t worry. Just sit back and let me do it, then.” Wooyoung cooed, slowly sinking down onto Yeosang’s stiff cock.

Both of them let out hitched gasps, with Wooyoung feeling his walls stretch around the sudden intrusion and Yeosang grabbing the sheets as the velvet heat constricted around his cock.

“H-holy fuck you’re tight.” Yeosang ground out. Wooyoung whimpered when he bottomed out, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“God, Hyung. I feel so full already.” He panted before he gave his hips an experimental roll, making both of them moan.

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around Yeosang’s neck, kissing him hard as he began riding him. His hips rose and fell rhythmically, with both of their moans being swallowed down by the other.

At some point, Yeosang grabbed Wooyoung’s bruised hips, thrusting his hips up every time Wooyoung came down. It only took mere minutes before Wooyoung was a quivering, moaning mess in his lap, rutting desperately against him.

“Yes, yes yesss, Hyung! Your cock feels so good~” He mewled, voice loud. Yeosang would’ve been embarrassed. In fact, he should’ve told the younger idol to quiet down, but instead he had one sudden, hungry word that crossed his mind.

Louder.

He cupped Wooyoung’s ass, and in a flash, he lifted his own body, using his weight to toss Wooyoung onto his back. He was still buried deep inside of him as the blonde looked up in surprise.

“H-hyung?”

Yeosang pushed his thighs apart, licking his lips at the delicious sight of Wooyoung flustered, flushed, and nearly fucked out beneath him. He gave him an experimental thrust, smiling at the small gasp that came from it. Wooyoung opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he had to say was lost as Yeosang began thrusting.

He rocked into Wooyoung with hard, deep strokes, eyes fixated on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Wooyoung’s clenching hole.

“Fuck! Hyung, faster!” Wooyoung whined, moving his hips down for more. Yeosang obliged, his hands finding Wooyoung’s waist once more as he sped up his thrusts, unable to hold back his own moans of pleasure.

“Woo-ya…you’re taking Hyung’s cock so well.” He panted, eyes drifting up to Wooyoung’s face. He could’ve came from that sight alone.

Wooyoung’s forehead was sweaty, his blonde bangs sticking to his forehead as he looked back at Yeosang, pupils nearly pitch black with pleasure. He held his gaze until one of Yeosang’s thrusts curved just slightly to the left, and those half lidded eyes flew open.

“Oh my god!” Wooyoung cried, arching his back. Yeosang licked his lips, remembering himself having the same expression when Jongho stroked that bundle inside of him.

His grip on Wooyoung’s hips tightened, and part of him was hoping he wasn’t hurting the younger as he began thrusting hard and fast, looking for that spot again. Wooyoung’s loud moans became needy half-screams as Yeosang fucked him hard and fast.

“Hyung! Hyung, please I’m gonna–ohhh fuck please please, Hyung I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum, gonna cum please don’t stop!” Wooyoung’s pleas were a jumbled mess of syllables as he tried-and failed-to hold back. Yeosang wasn’t much better above him, having reverted to raspy groans about how tight Wooyoung was clenching around him and how beautiful he looked like this.

Soon both of them were equally loud, the bed creaking as Wooyoung came first, arching his back as he let out a broken scream into the room, his legs wrapping around Yeosang’s waist. His cum splattered all over his own abdomen as he felt his toes curl, opening his eyes long enough to see Yeosang tense and groan above him, cumming soon after.

He mewled, reaching up to kiss the older idol as he slowly pulled out. Yeosang panted against his lips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles onto his abused hips as he put their sweaty foreheads together.

“That was…amazing.” Yeosang whispered, and Wooyoung smiled to himself when he noticed his hyung wasn’t too shy or embarrassed anymore.

“You…I should’ve known, but your stroke game is amazing.” Wooyoung cooed, laughing when Yeosang suddenly looked away.

Ah, there was the shyness.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Yeosang inquired, looking at Wooyoung’s hips. Wooyoung shook his head, sitting up to give him a smile.

“Nope. I had fun” He hummed, moving his hand to slide off the condom from Yeosang’s spent cock.

“Maybe next time we should have more fun and you can cum inside me?” He beamed, sending Yeosang a wink. Yeosang grabbed the pillow closest to him, whacking him with it as he shook his head.

“You perverted brat!”

After the two had cleaned up thanks to some wet wipes Wooyoung kept around, Yeosang peeked his head out of the room, hoping they hadn’t disturbed any of the others too much. He was still gaining his confidence more and more each day but he was sure he’d die of embarrassment if anyone called him out on him and Wooyoung’s little romp.

He made his way to the kitchen, intending on grabbing a melon ramune for Wooyoung since the younger man was parched-it was no wonder with all that moaning and screaming-and a strawberry flavored one for himself.

His heart nearly leaped out of his chest as he rounded the corner and ran into San. Yeosang jolted, putting a hand over his chest as San looked up from his yogurt cup, cat like eyes amused.

“It’s just me, Hyung.” He purred, and Yeosang swallowed thickly. The past few days had made him keenly aware of that particular tone. San watched him shuffle around the kitchen, not saying a word as he ate his yogurt, licking his lips when Yeosang leaned down to grab the ramunes from the fridge.

He finished his cup, licking his lips once more before he rounded the counter, cutting Yeosang off before he could leave. Yeosang stopped short, staring into San’s hungry eyes for a few moments before the younger man’s lips curled up into a seductive smile.

“I’m glad you had so much fun together with Woo-ya. We all enjoyed listening~” he cooed, and Yeosang wished the floor could swallow him. Before he could flounder his way through a sentence, San stepped into his space, breath ghosting over his lips as he spoke.

“Don’t take too long to come play with me too, Hyung. I’ll get lonely~” he playfully pouted before he pressed a kiss to the shell of Yeosang’s ear.

“I’ll be waiting.” He purred, running his fingers over Yeosang’s arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake before he disappeared down the hall.

Yeosang swallowed thickly, standing in the kitchen doorway before he snapped back to reality, darting down the hall to his own room.

As he snuggled up with Wooyoung that night, he went to sleep with San’s cat like gaze flooding his dreams.

#ateez smut #ateez ot8 #member x member #yeosang smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut #hongjoong smut #san smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #mingi smut #ateez fanfic #fie writes

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evoedbd · 4 years

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Summery: Kya and Helena work through an expected meltdown after weeks of buildup. AN: PTSD isn’t always out of nowhere. Often times, it is a long dip into depression and nightmares, which makes it even worse because you KNOW it will happen but are helpless to do anything. I really wanted to try and show that in this piece. Warnings: Mild bondage. Helena's back history. Mentions of - Torture Murder Child abuse Sexual abuse Physical abuse Dubious Consent ************************************************** It was a completely normal day. Birds had just begun to wake, uttering their plaintive cries before they would have to start singing. Dew droplets had frozen to the window, frosting the glass. It was almost like staring into a fairytale for Kya, who watched the twilight evolve into morning.

Kya was a vision, captured in a moment any artist would dream of. Her soft skin was bathed in the first morning rays, introducing the subtle tinge of her flesh to a picture of black, whites and greys. The gleam specifically caught around the gentle curve of her bare shoulder, giving her a natural halo none would ever see. Her forehead rested against the cold glass as her flint coloured eyes captured the small intricacies of the morning outside. Sunlight kissed her cheeks; caressed the gentle slope of her jaw and the expanse of her soft throat down to her collar. The shadows of her raven hair only emphasised the ethereal glow of her skin, shading her so perfectly one might find themselves unable to discern her from a classical painting. It was where she appeared to belong; somewhere that the moment could be captured forever. Yet, nobody would. Not this morning. She kept her bare legs tucked underneath her, propping her up on the window seat as she watched the morning continue to evolve. She admired the steam rising from the footpaths and flowerbeds as the sun peaked higher. It was something one might see in a horror movie, the cheap steam effects, yet nature offered something far more peaceful. The serenity wasn’t ruined by the occasional early jogger, nor the early commuters in their suits on their quest for coffee before a gruelling day at work. More colour was introduced as the cars began to pass, rolling merrily down the roads with hopeful drivers. Maybe if they were early they’d get a better parking space. From the backs of the tall buildings bins got pushed out into the street and to the garbage trucks, manned by workers groggily trying to erase evidence of their visit before the population of Chicago awoke. Indeed. It was a perfectly normal morning. It was almost a pity that Kya already knew it was going to turn into an exhausting day. It wasn’t idle fancy or pessimism which dictated Kya’s belief. No, it was a slow crescendo. It was a belief born of weeks living beneath the cloying storm clouds, with every day that little bit worse. Every day, she had survived with the heavy feeling of dread building in her chest, pulling at her mind until the need to fix what was wrong in her galaxy became all consuming. Even then, Kya realised she could not do a single thing to prevent the storm. All she could do was be sidelined and watch, waiting for the lightning to strike before she could put out the flame. Waiting was agonising in the worst sense, not only for Kya, but for Helena as well. As horrible as Kya knew the storm was going to be, she was well and truly ready for the rain. For the wait to be over.

It had started out as something entirely mundane. Something millions of people did every moment in the Winter months. Shivering. Indeed, Kya had noticed how Helena shivered more and more frequently, despite the fact her magic kept her comfortably warm. The shivers did not stem from bursts of wind, or the seemingly ever-falling obese droplets of rain that blanketed Chicago. No. These shivers stemmed from words; syllables that sounded just a touch too familiar. Words spoken in just the right way, at just the right time. The structures of sentences did not matter, not once Helena’s ears had picked up that first sound. As time went on, it had only gotten worse. Soon, touches were met with flinching, as if physical contact scalded Helena’s pale skin. Skin which quickly became covered in too many layers. Between magic and fabric, Helena suffered unbearable heat daily. It was not uncommon for Kya to discover sweat drenched clothing neatly folded on the bathroom counter, and Helena standing beneath an icy spray of water. Never fully undressed, Kya noted.

Things had disintegrated even further than that. Helena began to lower her gaze, lower her voice and her expression. Her face was the same impassive mask Kya had seen in the courts. There were pauses between responses; words carefully chosen as to not offend. Her sentences were kept short. The less she said, the less she could be punished for. Then, Helena started to remain silent, unless spoken to directly. Never disagreed with those perceived in power. Then, ceased expressing personal opinion. She parroted the response she believed people wanted, even going against her own views for some individuals. Anything to please them. Only the softest, most desperate mumbles of opinion escaped her. Unconscious pleas that Kya leapt to serve before Helena could attempt to retract her words with a fearful apology.

It came later than Kya had expected. Even though she’d been braced for it, nothing could stop the American from flinching as if she may leap out of her skin once the pained, fearful scream broke the quiet morning.

Amidst a sea of dark cotton sheets sat Helena Klein. Well, “sat” was overly generous. Too peaceful for the dreadful scene Kya bore witness to. Not a single muscle in Helena’s body was still. Those muscles that didn’t actively move twitched beneath her clammy skin; a vicious undercurrent to the harsh paced breaths and half formed screams that followed. Words were mutilated by a constricting throat, scattered through breaths so fast that it seemed that retaining air would be impossible. Strong shoulders that often bore the weight of worlds had collapsed inwards, caving around a heaving chest. Ample breasts were noticeably crushed by Helena’s knees, which she had drawn to her chest. Knees, thighs and ankles all pressed so tightly together that pale skin turned colourless beneath the pressure of her tightly locked hands.

Kya knew the strength of those legs. She had spent years watching the vicious kicks in combat, or how they cuddled the sides of a horse. How Helena could march for an entire day, then bare the weight of another in her lap during more tender moments. It tore at Kya’s heart to see them now; trying to forge an iron wall to keep hordes of invasive trauma at bay. To keep someone out. It was the little details of the scene that scarred Kya’s mind. Helena’s ankles rubbed together, never crossing. She couldn’t afford the split second her tangled limbs might cost if she had to kick. Or flee. Toes curled, gathering the sheets beneath them, clawing to the vestige of safety. If her feet were beneath her, she wasn’t on her back. Wasn’t bound. Wasn’t prone for the following torment.

“N-haaah gaah! K-” Helena’s gasped syllables continued to break Kya’s heart. Helena was always an eloquent speaker, with a rich accented voice which never failed to enthral. Kya was almost certain that Helena could read a phone book and still have the American population swooning. Her words were carefully chosen and sincere, her dialect often reminiscent of the most classical poets. She crafted each sentence with purpose, seemingly on instinct. Words were so important to Helena. In every spell she crafted, in every heated whisper or soulful plea. Helena had been robbed of her voice many times, sometimes literally. To watch such a powerful woman, a warrior, robbed once more was perhaps one of the harshest things Kya had ever been forced to witness. And forced she was. No matter how she wished she could tear her eyes away, the horrific beauty kept her captivated. To look away would be a crime unforgivable. A betrayal to every promise Kya had ever whispered in the face of terror and shadows. At the time, Kya’s words had been the spark. They had bolstered the ember of Helena’s hope, allowing it to burn once more. To cast a glow that kept the darkness at bay. In truth, Kya knew that they would again. Eventually, she’d be able to utter those small promises and comforts which she had bound her soul to. For now, however, Helena was not the only one stripped of words.

Oh, how Kya longed to speak. She longed to lunge into the fray, sword raised against any who would harm Helena. If only what tore at Helena had form, then Kya could help beat it back. Not only could, she would. She would tear at every monster with her bare hands if only to give Helena a moment of respite. Alas, Kya could not move. Her hands were not designed to capture shadows, no more than a sieve was designed to capture water. However, her hands could cast shadows. Could create corners for the danger to hide. At this time, Helena’s mind could not decipher between pale and bloodless. Between the chipped nails of a working woman, and the talons of an evil Queen.

Kya wished beyond anything that she could approach, that she could wrap herself around Helena; become a shield against the night terrors. That the warmth of a loving hug would be enough to drag Helena back to reality. It was human instinct to offer physical comfort to those you cared about. This could never be, however, much to Kya’s pain. At the moment, Helena was gone. Trapped in a vestige of her past. A touch as light as a dove landing on one’s shoulder would likely be received as if it were the talons of a hawk. And words? Helena would not, could not hear words. Not when her demons roared and chanted for the blood of her innocence. Blood which had already been let from Helena long ago.

Tears poured silently down Kya’s pale cheeks; starting out blazing hot, only for the lingering trails to become colder than ice. It took effort to endure, to resist the ever-growing urge to rub at her sticky eyelashes and stinging eyes. As much as Helena was trapped in her past, she was still aware of the present. If Kya moved it would undoubtedly draw Helena’s attention. A hand raised to wipe away tears could be received as a hand raised to strike. The first of many blows Helena would have to endure if she couldn’t escape. Weak as she seemed now, Helena was a warrior. She would fight against any perceived threat, and right now she would take the entire world as a danger. Including Kya.

“Please... no... no. Please. Please, please, please! No! Not- NO!” The first coherent sentence Helena managed to utter drew a soft sob from Kya. So, it was that kind of terror. Helena’s first coherent sentence let Kya know the tone of her flashback. What type of Helena’s pain Kya would most likely be soothing. Were Helena to utter an apology, Kya knew it was guilt she would have to focus on. That Helena was tormented by the faces of those she had been forced to hurt or had hurt in her defence. Those she felt did not deserve their fate at her monstrous hands. Helena had been older then, perhaps broken enough that her mind had split and protected her consciousness from the worst of her deeds. These were the easiest to comfort, the mildest of her attacks. Pleading took several tones. Sometimes it was for forgiveness, for failure. Trying to soften the blows of punishment she never deserved. In these cases, Kya had to reinforce Helena had done nothing wrong. That she was not a failure. Whilst bad, Kya had almost perfected turning all of Helena’s degrading logic back on itself. Words were powerful enough to cut through, though it was often Helena herself to came to the conclusions. Kya’s validation was enough. Then... then there was this. The worst type of begging. The memories of when Helena had been reduced to a living toy for sadistic desires. The pains inflicted had scarred so deeply that a decade had not soothed them. Helena had been so young, so vulnerable when this had started. Her mind twisted in such cruel manners that she had thought this violation love. A love she had wholeheartedly returned. There was no reason to these. Nothing Kya could say to soften the fact that, to begin with, Helena was consenting. Helena would not always hear that she had been conditioned. That someone had abused their knowledge and power over her to make it seem like she was asking for the abuse she received in place of affection. Logic could not pierce these murky waters every time, if logic was welcomed at all. In this case, all Kya could do was wait until Helena came back to herself, then allow Helena to feel in control of their interaction.

It hurt. As if Kya’s chest was slowly inflating with blood. The pressure increased until Kya half feared her chest would explode like an overfilled balloon. Every breath was wet and gurgling as Kya drowned in her own tears. People often threw the insult of “animal” at someone eating with their hands or unruly children. Kya could almost laugh at them. None of those people knew what an animal truly was. She doubted that they’d listened to a graceful woman speak of times she was forced to eat from the floor for simply misspelling a word, or for begging the pain to stop after hours of knives across her skin. That they’d seen a woman who’d fought to save others reduced to a clawing mess in her own bed, soaked in her own fluids. They’d never watched a human gouge their own skin with short nails, desperately trying to clean their soul by tearing tainted flesh away. By bathing in their own self drawn blood. Kya doubted they’d ever have to help a near unconscious woman into the shower, then detangle a rat’s nest of moonlight hair. Surely, these people didn’t have an emergency box to help lure a human out of the deepest pits of fear. It was laughable they’d compare someone speaking with their mouth full to someone stripped of their humanity the ways Helena had been, the way her traumatic panic attacks continued to do.

Kya couldn’t help but acknowledge the burning behind her neck. It was almost like a twinge that crept along her neck to the base of her skull. Physically, it never changed, yet the emotional stabs that followed were akin to a knife stabbing into her brain. What right did Kya have to feel sorry for herself? To hate how powerless she felt whilst Helena went through this? Yes, it hurt, but this wasn’t about her. Kya only had to endure this when Helena’s body no longer could. But Helena? Helena dealt with this every day. Helena had survived horrors most people couldn’t comprehend, yet here Kya sat, feeling sorry for herself because she couldn’t be the angelic hero? Was she really so immature? Was her saviour complex so all-encompassing that it had to become her identity?

Kya took a breath to calm herself, barely noticing that the room had grown quiet. No, she reminded herself. It was not self-centred to feel pained that she could not help the person she loved. Her pain for Helena’s suffering was not born of a sense of failure, nor was it rejecting that Helena might never stop having such episodes. Kya had accepted that almost the moment their relationship had begun. Helena’s pain was part of them, even if they wished otherwise. It wasn’t for Kya to fix or change. This was why Kya watched every attack. Not out of some misguided hope to cure Helena like some miracle worker. Not because of some comforting words whispered in an effort to soothe. But because loving Helena meant accepting these attacks as part of life. It meant respecting that Helena’s trauma was never going away, no matter how far Helena came. The trauma left behind was part of Helena, just as much as the whip scars across her back. Kya was never going to ignore or deny its existence. Instead, she lingered to balance it. So that, when Helena called, she’d be there to soothe the pain. To give Helena a moment where the world was not on her lone shoulders.

Another breath. Quiet. Only the softest sound of hurried breaths, short and sharp. It was a sound reminiscent of a little girl in a horror film hiding from the monster; that suspended moment of horror before the music burst to life and the villain appeared right beside the helpless victim. The act of lifting her head to watch Helena felt akin to stretching a rubber band between one’s fingers, just waiting for the elastic to snap and all hell to break loose.

At least Helena looked softer now. If Kya was a ghost in the pale morning light, then Helena was an angel with shadows wings curling around her. Moonlight blonde hair tangled around her flushed face, complimented by the gleam of teeth peaking from naturally darkened lips. Shallow lines roamed her entire body, evidence of her own nails raking across her skin. The angel had defeated the demon this night, given only the crescents at her ankles even bled. White had turned to grey over Helena’s torso, her shirt damp with sweat. All this was insignificant to the oceans of sapphire blue which fought to reclaim the space invaded by blown pupils. Even with eyes filled with fear, something resembling clarity lapped at the thin ring of colour, a sharp awareness that pierced through everything once Helena’s gaze landed on Kya.

“Kya?” She seemed to plead; voice scratchy from how long she screamed. It was the first step, the sirens song that infused Kya’s limbs. Limbs that aimed to betray her as she began to rise to her feet.

“Mistress?” that word tasted foul on Kya’s tongue. It was not a playfully uttered word, nor a lovingly granted title. It was a test. A trigger. It was a risk, calculated for but a second. Kya loathed what she did, as she did every time. Unfortunately, it was the safest of two evils. This let Kya better understand the nature of Helena’s terror without having to directly ask. A breath. The tilt of a confused head. A steady blink. There was no flinch, no hiss. That helped. Wherever Helena had gone, it was more recent. It was not where consent was murky, where Helena would blame herself. It had been later, where Helena had no longer had the will to fight. A place Helena had dragged herself out of to protect Kya. The American could work with this, it meant Helena wasn’t at her lowest. She could handle the next step.

“Helena. Can you tell me where you are?” Kya requested, her mind silently pleading that Helena could follow the task. This was a distraction, a simple thing to redirect Helena’s focus to her environment instead of her memory. Once Helena had reassociated, it was safe to approach. Before then, the risk of Helena panicking again was too high.

“Bed… the sheets are dishevelled.” Helena’s response was almost as painful as a blow to Kya. Too short. Not precise enough. Still at risk of escalating. Kya swallowed, watching as Helena’s head turned around the room, eyes feasting on every small detail. Kya couldn’t quite decide if Helena was more like a meerkat scouting, or the calculating wolf. Whether she was still prey, or if she was a huntress attempting to lure her prey closer before striking. Was she the refined beast, or herself?

“That’s good, Helena. Would you please tell me where this bed is?” Kya had to praise. Lure Helena into a more rational state. The way Kya’s heart was pounding in her chest felt as if she were baiting a leopard. One wrong step and Helena could lash out. Or rather, Helena would slip back into that darkness nipping at her heels. Kya didn’t know which possibility was worse for Helena.

“Our residence… home. I’m inside, aren’t I, Kya? I see the window.” Helena’s words were slow, controlled with each breath she took. No longer did she take in the environment, or rather not with turns of her head. Instead, her eyes focused on every reflective surface, watching the doors through shadows.

“Yes. I am at home. You’re here, Gentle Heart. We are safe.” Helena’s gentle realisation earned a breath of relief. This was good.

“Yeah. We’re safe, Helena. What do you need? Do you want me to come closer?” Kya kept her questions neutral, avoiding any implication of her own desires. If Helena thought it was what Kya wanted, she was likely to agree to anything. A state that had been beaten into her, then abused. Kya refused to take that opening, refused to let Helena give that surrender. Kya had seen Helena’s conscious surrender, those moments she allowed herself to be guided or controlled. Where the fortress welcomed another. After seeing those precious moments, how could Kya even dream of taking a manufactured one? How could she violate that sacred trust?

“I am not certain… I crave having you near... But... hands...” She never voiced the request, letting the lack of actual words hang between them for the fraction of a second.

“Not a problem.” Kya was almost too eager to agree, her smile calm and radiant as she began her slow approach. It wasn’t hard for her to put the pieces together. There were only two reasons Helena would ever wish for Kya’s hands to be bound. One was quickly excluded, given the mood. Obviously, whatever had haunted Helena this time had included having her hands bound. Ankles too, judging by the scratches. The carpet was soft beneath Kya’s feet, comforting every step until she reached the foot of the bed. There, she waited, allowing Helena to process. She watched the blues of Helena’s eyes grow clearer, shifting from instinctual panic to remaining fear. From the belief she was in danger, to merely adrenalized. Helena’s body trembled, having nowhere for her energy to escape. Nowhere but fidgeting with the sheets in clenched fists. Words were not needed as Kya dropped to her knees, intentionally keeping her smile calm, touched with her typical goofy affection. By now, she didn’t need to look to know where the special box was. A box she dragged into the light.

To anybody else, the box would probably cause a flood of confusion. The assortment of objects did not belong together in any coherent world. On top of the pile lingered silken rope, coloured to match a rainbow and soft enough it would not leave marks behind on Kya’s flesh. Beside it, several bottles of water, of which Kya took two, along with a tube of cream. After this, she froze, calculating the other objects. The goofiest sleep mask she had ever seen, with large cartoon eyes drawn across the outside. A small length of leather, thick and dented with human teeth marks. A pen, filled with glossy blue ink, chewed down the length of the pen. Several small notebooks, each with different covers. One was covered with faux fur, whereas another was woven with sequins that depicted stars in the night sky. A children’s picture book telling the tale of a kitten chasing a ball of yarn. Beside the books, a small recording device, complete with a headset. The headset appeared to be able to be connected to another device, a music player of sorts. Several assorted kitchen utensils were tucked besides a miniature cricket bat, along with a stone that had been sculptured to replicate a basketball. Finally, a thick blanket was folded at the bottom, supporting the contents of this box.

“Rope. Cream. Water. Anything else?” Kya asked in her usual cheerful voice. This wasn’t something scary for her. This was the relief after the storm, where she could find her joy. Finally, she had ability to be useful. She could finally bring some form of comfort. Helena didn’t speak for a while, long enough for Kya to pop the supplies on the bed. She knew Helena was actively thinking, given the crease in her brow. An expression that often fell into something Kya couldn’t name, but she knew it would mean Helena was actively hating herself again. Actively judging the methods they were using.

“I’m so sorry, Kya. This isn’t natural. This can-”

“Don’t.” Kya gave her gentle yet stern warning, silencing the blonde.

“Helena, I give my full consent to this. You are not forcing me or doing anything I wouldn’t agree to. Right now, I wouldn’t care if this was illegal. This helps you feel safe and doesn’t hurt anybody. Besides, people pay to watch hot women tie up other girls. It can’t be that bad, right?” Kya tried her best to remain calm and serious, she truly did, but her mouth ran away with her. At her end statement, Helena gave a weak laugh, shaking her head in bemusement.

“More to the fools whom share such moments.” She commented shakily, reaching to take the supplies Kya had provided. With a soft gesture of her head, Helena invited Kya closer. The American kicked the box aside and walked to Helena. Before she could stop herself, her hands reached out to brush erratic strands of Helena’s hair back into the winter gold mass. The briefest touch of silk was addictive, enthralling even, but the closest to touching Helena she was willing to come without verbal consent.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t want to share?” Kya taunted, offering her wrists to Helena. The touch of rope barely registered compared to the warmth of Helena’s clammy hands. Too warm. To the point of hot. Still, the touch was so gentle and lingering, as if Helena was taking a moment to simply feel Kya’s heartbeat. A finger resting along the veins of Kya’s wrist before rope embraced her forearms. The silky texture was hardly foreign, nor trapping. Somehow, what was often considered something erotic was actually calming. It removed the chance her hands would wander into a triggering location, removed the possibility of mistakes. It also gave Helena a task, something to focus her keen mind on along with her dextrous hands. The series of knots were too dizzying for Kya to even dare to watch, instead she focused on Helena’s face. On how the blue was winning once more in her captivating eyes.

“You overestimate my generosity, if you truly believe I would share my soul in such a way. I would sooner see it in your hands alongside my heart, than exposed to the leering of others.” Helena’s answer was predictable, yet it still brought a large smile to Kya’s face.

“May I touch you?” Kya’s question was delivered tenderly. The words were not thoughtlessly blurted, not as they had been in the past, yet it didn’t make them any easier to contain. For everything Helena needed in that moment, Kya too had needs. The need to be closer, to soothe the tormented soul before her. Words were not enough, not when she had an array of senses to feed. She needed to be useful. To feel Helena begin to settle. To know the storm, for now, had passed.

“Of course. I am alarmed it took you this long to voice such a desire.” Helena voiced her thoughts with an arched brow a moment before Kya playfully lurched forwards. The American rested her forehead to Helena’s blistering shoulder, ignoring the feeling of sweat slicked skin in favour of cuddling closer.

“I wanted to make sure you were ok first. That was a longer one.” Kya confessed, unable to lift her head to look into Helena’s eyes. All at once, she was too aware of Helena’s pounding heart, of the feeling of static between their bodies. For a time, Helena did not speak. She simply wrapped her arms around Kya’s smaller frame, pulling the girl into her lap. Helena squeezed Kya’s body to hers, treating Kya like a child might treat their most treasured teddy bear. The warmth of the gesture was enough to fill the silence, to lull both women into a sense of comfort. Helena’s chin eventually came to rest over Kya’s shoulder, her head tilted so that her temple rested against Kya’s midnight locks.

“How long?” Helena eventually broke the silence, lifting her head so that she could gaze at Kya’s face. Of course, she wouldn’t allow herself to miss Kya’s reaction. Wouldn’t spare herself the pain of seeing what her condition had done to Kya. A quick glance towards the clock gave Kya her answer.

“Twenty minutes after you woke. But you started tossing a few hours ago.”

“Hmm. That explains the exhaustion I am suffering. Are these too tight?” Helena’s voice was softer, lowered enough that Kya would have missed the words if she had not been hanging on Helena’s every reaction. Experimentally, Kya gave the ropes a tug. As expected, they did not give an inch. Kya’s wrists in the loops were hardly required for the bondage to hold its shape, yet they found belonging simply enough. The ropes reminded Kya of Helena’s grasp, firm but never painful. Gentle, but unmistakable.

“Not at all. Digits are all functional.” Kya dutifully reported, wiggling her fingers playfully as Helena delivered the end of the rope between Kya’s waiting palms. All it would take was the slightest pull and the knots would come undone. For all Helena’s fear, she still tempered her own need for safety enough to grant Kya hers without needing to be asked. All that truly kept Kya bound was her own desire and willingness to be. It was, perhaps, what their relationship boiled down to. For every illusion they cast of Helena’s dominance, there was always an escape, both immediate and gradual. Helena always left herself vulnerable, even when she needed to be shown she was not. The rope, merely a trick to her layered mind. A sign of utter trust.

“I would loathe for that to change.” Helena jested weakly.

“Oh. So, you want me for my hands. That isn’t a lesbian joke of old.” Kya sighed, shaking her head in mock dismay as Helena chuckled. It was soft; low and rough in her throat, but it was a start. It was enough for Kya’s smile to become even more radiant. Warmth embraced her, lulling Kya to close her eyes as she left her hands extended. After a moment, the ropes around her wrists slackened, Helena changed the knots. Bound them. Undid them. Repeated the pattern.

“Alas, my wicked schemes are laid bare.” Helena quipped. It was touching, that Helena fought her exhaustion enough to try. Even after everything, she chose to fight. To fight every shadow in her mind, every demon devouring her from within. Her short nails dug into what remained of her humanity, and she clung with all her might. A small joke here, or a gentle smile after the exhaustion of another war within.

“It’s ok to be bare, Helena. I’m not about to run. Remember, I am not afraid of what was done to you. This is just part of us, and I wouldn’t trade us for anyone else. I’m here, no matter how many nightmares you have.” Kya sighed, turning her own head to watch Helena’s expression. She already knew what would happen. Yet, no matter how many times one watched the Sun rise, the beauty never diminished. It was the same now, for the expression Kya knew Helena would try to give her. No matter the actual result, the effort was beautiful. It was wholehearted. For this, Kya would gladly miss every sunrise.

“That, Gentle Heart, is my only salvation. That you stand by my side.” Helena sighed, her lips twitching into an almost hollow replica of a smile. That was alright. Eventually, Helena would give a genuine smile. Mischief would dance in her eyes once again, even roughen the timbre of her voice. Eventually that husk would be intentional, not a by-product of a sore throat. Until then, Kya was satisfied to keep smiling. To keep offering whatever she could to bring Helena back towards her humanity. To the land of the living.

#voltage lovestruck #love&legends #helena klein #helena x mc

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ajoraverse · 5 years

Text

This is an excerpt from the other thing I’ve been working on and can’t post yet because I intend to illustrate it. Faris/Lenna, long-established relationship between people who absolutely should not be in said relationship, mentions of sexytimes but I’ve cut the worst of it out for posting to tumblr. Follow-up to A Criminal Enterprise.

Friendly reminder, too, that Faris is a known criminal and elected leader of hundreds of pirates and other ne’er-do-wells for five years before the game and, in her introduction in the game, actually kidnaps and holds the party for ransom until she decides to help them.

Warning for inc*st between consenting adults who did not grow up together, mentions of gender dysphoria with a technically nonbinary character who is afab and then forced by circumstances to live as a boy for 15 years on ships where women were forbidden, and a bit of playfulness that would be really, really disconcerting in the blatant-abuse-of-power way if they weren’t technically equals in the eye of the law. As is, it’s still a bit dodgy, but Lenna is such a sweetheart that she would never.

(Context note: In a mad dash to cope with the loss of Galuf and the crystals to ExDeath, and deal with their own messy feelings, Faris and Lenna jumped the gun and went and got married in Moore just after the events in A Criminal Enterprise In secret and under assumed names, of course. This is 15 years later.)

Lenna's grip on Faris eases as she relaxes in the afterglow and watches her clean up with all the satiation of her own dragon after a good meal. She looks like she wants to curl up and go to sleep, but Faris knows her crafty little sister well enough to know she'll want her turn at topping as soon as she's recovered. Faris stays where she is, on her elbows and knees over her wife, because one of those things Lenna never seems to tire of is this closeness of theirs.

Soft, warm lips brush over Faris' moments later as Lenna's arms hold her close again. It's not a kiss, not quite. "I love you so much," Lenna's voice is little more than a whisper.

"Love you, too." In emphasis, Faris closes what little distance remains between their lips. The kiss starts as warm and flares to a driving heat so quickly that it might have made her head spin. She's aware, vaguely, that Lenna's hands trail down her back before leaving her entirely to do... whatever. Her focus is more on the depth of the kiss and the way Lenna knows just how to respond to her motions in just the right way to revive her arousal.

The delicate hands of a queen grasp at Faris' shoulders, and she can feel Lenna squirming beneath her. Not that she minds, for Lenna always feels fantastic rubbing up against her like that.

Then, suddenly, the world goes awhirl as Lenna somehow manages to roll her off and climb on top of her. Before Faris can even fully register it, Lenna grabs her wrists, yanks them up over her head, and wraps them up in a length of...wait, is that the fuckin' girdle?! The little minx, she'd planned this. Faris can't help it, her face splits into a broad grin of delight. Somehow or another, Lenna always manages to surprise her.

"Like that, Captain?" There's more than a bit of impishness in Lenna's fond smile as she straddles her sister. Lenna is such a lovely figure in her glittering jewels and sitting on Faris' hips like this that her mouth feels dry.

It takes Faris a moment to gather herself. Lenna's fingers rest at her belt buckle, an unvoiced question in the way they almost curl around it. Faris' moods regarding her own nakedness are fickle at best--sometimes she doesn't mind it, sometimes she likes it because Lenna does, sometimes she hates it and can't figure out why. And before Lenna, it hadn't been an issue because her past conquests were content with taking and not reciprocating. But it's her Lenna wants, completely, chronic gender confusion and all. Faris wonders sometimes what the hell she did to deserve Lenna's love and devotion.

She nods once. Just enough for that sweet little smile of gratitude to light up Lenna's face and tug at Faris' heart.

Those nimble, skilled fingers unbuckle her belt with a fluid quickness that comes from long practice and puts it aside. They tease along the buttons of her greatcoat before slipping them under their eyes, and Lenna does it at a languid pace that's more about committing all this to memory than the wicked teasing that Faris likes to do.

Lenna's eyes as she daintily pries open Faris' clothes are so tender and wanting that Faris is sure she deserves none of it. Rather than be repulsed by old battle scars, Lenna traces them. Rather than be disgusted by the muscle Faris has been putting on since her access to decent food became a nonissue, Lenna admires them and fondles them in a way that makes Faris forget entirely about the mess in her head. Rather than be frustrated when Faris' chest-binding for too long results in her breasts being too tender or too numb, Lenna watches the way Faris reacts to her touch and proceeds when she's sure she's not causing any pain.

"It's okay," Faris whispers as Lenna's fingers hover hesitantly over her chest. "Didn't do much binding today. I'm good."

Rather than respond verbally, Lenna gives her that wry little smile she makes when she's trying not to be selfish and failing. It's refreshing to see, if just because Lenna tries so hard to live up to her flawless virgin front that she feels like she can only be herself around Faris and their friends. The way Lenna's hands fondle and squeeze against what muscles she does have is downright possessive, and Faris is glad she gets to be the only one Lenna shows that side of herself to.

With a wicked chuckle, Faris tightens her abs right under Lenna's hands. It makes Lenna lose control of that smile of hers and her eyes might have twinkled. "Naughty girl," she says under her breath, in a tone that's something on the order of fondness lightly sprinkled with amusement. "If I'd known you liked that, I might've tried working harder earlier on."

"Me, naughty?" Lenna tries to play the innocent, but the attempt fails in light of the way her hands caress along Faris' sides. "I'm not the criminal here."

Faris can't help it; she laughs. Softly, of course; she's always conscious of the guards posted outside the door. Part of it is the clash of the Lenna she knows against her public figure, which is just as hilarious now as it was when Lenna proclaimed herself the Virgin Queen of Tycoon at her coronation. Part of it is that they are terrible at play-acting in bed, and she knows where this is going. Still, she's happy to go along. "And what would Your Majesty's subjects think of you detaining a criminal in your bed?"

"Why, they might thank me." Lenna's eyes dance with poorly-suppressed mirth. "Don't think I haven't kept track, sister dear. I have entire files on your activities."

Only the fact that Faris knows that nothing comes of it but a bit of play makes her so willing to go along with this. She'd balk otherwise. "Do you?"

"Arson, six counts," Lenna begins lightly, her fingers tracing along Faris' scars in a way that's much more loving than the playfulness she expects. "Bribery, fifteen counts. Burglary, thirty-seven. Extortion, eighteen. Fraud, various, twenty-three. Piracy, forty-seven. Smuggling, forty-two. Theft, various, sixty-eight. And that's just the crimes against property. Let's not forget assault and battery, intimidation, kidnapping, false imprisonment...the list does get exhaustive. My goodness, Faris, you've been busy."

Well, Lenna's numbers might be a bit low, but far be it for Faris to correct her. Still, she'll have to commend Lenna's spies on their thoroughness. Her smile softens as she reaches between them to skim her knuckles lightly against the silken smoothness of Lenna's inner thigh. It's a bit tricky, what with her wrists being bound together. "Don't forget this."

"Uncountable." Lenna shifts on her knees in a way that reminds her that she'll have to take the trousers with her. The heat radiating from her sister makes her sorely tempted to take charge again. But, this is Lenna's turn. That it happens so quickly does make Faris wonder if this sin of theirs has become another of Lenna's guilty pleasures. "Fifteen years' worth."

"And decades more, if I've anything to say about it." Faris' voice might have gotten a little husky--she seldom apologized for anything, and certainly never anything done out of need, but she'll never feel guilty or apologize for this. Not when Lenna is such an enthusiastic partner in crime.

"See? You're incorrigible," Lenna says teasingly. "The only solution is to keep you tied up nice and safe in bed. It's for the public good."

"Just the public good?" Faris jerks her hips up enough to bounce Lenna a little. The delighted "oooh" and a light giggle are awfully gratifying. "What's my sentence, my Queen?"

The neatly-trimmed nails drum lightly on Faris' midriff as Lenna makes a show of thinking on the matter. "Normally the sentence for such an extensive history is life in prison, but I could be convinced to commute it to, oh, a few years of time in my bed."

Faris never actually worries, of course. Part of the reward for saving the world, and the privilege of being the long-lost princess, was having her past records officially expunged. At least in Tycoon. There's probably still a warrant out for her arrest in Jacole. "And how might I do that?"

"I want you to come for me, dear heart." Lenna's hands settle over hers. Probably as much to keep her from going straight for her treasure as it is to reassure her. "You're always so giving. I love that you are, but I want to please you, too."

Admittedly, it took Faris a long time to get used to being vulnerable around anyone. Longer still to let her eager little sister reciprocate without second-guessing herself or feeling inordinately self-conscious, and the only reason it hadn't taken even longer was because Lenna is just as stubborn as she is and a hell of a lot gentler about it. It helped, too, that Lenna never makes it about how "gorgeous" Faris is; all she ever seems to want is to love Faris back.

With a sigh, Faris mentally kicks that selfish little bit of her that would rather not give in to Lenna's desire for her just because some crotchety old pirates messed up her head about genders and forced her to be a boy when she was a kid. At least it's a lot quieter now than it used to be. She eases back into Lenna's too-comfortable bed and manages a hint of a smile. "I'll need some help with my trousers. Seems I'm a tad tied up at the moment."

Despite Lenna's attempt to bite back the snort of amusement, it comes out anyway.

#farilenna

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eternityunicorn · 6 years

Text

Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans Part Thirteen +18

Author: eternityunicorn

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Sequel to the AU Elijah’s Eternity - Ten years have passed, a mournful Elijah has finally started to move on without his lady. In that time, he has gained a reunited family and has also found a new lady love. Yet, all is not well as danger comes for the smallest member of the Mikaelson family: Hope, and it prompts Niklaus to call upon the white goddess, drawing her back into Elijah’s life. As they reunite, can Elijah really say he’s truly moved on?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

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The study was completely ruined. It had been torn apart in the animalistic lovemaking of Elijah and Eternity. There were books, trinkets, and shattered glass scattered across the floor in various places along the walls, where both lovers had found themselves pressed against the shelves and being effectively ridden, at one point or another through the night. Elijah’s desk had it’s contents thrown about the room as well and worse, the vintage piece of furniture had it’s legs broken under the force of Elijah’s thrusts as he drove into Eternity’s wet warmth from behind. Even the curtains had been partially torn down when he had his lady pressed against the glass, wanting the people of the city to see her being taken by him. She had gripped the fabric of the old curtains so tightly that eventually they came down in the oblivion of the moment.

There was other furniture - chairs and end tables mostly - that had been tossed about when Eternity playfully tried to escape him. Some had been turned over, while others had been torn through on his journey to claim her again. The floor also had been effectively abused, and not just the one time where Elijah’s blood and claw marks lay. There were other places too that he had taken her that had been marked by his digging fingers. Her claw marks joined his in a one spot as well.

Yes, the room would need to be mended. However, at the moment, Elijah lay upon the only price of furniture to escape their sexual madness - the couch. Eternity slept peacefully curled upon him with her head and one of her hands against his chest. A blanket that had been on the back of the makeshift bed had been tossed over them haphazardly, before they had passed out together in exhausted bliss.

Elijah had been awake for some time, while Eternity remained sleeping against him. He slowly stroked her hair in his affection for her, as she did. He laid there reminiscing about the wonderfully erotic afternoon and night they had shared together. He could feel himself harden at the memories that danced through his head.

Yes, his love and desire for his lady was indeed insatiable. He had always wanted her, but now that they had crossed this particular line in the reestablishment of their relationship, he could have her at his leisure. He no longer had to hold back, to be patient and chaste. And he didn’t plan to. Ever again.

Eventually, Eternity began to stir against him, where she lay between his legs on the couch. She sighed with contented tiredness, despite the good amount of sleep she had gotten. Once Elijah had ceased going after her, that is. He had kept his word to take her over and over again until she begged him to stop. She was hoarse when she finally did.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” whispered Elijah into her hair.

She sighed and groaned as she stretched against him. “Good morning, my love,” she murmured in return, her voice still gruff from their prior activities and from sleep. Then she snuggled into him affectionately and sighed again in happy contentment as she settled once more.

He grinned against her head, holding her tightly to him. “My study has been effectively destroyed,” he said offhandedly.

Eternity giggled a little, “Yes, so it has. Do not worry, I’ll fix it later.”

Her voice was lulled and lazy sounding. Elijah found himself completely charmed by it. He had never felt more in love with her, as he did at the moment. He felt a lightness in him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time - ten years to be exact. It was like being brought back to life for him after a long period of utter darkness.

“I love you so much, my darling Eternity,” he found himself saying.

“I love you too,” she replied sleepily.

Just as the moment had felt right to make love to Eternity again, this tender moment felt right to Elijah to make a proposal he had swirling about his head ever since they had started reestablishing their relationship during these last few months. Of course it hadn’t been right at first. No, but now it did.

He continued to run his fingers lazily through her hair as he thought about what he wanted to say to her. He wasn’t afraid or nervous. He instinctually knew she would be receptive. Still, it was something that they had never spoken about before, not in depth anyway. He did recall when the Mitchells had brought it up long ago, but they hadn’t been ready for such a commitment then and Elijah wasn’t sure if he’d ever be, at that point.

Now, however, he understood that he wanted that commitment, after having to spend a decade without his lady. He wanted to be her husband and she to be his wife, more than anything. He wanted to be bound to her, so that they may never part again.

“Marry me, Eternity,” he blurted softly.

Immediately she was sitting up and looking at him, the lazy contentment gone. Eternity looked at him in surprise, having not expected such a proposal from him and so suddenly in their reunion. She didn’t speak for a while, only stared in contemplation at him.

For a brief second, Elijah thought he had miscalculated, that maybe he had been wrong about her reception of his marriage proposal. He began to feel like a fool just when she practically threw herself at him with a shouted, “Yes!”

Instantaneous was her mouth on his, kissing him passionately with her taking advantage of his surprise as her tongue quickly invading his mouth. He groaned needfully, while his heart swelled with elation. He was over the moon that Eternity accepted his impromptu proposal.

Elijah gasped into her mouth when she sat up a bit and began to rub herself intimately against his growing hardness beneath her. Then one of her little hands trailed downward from his chest to his hard length, where she wrapped her hand around him and pumped him until he was thrusting upward wantonly.

Parting from his lips, Eternity sat up even more with a wicked smirk upon her pink ones. Then she adjusted her position on him, straddling his hips and swiftly proceeded to take him into her body. She sank down on him until he was buried to the hilt; the blanket that had covers them fallen to around her hips, allowing him a view of her breasts - and for him to watch her take him in and out of her wet warmth as well.

Her hands braced against his abdomen as she moved over him. Her nails dig into his flesh as the pleasure of being filled by him took over her. It was a delicious sort of pain and Elijah welcomed it.

He didn’t remain idle either. His hands moved to caress her body; one hand cupping and kneading her breast, while the other curled firmly around her throat. His hips began to thrust upward as she came down, creating the best rhythm as they drive each other higher toward their peaks.

So lost in each other were they that neither noticed someone had suddenly entered the study, until they heard Kol shout in disgust, “Oh, bloody hell! Elijah!”

Immediately, Elijah sat up with his arms around Eternity protectively to shield her from his brother’s view. He stared at his brother in shock, while Kol stared back in a mix of awe and disgust. Elijah’s lady didn’t seem very concerned though. The whole while, she didn’t break her rhythm, despite Kol’s presence and Elijah’s tight guarding grip around her body.

It made it hard to focus with her moving over him, taking Elijah in and out of her body steadily. Eternity leaned her forehead on the side of his head with her gaze casually upon his little brother. She wound her arms around his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair as she did. Elijah shut his eyes briefly, trying to find a bit of sanity to deal with his intrusive brother, whom stared in fixation at the scene that unfolded before him.

“Get the hell out!” Elijah finally managed to growl loudly at the younger Mikaelson, his voice gruff with his restraint of his desire and the displeasure of Kol’s inappropriate gawking.

Without needing further prompt, Kol remembered himself and swiftly vanished from the room.

As soon as his brother was gone, he turned his attention back on his lady, whom continued to ride him without pause. She grinned mischievously at him, her sapphire eyes twinkling with humor. He growled in displeasure at her, but his breath was stolen when she came down on his particularly hard. His growl turned into a needful groan, his eyes screwing shut against the pleasure.

Then she giggled outright at him, wriggling upon him playfully, and his eyes flew open. Instantaneously, he had their positions switched with her pinned beneath him on the couch. His had her hand pulled above her head, her wrists gripped in one hand. His other arm reached down to curl around her backside, lifting her a bit for a better angle. Then he began to move, his thrust hard and meaningful.

Eternity gasped and arched into him, her eyes fluttering closed. She broke free of his hold on her without resistance from him and her hands automatically reached to touch him. One of them splayed on his chest and the other went further up to tangle in his hair. She moved with him, her hips pushing upwards to meet him thrust for thrust. They found their perfect rhythm, moving together in sync with each other as they drove higher in joint pleasure.

Elijah bent down to capture her lips with his, his free hand cupping her neck as he did. His tongue slipped into her open mouth to taste her there, while moving through the wet cavern in the same rhythm as his hips. She moaned loudly into his mouth when he did that, and Elijah began to feel her walls fluttering around his cock, signally her end was near.

“Come for me, Sweetheart,” he encouraged against her lips, in between kisses. “Come for me.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Almost right away, Eternity’s walls clenched down on him as her orgasm took hold of her. She arched into him and froze with a silent scream that quickly turned into an incredibly loud one.

Elijah swiftly followed her into orgasmic bliss, coming unimaginably hard and emptying into her waiting body completely. He practically roared as he did, staring down into Eternity’s euphoric face all the while. Then his strength gave out and he bent over her, burying his face into her neck as he came down from his high. Her hand ran through his hair lazily, while the other caressed along his back, sending shivers down his spine as he rested.

After a time, he managed to lift himself from her and he couldn’t help but to smile adoringly. She had said yes to marrying him and nothing made him happier in that moment. He reached down to kiss her lips tenderly, just in sheer joy - a joy he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel in his life.

Elijah had thought darkness and death were to be his life without light, because for most of his life that was exactly how it was; cold and cruel with flashes of light in between, but nothing lasting. Yet, meeting Eternity had turned everything on it’s head. It had showed him that there was a chance for sustaining light in his life, which was why he had been so broken to lose Eternity. But now? Now, she was going to be his...forever.

“We need get up, my love,” Eternity said to him lazily.

Elijah remembered Kol’s interruption then. Now that his mind wasn’t in a sexual haze, he knew that whatever he had come into the study for must have been urgent. Yes, perhaps getting up was for the best. Though if he were honest, he was very reluctant to leave Eternity’s warmth.

“We should go see what Kol needed,” he replied with a disappointed sigh.

Eternity grinned mischievously, “Aye, but perhaps a shower first?”

He returned her grin with one of his own, “Oh, most definitely.”

With that, the pair were up and racing down the hall to Elijah’s bedroom, where the shower was.

The second they were in the luxurious bathroom, Elijah had Eternity pinned to the door with her legs wrapped around his waist. He kissed her breathlessly for a few minutes, before releasing her from his grasp completely, much to her disappointment.

He went over to the large sized walk-in shower and turned the water on, before returning to his lady’s side. His mouth gravitated to hers automatically and his hands trailed her body much in the same way. He simply had to touch her in his addiction.

Eternity’s hands weren’t idle either. Her hands raked through his hair, holding him close as they kissed, her body pressing into him tightly.

A few minutes later and the shower was steaming. Elijah parted from his lady’s lips and proceeded to lift her into his arms again. He carried her into the shower and immediately had her pressed into the wall opposite of the spray. Her legs were wrapped securely around his hips and her hands curled into his hair once more.

“I love you, Sweetheart,” he told her again, unable to help himself.

Eternity smiled warmly in return and kissed him sweetly.

Despite all the lovemaking they had already achieved, Elijah craved more. He was truly insatiable when it came to the woman he had pinned to the shower wall. He felt like a starved man in need of sustenance where she was concerned.

Without warning, he buried himself inside her all over again, closing his eyes against the intense feeling of her walls around him, despite having just felt them moments before. Elijah swore would never get tired of the sensation. It was magnificent.

Eternity gasped at the suddenness of his intrusion and clung to him tightly, as he moved quickly inside her. He took her hard and fast this time without pause. She moaned loudly and clamped her mouth onto his shoulder to muffle the sound, as they climbed together rapidly.

It wasn’t long before her walls clutched down upon his cock and crying out mutely as she came. Not too soon after that, Elijah was groaning his release into her, thrusting a few more times before ceasing with an exhausted kiss to her neck.

He released her from his grasp, setting her down gently onto her feet. He smiled at her and she returned it, before he guided her over to the water spray and proceeded to wash her form himself. Elijah enjoyed the way she hummed appreciatively as he lathered her with soap, as he let his hands run all over her body. He was attentive to the task of washing her and once he was satisfied, he allowed Eternity to return the favor and wash him as well.

Her touch was everything.

Then after shutting the water off, he escorted his lady out of the shower and helped her dry off, before doing the same for himself. Eternity used magic to dress them from there. Elijah was quickly back in his typical dark three piece suit and she was dressed in a light pink sundress - typical for her.

Once they were ready, they headed out to join the living, as they say. However, as they were heading out of the bedroom, Elijah pulled her back into the room for one last kiss, which made her smile and giggle girlishly at him. After that, together, they headed out to find Kol. Little did they know what awaited them when they did.

To Be Continued....

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arcanakrp-blog · 7 years

Photo

KWON YEONGHUN – THE STAR. AGENT 17.

[ FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: KWON YEONGHUN ...

international age: 24 birthplace: seoul, south korea arcana: the star team number: seven

//: LOADING MUTATION: WING MANIFESTATION ...

application one: dream walking — Dream walking is the ability to invade the dreams of others, allowing an individual to explore the unconscious and conscious thoughts of the subject in which the dream walker is projecting themselves onto. This entails the invasion of privacy and personal thoughts against an unwilling participant, but Yeonghun does his best to lead the subject to revealing their secrets themselves. Who would believe that someone snuck into their dream anyways? It does little to remove the guilt from trespassing, but it allows him to almost literally “walk” through a dream without lifting a finger.

application two: dream communication — They say communication is key, and the ability to correspond does not exempt the unconscious. At least, not for Yeonghun. From languid liars to meek mutes, the option to lure vowels and consonants from the tongue of the those who know themselves best can be one of the most defying aspects of control that can be obtained during the witching hours. Often, less vivid dreamers were suitable for this deception, easy to read and easy to speak. But you know what they say, words are weapons.

application three: dream world manipulation — Dream world manipulation could arguably be the most forceful and cruel of abilities, but offers the most gentle way to infiltrate the thoughts of those beneath the sleeping spell. Yeonghun does his best to keep this ability as the most constrained, because the amount of empathy that coursed within him could not allow for the fabrication of the deepest of desires to the most futile of fears. But when he needed to induce manipulation, he did as he was expected of.

overall strengths and weaknesses: — Drifting through the dreaming thoughts of sleepy headed strangers offered an ability that seemed precise, careful, and like a whisper – easy to conceal. But those were misconceptions created by the media conjured up by vivid imaginations. Rather, one would find themselves contained in a paradox that seemed to offer more troubles than what it was worth.

Dream manipulation offered a bout of answers to the most intimate of curiosities that could tempt even the most moral, but not without exchange. For Yeonghun to find himself dwelling through the slumbering visuals of his target, he himself had to be asleep. The level of vulnerability would increase if the subject was an active dreamer, which could force his presence to be stationary. This included the fragmented, ephemeral day dreams, which were easier to enter and exit but still required that the explorer himself be asleep.

According to scientists, the moment an individual stirs from slumber is the moment the beginning of the dream starts to burn from memory – and Yeonghun is no exception. If someone were to wake him as he were traveling through an individual’s dream, he would find himself with the majority of the details muddled in a murky mess. However, if he is able to provoke his consciousness, he could keep the details as if it were a living memory.

Although a masterful individual with an ability that crept through the night, that did not make Yeonghun any less human than the next passerby, which meant that he all too easily could succumb to his emotions. With a temper that would flame at any triggering moment, the uncontrollable rage could shift a reverie into paralysis. The consequences for this happening are extremely dangerous because nightmares make a subject more prone to waking, and if they manage to wake before he does, there is no guarantee he will.

Manipulating dreams causes a heavy amount of exhaustion upon the explorer due to the amount of concentration required to travel through the thoughts of dozing dreamers. Waking from the use of this ability has led Yeonghun to dive right back into slumber due to the consumption of his energy. Although mostly in control of who he may project his ability upon, if he does not recharge himself without walking through dreams, he will find himself in a variety of spontaneous situations – unsure of who’s thoughts he may be wandering.

With disadvantages came restrictions. Perhaps Yeonghun was not yet skilled enough to control himself, but the further away he was from his subject, the harder it was to enter their dreamscape. It was not impossible – and there were several instances where he found success in the form of communicative answers – but he did find it strained him to be a certain distance away from the target. Furthermore, he struggled to enter the slumbering delusions behind names he could not put a face too. Even seeing the subject once allowed him to enter their dreams, but any less and he would find himself at a wall.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

I. We are blessed.

While infants penetrate their first moments of life by embezzling every ounce of air that tempted their underdeveloped lungs and kissed their tender skin, the fragile fading drums of a muscle being rendered useless from the chord that created this life all at once robbed every breath that begged with clemency. Frantic and impatient, the blessing of forgiveness manifested the golden boy that graced his mother’s arms as her tears ballooned along her lashes, caressing his blossoming cheeks. And from then, he would carry the title Yeonghun – 永訓 –, everlasting lesson.

II. I am cursed.

The cruel hands of creators were not merciful, but rather brash, and every miracle must be exchanged for tragedy. The boy is only three when he must return the tears his mother had blessed him with, but all for an entirely different reason. Although he could recall the laugh lines that hugged her cheeks, his grieving was short lived due to his tender age. But his heart never forgot the longing abandonment that he watched his father struggle through.

III. I’m feeling blessed.

First, her existence is made into fruition. Second, the curved edges of his father’s lips – that seemed to have permanently stand stoic for two long years – were now agape and full of sonorous cacophony. Third, she packed him lunches. And would walk with him, hand in hand, to school. And she would be right outside the gate with an umbrella to pick him up when it rained. And at night, she read him stories over and over until he fell asleep. And she told him she loved him. And though he could never forget his birth mother, he gave her a piece of his heart when he finally called her “mom”. And it was only right to offer his heart to the infant she was carrying in her swollen tummy.

IV. But something in the air will drive me to the start.

“What an ungrateful bastard.”

The slur struck his face in an instant.

“That stranger you call, mom? Ha, she prayed every single day for your mom to hop into her grave.”

The stinging never did stop that day, forgotten only behind the sheen of sullen and resentful tears that had dried – from pure exhaustion – against his flushed skin.

“What? You don’t recognize the caretaker of your mom?”

The careful, thoughtful nurse that watched over his mother when her terminal illness became too much suddenly became the pieces of grief that jammed into his skin like shards of fragmented glass.

“That poor woman, she is probably cursing you up in heaven. Bless her.”

Yeonghun is only thirteen, but he runs away with only a heart full of betrayal, enough to last more than thirteen lifetimes.

V. I’m staying in the dark and drinking from my heart.

A fistful of bills only got him as far as Busan. It was a hell of a struggle, working odd jobs and lying about the lack of papers he had with sob stories that ranged from being an orphan with parents that abused and abandoned him or died in some tragic accident to having a sick mother with five other siblings to help feed. And he managed to barely get by, most of the time.

VI. Sticks of death, cigarettes.

The habit of smoking developed when he spent too much time on the container and cargo ships as a helping hand around the port. And mostly when he realized these were cheap – in comparison to a day’s worth of meals – and kept his appetite low, especially when he went without eating. And it didn’t hurt that his stress was suppressed. Soon, Yeonghun landed himself a job as a deck hand and found how easy it was to fall in love with the sea.

VII. I hate the smell of smoke.

Cold, rough hands meant that those were the ones that kept the warmest hearts. An older woman who had taken up the business after her husband had passed a few years prior, owned much of the shipyard and the lighthouse. This was also the first person to break a cigarette in half while it was still burning in Yeonghun’s mouth. The woman told him he was much too young – only about fifteen – to be helping the older, burly men with the crates so she put him in charge of guiding the ships safely to port and instructing him to live in the lighthouse. And for once, he felt like he was doing everything right. This is where he belonged.

VIII.But I learned to hide it.

The ocean had always been a fixation of attraction, gorgeous and vast but not one to join hands with. Especially not when the riptides tore away the sand from the shore. And quite contrary to the fond eyes that he had for the sea, Yeonghun had no idea how to swim. But one day, he decides to explore her and dives right in. The water is freezing, salty, and unforgiving but he wants to conqueror her. And so he teaches himself to swim.

IX. When I’m old, I’ll damn these broken lungs.

And his curiosity does not end, sparking a light that emits a fire in the pit of his stomach which compels him to copy an individual he watches hop up onto a board and slice through the water with precision and control. Yeonghun is stubborn, perhaps stupid, but he is used to helping himself rather than begging for the assistance of others. After the beach is deserted, he would take an abandoned board that washed up on the shore one day, and practice. With enough confidence, he would seek waves in the early morning, and then during the peak hours. It doesn’t take long for someone to see the talent ad arrogance that drips off the golden boy.

X. It’s the same things that get me again.

Bondi, Bells, Kuta, Santa Cruz, Oahu, Thurso, Mentawai, Hossegor, if there was salt water coddling the granulated land his feet sunk into, he had tasted her waters. Yeonghun was steadily becoming the poster child of young and upcoming rookies, an underdog who’s name began to appear in the mouths of those who loved the waters as much as himself. But the road to the pinnacle only meant that anyone was ready to sink him beneath them. Fearless and aggressive, he never displayed the arrows that were shot in his back by the impending envy that had soaked through his opponents. But perhaps that was in vain? Yeonghun never even had a chance to taste the victory that could have been his. Could have been. Trapped in her labyrinth as she stole away every ounce of oxygen that he hid in his lungs, he had sworn that he was falling into a slumber that would never allow him to wake. But when he did, he realized that was actually, much worse.

POST-MUTATION

XI. I’ll pretend I’m deep asleep.

One restless day would turn into one restless night, which would create a pattern of perpetuating insomnia. Falling asleep meant reliving, and drowning himself in flammable, gasoline grade liquids woke his body with tormenting aches. The cycle made him forget what day it was, and his eyes would be locked out on the dark ocean as she whispered to him her secrets, every, single, night. But sometimes they were lullabies that rocked him to sleep.

XII. Call us out on our mistakes.

The clairvoyant crystal drapes that have seemed to engulf every fiber of his being induced the anxiety that capitulated his every thought, forcing his intimacy with the ocean back to where he had once begun – to an infatuation that consisted of only fond eyes towards the sea. And yet he was submerged in the most crystal blue of waters, his lungs filled with air and his skin soft and warm. An elder woman paddled past him, her goggles shielding back the curiosity of his existence as she plucked away at the creatures that clung to the shaft of rock that stood behind them. When Yeonghun woke, the vivid imagery of the delusion plagued him for longer than he thought he should have been pondering it.

XIII.We fall apart without intentions.

“…Yeah, I had a dream about that boy that lives in the lighthouse.”

It only takes him a moment while wandering the market to hear the words paired to the familiar face that he dreamt of. As she vividly let her tongue reveal the same illusion he had shared, he realized the frightening reality that perhaps became his new affliction.

XIV. Kill me while I’m sleeping, love.

And what if he went with them? What did he have to lose? They say everyone dreams at night, just not everyone remembers.

#arc.app #arc.star #fc.song minho

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winterbuckytho · 6 years

Text

THY BODY IN REMEMBREANCE OF YOU PT.2 JIM II

That annoying thing is digging at him again. Father Jim's eyes shoot open and he lays in bed feeling echoes of the pain. There is an enormous and deep throb of an aching pain from his hip shooting upward then sharp pains that rediate out from a place close to his spine on the left side in what feels like jagged streaks of raw electricity cutting through his flesh. They spread through the upper portion of his back, the two sensations alternating for hours and hours. When it's cold like this he feels every inch of the metal inside him. The alloy which contains componants of adamantium coats half of his ribs and much of his spine. The cold gets in the metal. He takes more baths than showers to ward off the old pain but until the temp goes above 34, he is forced to look at this ugly reminder of his trauma. Day in, day out, worse, all night, every night, the pain is unrelenting. It puts him on edge and makes him irritable.

It's been creeping for weeks, 0 '...a silent stalker just like I was.' he thinks. He's slowly fraying at his mental and emotional edges. As the days grow longer and colder he grows more isolated, paranoid, pessimistic and more depressed. The loneliness he often feels deepens further and further all winter until spring when it lets up and he comes crashing forward through it all, clawing his way to the sun and a positive outlook as if being held down under the weight of the sea. But until then his very spirit feel as if it is drowning in the darkened days, cold cold nights & the horrible seering pain.

Sitting in the bathroom at 1:39 in the morning, staring into the wall across from the toilet, eyes wide and unblinking, none of the thoughts in his head can connect to the end or point of themselves. Time after time he tries to think of something to help him out of this trail of nothing.

"Can't stand i-"

"...a shower-"

"You're a murd-"

All day he had been fighting the sensation of not being able to land his mind on any subject or task. Restlessly he went from one activity to the next feeling exhausted & weak but driven to move, go, do. He tried writing sermons. He tried doing the dishes. He tried eating. Then sleeping. Then going for a walk. He didn't get past his mailbox before the urge to do something else came back. Finally lying down to go to bed had apparently been the wrongest thing he could do because the feeling grew so fast in intensity he felt physical vertigo from the sensation of his mind trying to sift through thoughts so fast. He had gotten out of bed and gone to the bathroom turned on the light and just sat on the closed lid of the toilet unsure if he was going to be ill or pass out. Meanwhile, terrible thoughts and self loathing dialog drowned out all reason.

He's frozen there because his mind really wants to go somewhere and because he won't let it, so he can't focus on anything. He doesn't want to feel anymore, doesn't want to look down that dark hole again. He doesn't want to think about it any more.

"Waste of lif-"

"Let me-"

"Help! I ca-"

"...my sins, so man-"

Unable to stand it much more begining to feel he can not breath, he begins to try the only thing he can think of.

"Shane-!"

"Just monster in huma-"

"-has to know I'm he-"

"Shaaane!!"

"I deserve all the pain-"

"SHANE!!"

"- breath I can not-"

"Buck...?" an echoing voice chimes in the bathroom. The echo multiplies and expands and contracts; the sound waves contorting and uncoiling. It is the auditory equivelant of a kaleidescopic image. It travels far through the spirit realm to reach him quickly.

The medicine cabinet mirror grows dim as if someone has turned down the lights in a room behind it. Jim's eyes snap to it and he fights to keep them trained there.

"Shane I-"

"-heart attack-"

A plume of a smoking melty substance the color of Shane's true self pours out of the surface of the mirror. It pools in the sink then pours to the floor where in a thick runnel, it slides across the floor stopping at Jim's bare feet where Shane starting head first is beginning to materialize. He leans back from the waist as if under the ectoplasm he had been kneeling in child's pose. He rests each of his hands on Jim's knees. "What's happened, are you all right?"

Seeing the insanity of Shane entering the room through a dimentional rift brings Jim back to the here and now. The cord to the racing thoughts has been cut, freeing his mind once more.

Suddenly gasping like a drowning man, Jim tilts his head back pushing his hair from his tired stinging eyes. " Uh-huh...I'm f- I'm fine."

"Jim, no you are not! This is the third time this week! I think you need one of your humans, not me..."

"I'll be ok, it's just this is a bad time of year for me. I can't ask anyone else to go through this for me." After a silence of several seconds continuing "You said you wanted... I... I don't want to be alone and awake all night. It feels like everyone is gone... like the only thing left is what's in my head. Can you stay with me?"

"Of course. Come on." Shane stands up and offers Jim his hand. He is completely nude and smells as if he has just had a fragrant bath.

Jim takes it and Shane leads him to the bedroom.

At the side of the bed Shane pushes him to sit down. He then leans in and says "Will you let me take your mind off it for a while?"

Jim, who had begun in the last weeks of September to need to masturbate to fall asleep, feels it may be the only thing that can help. The last two months have been so much harder. Jim is so mentally drained he can't focus on his fantasies and finish once he starts jerking off. His mind drifts off topic usually to stressful daily tasks or to very quickly changing and sometimes negative thoughts. He still checks in with Chantoya before bed, but is very good at sounding cheery over the phone. Then he lays in the dark trying not to but staring into the place where his memories should be. The longer nights feel miles longer, leagues deep. He wishes he couldn't remember everything now as much as he can't remember what he was doing for 30 years.

Something starts seeping out of there every year at this time. Like the smell of rotting corpses, a trail of them he left in his wake. A feeling that leaves him terrified to be alone with himself invades his life. There are no pictures or thoughts just feelings, awful awful feelings. Sometimes he's so angry & bitter, others so defeated & lost. There's despair in there, an ocean of it. There are times where he thinks all the good things around him are just too good and will self-destruct at any moment. He has a paranoid idea that he is still somewhere horrible doing horrible things and having horrible things done to him with the only reminder of reality being the insidious cold pain, the rest of what he thinks is his life is just a dream or delusion that may end any moment. Other times he feels almost hostile in his desire for the mental strain to end. He wants to claw out the pain, tear it out like one could tear out their hair. These fellings emanate from that hole,that empty looking place that feels full of foulness and the dark starts to leech the light out of his daily life.

Then as his other battle fatigue symptoms get stronger every other area of his life suffers. He becomes wary, sensitive others negativity and isolates himself even as he is internally begging not to be left alone. He loses interest in things he enjoys like writing sermons and keeping after the church and rectory. His appetite wanes no matter the meal and eventually he ends up forcing himself to find and eat anything at least once a day because he loses the desire to even eat. Sleep when it comes is shallow and though he can't remember, full of unpleasantness caused by nightmares. He feels sex is antidotal to the thing keeping him awake, keeping him alone, keeping him cold. It too can be made of only feelings, no images nor words can be articulated but you feel the stimulation and you feel the bliss it causes. It's an undeniable, a force of nature; love is the cure for pain.

"Be my guest, I'm so tired of being crazy. Give me something else to think about." Jim sighs. He was trying to sound sarcastic and jaded, but he is just so weary. Already Jim's mind is quite ready to retreat into the safety of Shane's embrace.

Shane kisses him on the lips; no tongue, just a sweet tender soft sensations like a hug, a gentle caress. He pushes Jim back and down onto the mattress then climbs onto his lap. He leans down again kissing Father Jim. He brushes Jim's hair away from his eyes and cups his hands around Jim's face. He kisses him again and again, sucking his lips, tasting Jim's last cigarette. They kiss like this for nearly thirty seconds by which time Jim is wholly invested, sighing "Uuuhmph...aaah!" as Shane slips along Jim's lips with the tip of his tongue.

He grinds his ass on Jim's lap. With his left he holds a hand to Jim's cheek. In the dark room, a tear rolls into the line between his thumb and Jim's cheek. "You crying, babyboy? Should I stop?"

"No, don't. I'm j-please," he sobs quietly, "... Jus' make me feel good, okay? My mind... I.. wh-..."

"What? You can tell me."

0 'Is there such a thing as mental pain??? I feel as if my thoughts are wounds that are festering...' he thinks in a quiet voice.

"Forget it..." he says thinking 0 'I wish...it would all go away.' "Can you make it feel better, Shane?" His voice is small like a child's for a moment. Shane now understands another truth of how Jim's mind works. The road to damnation for this one is not that of entitled lust but of terror & desperation. Without the structure of his current lifestyle he would be but a lost abandoned & abused child.

"Yes. All right, Father."

Shane leans down kissing him again. His lips drift down his chin and along his jawline kissing away cool salty tears. He kisses a line down Jim's neck and onto his left shoulder. Jim can feel the soft kisses there like butterflies landing on him. He wants to say "No not there, I hate it, I hate them, hate what I was, hate what I did, never there, it doesn't deserve..." but knows that's just a knee jerk reaction he's having because of what time of year it is. It's his time of year. The time where everything appears to have died and feels like it may never come back to life. The time of year where he hurts like the old man he really is. The time where things inside he wasn't born with feel cold and heartless, the way Father Jim perceives his alter ego the Winter Soldier to be.

Shane lifts Jim's arm and begins kissing a line down the inside of his arm to his elbow where he lingers, licking and kissing the cold metal, feeling its smooth cool surface on his tongue and lips. Jim's eyes drift close and he lets the sensation surround his mind a blessed cocoon of soft tender sweet feathers. "O-oooh...ooh!" He moans rolling his hips under Shane, pressing his dick harder into Shane's. At the apex of the thrust he holds his hips still, thighs shaking as erotic thrill travels down both of his legs and up into his belly.

Jim closes the door on his painful thoughts and sensations a little, shutting out as much as he can. He focuses on Shane, on how his body is interpreting the signals Shane's velvet tongue gives him. 0 '...sooth me like a child...just for a little while...' a broken part of Father Jim begs, quivering under the pleasant sexual energy building within. Shane's mouth travels further down his inner arm down to his hand where he places Jim's middle finger slowly in his mouth. Sucking it, tongue massaging, the heat of his mouth melting down Jim's arm for his brain to accept and define sensation to his nervous system.

From this he moves back down to Jim's chest sucking each of his nipples in turn, trying to make it last by giving very thoughtful foreplay. It feels so good Jim lifts boh arms and hugs Shane about the head pressing his pec harder into Shane's mouth.'Yes...help me...help me get away. I'm so afraid... the pain...so afraid of...'

In response Shane sucks harder on the nipple, pressing the tip of his tongue into the spongy flesh of it. Once in a while he gently rakes his teeth over it taking soft nips at Jim's chest. It goes on and on this way until Jim, thoroughly teased, begs panting and whimpering "Mmm...more! More more!"

Shane then moves to the next stage of their coupling. He crawls downward kissing, kissing, always kissing, a butterfly wing soft trail down Jim's body, trying to make Jim feel all the things Shane can not say. He wants Jim to focus his attention on the moment which will indeed get his mind off his troubles. Shane knows he'll never be human so this may never be love but Jim doesn't need to feel like it isn't. After all, in his way, Shane cares for Jim. Shane wants Jim to feel strong and happy, to feel safe and loved, to feel human even with a creature such as Shane holding his hand. He will do anything to make it so. He defies his very nature for this cause.

He skips over Jim's cock, he has sucked and will suck it another time. He pushes Jim's legs up until Jim's lower back rests on his knees and thighs as he kneels on Jim's bed. He spreads Jim's ass cheeks away from his anus and lowers his head to it. He licks using his whole tongue, moaning, for Jim's body is delicious all over and he couldn't care less about doing something mortals call dirty. His wriggling spiraling tongue elicits louder and louder moaning from Jim.

"Haaahn! Haa...UHN!" groans Jim more than happy to leave words behind. He uses his right foot whose toes touch the bed beside his pillow to push and pump his upward tilted hips rubbing his hole all over Shane's eager accepting mouth."Uuuuuhnph...aah...fuuuagh! HUHN!"

Shane wets the fore finger of his right hand with saliva and begins probing Jim's ass with his index finger. Even with his finger inside he licks at Jim's hole, flitting the tip of his tongue around the tightened muscle. In response, Jim relaxes more and his anus loosens around Shane's finger. Happy with how things are coming along, Shane kisses Jim's asshole one last time before sitting up and reaching out for the bottle of baby oil Jim keeps for varies reasons, lubricating the smaller plates of his left hand, softening dry patches on his arm and legs he gets from the dry warm air in the house and yes, sexual purposes.

Shanes coats his penis liberally with the oil rubbing it on twice to create a thicker layer on his skin. He scoots back on his knees and let's Jim lower his legs a bit more. Then slowly he begins feeding his cock into Jim's soft hot asshole. Pressing gently but persistently he goes forward a few millimeters at a time stopping when Jim tightens up again waiting until Jim is comfortable again and continuing on a little at a time. When he is fully inserted, he lays on top of Jim again kissing him this time on the right side of his neck and collarbone. His vessle being easily changed like forms made of clay, Shane uses the oppurtunity to make his cock swell thicker in it's girth, stretching Jim open more so he will be quite relaxed once Shane begins to move at his ordinary size. "Is this ok, hunny?" He whispers. He has a particular way of saying the word in which Jim can hear him saying it the way it's spelled in the Winnie The Pooh books.

Father Jim nods against him, eager & ready for what comes next, but still Shane takes it slow kissing Jim and gyrating his hips in tiny circles more to massage Jim's cock under his lower abdomen than to thrust into his asshole. He wants to be sure Jim is entirely turned on and focused on what he is doing. If Jim expends a lot of energy right now he may sleep better and longer. Shane sits up again and focuses his energy then actively pours on his sexually charged aura and Jim, sucking air in through his teeth hissing, moans "haaaAAAH!! HAAAHN! HAA!"

Jim can feel his heart rate speeding up and his limbs grow cool. He wants this so bad, needs it like a parched plant needs water. The anticipation is an incredible act of sexuality itself. His dick bounces against Shane's belly as his pc muscles flex involuntarily. Clear fluid runs in small slow drips from the tip of his cock down on to his lower abdomen. His dick radiates with pleasing pulses each time Shane rubs gently against it. His nipples harden and lips tingle. He feels Shane inside of him, his thick shaft stretching Jim's ass, it's weight heavy and satisfying. All the horror of the world has been covered and hidden, making it easier for Jim to see, feel, smell & hear their lovemaking in a stark intense manner. Jim is aroused beyond the measure and would do anything for Shane to continue on.

Shane pulls back, his own cock shriking back down to it's starting size. Then slow and steady he thrusts forward. As he does he pours more oil over Jim's penis and takes it into his hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Using his thumb he rubs over the meatus of Jim's glans at the top of each stroke. Once he has established Jim to be comfortable he picks up his pace to a moderate speed. Under him Jim moans enraptured by the stimuli. Shane watches Jim feeling him, his eyes plead with Shane, his eyebrows drawn together, mouth open in a grimace like expression of pleasure.

Jim feels each stroke of both types with singular focus. Each thrust of Shane's hips presses upon his swelled pulsing prostate washing wave after wave of warm energy from his pelvis throughout his body. He can feel Shane's shaft enter him again and reminding him of how his fingers felt with Shane's mouth wrapped around them, it arouses him further thinking about Shane feeling a similar sensation on his wide long penis. Each stroke of Shane's hand and thumb on his shaft and glans drawing him further and further toward orgasm. His moans quicken and get louder. In response Shane slows his movements, and begins to cycle from a slow pace to a moderate one working back up once more then repeating this a third time.

When Jim is close to his orgasm again Shane releases Jim's cock and leans down on top of him. He wraps his arms around Jim cradling the base of Jim's neck and head with his right hand, bracing his forehead against Jim's. Jim hugs back holding on as if he is drowning, vocalizing and groaning in low and high pitches by turns. Shane gives him one more kiss and sits up once more. He slips his cock out of Jim and places his own penis on top of Jim's. Using one hand he strokes both their dicks off. The image of it sends Jim over the edge of ecstasy. He watches Shane's eyes feeling his hand working up & down. Shane releases the embrace and when thick glistening semen splashes forth from Shane's urethra Jim cums as well the sensation hitting hard and knocking the breath from him. He makes several choked sounds as he watches his own cum streak across his abdomen mixing with Shane's. Now finished Shane crawls back a bit and settles between Jim's legs to lap up the spent ejaculate.

When finished he spoons with Jim letting him rest his head on Shane's arm while he hugs him about the midsection. Drowsy Jim says "I didn't think you came last time. Was I so greedy I didn't even do anything for you?"

"No," Shane murmurs quietly in his ear "I don't cum the way you do. My vessel, this body needs to do most bodily functions but because of what I am, I only experience some pleasant feelings form sex in my body. It's a surface thing not a soul deep one like it is for you. Now, shhh...try to sleep, Bucky."

Tired but annoyed Jim grumbles without words.

"Oh, right sorry...Jim."

With this Jim drops off to sleep.

#Bucky Barnes #horror #AU #WHFJ #priest!Bucky #fanfic

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