#and then she buried it under deep layers of denial

[sapphicadventure]

catcalling

[revelisms]

Excerpt: You Can't Replace Her

Vi's return has Jinx floundering. Sevika sifts through the layers.

From 'heron blue,' an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and political schemings. Full story on AO3

Sat at the table across from the kitchenette's thin galley, Jinx twists her plait about one finger—a single one, today, the weave of it adorned with scraps of bullet casings and clips—and doesn't say a word. She squeezes the cool metal of one of the casings, hard enough to sting.

"I'm not mad at you, you brat," Sevika grumbles, without sparing her a glance. "Not your fault the little shit's back from the dead. But, of the seven hells—" 

Her thick fingers spear into the creases beneath her eyes: a slow kneading. She says nothing, for a beat. Just smokes, and smokes. 

"He loves you too damned much," she growls quietly, then. She flicks the ash of her cigarette over a tray on the balcony's railing. "Your sister worth all this, to you?"

The casing between Jinx's fingers aches. 

Ever since he'd placed a meal and a plan before her—laid a quiet, terrifying choice in her hands—she'd turned the thought over, for hours, and hours. 

Do you want her near you?

She wanted her sister's presence, less than craved it—like a girl yearned for her favorite toy; like an infant wailed for their mother; like a child found comfort in the lonely walls of their room, closed off from the rest of the world.

She missed her. She was terrified of her. She longed for her. She hated her.

She hadn't been able to answer him, then. She couldn't.

The same denial sits on her tongue, now.

"I don't...I don't know," she mumbles.

"'Course you don't," Sevika snarks.

"I don't know, okay?" Jinx wrenches her head away, glaring into the yellowing paper of the wall. "She—she left me." Her nail picks and picks at her knee. "She left me, because I—I wasn't good enough, I wasn't strong enough, I was—I was weak." A crack in her voice, thin and sharp. "I was weak, and I ruined everything."

The shadow across from her chuffs, quietly. "Boss doesn't see you as weak."

Jinx curls her shoulders to her ears, pressing her cheek into one of them. "Doesn't matter."

"Like you couldn't knock me off my feet, if you tried." A steel-gray stare flicks over at her, cold points in the greenish haze that stretches beyond this small room, seeping through the open door like a sweet-soured fog. "When we took you in, you couldn't throw a punch for shit. You took to a gun like it was welded through you, though." Sevika lifts one brow, with a shrug of her shoulder. "Still need to work on your punches," she notes, dryly. "But they're better."

Mylo's voice scratches and claws through Jinx's ears.

"So what?" she spits. "I'm not—not like her. I'll never be like her."

"Why do you need to be?" Those eyes again, staring hard at her. "You can't replace her." Sevika huffs, turning back to the smog-tainted view that spills down from the balcony's edge. "If you had that in your head, with her gone—sure as hell doesn't matter, now."

The words tear at something in Jinx's bones, buried so deep into the marrow that it uproots her. She blinks. Breathes. Shakes.

"Something you Fissure brats should've learned, years ago," Sevika rumbles on, a low, muted thing. "Someone dies, you leave them dead. You don't carry around their corpse, making yourself into their image; you don't become them, to you, or to anybody else." She ticks the ash from her cigarette. "You can't."

Jinx's fingers tremble over her knee. The swallow she forces down clings like ash to her throat. "Then," she whispers, "then what do I—what do I do?"

Sevika's mouth curls at a snarl.

"You be." A final drag: the cigarette crushed into the tray, among a litter of countless others. "Whatever you need for yourself, first. Damn the rest."

Silco, in his own ways, had told her the same. Cradled her head beneath the cold drape of the Pilt's waves, with the gentlest sweep of his thumb: as though she were still only a scrappy street-cat of a girl, eleven years old and raging at the world. As though he were lowering himself back down into the place of his rebirth, where he had reforged himself, rebuilt himself. Where he'd found what he needed, to survive again.

She hadn't quite understood it all, then. 

She'd been too lost in the silence of the waves, in the strange peace she'd found floating in the blackwater, in the warmth of his hand lifting her back to the surface. Lost in her own fears of going back to the terrors gnashing on the shores. Too exhausted to move, to come back to herself. 

He'd carried her from the shallows, like he'd carried her back from the wreckage that day. They'd sat at the water's edge for hours, his coat draped over her shoulders, his eyes so faraway, and said nothing.

She thinks she might understand, now.

[astarab1aze]

[ touch ] A gentle brush of her hand against the back of his [ Kaede ]

soft touches

He'd pretended not to notice, but he very much felt her knuckles against his own, his focus incrementally changing until all it could be set upon was that. Only that small, possibly meaningless touch. Cold, but warm in ways he couldn't describe and it was sharp, too, as if a burn. He couldn't be sure if that was due to having butted heads so frequently, some flavor of denial, or some foolish idea it could ever be affection. There's no way she could've had a change of heart about him, thought him enough less annoying that maybe she could tolerate him, even deign to like him. Dangerous, but he preferred it to the alternative.

He was getting tired of all the other shit between them; Something that didn't hurt for once, that didn't sting nor bury deep under the skin, was only topical for the moment and mere, so easily a misunderstanding he may well as not have thought on it at all-- But Kaede didn't recoil, he let whatever it was happen, however insignificant. Tired, indeed. The inclination to look at her crossed him, but he couldn't let on that he was receptive to this; What if it was, in fact, nothing and he was only thinking too hard about it? Seeing something that wasn't. Maybe, maybe... So he made no moves - a move in itself, for better or worse - and tried like hell to divert his attention, failing miserably.

But when the cross light blinked, signaling their time to walk across the road, pointless as it was to await it on an empty street in a boring part of town - he saw an opportunity, deciding to, against his better judgment, make a move after all. Perhaps carelessly, potentially incurring her wrath or another shredding of his arm, he slipped his hand into hers and pulled her along. He made bad decisions all the time, what was one more? He always was a glutton for punishment anyway.

"Come on. Got stuff to do," he rasped, hiding whatever weirdness he was feeling under as many layers of stoicism as he could realistically manage. An excuse, really, that he'd given himself, heart thumping in his chest. Oh, maybe she'd do nothing or simply pull her hand away and there'd be nothing to come of it. On the other hand, maybe she'd be okay with it in the end. He was betting on getting flayed, though. IT'd be fine-- Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

...Since when did he live by that rule? Ah, oh well.

[sylvarantichosen]

🤝, 🔮 , 🎵

[ 🤝 ] how does your muse approach intimacy? are they hesitant, or do they like it? what types of intimacy do they like and dislike? (ex. physical intimacy, sexual intimacy, emotional intimacy, etc.)

Colette actually hasn't had a lot of this, given that she was meant to be a sacrifice at a pretty young age. So most of the people in her village kept a kind of reverent distance from the girl meant to save the world, even when she did receive hugs and things like that.

That being said though, she did receive it from her friends. Most of the time she doesn't initiate it herself, but it's something Colette still appreciates from her loved ones. She isn't shy about hugs and things like that.

Emotional intimacy is something she's surprisingly reserved with, at least as far as negative feelings go. Colette is afraid of worrying those close to her, so anything that might cause distress or hurt she will hold very close to her chest, even at her own expense or when it would be better to discuss more openly.

Sexual intimacy she's had absolutely none of—again, she was a religious figurehead for most of her life and untouchable as well as deeply sheltered because of that. But if Colette entered a relationship someday it's definitely something she'd be interested in exploring! I headcanon her as demisexual personally, not really thinking about anyone in that way unless they're already very, very close and probably in an established relationship.

[ 🔮 ] what is your muse’s relationship with religion and spirituality? were they raised in a certain religion? have they stuck with the same set of spiritual beliefs all their life, or have they changed over time? are they settled in their spirituality now?

Like I mentioned... she was born and raised as a religious figurehead LOL

Colette spends like half of Symphonia finding out that the religion her entire life was structured around was a lie, that it was using her, and watching all of it unravel and get worse and worse. The game doesn't go into her deeper feelings about this (unfortunately) very much but, as someone who also kind of deflected from the religion they were raised in, I do see Colette taking the parts of it that were good to her (ie the ideals that people are inherently good, the sense of community, self-sacrifice (albeit on a smaller and less deadly scale) to help others, etc) and keeping those close to her heart, even as she leaves the bigger parts of it that were false and that hurt her. But it is HARD to fully walk away from something that essentially raised you. That upbringing will be a part of her forever, for better and worse.

I would also say that there is, deep, deep, deep down, deeply buried under layers and layers of self-denial (also picked up from being raised in her religion) and wanting to always look at the bright side of things, there is a bitterness for what it all took from her, the things that Colette can never, ever get back. At this point in her narrative, Colette is still growing out of the negative things that life imprinted on her, like being unable to live for herself and have her own selfish goals. It's going to take a long time for her to undo it, and it will almost definitely take some very strong catharsis before she can begin to fully move on.

[ 🎵 ] is there a specific song or songs you associate with your muse? why is that?

God. Ok I'm chronically bad at playlists and etc, LOL. I'll try. One that I like for her is Paprika by J/apanese Br/eakfast; Being the "center of magic", strangers from all over lingering on her words, loving that feeling of spreading herself out and touching the lives of strangers. But alone, "it feels like dying, all alone, I feel so much".

[fourth-quartet]

Grief is a funny fickle thing. It manifests differently for people; in tears and pain and longing, in cold anger and a fire that burns icy hot, in silence that settles like a thick layer of dust over an empty room with plastic-covered furniture.

Yohan watches it manifest as Elijah grows up, in a lack of understanding, to clinging to all she has left of her parents, to refusing to talk about them. He watches her go from denial to depression to acceptance and he wonders, clinically, when he will reach a destination other than the cold anger that consumes him every time he thinks of the fire. It’s a calculated anger, a distant pang of his stomach to devour, to become the flame that devoured all he had. Even after ten years, there is nothing but the empty promise of revenge buried deep in the aches in his back and shoulders, the silent prayer of his name whispered across a burning floor.

Switzerland is beautiful, Yohan can’t help but think when they land, beautiful because it is a new place, without the people they lost. There is no grief to be buried under. It’s a new start, a place to start anew. Elijah blooms, blossoms, and Yohan watches her grow up before his eyes once again. She doesn’t hide from him; their house is small, small enough that they can’t lock themselves away in empty halls and avoid each other.

And yet, there’s something he can’t quite place, something just on the tip of his tongue, unfamiliar and bitter.

Gaon would like it here.

The words echo in the most inconvenient of times, in a voice that sounds far too much like Elijah’s than Yohan would care to admit, in the back of his head. Yohan wishes he could strangle that voice sometimes, the voice that has only started to exist since Kim Gaon made himself at home in their house, turning a house—their house— into a home—their home.

I could convince him, Yohan thinks sometimes in the silence of the living room, when Elijah is off in therapy or studying on calls with her classmates abroad. I could convince Gaon to come, if only I called him.

He always blinks into focus with his phone in his hand, Gaon’s contact open in front of him, his thumb hovering over the button. He never calls.

It takes him too long to place it; denial. Denial of his actions, of the consequences of his actions, of his place, or lack thereof, in Kim Gaon’s life now. K compared him once, offhandedly, to a season’s storm, dangerous in the present but forgotten quickly once blown through. Yohan wants to be remembered, for better or worse, by Kim Gaon.

The fog that settles soon after burns. He’s struggled with finding something fun to do for a while, with finding something outside of his one-player chess games that evolve until he is playing against himself in his head, keeping track of the pieces in some ridiculous mental imagery that leaves him staring blankly at walls for hours. Even that grows tiring, though, and Yohan finds himself without reasons to pull himself out of bed. He goes through the motions every day: waking up, going for a run, breakfast for himself and Elijah, driving Elijah where she needs to, smiling and teasing her in return, like clockwork, he functions. In the silence, he can hear the rust forming on the cogs of his clock, feels how tiring it is to keep going as though nothing is wrong.

He wakes from a nightmare in tears. It’s been a long time since he’s woken this upset, this exhausted, restless. Elijah’s concern is obvious but Yohan shakes it off, convincing her as badly as he convinces himself that it’s fine. That it’s all fine.

He’s fine.

You’re not fine, the voice that sounds like Gaon whispers in the darkness of his room. The room that masquerades as normal, filled with books and dirty clothes that have missed his attempts to toss them into the hamper from across the room, and the sheets pulled back, fussed, where he never sleeps but pretends to.

“You’re depressed, Yohan.” Elijah finally rolls her eyes and slams her hands down onto the table, startling him. He looks at her, brow furrowed, baffled, and Elijah crosses her arms over her chest. “You should see a therapist.”

“Absolutely not,” Yohan dismisses the thought before it’s even fully out of her mouth, shaking his head. He spends the day seated outside in the backyard, watching the world go by and wishing he knew his path in it.

Elijah jokingly suggests he should go back to school, and Yohan is desperate enough for something to do that he considers it. The thought of going back to school isn’t quite appealing, not in the slightest, but it gives him something to do. It’s still near impossible to drag himself out of bed before noon most days, and even the littlest things leave him exhausted. He pretends he doesn’t see Elijah’s concerned glances in his direction.

He gets sick the following winter. It’s a surprise he’s gone that long without getting sick; Yohan has been known to catch any illness that goes around, though he’s usually just as quick to check into a hospital to deal with the worst of it and pretend nothing is wrong the rest of the time. His fever is high, high enough that Yohan curls up in the bed he doesn’t sleep in, shirtless and curls into one of the cold pillows he hasn’t put his head on, struggling to keep from crying, from letting his breathing be anything but even. He barely sleeps; by the third day without sleep, Elijah takes pity on him and brings a handheld fan to his room, setting it up to blow directly on his face. The fan helps; Yohan drifts in and out of a haze, not quite asleep but not quite awake.

“How long has he been like this?” someone asks in that haze, in the fog of the room Yohan doesn’t want to look at. His brain, offhandedly, registers the words as Korean, and the language is like music to his ears, after so long struggling to match Elijah’s English.

“Almost a full week,” Elijah’s voice replies, and she’s speaking informally. Yohan can’t quite pull himself out of his sluggish state to think of who she might speak to so informally when a cool hand presses to his forehead and he, without any thinking, leans into the touch desperately.

“Hyungnim,” the voice murmurs, soft and melodic and beautiful; like a flower blooming in early spring, like the dew clinging to blades of grass in the morning. He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until the voice chuckles, warm, and brushes his hair back from his forehead. “Go to sleep, hyungnim.”

His tongue feels heavy, dry, in his mouth, and he isn’t quite sure he’s coherent, but he replies regardless. Okay, Gaon-ah. For you.

Yohan wakes with his fever broken and aching, dizzy and with his head pounding. A cup of tea and a water bottle, unopened, are by his bedside, and the note written in Elijah’s familiar handwriting, tells him to drink, that he’s dehydrated, that she’s gone out but she’ll be home soon.

Elijah isn’t alone when she returns home, and Yohan is startled, in his hoodie only half-zipped up and sweatpants, looking young in his misery, to find that Kim Gaon is standing in the doorway of his house, kicking his shoes off and smiling.

Three years have gone by without word from Korea. Yohan hasn’t reached out. Neither has Gaon. The weather outside is cold but sunny. And Kim Gaon is standing in the doorway of his house, kicking off his shoes, and chatting with Elijah like nothing has happened. Like the axis on which Yohan’s world sits hasn’t shifted dramatically. Like Yohan isn’t stood staring at them.

“Hyungnim, you’re awake.” Gaon sees him first and gives him a smile and a wave. Yohan could live off of that smile, that warmth, that genuineness that flows like a creek in Gaon’s everything.

For the first time in a long time, Yohan takes a deep breath and feels like he isn’t lifting the weight of the world alone on his shoulders.

For the first time in a long time, Yohan returns the smile and doesn’t feel like he’s trying.

[eternalsimp]

Cursed Fears (pt 3)

Genre: Hurt/comfort, smut

Word Count: 5117

Warnings: NSFW 18+, aged up Megumi, swearing, use of female pronouns and anatomy, very jealous Megumi, rough sex, praise kink, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial, some degradation, spanking if you squint, oral sex (m. receiving), marking. Minors DNI.

Author Note: This is the final (?) part of a JJK mini-series I did but it can be read as a stand-alone. Parts 1 & 2 are up on my blog (IDK how to make links)

You were pulled from sleep with the sound of your phone vibrating on the bedside table next to you. You crack your eyes open to take in your surroundings for a minute and try to ignore the insistent buzzing of your phone. Mid Morning sunlight is streaming through the open window, casting a blanket of warmth in the otherwise cold room. Megumi's divine dog has moved off the bed and is laying under the window where it can’t be disturbed by the light. Megumi has his face buried in your neck, arms still wrapped tightly around your torso, and you can feel his warm breath fan out against your skin.

Your phone starts to ring again and you carefully move to grab it, trying not to disturb your sleeping boyfriend. You turn it to see Nobara’s name and picture displayed across your screen and debate sending her to voicemail. You decide against it, knowing she would just call you again.

“Hello?” You stifle a yawn and hear Megumi grumble incoherently behind you.

“Y/n! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning! Are you avoiding us?” You pull the phone away from your ear to try and escape her scolding. You turn your attention to the clock on the bedside table showing that it was a little after 10 am.

“I was sleeping, I’m not avoiding you, psycho. And who is us?”

“Oh yeah, Itadori and I are hanging out. We are actually pretty close to where you and Fushiguro live which is why I was calling. Wait, didn’t you have class this morning?”

“I’m kinda playing hooky, Megumi, and I didn’t go to bed until pretty late and I wanted to sleep in.” Out of annoyance, Megumi grabs your phone out of your hand and rolls onto his back before pressing it to his own ear.

“What do you want Kugisaki?” His voice is still heavy with sleep, and you would normally swoon from how deep it was, but you were too distracted by him interrupting your conversation. You roll over to lay your head on his chest and nudge the phone away from his face to click the ‘speaker’ button so you can hear what Nobara is saying.

“... and you’ve been hogging all of my best friends' time lately so what I’m thinking is you and Itadori can hang out so her and I can have a girls day.” You can hear Yuji in the background correcting that you were both of their friends and he wants to hang out too.

“Well seeing as how we are both still in bed, it’s probably gonna be a while,” Megumi says flatly, probably hoping she’ll drop it and be content with just Yuji’s company.

“Ooohh, am I interrupting something fun?” You can hear her words dripping in sarcasm, wanting to fluster you and Megumi. Your boyfriend however decides he has other plans.

He cocks an eyebrow down at you, “yeah actually you are,” and pinches your thigh to elicit a sharp gasp from you. You bolt into a sitting position and feel your face heat up with embarrassment. Nobara is sputtering on the other side of the line and you swat his hand away from you as he sits up too and tries to pull you back against him.

“Megumi Fushiguro! Give me that!” You snatch your phone back and shove him off the bed, his body landing with a hard thud on the floor. “Sorry, he woke up in a bratty mood apparently.”

“Fushiguro? Being playful? I never thought I’d see the day!” Nobara snickered over the phone. You leaned over the side of the bed to see Megumi pouting at you and you stick your tongue out at him childishly.

“It’s a blessing and a curse. Anyways, give me like an hour and we can all meet up for lunch or something.”

“Yay! Let me know when you leave and we can find somewhere to meet in the middle!”

You hang up the phone and Megumi lunges off the floor and tackles you onto the bed. He rolls the two of you so he is laying on top of you and you are effectively pinned under his body weight. He lays his head on your chest and wraps his arms around your waist as you struggle to push him off of you. “I just wanna spend like ten more minutes in bed with my beautiful girlfriend.” He turns his face up to give you a pleading look and you sigh in defeat.

He grins triumphantly and rests his head back on your chest. You run your fingers through his dark hair to smooth it out as much as you can where it had been ruffled from sleep. After you feel satisfied with the strands you can reach you start tracing over the contours of his face, appreciating how angelic the light from the window makes him look.

Feeling your movements still, he cracks an eye open to see you staring at him. He narrows his eyes accusingly at you, “why are you staring? Weirdo.”

“Cause you’re pretty,” you hum contently and kiss his forehead. He buries his face into your shoulder and groans.

“You make me sound like such a girl.”

“Boys can be pretty,” you pull his face between your hands and kiss his face. “You’ve got pretty eyes, and pretty lashes, and a pretty mouth, even if there's a lot of sass coming out of it.” He rolls his eyes, moves to lay higher up on your body, and stuffs his face into the pillow next to your head. You laugh at the way the tips of his ears turn pink with embarrassment and decide to let up on your teasing.

After a lot of pouting and complaining from your boyfriend, you finally pull him out of bed and convince him to get dressed to go to lunch. You tuck a loose burgundy sweater into a pair of black high-waisted leggings, smirking at the way you catch Megumi staring at how the pants hug your curves. He layers a dark blue windbreaker over a grey hoodie and a pair of jeans. Both of you opted for sneakers since you figured you’d probably be walking around a lot.

He pulls you into a hug and makes his last attempt at talking you into staying home and watching a movie instead. You notice he gags slightly at the smell of your perfume before quickly trying to cover it with a cough. You make a mental note to buy a new one while out with Nobara before denying his request to ditch your friends. He rolls his eyes, gives you a firm peck on the lips, and leads you out the door of your home.

The ramen house Nobara and Yuji decided they wanted to try is in a large shopping district walking distance from your apartment, so you and Megumi decided to enjoy the nice weather after the storm. You barely register the sound of Yuji's voice before you are being spun around by your overexcited friend. “Be careful before you break her!” You can't help but laugh at how Nobara scolds him before he plants you firmly back on the ground but still holds you in a bruising hug.

“Yuji, I just talked to you last night!”

“Okay, but I still haven’t seen you in what feels like forever cause you’re always at school.” Yuji pushes his lip out in a pout before finally releasing you so you can hug Nobara too.

“Well, I’m sorry I have to go to stupid, normal person university cause I’m not cool enough to be a cursed energy user.” You reach out and pinch Yuji's arm causing him to flinch back away from you and pout harder.

“Trust me, I’d kill to be at a normal school.” Nobara pipes in and lightly pushes your arm jokingly. You laugh her off and turn to notice Megumi is tense and lost in thought. You tug at his sleeve to regain his attention and motion to continue your walk. He laces your fingers together and pulls you closer to him.

On your way to the ramen house, you and Nobara stop in a few shops to look around and you pick up a few things here and there. The boys mostly stayed outside in the sun and talked amongst themselves. After ducking inside one of the stores you quietly warn Nobara not to tease the boys too much today. “Nightmares again?”

“Yeah, it’s the first one in a few months but it was a bad one, just keep that between us though.”

“Of course, it’s good that he’s getting better.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to help as much as I can, but I don’t know if it's actually effective. I know they’ll never fully go away but it just hurts to see him in pain like that, you know?” Nobara nods and links your arms together as you move through the little shop.

“It’ll keep getting better, don’t let the bad nights get you down.” You smile at your friend before paying for your items and heading back outside.

When you and Nobara rejoin the boys outside, you find them complaining about being hungry and decide to actually go get your lunch. You’re all seated at a booth, you and Nobara are sitting next to each other and since Yuji insisted that he wanted to sit next to the window, he is across from you, leaving Megumi to sit across from Nobara. You smile at him apologetically but he shrugs it off and texts you from under the table to say that it doesn’t bother him.

It felt good to laugh and catch up with your friends until an old classmate of theirs showed up halfway through your meal. Megumi's eyes widen at the figure that slides into the booth next to Nobara. “Zenin? What are you doing here?” You eye her suspiciously but say nothing and continue eating your food.

“I told you, call me Mai. You make me sound the same as Maki,” she pouted at your boyfriend. You roll your eyes and Nobara huffs next to you. Mai turns to glare and notices Yuji trying to engage you in a conversation again. “Well, this is cute. Did the half-cursed monster and the normie finally get together?” You whip your head to her to ask what she's talking about, but she's speaking again before you can open your mouth.

“I mean it would make sense, you did like her first. Why did you never say anything?”

The table goes deadly quiet. Megumi is staring at Mai in horror, Yuji is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Mai smirks at the tension she created and you can’t help but look back and forth between the two boys.

“Did you feel bad and let poor little Fushiguro have her?” She shifts her attention back to the man in front of her and continues. “Must be scary knowing he could probably take her back with a snap of his fingers, not that she’d last very long. I’d give it a week until Sukuna kills her.” Megumi lowers his eyes to the table but stays silent.

“Food for thought kids, I gotta go.” She winks at you and Nobara before making her exit. You try to reach for Megumi's hand across the table but he pulls away from you quickly.

“Megumi, she’s wrong,” you tell him gently.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He’s shaking his head and trying to brush you off. “I’m okay, it’s nothing.”

The air around the table is awkward for the rest of lunch, but you try to continue your small talk. Things take a turn for the worse when the waitress brings two separate checks. One for Nobara and Megumi, one for you and Yuji. Nobara flags her down to tell her that a mistake has been made with the check and can you split it differently. She apologizes and says she mistook your group for two couples. You all pay for your food, Megumi quickly snatching your individual check and paying for your lunch, before you start sliding out of the table.

When you get to the edge of the booth, Megumi is yanking you to your feet by your elbow. “I don’t feel good, I wanna go home.” He says shortly before turning to walk out of the restaurant. Yuji is avoiding eye contact and hanging his head in either shame or embarrassment. You can’t quite tell. You mumble a quick apology to Yuji and Nobara before following your boyfriend outside. He grabs your wrist tightly to lead you back to your apartment.

You’d seen him get mildly jealous, but never quite this bad. The walk was fast-paced, you were having a hard time keeping up with his tall frame. You were certain that the grip he had on your wrist was going to leave bruises. You tried to catch his attention a few times and pull your hand out of his. “‘Gumi please, you're hurting me.”

That sentence finally catches his attention, but only a little. He lets go of your arm and mutters a quiet “sorry” before shoving his hands into his pockets. The rest of your walk is doused in an uncomfortable silence before you finally get back to your apartment. Megumi pulls the keys to your front door out of his pocket before stepping aside to let you in first, you can almost feel his anger rolling off of him in waves. You slip off your shoes and place your purse and shopping bag on a countertop before you are roughly grabbed and pinned against the door.

Megumi squeezes your jaw firmly, his mouth crashing against yours brutally. You tug at his wrist with one hand, he loosens his grip, but never removes his hand from your face. His other hand is fixed on your waist as he continues using his body weight to keep you pressed against the door. Your brain feels fuzzy from his sudden attack and you struggle to get your head to catch up with your body. Out of pure instinct you tilt your face up towards his to deepen the kiss and just as you think you’ve gained some ground he’s pulling away.

A weak sound of protest comes from your throat and you open your eyes to see his own morphed into a dark midnight blue. You feel him tighten his grip on your face as he leans in just enough that you can feel his breath on your lips. Your focus is pulled away by his other hand slowly snaking its way from your waist into the waistband of your leggings. You feel your breath catch at the feeling of his fingertips making their way further down to your core. You hear him chuckle darkly.

“Look at you, I hadn’t even touched you and you’re already soaking. Could Yuji make you this wet from just kissing you?” You could barely hold yourself up, let alone form a word, all you could do was shake your head. Normally he would find that endearing, but he obviously wasn’t in the mood for silence tonight. He nipped your bottom lip almost painfully. “I need words pretty girl.”

“No, just you.” You were tugging at the front of his shirt, desperately trying to ground yourself.

He smirks dangerously and bit down on your bottom lip again, earning a sharp gasp from you. “I didn’t think so.”

You try to close the gap between your lips but he pulls back and shoves your face to the side so he has access to your throat. He latches on to the weak spot behind your ear and sucks like his life depends on it. He proceeds to cover your neck with dark bruising marks before pushing your sweater down your shoulder so he can continue to mark his territory.

“‘Gumi,” you try to reach him but he’s in his own headspace. You barely have time to brace yourself as he suddenly breaks himself away from you body and yanks you up over his shoulder. You land roughly, clinging to the back of his shirt to keep from falling, and it feels like the air has been knocked from your lungs.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath before he’s striding into your bedroom and throwing you down onto the bed. Your body bounces at the impact and he’s climbing over you before your body can settle. He grabs your hands and pins them above your head and stares you straight in the eyes.

All that can be heard in the apartment was the whipping wind outside the window and the deep breaths emitting from both of your parted lips. You take advantage of the moment to fully take in his face. Your normally gentle and loving boyfriend was nowhere to be found. In his place was a man riddled with jealousy and intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The moment is broken when he drops one of his hands from your wrists to pull up at your sweater. You do your best in this position to arch your back up so he can pull it off. He momentarily lets go of your hands so he can fling your sweater onto the floor before his hands resume their post.

You close your eyes at the feeling of his lips kissing their way down your chest. He takes one of your nipples between his teeth and bites down lightly. Your body rises from the bed in an attempt to bring him closer to you. One of his hands comes down to shove your waist back down into the mattress and once he’s done assaulting one of your nipples he moves to the other. He leaves bruising marks everywhere his lips go and you feel as they make their way further down your waist. Everything feels heightened with your eyes squeezed closed.

“Megumi please,” you breathe out. He leans back up so his face is level with yours.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” You feel the hand on your waist move down to your thigh. You can barely make an audible sound as he rubs his thumb roughly into the skin of your inner thigh. All you can manage is a weak whine and he scoffs at your feeble attempt at speaking. “Are you suddenly mute, use your fucking words.”

He smacks your thigh sharply trying to get you to focus on him and get out of your head. You let out a small whimper and he rubs his hand soothingly over your warm skin. “You can do it love, tell me what you want.”

How quickly he can switch between how sweet and how mean his words are has your head spinning. You blink a few times before your head clears. “I want to taste you.”

“That's my girl.” He practically purrs.

He releases the hand that was holding yours in place and moves backward to let you climb off the bed. The second you stand up he is tangling his fingers into your hair and shoving you to your knees in front of him. You don’t hesitate to reach up and quickly pull his jeans and boxers down to his knees. You run your hands up his thighs to grab his half-hard dick, giving it a few lazy strokes before taking the tip in your mouth. His hand tightens in your hair and he groans out in pleasure.

You slowly move your head and start taking him deeper into your mouth. Earning a string of small moans from him. “Fuck baby, you’re being such a good girl for me.”

The tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat causing you to gag and push at his thighs. He pulls you off of him to let you take a breath, admiring all the pretty bruises he left across your skin. It takes all his self-control to not cum right then as he works himself back into your mouth. “Just relax baby, I know you can take it.”

The sweet praise that was so familiar to your bedroom activities sends a rush of arousal through you and has you squeezing your thighs together to create the tiniest bit of friction. He continues pushing into your mouth until your nose is flush with his pelvis. Your whine of protest is muffled by him as he holds you against him, not letting you move your head back. Your eyes water at the sensation as you struggle to swallow around him.

“Awe, does my baby keep forgetting to breathe through her nose?” He pouts mockingly at you. You look up at him with tears rimming your eyes and he smirks again. “You just look so pretty like this princess.”

He moves the hand that was gripping your hair to run his thumb against your temple gently before drawing his hips back. You force yourself to relax as much as you can as he starts thrusting into your mouth. You ball your fists tightly, digging your nails into your palms to distract from the achy feeling in your jaw. You flush in embarrassment and the obscene amount of spit collecting at the corner of your lips as he keeps fucking into you like his own personal toy.

Tears are streaming down your face and he cums with a loud groan. You swallow and stick your tongue out to show him. He hummed contently and you leaned back against the bed. You lay your head back and try to catch your breath. Megumi strips the rest of his clothes off and tugs you to stand up.

“Did you think we were done, princess?” He crashes his mouth against yours again and nudges you back onto the bed. “I’m not done until my name is the only thing you can say for weeks.”

Megumi reaches down to thrust two fingers into you, causing you to cry out. His mouth latches onto your skin and starts leaving dark marks everywhere he can reach again. His hand is pumping into you at a brutal pace and you’re trying your best to bite back your moans. He looks up at your face and scoffs.

“No holding back those beautiful sounds baby.” He reaches his free hand up to squeeze the sides of your throat. “I want you to use that pretty mouth to tell me just how good I’m fucking you,” he growls. You nod frantically and he nips at your jaw. Your moans and whines grow increasingly louder and Megumi starts rutting his cock against your thigh for friction.

“Gumi, I’m close,”

“Hold it,” he growls. You look up at him in panic and he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. “I want to see if you can be good and follow a simple order. If you don’t behave, I will leave you here with nothing.”

You press your face into his shoulder and let out a small whimper. Just when you thought his challenge was hard enough, he slips a third finger into you and purposely crooks them to hit your sweet spot over and over.

“Please baby, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please just let me cum.” Tears threaten to spill again and he laughs darkly, but says nothing else as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you. He turned his face so his breath could tickle your ear.

“I think my princess just needed a reminder of who she fucking belongs to, isn’t that right?” You nodded frantically against his shoulder. “If you really wanted to get fucked like a whore this bad then you could have just asked me nicely princess.”

Both of your hands were gripping his biceps so hard you thought that you might leave bruises on him. Your climax was so close you could almost taste it, but Megumi's threat loomed in the back of your mind. Not wanting to anger him more you keep behaving and pushing back your orgasm to the point where it’s almost painful. Seeing you struggle to follow his orders underneath him ignited something feral inside your boyfriend, as if he wasn’t dancing on the edge of it already.

“Okay princess, you can cum now.” Your climax ripped through you violently, and you couldn’t help the broken cries it pulled from your mouth.

Before you could ride out your high he is flipping you onto your stomach and yanking your hips up. You scramble to push yourself up onto your hands before he is shoving your face into the blankets.

“No baby, I want you bent over nice and pretty for me. This way I can fuck you exactly how I like.” He pushes himself all the way into you with one fluid motion and sets a hard and fast pace. You are gasping out for him and reaching back to squeeze his wrist. Overstimulation is wracking through your body and you can see black dotting your vision.

You whimper as you feel your next orgasm approaching quickly, and Megumi can sense it too. “Are you gonna be a good girl and cum again?” You nodded your head, and he slapped your thigh, eliciting a cry from you. “I asked you a question, and I want you to use your words like a big girl.”

“I’m close, please let me come again baby.” He smiles and angles his hips to start hitting your sweet spot till you’re seeing stars. Your second climax is less intense than the first, but it still has you feeling completely exhausted. Your head is hazy and you can feel your legs beginning to tremble underneath you. If not for Megumi's firm grip on your hips, you’re sure they would have given out by now.

He reaches around and pulls you up so one hand is wrapped around your throat and the other is wrapped around your waist. His hips never falter their rough pace and your back is pressed to his chest. You can hear and feel him panting in your ear with every one of his movements. Your head is too hazy to focus on anything except him and you let your head loll back onto his shoulder. He turns his head to look at you and smirks. “Look at that, my poor baby got fucked out too hard. I know you have one more in you princess.”

You whine at the promise of another orgasm while he once again latches his mouth on to your neck and shoulders. He lets the fingers on your waist trail down to where you are connected and circles your clit several times. You jolt at the stimulation and weakly try to push his hand away. He smirks and decides to take his taunting a step further. “I wonder what sweet Yuji would think if he saw you like this? Fucked dumb on my cock.”

You barely process his words, but you don’t have the energy to respond. He nips at your jaw as he pushes you closer to the edge. You can tell he’s close with how his pace begins to stutter. With a particularly hard thrust and a pinch of your clit you are coming undone for the final time that night. He cums right after you and gently lays you back down on the bed.

You’re sniffling from overstimulation and pushing his hips away from yours until he pulls out of you completely. You’re finally able to find your words as you curl further into the blankets. “Please baby no more, it hurts.”

You can’t see the guilt that washes over his face as he leans forward to kiss your temple lovingly. “It’s okay pretty girl, you did so well for me.”

He leaves you in bed to move to the bathroom and you think you can vaguely hear water running. After a few minutes he comes back and scoops you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He slowly eases you into the warm water of the bathtub before he's running back out.

You lean your head against the wall and let tears continue to stream down your face. A small portion of it is from the dull throb coming from your lower body, but mostly it’s from sadness clawing at your heart. You hate pushing him on his emotions and prying at things he doesn’t want to talk about, however something seemed to really push him over the edge tonight.

He quietly comes back into the bathroom and sets the book you're currently reading on the bench next to the tub, along with a hot tea in one of your favorite mugs. He had pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and was turning to leave again. You reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I know that I’ve asked you to share so much in the last 24 hours, but can we please talk about what happened tonight?”

A look of confusion crosses his face and you sink further into the water. “I just want us to be okay, and I can’t shake the feeling that you’re mad at me.” Your voice begins to falter and he curses at himself. He pulls his sweatpants off and slides into the water behind you and rubs your shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you baby, Mai just hit a deep seated insecurity, and the thing with the waitress just kinda pushed me past my limit. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that, I’m sorry.”

You turn to lean your head on his shoulder and let your fingertips trace the water droplets that gathered on his chest. “Why would you listen to anything Mai says? She loves to piss you and Maki off.”

He tucks his chin on top of your head and hugs your shoulders. “Because she wasn’t wrong about Yuji. He liked you first, I always felt like a charity case. And every time you guys hang out, it nags at me at how much better of a boyfriend he would be for you.”

You roll your eyes and flick his nose. “I knew that he liked me, he isn’t exactly the king of subtlety. But you need to remember, Yuji is your best friend, he’d never hurt you like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You shift to cup his face in your hands. “If I liked Yuji, I wouldn’t have dated you. You’re the one I wanted to be with, not him. I love you.”

He leans his face into your hand and lets you pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too princess.”

[terushimooo]

“WHAT KEEPS THE ROMANCE ALIVE”

Preface: the love of your life is getting old, and while his sex drive is slowing down, yours is just increasing. I guess that’s the problem with dating older men... Thankfully, you’re young and resourceful. You’ll find a way to get through this.

Aka, I aged up your favourite character and wrote you a lil sumthin sumthin!

W/c: 1.1k

T/w: lee’s infection, old man Kuroo, geriatric stuff, massive age gap, nsfw,  degradation, use of ‘daddy’, object (cane) insertion. Obviously not beta’d because, hello? Who would wanna beta this?

A/n: Ok I absolutely could not wait. Technically, this is part of my ‘shipping my moots’ post, and I have so many more, smaller ships to add - but I had to release @rocorambles​​ first. I had to!

The funniest thing about this ship, Roco x Kuroo’s walking cane, is that she actually likes it, LOL. Yours is the longest, and so over the top. I hope you feel proud of yourself, influencing me like this - smh. I let you off easy this time. Next time, I’ll get you good.

Elderly Kuroo is nothing like the man you watched on your grandma’s Tv. The reruns, the highlight reels, the old promo articles - none of them prepared you for the passage of time. None of them told you just how old he’d be when you first met his gaze.

Still, your love was belligerent - something like a 50 year age gap wasn’t going to get in the way of you, and your destiny. 

That’s why you went to school for all those years, and it's why you worked so hard just to get here - in Kuroo’s mansion, employed as his sole, live-in nurse.

When you two first met, he’d been bounding with energy, still trying to recapture his youth. But now, as he passes his 70th birthday, he's just too tired, he’s just too crippled. Keeping up with a young thing like you has proven too difficult for his ailing body. Any man would be lucky to have you, that’s what everyone tells him - but they don’t understand the challenge you present. He can’t deal with your consistent demands, your undivided devotion, your insatiable lust.

So what does he do when you’re sitting so pretty, with your sensitive little feet tucked beneath your delicate body? What does he do when you’re begging like a brat for daddy’s attention?

The answer is obvious. He tells you to bend over, to get on your hands and your knees facing away from his wheelchair.

You listen with eager anticipation as you hear the telltale click of your bottle of lube. Your breathing begins to pick up as it globs out, as Kuroo finally picks up his cane.

It’s undeniable the way your body starts to quiver.

Your excitement only continues to build as you hear the metal of his rings clack onto his aluminum walking aide. Every time metal meets metal, the sound only amplifying against the silent crackle of a fire, you get a little wetter, a little more receptive.

It’s only then, with barely any warning and certainly not enough prep, that he’s poking at your entrance, shoving the cool metal roughly against your heat. You whimper out how badly you want it, mewling for daddy to take care of his pretty little kitten. But your pleas, quite literally, fall on deaf ears.

Maybe you should’ve remembered to charge his hearing aids. oops.

Even if he does hear you, Kuroo works at his own pace. He doesn’t listen to whiny bitches.

Kuroo likes to think he’s slick, cunning, a tease - maybe even a brat tamer. But those days have long since passed. You know it, and deep down, buried under layers of denial - he knows it too. No longer is he the image of strength that he once represented. Now he’s nothing but a frail vessel playing at a man’s game.

Shaky hands miss your hole more often than not.

He claims it’s intentional, the way he slides down your slit... Or those times when he slips into your ass, forcing his cane roughly past the tight ring of muscles. Both of you know it’s not true. The not so silent curses under his breath make that more than apparent. But you’d never dream of hurting his pride like that. You let him have this, again and again. After all, a part of you likes it better this way.

Right from the beginning, he takes you at a brutal pace, never stopping or yielding at your cries. He’s so frustrated with himself. He hates that it’s come to this.

Unable to get his dick up, he’s forced to fuck you with his cane.

He’d use his fingers, but they’re so swollen with arthritis. Two minutes in and he’d be done, hands ruined and crippled for at least a week. The same goes for his mouth. His tongue can only lap at you so long before it lays limp against his mushy gums. He’s tried before, more times than he can count, and to your credit, you’ve never taunted him.

And maybe that’s the worst part. Maybe he wouldn’t feel as bad if you complained, calling him useless, flaccid - or maybe even just telling him that you aren’t that interested. But you don’t. You just sit there and take it, like the good little girl you apparently are.

For some reason, it has him seething with rage.

You’re so disrespectful. You’re so fake. Just a fucking brat disguising herself as an angel. He knows what you want. It’s not hard to guess. You’re nothing but a little shit, just waiting to be taught a lesson.

He might be old, but Kuroo’s not stupid. He’s been with enough women in his life to know when you’re faking, when those... hollow moans leave your lying little lips. Surely, you mean it with all the best intentions, not wanting to show him just how inadequate you find your lover to be - but it's just so… insulting.

So, right when you’re about to cum, like the filthy slut that you are - he yanks his cane from your tight little hole, whipping it across your ass and slapping it roughly against your abused, dripping cunt.

You act like you hate it, with tears streaming down your face and nails scratching at his pristine floorboards. He just scoffs. See? This is a perfect example of the petulant youth these days - the youth that you embody.

You don’t respect him, and you certainly don't respect his property. How dare you scratch his perfectly shellacked, well-maintained mahogany. Strangled screams are literally music to his ears as he beats down the harsh metal on your delicate skin. After treating him like a senile old fool, you deserve this.

You deserve to suffer.

With the way you scream, crying out for daddy to stop - his abuse almost seems… criminal. It’s obvious that you'd much rather have daddy’s cock instead - but both of you know that’ll never happen. He could never even dream of pumping that much blood to his cock. The only time he ever uses it, is to fill his diaper with piss. It’s a miracle to you how it hasn’t already fallen off.

No blue pill could even dream of saving his shrivelled up, floppy piece of meat.

Although, either way, it really doesn’t matter. The two of you know that Kuroo’s trained you well enough by now, almost too good. This, the way Kuroo beats you and absolutely wrecks your pussy, is really one of the only ways you can get off now.

Your night is only concluded if you cum around his cane, cream dripping down its length and pooling by Kuroo’s feet. That, or if Kuroo falls asleep first.

What you do when he falls asleep, when he leaves his cane unguarded - well, that's a secret between you and the well-used piece of metal.

[kkysolo]

Even Flow 2/2

Read part one here

Pairing: Triplet!Kylo/Triplet!Ben/Triplet!Matt/Reader (female) Setting: Modern. Implied relationship. Warnings (updated - for parts one and two): Threesome (M/M/F), brothers/triplets, restraints, sub!/squirmy!Matty, voyeurism, dom/sub, orgasm/pleasure denial, oral sex (M+F receiving), crying, kinda fisting? idk just a lot of big fingers, PIV unprotected sex, double penetration, choking, creampie, dirty talk, squirting. A whole fucking mess. Word count: 2070

A/N: trying to leave my poeticism and overly long descriptions to my chaptered fics, and get straight to the point here lol. a shout out to @svpremekylo @the-sacredtexts, @clumsycopy and @mylifeisactuallyamess, idk how i ever wrote without you guys as a committee lmfao ily and ty for inspiring bits and pieces in here.

Kylo manhandles you into position on your knees, pulling your face to his chest. It sheens with a light layer of sweat, rising and falling with strained, controlled breath. He leans down, making himself level with the shell of your ear, raven hair flitting across his forehead as he does.

“Are you gonna be good?” 

You can’t help but be enraptured by him. All three of them are stunning, truly, they are. But Kylo has always mesmerized you, capturing you to the point of forgoing common sense. His lure, his charm, always leaving you balancing precariously on the steep face of an abyss you’d be a fool to fall into. 

“Yes.”

But you do. 

“Yes, what?” 

Every time.

“Yes, sir.” 

He dives forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue battling yours as he wraps a hand firmly around your throat. A second set of hands wanders down your back, settling on the globes of your ass. Ben hums as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. 

“I think she’s been real good so far, Ky,” Ben smirks, kneading your skin in his calloused hands. “Don’t you?”

Kylo hums into your mouth, biting softly at your lip before pulling away to regard his brother. 

“You’re not fucking her.” 

“But just think about how tight she gets when we both fuck her,” Ben stifles a moan at the thought, fingers digging further into your skin. You’ll bruise, you know you will. You often do. And you know, by Kylo’s silence, that he’s considering his brother’s proposal. 

Matt pants loudly, pulling so hard at his restrains that the chair bounces, the wood clunking against the floor.

“I feel kinda bad for him, Ky,” Ben murmurs from his position beneath you. His hands find your hips, dragging up and up until he reaches your breasts.  

Kylo turns his head just as Matt lets out a loud whine, bucking his hips into the air, desperate for friction, for anything.  

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t fai-”

Kylo is up and off the bed before the youngest Solo can even finish his sentence, gripping Matt’s jaw roughly in one large hand. Matt’s eyes shine slightly with fear as he inhales sharply, his skin flushed red with sweat.

“I’d have gagged you if I knew you’d be so fucking annoying,” Kylo mutters, and Ben chuckles as he tweaks and pinches at your nipples. You moan softly, relishing so deeply, so desperately in the small moments of pleasure they afford you. 

“C’mon, Ky, it’s cruel,” Ben sighs, leaning forward to bite at the fleshy skin of your waist. “He’s gonna cum in his pants.” 

“And what’s so wrong about that?” Kylo tightens his grip on his brother's jaw, digging his fingers into the pale skin of his cheeks. “He deserves it.” 

“What do you think, baby?” Ben bites you again to grab your attention, leaving little crescent indentations along your hips. “You think he deserves that?” 

You look cautiously to Kylo, though his eyes are focused on Matt, staring the youngest down, pushing him deeper and deeper into a position of subservience. 

“Don’t worry,” Ben kisses along your spine. “I won’t let him punish you.” 

You nod feebly, and Ben puts more pressure on your breasts, massaging them in reward. 

“N-no, I don’t think he deserves it,” you manage, your voice trembling as your nipples catch against his palms. You’re so wound up, so ready for them, it almost hurts. Ben quietly praises you, whispering words of approval into your skin. And Kylo, surprisingly, concedes. Begrudgingly, he frees Matt’s bound wrists, allowing his fingers to clamour straight for his belt buckle. But Kylo leaves his ankles firmly restrained to the legs of the chair.

Matty finally frees his aching cock, flushed deep red and dribbling with precum. Ben hisses from behind you. 

“Looks like it hurts, huh, baby?” 

You nod in agreement, empathising with how your clit throbs, how it swells, aching for any source of friction. Ben moves his hands, then, pushing at your hips. 

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Face me, now.” 

You do as you’re told, twisting around just in time for Ben to pull you down, flush against his chest. 

“Atta girl” he whispers, gripping your ass and lifting your hips. “She look good?” 

Matty strains to see from his position, almost tipping the chair forward as he desperately tries to catch a glimpse of your dripping cunt.

“I think he needs a better view,” Kylo grunts, hauling Matt’s chair aggressively, placing him closer to the obscene sight before him. 

Ben clicks his tongue, peering over your shoulder.

“That better, Matty?” he grins, stroking your ass and hips affectionately. “You see how wet she is for us?” 

He moves to rub softly against your clit, and you bury your head in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezing shut. You’re so sensitive, so riled up that his featherlight touches have you far, far more frantic than you’d like to be. 

Matt groans, fisting his cock tightly as his glasses begin to fog. He swears softly under his breath, watching as arousal drips from your entrance, sliding along your thighs. 

You feel the bed dip, then, and Kylo’s hands are on you. Firm, strong, commanding. He manhandles you into position. Your body aches for him - to be stuffed full of him, to be leaking with him. You whine impatiently, and he tangles a fist in your hair, pulling you back toward his chest.

“Yes sir,” you breathe, and Kylo quickly releases you, allowing you to fall forward against Ben’s chest. He wraps his arms protectively around your shoulders, placing open mouthed kisses to your temple. Kylo guides your hips forward, then down, finally pushing you down onto Ben’s waiting cock. 

“Ah,” he sighs, pushing his hips up further to meet yours. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Kylo guides your movements - up, down, up, down, stretching you open. The pace, though, is torturously slow, and you try in vain to fuck yourself faster, harder onto Ben’s length. Because you need it, you need to feel him fill you, you need them both to break you. Kylo grips your hips in warning, leaning in close to your ear. 

“I won’t warn you again,” he grits, resuming his steady pace. Ben’s hands fly to your thighs, resisting the urge to fuck you as fast and as hard as he’d like. You’re just so warm, so tight, so hot around him. He bites his lip, lust laden eyes finding yours as his face contorts with the effort of controlling his primal impulses.

“Stay still,” Kylo murmurs, pushing you further down against Ben’s chest. You shift your face, tilting it to the side so you can look up, so you can see Ben’s quiet adoration, his flushed ears as they peak out between locks of soft, dark hair. Curls of it have begun to stick to his forehead, beads of sweat roll from his brow and down his aquiline nose. And you’re positive, he’s never looked so ethereal. 

You feel it, then. The head of Kylo’s cock prodding tenatively against your entrance, pushing forward until you finally stretch to accommodate his head. He swears quietly under his breath, and your back jolts with the sting, the burn of how he splits you open, your body molding to meet his demands. He surges forward, sheathing his entire member inside of you, and Ben hisses loudly.

“Jesus, fuck, that’s a tight fit,” he pants, his voice wavering as his arms constrict you. Kylo bends over you as his chest heaves, planting a hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip. You’ve barely adjusted, barely calmed your racing heart, before Kylo withdraws, slamming himself into you with enough force to jolt Ben further up the bed. Ben begins rolling his hips, and you’re so full, so impossibly full, that you can somehow feel them in your throat.  

Kylo dictates the speed - hard, fast, brutal. He groans loudly, ramming against your cervix as Ben bucks his hips in desperation, trying to meet his brother’s punishing pace.

“Fu-uck, Matty,” Ben moans, moving to unwind his vine-like grip on your torso, and tangling a hand in your hair. “You’re missing out.” 

Matt moans softly under his breath, eyes focused on where his brother’s drag themselves in and out of your stretched, soaking cunt. His fist slaps harshly against his thigh as he jerks himself vigorously, the sight and sound of you - your moans, your arched back, it’s all so much. 

Ben throws his head back against the pillows, and you can feel how his thighs shake with the effort, how his calves and biceps tighten. 

“I’m not gonna last like this,” he groans. “F-fuck, I’m so close. You’re so tight,” he leans forward, lips crashing against yours, only pulling away when Kylo jerks his body backward with a particularly forceful thrust. “You’re so good, letting us fuck you like this, letting us fill you with our cum.”

Kylo starts pummeling faster, harder, the hand on your hip now moving to rub against your clit. 

“I want you to come apart for me,” Kylo breathes, and the hand once anchored to your shoulder now moves to wrap around your throat. Ben tightens his grip in your hair, hips rolling faster into yours as he chases his release. 

You whimper as you cling to Ben’s shoulders, your nails scratching the pale skin. It’s too much, you can’t, can’t possibly let go, not like this. 

“I-I can’t, it’s too m-much,” you gasp, but Kylo’s fingers only increase their pressure, both on your throat, and your hard, swollen bud.

“I don’t care,” he grunts. “Give me everything.”

Matt cries out, then, his breathing heavy and laboured, white ropes of cum spurt across his jeans and clothed stomach. And God, there’s something about it - the way his breath hitches, the way he moans quietly as he rides out his high, it tips you beyond the edge you’d been teetering on.

White, hot pleasure soars through your body, your stomach tightening as your body clenches. You gush as you cum, fluids completely soaking their cocks, the sheets, yourself. And your moan - loud, languid and so, so hot, it drives Kylo half to madness. The brothers relish in the sensation of your release, the mess you’ve made of yourself, and they thrust harder and faster into your fluttering heat. Ben, though, is the first to lose control, his release creeping up on him faster than he’d anticipated. His body shudders as he shouts - curses, your name, another curse, his hips still rolling as he shoots his cum deep, deep into your cunt. The feel of it, the way you clench around him one last time, has Kylo following Ben over the edge, gripping your throat tight enough to cut off all airflow to your lungs. His orgasm rips through him with such a force, such violence. He keels forward as he shudders, his pants, his moans, his growls cause your body to erupt into goosebumps. The sounds he makes - you’ll never tire of them.

Air rushes back to your lungs, and your throat burns from the force of it. Your eyelids are heavy, your body spent, used, thoroughly fucked. Kylo slides out of you with ease, and he lifts your hips until Ben’s cock slips away, leaving you clenching around nothing. He watches in awe as you leak for him, a combination of he and his brother’s cum oozing from your entrance.

“You have no idea,” he mumbles, two fingers moving to push the evidence of their release back into its rightful home, deep inside your sore, aching pussy.  “How beautiful you are.” 

Ben hums in agreement from beneath you, still fighting to calm his breathing. 

“Feels like you made a mess down there, baby,” he places a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Just how I like it.” 

Kylo moves, then, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you backward to meet his chest. He brings a hand to your jaw, guiding your hooded gaze to meet Matt’s. He drops his head, flushed, exhausted, ashamed, and covered in his own cum. 

“Look at the mess you made of him,” Kylo chuckles. “And you didn’t even touch him.” 

“The night’s not over yet,” you sigh, tipping your head back against Kylo’s shoulder. “We could still change that.” 

[bestworstcase]

tired of ‘it doesn’t make sense for cass to trust zhan tiri’ takes 

cass is a cautious person with a good instinct for danger which yes means that for most of the show she is indeed the ignored voice of reason saying ‘hey this OBVIOUSLY SKETCHY situation is sketch’ YES

but

in the latter half of 2 she is mutilated by her friend, blamed for it, made to apologize for her own injury, denied any space to feel hurt or upset or angry about this, and literally told ‘you should know we never listen to you!’ when she gets mad about yet another instance of her saying ‘this seems sus’ only for them to literally walk out on her mid-sentence without even acknowledging that she’s speaking. 

cass tries again and again to communicate her feelings and every single time she’s brushed off or scolded or belittled by her friends. her friends have so little respect for her that by the time they hit the hoyt the aren’t even pretending anymore. this hurts her, terribly

then - ok listen. take off the ‘zhan tiri is a horrible evil monster’ goggles put aside your entrenched preconceived biases against this character for a minute. 

what is the first thing zhan tiri does when cassandra meets her?

cassandra hears a voice calling her name. following it leads her here, to a disembodied (disemwalled?) door in some sort of enchanted forest. this is one of those obviously sketchy situations that instantly puts cassandra on her guard: she draws her sword while getting her bearings. 

[sidebar: those light-and-dark green swirls on the forest floor look an awful lot like the clouds in the lost realm, don’t they?]

then: 

ZHAN TIRI: There you are, Cassandra!

[Cassandra looks around, sees Blue, and lowers her sword slightly in confusion. Blue approaches her.]

ZHAN TIRI: I’d nearly given up on you.

CASSANDRA: [shaken] Who- who are you?

ZHAN TIRI: A friend. Or, at least—I’d like to be.

cass at this point is baffled but still on her guard - she holds her sword in a low guard and she’s physically leaning away from the unsettling ghost child. 

more important here is zhan tiri’s opening gambit. ‘a friend, or at least i’d like to be.’ she’s dodging the question of what her name is, yes. but also the second part of that statement implies a correction of the first, an acknowledgement that they are not friends and becoming friends is contingent on whether cassandra accepts her overtures of friendship; there is, in saying ‘at least i’d like to be,’ an implication of acknowledgement of and respect for cassandra’s personal boundaries. this is not something cassandra has ever experienced before. contrast it with rapunzel’s aggressive, domineering pursuit of cassandra’s friendship in beginnings.

continuing: 

ZHAN TIRI: Come.

[She leads Cassandra away from the door, deeper into the enchanted forest. Though hesitant, Cassandra sheathes her sword and follows.]

CASSANDRA: Wherever you’re taking me had better have a blonde princess.

note how the blank confusion on cassandra’s face hardens into a glare the instant zhan tiri says something that could be construed as a command. cassandra has two years worth of experience in the minefield that is friendship with someone in a position of authority and power over her so of course she bristles at this. i think it is also not coincidental that she refers to rapunzel in response.

but there is also a second dynamic at work here. for two years cassandra’s whole life has been locked into orbit around the blinding sun of rapunzel, and even before then by nature of her existence in the palace as a young girl only a little older than the lost princess she would have spent her childhood in the shadow of a child who wasn’t even present. zhan tiri is the first person cassandra has ever met who is flat out indifferent to rapunzel’s existence. even in vardaros, where cass was better liked by the populace than rapunzel, the people still focused on rapunzel - they disliked her, and they cared enough to make sure she knew it. 

but zhan tiri does not give a single fuck about rapunzel. she ignores cassandra’s attempt to make rapunzel relevant to this conversation. she called out for cassandra. she has been waiting for cassandra. she has something she wants to show cassandra. she wants to be cassandra’s friend. rapunzel just...doesn’t matter to her, but cassandra does. and that is disarming, both in the figurative and literal sense. so cass puts her sword away and goes to see whatever it is that this strange child wants to share with her. 

[They reach the forest’s edge and enter the memory. Cassandra is startled, struck by the familiarity of this new setting.]

CASSANDRA: This place... feels familiar?

[Blue takes her by the hand and leads her into the cottage. She remains silent, allowing Cassandra to take it all in, until Baby Cass enters with her music box.]

ZHAN TIRI: Do you recognize that child?

[Her prompting makes it click for Cass that she’s watching herself as a child.]

again, set aside your knowledge that zhan tiri is an evil villain and your instinctive distrust of everything she says and just... take a look at this screenshot. what does it look like if you take what zhan tiri says in this sequence at face value? 

this is a horrible memory. zhan tiri knows precisely what it entails, because she is the one who dredged it out of cassandra’s mind and set it up for her to experience again. cassandra, however, has only just recognized her younger self and has no idea what’s coming. it’s going to hurt her so badly when she remembers everything—but this is an experience she needs to confront in order to heal from the damage it did to her. so much of her suffering can be traced back to this defining, forgotten moment of her childhood.

we the audience know that zhan tiri doesn’t care, doesn’t have any real interest in genuinely helping cassandra, isn’t revealing this memory to her out of the goodness of her heart - but all cassandra knows is that this is a strange ghost who expressed a desire to be friends and has brought her here to, apparently, show her a childhood memory she forgot. so erase your audience knowledge from your brain for a second and look at zhan tiri’s expression here.

she looks weary. sad, even. she looks like someone who truly values cassandra’s wellbeing, who knows that reliving this memory is going to hurt, who’s showing it to cassandra anyway because she thinks cassandra deserves to know and she understands that this is the root cause of cassandra’s pain and that in order to grow and heal it must be seen, it must be acknowledged, it must be examined.

and that is the impression of zhan tiri’s character that cassandra walks away from this experience with. someone who saw her, and saw her pain, and saw the deep festering forgotten wound of this memory buried under layers of repression and denial, and gently unpeeled those layers and brought that wound to light, because she knew cass couldn’t heal from it if she didn’t know it was there.

moving on: 

[Baby Cass approaches Gothel with the music box, only to be coldly brushed off.]

CASSANDRA: ...That’s my...

ZHAN TIRI: Mother, yes. It is.

[Skipping transcription of the remainder of the flashback; what matters is that Blue exists the scene at this point. She isn’t just standing quietly in the corner; she is fully gone, leaving Cassandra by herself to experience the rest of the memory.]

again - obviously zhan tiri knows what happens in this memory, but that isn’t the point. by staying just long enough to help cassandra put this memory into context and then leaving, she gives cassandra complete privacy to process what she is seeing and feel whatever emotional reactions she has to it and express those feelings openly, without any of the reservations she might have about having a breakdown in front of a ghost she met a few minutes ago.

again, contrast this to the way rapunzel treats cass. in under raps, when cassandra tells rapunzel that she’s dealing with ‘some stuff’ and asks rapunzel to wait until she’s ready to share, rapunzel’s response is to stalk her. in RATGT, cass tells rapunzel that she feels disrespected and unwanted and rapunzel brushes her off. in RDO, when cass is mad because rapunzel’s reckless choices resulted in cassandra’s hand being mutilated, rapunzel is furious and backs cassandra into a corner in an attempt to force her to share her feelings and then get over it so things can go back to normal.

how soothing, then, must zhan tiri’s quiet departure must be for cass? how comforting, how much of a relief must it be to have this new person recognize by herself that cassandra needs a moment alone and give that to her without cass even needing to ask?  

there is, i think, a direct line of causation between zhan tiri exiting this scene and cassandra crying for the first time in the entire series afterwards while zhan tiri comforts her. cass doesn’t cry, right? even when she thinks rapunzel is going to be trapped as a bird forever, she stops herself from crying. she doesn’t cry when her hand is burnt in the great tree, not even from physical pain. she doesn’t cry in RDO. 

but zhan tiri is the only person in the whole series who shows consideration for cassandra’s emotional boundaries, so when cassandra is upset after reliving this memory, she freely allows herself to cry, and she lets zhan tiri comfort her. 

because it’s safe. so much blame is heaped upon cass for not being more open with rapunzel, but the thing is - a) cassandra is a lot more open with rapunzel than most of the fandom gives her credit for, and b) rapunzel is not a safe person for cassandra to be emotionally open with because she tramples boundaries, doesn’t listen, routinely chooses to hear only what she wants to hear, and never acknowledges or apologizes for any of the hurt this causes cass. 

which segues us into this:

ZHAN TIRI: I’m sorry that happened to you, Cassandra. Sometimes the most painful truths are the most difficult to remember. You’ve always felt outshined by Rapunzel, haven’t you? And you always will, unless...

in this statement, zhan tiri: 

1 - expresses sympathy for the trauma cass suffered

2 - empathizes with the pain she feels right now

3 - connects the dots between her past trauma and present angst

4 - verbalizes her fear that this pattern will never change

and

5 - offers to help.

zhan tiri is, once again, the only character in the whole series who does these things. in s1, rapunzel does occasionally try to be emotionally supportive of cassandra - under raps and big brothers of corona are the big examples here - but the way she goes about it tends to do more harm than good. in UR she runs roughshod over cassandra’s clearly stated boundaries and continually escalates to the point of actual literal stalking; in BBoC she utterly disregards cassandra’s statements vis a vis how rapunzel can help in favor of doing a bunch of other things that rapunzel thinks cass should want, and in the process she actively interferes with cassandra’s rest and makes her recovery experience worse.

in contrast, zhan tiri gets it. she is absolutely correct in her perception of the situation: cassandra has been trapped in this pattern of inferiority to rapunzel her whole life. her mother abandoned her for rapunzel, and everyone in her life now is willing to sacrifice cassandra’s needs, her feelings, her physical health on the altar of Rapunzel’s Destiny, and that will never change if she continues on as she has been. and... if cass tried to simply leave, by herself, do you really, truly, honestly think rapunzel would let her go?

she feels trapped because she is trapped, and she’s desperate for a way out, and zhan tiri sees that, understands that, and most important of all, shows her a way out.

so like

when she walked through that door in the house of yesterday’s tomorrow cassandra was a heap of emotional pain and unfulfilled emotional needs—for respect, for compassion, for basic consideration of her boundaries, for someone to see how much she’s hurting, for space to feel things without being asked to sacrifice more of herself for somebody else, for someone to care about her and what she needs and thinks and feels and wants, for an escape from the toxic inescapable dumpster fire of her life—and in the space of maybe a couple hours zhan tiri answered every. single. one. 

cassandra entered this situation expecting trouble, and instead she got someone treating her with dignity and compassion for the first time ever sO OF COURSE CASSANDRA TRUSTS HER!!

it beggars belief that the show expects me to believe she never bothered to ask what her new friend’s name was between this point and OAH, and yes, if cass were in a healthier place or surrounded by less toxic people then i’m sure she’d be more inclined to be suspicious of the weird little ghost child who reached into her head and pulled out a suppressed memory. but nevertheless it does, in fact, make sense for cass to conclude after this experience that blue is trustworthy and really does care about her and is a better friend to her than rapunzel. 

tts was allergic to acknowledging the legitimacy of cassandra’s grievances in any way after s2 and refused to allow zhan tiri even a modicum of depth as a character so the vast majority of their relationship exists off-screen, which is, yes, deeply frustrating and does a huge disservice to both characters and to the overarching plot of the season. but “why would cass trust her?” is a question the series answers, on screen, in spades. 

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

Was it appropriate to long for someone who loved another?

The question was one that Iwaizumi refused to acknowledge for the last six years, after Oikawa questioned the trainer’s feelings for their mutual friend. The conversation bloomed the night of your two-year anniversary with the younger Miya twin. It was quite difficult to miss the dozens of photographs uploaded to your social media, broadcasting the romantic evening that was planned. Soon his entire feed became only…you.

The former captain raised an eyebrow curiously at his friend, who was battling several emotions that were threatening to contort his features. It was not fate that brought Oikawa Tooru to his best friend’s side that evening. Rather, the decision to invite Iwaizumi for drinks on that particular date was a calculated choice. There were some questions that were nagging at him, ones that demanded answers before he departed from his home country.

“You didn’t think they would last this long, did you?” The inquiry was hummed out in amusement as he trailed a finger along the rim of the glass planted ahead of him. From the side of his eye, he noticed Iwaizumi shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“It’s good. We wanted her to be happy, and she is. So, it’s a good thing they lasted this long.” His words lacked an earnest vigour, and not even the straightest composure could sell the packaged response as the truth.

“Hmm. Oh, Iwa-chan. When will you be honest with me?” Exhaling a weighed sigh, Oikawa shook his head before taking a swing of the liquor. Or at least, when would he be honest with himself?

“What are you blabbering about now, Shittykawa?” The narrowing of his eyelids into slits was meant to resonate a sense of anger, or at minimum irritation. Yet, it was fear that was burning bright in his irises.

“Is it really appropriate to long for someone who is in love with another?” It was a dangerous question to be spewing, Oikawa knew the insinuations laying at the foundation were sure to provoke some dormant emotions. And so, when sorrow forced the other male to flicker his gaze to the opposite direction, the former captain blew out a low hum in understanding.

“I don’t long for her, you idiot,” After swallowing the lump in his throat, he attempted to brush off the comment, rather unsuccessfully. While Oikawa found his friend’s first protest to be a blatant lie, what followed next was enough to cause him to drop his face onto his palm. “She’s like a little sister to me.”

Despite Iwaizumi’s desire to present the admission as factual, calling you his little sister returned the crawling sensation that was prompted earlier to return to his skin; and he had to ponder whether the bitter taste in his mouth was from the liquor or from the deceit dripping from his lips.

“Iwa-chan, you know what they say. Denial is the first stage.” The humorous comment was accompanied by a gentle laugh. While his questions were completely shut down; the physical reactions that his inquiries elicited was enough to confirm his suspicions.

Unrequited love was tragic; but what made the circumstances substantially worse was that it began with mutual love. The only issue was that neither party dared to cross the boundaries between friendship and relationship, afraid to lose the other in the process.

“Shut up.” Neither boy was convinced or impacted by the half-hearted demand, rather it was silently understood that its sole purpose was to fill the empty space that was left for a confession that would not come.

However, the conversation laid a layer of bricks on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, shackling him to the truth he was desperately avoiding. It comes as no surprise that for the remainder of the evening, he could not muster the courage to scroll through any of his social media. For if he did, the action would be admitting something he promised to always keep buried.  

Tonight, the question returned to the forefront of his thoughts, mocking him for a weakness he despised himself for possessing. But it was not longing that was behind the uneasiness bordering nausea flooding him. No – it was the thought of what could have been.

What if he said something? What if you did? Would you have been happier – not knowing the one who was the cause of your broken heart? Or would he have stolen from you a happiness that you could never receive with him?  

Sinking his face into his palms, he clenched his eyelids shut, aiming to shove aside the haunting thoughts. He remained in the crouched position for twenty minutes, unable to gather the energy to adjust his posture until he heard slight stirring from the bed ahead of him.

“Akari?” From under the duvet, you raised a hand to beckon for your sister who was coincidentally, not in the bedroom at the moment. The impact of the alcohol had worn off considerably by now, leaving only an irksome strain in your temples.

“She’s downstairs.” The trainer debated internally whether to approach you or not, and upon hearing the little groan that was offered in response, he opted to wait before abandoning his post. “How are you feeling?” Resting his arms along his thighs, he laced his fingers together, stretching them anxiously on either side.

A verbal response did not immediately follow his line of questioning. As you raised to a seating position on the bed, your gaze dropped to the stuffed animal that was snug against your side. Your memories of what transpired earlier in the evening was lagging, returning to you at a slow rate that was highly antagonizing. Though, the pieces that you did remember were the ones involving your best friend whose gaze you could not meet. Maybe if you were younger, still justifying your decisions with the motto of no regrets, it would have been an easier task. But you knew what was said tonight was dangerously careless.

“Tired.” Whispering the response, you brought the plushie to your lap, gently brushing your fingers against the fur. While you did remember the accidental damage, your intoxicated state inflicted on your friendship; you did not remember how you came to possess the toy within your grasp.

“Do you remember anything?” Iwaizumi prodded, testing whether it was appropriate to initiate the conversation you were dreading to have.

“Pieces.” This time you responded promptly; emotion devoid in your mumbled response. “Though, I don’t remember asking Bo to get this little baby, so I guess I saw him?” You aimed to spit the final word of the sentence with venom, and yet it spilled from your lips, coated with a hint of fondness, rather than disgust – something that Iwaizumi caught on, twinging the spear planted inside of his chest.

“You did.” Ignoring the discomfort stretching along his torso, he forcefully stabilized his breathing, drawing longer and heavier breaths through his nose. He didn’t know what was expected of him now. His role in your life had always been one of a protector – but now, with the truth exposed as an open wound, what could he do? What should he do?

“I thought so. I was hoping that part was a dream.” Chewing on the inside of your cheek, a humourless melody was blown out. While you were unable to recall what the conversation was, an image of your fiancé had projected inside of your mind. In the memory he wore his vulnerability openly for you, and you despised how it made you want to comfort him. How you wanted to claim his pain as your own, even though your own heart was suffering from the pain he inflicted on it.

“Why didn’t you answer me? I could have been there for you. If it’s about what you said…” With his throat constricting, he was unable to complete the sentence. But you were quick to fill the silence, aiming to end the conversation before it could develop further.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, Hajime. Just ignore what I said, okay.” You couldn’t do this. Not right now. Not when your heart was already breaking from your last love – it would not survive additional pain from your first one.  

“What if I don’t want to ignore it?” He did not intend to push the topic forward without your consent, but the question left his mouth before he could bite his tongue. Despite being regarded as the one who held a considerable amount of control of emotions, his resolve to remain in control weakened with each passing second.

“Why? So, you can tell me that you didn’t feel the same way? That you’re sorry? Because if that’s what you’re doing to say, please don’t. I don’t think I can handle it.” Drawing in a deep breath, you tipped your head up, fixing your attention on the ceiling, hoping the liquid hanging on your lashes would not depart. “And if you’re going to tell me that I was wrong, that you did see me that way…What’s the point now?” Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, your eyelids fluttered shut, granting the tears full reign over your cheeks. “You didn’t tell me it when it would have made a difference.”

The sight of you falling apart filled him with dread. How could he despise the younger Miya twin for his idiotic behaviour when he too caused you similar hurt? How could he have been so damn oblivious?

The only difference between him and Osamu, was that he didn’t care for his own pain. He didn’t desire your pity or sympathy. He wanted your happiness.

The distance between you two could no longer be tolerated. He quickly rose to his feet, making his way to the mattress, before guiding you into his arms. When you were in his embrace, you slowly placed your arms around his middle limply. 

“I’m sorry, y/n.” What he was apologizing did not have to be stated, you knew what it was and that was enough.

Because you were sorry too… for what could have been, and what had been lost.

Let’s do it again, shall we - what if 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: no one kill me, LMAO. 

taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa  @yourstarvic @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @seikamuzu @namyari  @toaster-stick @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden @nerdynstoned @kenmasgameboy @kaiju-teeth @ouijaeater15 @aquariarose @fandomtrashpandasposts @helloalex80​ @stfucanunot @envyusshades @cuddlesslut @seijohiseliterambles​  @meiikuki @cuddlejeongin @tchalameme @ditu-m9​ @elianetsantana​ 

Taglist continued in the comments from my personal  ❣️

[nvvermore]

Take My Hands

Cadenza helps calm Ophélie’s nerves [featuring @arcanecadenza’s Cadenza]

words: 1.3k

NSFW 🍋: for day one of @midsummer-masquerade: shibari / marking (+ strap-ons, cock warming, orgasm denial, praise)

accompaniment

The first time Ophélie attended the normal masquerade had been nerve-wracking enough, but this one was on a whole different level of anxiety inducing. Leading up to tonight, her thoughts had been centered around the fear that no one would dare approach her.

But reality was just the opposite—she never realized just how many people would be eager to approach her. Her identity was hardly a secret, the lace of her “mask” barely obscuring her face. The thought that the very same people who sought out her affections each night after the curtain was lowered would also be in attendance hadn't crossed her mind at all.

But Ophélie wasn't interested in any of them. Not until she'd seen a figure of violet organza and wild curls cut through the crowd several feet away. She'd almost called out Cadenza’s name as she began to follow after her, but caught herself last-second.

The lightest brush of her hand against Cadenza's arm alerts the other woman of her presence.

"I didn't know you'd be here!" Ophélie greets, feeling giddy when she sees the way Cadenza's face lights up behind her mask.

"That is the point, is it not? Secret invitations." Cadenza’s smile is bright, her eyes slowly dragging over Ophélie’s body. "I was hoping I'd find you. But it seems you've found me instead."

Ophélie takes in Cadenza’s own hardly-there outfit. It really wasn't all that different from what she wore on a normal day—except for her gown itself had been crafted out of completely sheer fabric.

"You look beautiful!" Ophélie complements. She thinks Cadenza looks much more than just beautiful, of course, but she’d like to save those for when they’re alone.

"You look nervous."

“That easy to tell?” Ophélie giggles, eyes darting around the room momentarily before returning to look up at her.

Cadenza is still smiling as she takes Ophélie's hand. "Let me help you relax?"

———

"I'm already wearing a harness." Ophélie says half-heartedly, as Cadenza begins to work the silken lilac rope over and around her chest. It’s caging in her breasts more than the harness that’s practically her entire outfit is, weaving under them and over them.

"And the rope complements it, don't you think?" She circles Ophélie, drawing the rope down between her shoulder blades, so that she can begin to wind it around her forearms.

“It is very pretty. I love the purple,” she tilts her head down to examine the design the best she can.

“Not as pretty as you look, especially how pretty you’ll look after I’m done with you.” Ophélie feels her face heat at the words, at the way the rope tightens around her chest. “And the marks this leave will also complement these quite nicely.”

Before Ophélie can ask what Cadenza means, she leans forward and bites down onto the bare skin of her shoulder. Ophélie moans out in surprise, but Cadenza quickly pulls away, resuming carefully knotting the restraints.

Ophélie waits patiently as she can as Cadenza works, the tightness of the rope and Cadenza’s presence sooth her nerves—while simultaneously riling her up in a different manner.

After a few more minutes Cadenza steps back, examining her work for a moment, her eyes dark. Without another word she leaves Ophélie on the bed to retrieve something else from a chest across the room.

Ophélie watches Cadenza shed her gown, trading it for a harness of her own that fastens around her hips.

“I can’t wait to see you take this.” Cadenza turns to face the bed again, revealing the carefully crafted glass cock that’s been secured to the harness.

Ophélie practically feels her mouth water. Her eyes follow Cadenza as she climbs back up onto the bed, leaning back against the surplus of pillows at the head. She beckons Ophélie closer with a single finger, lightly patting the freckled skin of her upper thighs.

She’s quick to follow orders, and shuffles up after her, sliding over Cadenza’s lap. Cadenza’s hand goes between Ophélie’s legs, fingers ghosting over the well-soaked lace between them, letting out a soft moan of her own as she pushes the lingerie to the side.

“Already so wet… Is this all for me, or did someone else get to you before I did?”

“It’s all for you,” Ophélie murmurs, struggling to keep herself from grinding down onto Cadenza’s fingers.

“I bet that I could slide inside of you just like this, hm?”

“Yes, please, Cadenza—“ Ophélie whines when Cadenza pulls her hand away.

“Already begging, too? You’re such an eager girl.”

Ophélie does start to move when she feels the cool tip of the glass against her cunt. Cadenza brings a hand to her hip to keep her still, nails digging into Ophélie’s skin through the layers and layers of tulle.

“No moving, even when I’m inside, understand?”

Ophélie opens her mouth to speak, just as the tip brushes her entrance, but all that comes out is a whine. She tries again. “Yes, yes, I won’t move.”

Her nails grasp at her own arms as Cadenza pulls her down onto her cock, going far slower than Ophélie needs to go.

“I think,” Ophélie giggles nervously, “this is just winding me up more—”

She's cut off by her own gasp, as Cadenza bites down on her neck, tongue laving over the mark she’s left.

“Not if I wear you out…” Cadenza grins, her lips grazing over Ophélie’s chest to suck more marks into her skin. “Then you just won't have the energy to worry.”

Ophélie holds as still as she can, mind already completely preoccupied with the desire to be a good girl for Cadenza. She doesn’t hold any of her sounds back though, all of her soft moans and high-pitched gasps freely tumbling past her lips as Cadenza busies herself with marking her up. She takes her sweet time, doing a thorough job of biting, kissing, and sucking every bit of pale skin for what feels like hours to Ophélie. All while the cock is buried deep inside of her and she isn’t allowed to do a single thing about it.

Cadenza weaves a hand into Ophélie’s short waves, tugging back to better access her neck. “I can feel how hard you’re trying to keep still, you’re doing so well,” her lips graze Ophélie’s skin as she speaks. Cadenza tugs her head back down and leans forward to finally capture Ophélie’s lips, not neglecting to bite at them either, smearing her lipstick in the process.

“Please, ‘Denza, will you fuck me now? Please?” Ophélie begs in between kisses and nips. She feels Cadenza’s lips quirk into a grin against hers, and when both of her hands return to her hips, Ophélie thinks she’s finally going to get some friction.

But instead of fucking her properly, Cadenza slowly lifts her up and off of her strap completely. Ophélie wines in disappointment, but a sharp look from Cadenza silences her complaints.

“I think it’s time for you to go back out and enjoy the party, you’re due on stage soon, aren’t you?” Cadenza says innocently, like she hadn’t just spent the better part of an hour working Ophélie up to no release. She loosens the silk knots behind her back and around her wrists.

Once she’s loose, Cadenza pulls Ophélie from the bed, guiding her across the room towards a mirror against the wall, giving her a chance to appreciate Cadenza’s marks all over her skin.

“I think the crowd will just love these additions to your outfit.” Cadenza spins Ophélie around to face her, and since her hands have been tied up for most of their time together, Ophélie takes the opportunity to run them up Cadenza’s thighs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you, after. But you aren’t allowed to come from any touch that isn’t mine. You make sure anyone else so lucky to end up with you knows that.”

[silma-words]

The right thing to do (part II)

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Mature/NSFW (18+)

Category: Angst

Summary: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – After surviving Vega’s attempt on their lives, everything seems to be going well for Adrian and Ellie… if it weren’t for Adrian’s constant rambling doubts, convincing him gradually that it would probably be best for her to carry on without him in her life.

Warning: Sexual content (part 2)

Words: 3450

Music inspiration: “And so my heart became a void”, Ursine Vulpine ft Annaca

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

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The right thing to do (Part I)

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The right thing to do (Part II)

Lost in her thoughts, still cradled on the floor after confronting Adrian about their future and his apparent wishes to see her move on with her life, Ellie hadn’t heard him move away from the window and sit by her side. She only realised he had moved when his hand appeared before her to rest on hers, his thumb gently brushing against her fingers. She was desperate to look at him, but was dreading what she would read in his eyes.

Adrian’s chest was so tight that he thought for a moment he might stop breathing altogether from the pain he was inflicting them both. He could sense the turmoil of her emotions as much as he could see it in her eyes, fully aware of how much it must hurt because of how much it was hurting him as well. He could feel the guilt push against his resolution, trying to silence the pragmatism of his stupid old brain and take over the control of his body to reach for her. Embrace her. Take it all back and promise everything would be all right. When he had finally managed to make a move to sit beside her on the floor, he was still unsure whether guilt or resolution had won that battle. But either way, he knew he couldn’t just stay back in silence.

They stayed like this for a while, both staring at their hands as she was gradually calming down, her heartbeat slowing and her hands eventually relaxing under his touch, letting his fingers intertwine with hers gently. Not daring to lift her gaze towards him, she finally broke the silence, her voice low and faltering.

“Why now, Adrian? Why…” she trailed, unsure of how to phrase this. “Why wouldn’t you give us more time?”.

Finally turning her head to him, she could see her sadness mirrored in his flawless features, as he was still gazing at their tangled fingers, a sad smile on his face, as if he was already saying goodbye to these small gestures of affection that he had come to long for every day since she had rocketed through his life.

“I would love nothing more than give us all the time in the world”, he answered softly with a shy smile, “but time…”, he continued, finally looking back at her, “time is something I have plenty of, but you don’t…”.

She could see both the resolution and the pain in his eyes, with a flicker of hesitation that gave her hope that she could somehow make him waver.

“But I’m not ready!” she pleaded in a whisper, suddenly shifting towards him to nudge her face in the crook of his neck in an attempt to smother the tears that were threatening to overtake her. He reacted instantly by letting go of her hand so that he could wrap his arms around her, holding her close and burying his nose in her hair.

“I’m no ready to say ‘goodbye’”, she murmured against his neck, closing her eyes as she could feel a few tears roll down her cheeks, continuing their path on his chest. He held his breath at the sensation, as if each of her tears were slowly slicing through his skin like miniature blades. He wasn’t even sure what hurt the most anymore: letting her go, or breaking her heart?

“Will there ever be a good time to say ‘goodbye’?”, he simply muttered with a weak smile, kissing the top of her head where his chin had been resting, breathing in the smell of her hair as he tightened his embrace to let her know that, deep down, he wasn’t ready to let go of them either.

He held her silently like this for a while, letting the realisation of what had just happened sink into them both, his arms as tight as he could around her, her face buried against his collarbone, trembling hands gripping his shirt feebly over his heart. After a while, he could hear a change in her heartbeat, getting faster as her hands clutched at his shirt more tightly and her head started to shuffle slightly against his chest. He loosened his embrace reluctantly so she could move around, letting her raise herself and pull away from him slightly, just enough so that she could face him, her eyes red but filled with determination.

“I won’t do it”, she announced, loud and it clear, although her voice was still wavering. “I won’t say ‘goodbye’”. The intensity of her gaze made Adrian flinch, as if she had somehow found a way to reach for his heart by just looking at him, and was now holding it as tight as she could in her hands. But he could tell as well that her words were as much of a defiance as a surrender. She was searching through his eyes for any sign of weakness, hoping her words would be enough to change the outcome of this moment. But she was also admitting defeat, in her own way.

She won’t say it. She won’t acknowledge that this was probably one of their last times together. Probably the last. How could she face being around him after this night, knowing that he didn’t want her around anymore? But this night was not over yet, and she was not ready to let go just yet. All she wanted was to embrace her denial and forget herself in his arms. One last time.

Adrian nodded in silence, his eyes never leaving hers, showing that he understood what she meant and would gladly share with her these last moments together in any way she wanted. He was just waiting for her to lead the way.

As if reading his mind, Ellie bridged the gap between them by gently bringing her lips to his, worried for a second that he would pull away, but only to be met by his powerful embrace, eager to deepen their kiss. She let him pull her onto his lap until she was straddling him on the floor, reaching to cup his face in her hands as their lips kept meeting, softly at first, breaking apart slightly between each kiss to dive into each other’s eyes before meeting again, every time with more force and eagerness until their mouths crashed against each other with such force that their lips might bruise.

Adrian couldn’t hold back his yearning any longer, pressing one hand against her back and tangling the other into her hair to bring her closer to him, feeling that his heart might burst from all of the unspoken truths he had never dared shared with her about how he really felt for her. How hard he had fallen for her. And how shattered his heart was knowing that this would be the last time he would ever hold her. Because of him. Because of his own treacherous mind and haunted soul. He hated himself as much as he loved her.

He could hear her heart thumper in her chest, and feel her hands shake against his skin as she was cradling his face against hers, before releasing her grip to slide her fingers against his jaw, eventually reaching the back of his neck to grasp his hair and return the intensity of his embrace. Breathless, they eventually pulled apart, their mouths so close that they could feel each other’s warmth against their lips, panting, their eyes silently doing all the talking they needed to know what was next.

Never breaking eye contact, Ellie let Adrian pull her up against his chest to carry her away from the sofa, leaving behind them the harshness of the artificial lights of the living room as if fleeing a crime scene like thieves, to find refuge in the comforting shadows of his bedroom. The moonlight piercing through the windows was enough for them to see each other, but graceful enough to hide the soreness of her eyes and the dried tears on her cheeks, allowing her to finally catch a breath and indulge into that sweet denial she was desperately trying to cling onto.

Adrian gently dropped her back to her feet by the bed, brushing away a few strands of hair from her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb before tracing a path along her jaw and her neck without letting her out of his sight, as if trying to commit this moment to his memory.

Intoxicated by his touch, Ellie intercepted his hand and slowly brought his fingers to her mouth to place gentle kisses on their tips, before guiding his hand back to her chest and to the seam of her top in a silent invitation. Lifting her arms in the air so that he could grant her wishes, she then pressed herself flush against him, reaching for his mouth on her tiptoes and letting her hands roam blindly against him to find the buttons of his shirt, eager to remove that wall of fabric that was keeping the warmth of his skin from hers.

The desperation in her touch was echoed by Adrian’s, his own hands gradually loosing control as they travelled over her body, impatiently reaching for the hem of her trousers when he felt hers reach for his belt after she had quickly tossed his shirt aside. Savouring the feel of her fingers brushing against his hips and thighs as she was pushing his breeches down, and exhaled slowly before sinking to his knees before her as soon as she had undressed him completely.

Trailing his lips along her chest and stomach as his hands were making their way down along her curves, he religiously proceeded in gently peeling away every layer of cloth that was still protecting her skin from his starving senses. He could hear her breath catch in her throat as he undid her bra and let his fingers gently caress her breasts, and felt a wave of heat course through his groin when his touch was met with shivers as he was slowly pulling her jeans and thong down, letting his mouth hover above her thighs and knees without ever touching her skin, just close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath taunting her.

When he finally looked back up to her, his eyes, now nearly glowing in the dark from the golden colour that betrayed his arousal, met her burning gaze, pleading silently for more as her lips parted slightly and her hands fell lightly on his head, her fingers tenderly fiddling with strands of his hair. Holding her gaze for a few seconds has he gently grabbed one of her thighs to lift it above his shoulder and nudge himself closer, he finally answered the silent call of her aching core, burying his mouth and nose where she needed him the most.

The taste of her was driving him crazy. The wetness and warmth of his mouth sent her head flying backwards, the strong strokes of his tongue over her swollen nerves forcing her to tighten her grip in his hair as her back arched involuntarily to push her hips forward. He could hear the blood rushing out of her heart, and feel where each wave ended its journey, pulsing against the tip of his tongue. Loosing herself slowly under the waves of pleasure that were washing over her, Ellie finally allowed herself to gasp and moan languidly as Adrian was losing himself in her folds.

The sound of her moans hit Adrian like an electric current, making him grunt between her thighs as his need of her was becoming more urgent. He could feel her legs tremble against his head and her hands tug harder on his hair. She made no complain when he released her thigh from his grip and let his mouth travel all the way back up to her neck, her lips quickly finding his eagerly as she pressed her burning skin against his, moaning a little louder in his mouth as she felt his arousal press against her belly.

Inebriated by the taste of his tongue, she pulled him backwards with her until they fell onto the bed, their limbs tangled in a confused dance as they were both trying to reach for each other, desperate to join as one. Although none of them wanted to rush this moment, they couldn’t keep apart any longer. Slipping one of his arms under Ellie’s shoulder to cradle her against him, Adrian settled his hips between her legs, easily finding her warm entrance and filling her slowly, relinquishing the gasp that escaped her lips and the long, satisfied moan that followed.

Right there, in this moment, they both felt complete. Serein. At peace. Enveloped in each other’s warmth and smell. Protected from their aching souls by the deafening sound of their blood beating in their ears. Moving against her with as much restrain as he could summon, Adrian was savouring every second. The way her lips parted with every moan. The vein palpitating in her neck as the blood was being rushed to her cheeks. The sweat glistening between her breasts and pooling where their bodies met. The warmth and wetness of her centre pulsing around him.

The slow pace that Adrian had set was driving her insane. As much as she wanted to savour the sweet madness that his touch and that the length of him were pushing her towards, she needed more. Tightening her grip on his shoulders and pressing her feet on the mattress, she forced her hips upwards to meet his with more vigour, her eyes fluttering open to meet his and make him understand what she needed of him.

She shrieked when Adrian responded to her cues by picking up the pace and sinking deeper into her, each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure rippling through both of them, echoed in their cries and their ragged breaths.

Ellie wanted to drown her pain in their cries, in their breaths, and numb that ache in her core by letting herself burn under the heat of his touch. She wanted him to be able to read her body like a book, letting her skin confess all of the unspoken words she wanted to tell him but had not been brave enough to voice before it was too late. Although she could feel her eyelids heavy and her head aching to roll back to give in to the bliss, she refused to tear her eyes away from him. She needed to see him. See his strong arms wrapping her. See how his thighs flexed against hers at every thrust. See where their bodies joined. And see the crimson in his eyes as he was devouring the sight of her abandoning herself to his embrace.

Possessed by some kind of mad fever triggered by her incontrollable cries and the feel of her hips buckling under him to meet him desperately, Adrian’s movements became more erratic, his groin slamming against her sex with such force that she had to sink her nails into his shoulder blades to stay put. His forehead pressed against hers, he could see her eyes clouding with pleasure, sending him dangerously close to the edge as her mouth seemed to be desperately trying to call out his name, only resulting in irrepressible squeals. Slowing down gradually to calm himself down and prevent him from tipping over, he captured her lips in slow, lazy kisses, letting her catch her breath for a moment.

Cradled in his arm, Ellie felt like she was dreaming. She was drowning in his eyes and melting against his lips, wishing that they could stay like this forever, closer than they could ever be, moving ever so slightly against each other to keep this fire burning between them. Pulling him closer to her so that he was completely lying on top of her for an instant, she couldn’t help but sight with content. She then wriggled lightly underneath him before pushing against his shoulders to make him roll to his side, shifting her weight completely to straddle him. Her hands resting on his chest, she started moving up and down along his length with an agonising slowness, drawing guttural sounds out of Adrian every time she teased his tip with her entrance on her way up, nearly drawing him out of her before sinking again onto him.

Adrian couldn’t keep his eyes off her. As much as he was trying to tune down his senses, his body was instinctively picking up on every single breath of hers. Every change in her heartbeat. Every variation of her moans. Every goose bump on her skin, as she was shivering with pleasure above him. He could feel his heart race with hers, his eyes chasing hers in a silent plead to let him read her soul, one last time. He couldn’t keep his hands off her either. Brushing the soft skin on her sides. Cupping her breasts to feel their weight in his palms. Gripping the top of her thighs to guide their path, fighting the urge to guide her further down and arch upwards to increase her pace, the slow roll of her hips making him boil inside with desire.

As if reading his mind, Ellie suddenly straightened her back to lower herself entirely onto him, moving her hands from his chest to find his on her hips. Tangling their fingers together between them, they started to move faster in unison, never leaving sight of each other.

Craving for the taste of her mouth, Adrian raised his chest to meet her and capture her swollen lips, reluctantly releasing her hands so that he could guide her legs around his waist and wrap her small, fragile form in his strong arms, encasing her protectively as if she could crumble if he weren’t careful enough. Their kisses were urgent and hungry, leaving wet trails on their chins and in their necks as their moans and their need for air were forcing them to break apart momentarily.

They had never held onto each other so tight. Her fingernails digging in his back. His fist grasping her hair. Her teeth grazing his shoulder, face buried in the crook of his neck. His arm wrapped around her back, tight enough to keep her close but loose enough to accompany the movements of her hips on his lap.

She was fighting against her most intimate urges to ride him faster, harder, and feel him to the deepest of her core, slowing her pace as much as she could to make their heated embrace last longer. To let their pleasure burn them slowly to the ground. The feel of his warm skin against hers was driving her insane, tugging at her stomach at the realisation that she would never feel it again. Overwhelmed by the sensations of their embrace and of her feelings for him, she couldn’t hold the tear that suddenly breached her eyelid, and buried her face in his neck in an attempt to wipe it away.

Adrian felt the path of her tear on his chest as if it had been a drop of burning oil, sending a pang to his gut, fully aware of what it was. Slowing down his movements, he reached for her chin to lift her head up, gently cupping her face and resting his forehead on hers, pouring all the affection and love he had for her in his unwavering gaze to let her know that he knew exactly how she felt.

Lost in each other's eyes and hanging onto each other as if their lives depended on it, they finally allowed their bodies to roam free and yield to their most intimate urges, the tension building up again between them as their hips swayed together with a vigour that could only be matched by the intensity of the yearning in their eyes. Wiping the tear from her cheek as her hands were weakly grabbing onto his neck, they let their bodies carry them over the edge, reaching instinctively for the other’s lips to muffle the unrestrained cries that her tightening around him unleashed.

As if frozen in time, they stayed like this for a while, tangled and breathless, before falling backwards into the bed sheets to nestle against each other, her hands never leaving his neck and his eyes never leaving hers. Both dreaded the moment they would fall asleep and see their last shared moment end.

When Adrian woke up she was already gone, leaving nothing behind but the smell of her in his sheets, the trail of her dried tears on his chest, and a self-inflicted void in his heart.

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For the follow-up to this story, head here

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N/A: Well, this was my first time ever writing smut, so I hope it wasn't too bad and that part II was not too disappointing! :)

I have started working on other pieces, which should follow up on Adrian and Ellie after this. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list, and thanks for reading!

Tagging: @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44

@choicesficwriterscreations​

[digitalcirce]

Oh, This Feels Strange (woman to pig transformation)

“Oh, what a strange dream,” Evie murmured, as wakeful thought slowly returned to her.  “I could have sworn it was real!”  But even so, her memories of it were rapidly slipping away, leaving just sensations – powerful, undeniable animal sensations that beat in her heart like a primal drum.  Moving with her… friends?  Group?  No, herd…  Feeling their presence… even… giving herself to them?  A flicker of tantalizing memory arose from the fading impressions, of herself on all fours, and a man – no, not a man, exactly, but her mate – filling her and taking her to the horizons that can only be found in dreams.  It was just… Evie was almost sure of it… in the dream, her lover had been a pig.  And so… so had she.  Had she?

But it was all slipping away.  She felt a gurgle in her stomach, which she assumed was hunger, and idly rubbed her belly.  Her pink robe had pulled open, exposing her intimates, and the flesh of her bare belly was warm to the touch.  Evie hoped that she wasn’t coming down with a cold or something…

But her health was not in jeopardy.  She was healthy now; and would be healthy in half an hour.  She just wouldn’t look the same.  Because her dream had been a portent – a calling, from the unknown primal part of her soul, beckoning her back to her true nature.  A heritage she didn’t even know she had.  But it had always been there, just below the surface, and it was more aptly who and what she was than the beautiful, busty, brunette beauty that she assumed herself to be.  

The gurgling and heat in her stomach were not hunger or illness, they were metamorphosis.  Starting in her womb, she was changing.  Her uterus stretched, becoming longer and thinner and spitting towards the top into two horns, curving into much shorter fallopian tubes.  Her ovaries swelled large, each and every human ova inside her changing like she was, until they comfortably nestled not human gametes, but pig eggs, in accordance with her prophetic dream.  Evie was no longer capable of bearing a human child, but she could get pregnant with as many piglets as she wanted!

Below her porcine womb, her cervix and vagina twisted, reshaping to cradle the coiled tumescence of an amorous boar – the type of lover she was meant to have.  The type of lover she would come to desire most.  Then, the first visible change began, as her soft, smooth vulva grew rosier and thicker, the lips twisting a little further backward to make mounting her easier.  A flush of pure pleasure overwhelmed Evie as her clitoris changed, swelling to six times its original size and sticking out as a ruddy, wrinkled love button that would bring her untold pleasure over the years.

Above her privates, a nub of flesh formed at the apex of her heart-shaped ass, twisting out rapidly until she had grown a wiggly pig’s tail.  The sow-to-be didn’t notice, still breathing hard after the sensation of her clit reshaping, but the cute, energetic thing was clear evidence of the animal she was destined to become.  Below it, her demure little butthole widened, the wrinkled starfish swelling large and leathery between her sexy cheeks.  It bulged outward a bit, so that when the four-legged animal pooped, it would fall past her pussy with no risk of touching it.

The transformation then rocketed back up her bowels, shrinking intestines into more robust coils, and expanding her stomach to take larger meals.  Heart and lungs changed as it passed upward, going up her throat and shifting her tongue even as canine teeth began to develop into tiny tusks.  At that point, her nose began to turn upwards, and Evie’s heavy breathing began to take on the overtones of grunting.

“What the hell?  This feels strange,” Evie managed to say, but she was not yet aware that she was really a pig; that her transformation was a perfectly natural thing.  Instead, she thought she was suffering from some kind of indigestion.  The gorgeous girl tried to stand, but just flopped back on her bed.  By now, the former bottom of her nose was growing blunter and more sensitive, and her ears had begun to enlarge, pushing out beyond her rich brunette tresses.  Her toes stared to harden and swell, and as one leg flopped over the other, she felt the hard rubbing of what would become her hooves.  Evie shook her head, trying to clear it.  If she crossed her eyes, she could see the end of her growing snout.  And the wiggling behind her… she reached back, touching her tail for the first time.

Evie gasped, taking in her mutating body.  What was happening?  But she knew.  Deep down, she knew.  Only one animal had a tail like that.  In a rush, the sensations of her dream came back to her, confirming her fears.  “No – not a pig!” Evie squealed, overwhelmed.  But her transformation wouldn’t be arrested by such trite little protests.  She looked down at her hands, gasping as they shifted too, hands and feet both deforming into blocky hooves.  Her thumbs and big toes were lost entirely, the outer digits reshaping into dew claws and the main ones capped with a hard shell of keratin for her to walk on.

“No, no, no!  I don’t want to looEEEEEse my hands!” the sow-to-be squealed.  Her hooves seemed so ugly to her, so useless!  But if she needed to pick anything up, the pig could always use her trusty snout.  The busty brunette was still in denial, but she would find her new body well adapted to all of a pig’s needs.  She snorted and grunted, finding it harder and harder to make intelligible words.

Along her belly, twelve little welts formed, plumping up into thick, piggish nipples.  Teats that could feed the many piglets she realized she was now capable of bearing.  The dream image of the boar on her back, filling her so perfectly, both warmed her loins and turned her blood to ice.  Yes, she might well become a mother pig, and sooner than she thought.

Then, Evie started to fatten, bulking up like a true pig.  Her belly took the brunt of it, becoming a flabby potbelly until her back lengthened to spread her into a characteristic barrel shape, but her thighs plumped too, and her butt, as her sexy cheeks swelled to support lovers bigger than a quarter of a ton.  And that wasn’t all.  Pure pork meat layered on over her back, too, and her neck and face, as her throat swelled out and tipped her head forward.  The brunette sow knew she was becoming a quadruped, and that her clothes were becoming uncomfortably tight.  As best as she could with her hooves, she twisted out of her robe and pushed her bottoms down.  But she was too clumsy to unhook her top, and felt it strain against its new load.

Evie’s arms and shoulder blades rotated downward, shrinking to become a pig’s forelegs, and her thighs and long, sexy legs compacted into ordinary hind legs.  Her smooth gorgeous skin thickened and developed a few sparse bristles, making her profile much more piggish.  Her new vulva and clitoris and butthole were brazenly displayed, beyond the young sow’s ability to conceal.  They twitched as her once-beautiful butt sloped into her thighs, all semblance of her human cheeks eradicated.

The pig continued to squeal as her head changed, snout stretching before her, and her brainpan flattening around a swiftly changing mind.  She had a pig’s brain now, and pig’s instincts infected the sow’s thoughts.  Instincts that recalled and normalized her dream, preparing her to live among her new species.  Her body continued to fatten until she weighed over four hundred pounds, her sexy pink top finally bursting from the strain and freeing her big, magnificent breasts.

Evie’s boobs flopped under her, pushed together by her forelegs into dramatic cleavage.  But her big feminine treasures were as unnecessary to her new life as her hands had been, and slowly they deflated, becoming smaller and smaller until they resembled her other dozen teats.  The sow had once been blessed with an extraordinary bosom, but now she didn’t have breasts at all.  She squealed as they failed her, but she couldn’t save them anymore than she could prevent any of her other changes.

Then, the fat sow’s rich brunette tresses started to regress, retracting into her flatter scalp and revealing the full glory of her ears.  Her hair was long, so it took a while, but the end result was a bare pig scalp.  It itched terribly as it became very short, so the fat pig was horrified to realize that she was relieved when it was gone.  Then, finally, her eyes changed, the expressive brown orbs darkening, becoming dark, beady little pig eyes buried in sockets on either side of her rooting snout.  She blinked, the reds in the room dulling, as her animal vision became noticeably inferior to her senses of hearing and smell.

At last, it was finished.  Where once a beautiful, buxom woman had sprawled on her bed, now a fat sow squealed forlornly.  Awkwardly, she flopped down to the floor, her small, sensible hooves holding up her bulk perfectly.  She waddled about, the voice of instinct helping her navigate her unfamiliar form.  It wasn’t like she forgot her human memories, but with her pig’s brain, it was so easy to listen to that voice…just listen, and obey… obey… be the sow she was meant to be…

The fat pig laid down on the rug, snuffling sadly.  She was revolted by the thought of submitting to the instincts of her new species, but the sow’s options were suddenly quite limited.  Evie was a pig now, and would just have to get used to it.  She didn’t know yet if she was a pig for life, or a kind of were-pig that would return to her true form every time she dreamed prophetically of swine.  But the future didn’t matter as much because in the present she was definitely a pig, in no danger of turning back anytime soon.  And she was hungry.  With resignation, the grunting sow pushed herself to her hooves and waddled downstairs, looking for something to fill her empty belly.

Stock image used available from Shutterstock at https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/beautiful-model-posing-on-bed-underwear-1253972950

[domesticmail]

you send me - jj maybank

summary: a short-ish fic in which john b. basically forces you and jj to get on a boat and watch the sunset. with slight jealous!jj vibes and some real intense artist!reader vibes

a/n: yes i’m in love with the whole “wild and reckless falls for soft-spoken and gentle” cliche, u can’t stop me from exploring every single possible outcome of this potential relationship :)

taglist: @arthriticcrickets i know u asked to be tagged if i ever wrote anything with artist!reader and jj, so here u are!! i hope u enjoy it :)

warnings: none? mention of beer? cursing?

It all began when you told John B. that you’d never painted a sunset.

You’d been standing in the kitchen of The Chateau, hands under hot water, scrubbing paint from your most recent artistic shenanigans off of your fingers, palms, wrists, and forearms. John B. stood next to you, back leaning against the counter, looking remarkably similar to the ‘white guy blinking’ gif (y’all know the one) - the epitome of disbelief.

“So let me just recap here,” he said. “You call yourself an artist.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been painting since you were little.”

“Since I was seven, actually.”

“Okay, you’ve been painting for nine years.”

You nod, turning the faucet off. “Yep.”

“And in all that time. In those seven years...” He pauses to hand you a towel, and partially for the dramatic effect. “You’ve never painted a sunset.”

“No,” you laugh. “Why, am I missing out on some cosmic experience?”

“I mean, yeah.” He holds his hands palms-up. “How do you even call yourself an artist if you’ve never done at least one super-cringey painting of a sunset?”

“Um, because I paint other things -”

“Okay, but you’re missing out on a basic artistic revelation -”

The front door shuts, and JJ appears, looking like he usually does: tanned and a little riled up. No hat today, you notice - it’s nice to see his hair, golden and probably really, really soft. Not that you’d know. It’d be nice to know, but - wow. Really off topic here. JJ’s standing in the doorway, looking from you to John B., back to you, to John B., then you again. “Where’s the rest of the group?”

“Pope has scholarship stuff, and Kie and Sarah are helping out at The Wreck,” you answer.

“Oh. Cool.” He looks between you and John B. again. “I’m not interrupting something, am I? Because it kinda feels like I am.”

You and John B. look at each other with the kind of grossed out expression that says ‘No thanks, let’s not think about that ever again, thank you.’

“Yeah, no.” John B. says.

“Not really my type,” you tell JJ.

“Woah, hey, I take offense to that.”

You flick the towel at him with a grin. “I’m not really interested in guys who call me a poser.”

JJ has no idea what you’re talking about, so John B. fills him in: “Dude, she calls herself a painter but she’s never painted a sunset.”

“What? You’re totally posing.”

You groan exaggeratedly. “Not you too.”

“Yeah, sorry, Y/N, but you’re outnumbered here.”

“You’re so right, guys. You’re so right. I’ve been fooling myself this whole time. For seven years.” You shake your head, pretending to be disappointed in yourself.

“Living in total denial,” JJ adds, grinning.

“Oh, no, guys.” John B. fake-gasps, clearly pretending to have found a scientific article on his phone. “WebMD says there’s only one cure.”

“Please, Doctor! I’ll do anything!” You adopt a Trans-Atlantic accent for a second, clasping your hands together and pretending to plead with him.

“Anything?” JJ asks under his breath. You swat his arm playfully, ignoring the way your stomach butterflies when he grins at you.

“Well, Ms. Y/N, it says here that you must paint a sunset by midnight tonight, or else you’re doomed to be an art poser...forever,” John B. explains, his voice dropped to a serious, gravelly tone.

“But Doctor!” You gasp, looking at the time, one hand pressed to your chest in fake astonishment, “Sunset is in two hours! I don’t have time! I promised I would go down to The Wreck and help Kie and Sarah!”

“If it’s to save you from a life of bullshit art galleries and uncomfortable turtlenecks, I’m sure Kie and Sarah won’t mind if I step in for you,” he offers. He clearly is just angling for a reason to spend more time with Sarah, but you don’t mind. Cooking really isn’t your strong suit anyway. JJ snorts at John B., then mouths “SIMP” at you.

You repress a snicker. “But I can’t watch a sunset alone!”

John B. grins. “You won’t have to,” he says. “I know someone who’s not doing anything tonight.”

Both of you turn to look at JJ, who throws his head back and groans. “Fine. But you’re not dragging me into this weird roleplay-pretend-thing.”

So that’s why you’re here. On a boat. At sunset. Sitting next to JJ in a pile of blankets.

You brought the blankets for comfort, a towel for your paints, a canvas for - you guessed it - the actual sunset painting, and a speaker (you have a very specific playlist you like to listen to when you paint; you call it your Paintlist). 

Once you settle in, sitting cross-legged next to JJ, who’s holding a beer and looking at the sunset, you grow quiet. It’s nothing against JJ, you just tend to get really into the zone, with the music and the gentle light of the sun and the breeze over the water and the weight of the brush in your hand of a direct line of energy from your mind to the canvas. Your anxiety, your issues, all concern disappears from sight, and all that is real is the pain on the canvas and the way it makes you feel, breathless and weightless and nonexistent but somehow still so alive.

While you lose yourself in the art, JJ’s losing himself in you. There’s something really memorable about the way you look in the light of the sun: your skin aglow, your eyes sparkling. But the best part is how utterly confident you are now. Even though in conversation you constantly downplay your skills, talking about all the flaws in your technique, when you have a brush in your hand, he can literally watch your insecurity wash away. It’s beautiful.

He’s never noticed that you bite your lip when you concentrate. You’re not even really biting it - it’s more like you’re trying to peel it away, layer by layer. It’s weirdly endearing, seeing you in such an unfiltered state. And even though he knows it’s probably because you’re so in the zone that you’ve forgotten he’s here, he likes to think it’s because you trust him.

He also knows that this may just be the beer talking, but something’s telling him to kiss you.

Pogues don’t mack on pogues, he tries to remind himself, but the thought gets buried when he realizes he’s literally the only pogue not macking on another pogue. Well, that’s one of two, if he’s including you, and of course he is, you’re part of the group now! So really there’s only two of six pogues who are actually following the rule.

Wow. When did he start calling himself a rule-follower? The apple must’ve fallen farther of from the tree than he thought if he’d really just - 

“JJ? You in there?”

He snaps out of it, your voice pulling him from his thoughts, and only then does he realize that he’s probably been staring at you the whole time. You’re looking at him, slightly confused, eyebrows knit together and mouth pursed, and oh god, come on, pogues don’t mack on pogues but does the rule really matter if nobody is following it? “Yep, yep, sorry, what’d I miss?”

You point to the painting, then to the horizon. The sky has gone dark, and the moon is beaming light onto the water. “Sun’s down.”

He nods, then looks at the painting. “Did you finish?”

“That’s what he said,” you mutter under your breath with a smile, scooting over so he can get a better look at the canvas. Your legs are touching, a weirdly intimate thing that you’ll probably remember for months after. “No. Guess I’m doomed to be a poser forever.”

JJ shrugs. “Pretty shitty, bro.”

“I think I’ll survive. And anyway, it’s really just John B. teasing me, so who cares?” You grin at him, but he’s not looking at you anymore, he’s watching the sky with an intense fascination that’s unlike him regularly. “JJ?”

He clears his throat. “Uh, weird question that’s probably not my business, but...”

Your heart swells in your chest, and you feel so concerned. “What?”

“Are you macking on John B.?”

That was not what you were expecting at all. You thought he was going to ask some deep, personal question - but upon review, you realize this is JJ. The chances of him trying to be deep with you are slim-to-none. “No. No no no no no. No.”

JJ still hasn’t looked at you, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was blushing. “JJ, no. There isn’t even a snowball’s chance in hell John B. and I would ever mack on each other.”

He nods, but no eye contact still, so you poke his shoulder playfully. “Hey. No John B. on Y/N macking, I promise.”

He finally looks at you. “Dude, never say ‘John B. on Y/N macking’ in front of me ever again.”

You smile. “Yeah, it grossed me out, too.”

It’s becoming cold out, so you reach forward and pull a blanket over yourself. As you and JJ become a little lost in conversation, you notice that he’s shivering a little, so you take initiative and cover him with some blanket, too.

The first thing you notice is that now you’re accidentally pressed right up against him, and dear god, this is nice.

The second thing you notice is that your heart is pounding quickly. It’s been a lot just being here alone with him, and now you’re cuddling under the stars? Magical.

Your heart nearly leaps into your throat when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer. Your chest is slamming from your rapid heartbeat, and you think you might actually die right here, right now, and wow, that’s a little Romeo and Juliet of you to die in JJ’s arms, and pretty poetic -

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask, your voice a little shakier than you’d hoped.

“Chill out a little, okay?”

“Okay.”

No pogues macking on pogues, you think to yourself.

No pogues macking on pogues.

[baoshan-sanren]

Part 17

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about - I’m really temped to name this “How To Communicate With Your Husband: A Narrative in Many Parts by Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue” 

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4 here | pt.5 here | pt.6 here | pt.7 here | pt.8 here | pt.9 here | pt.10 here | pt.11 here | pt.12 here | pt.13 here | pt.14 here | pt.15 here | pt.16 here

By the time they are pushed into Wen RuoHan’s gaudy receiving hall, MingJue has reached some semblance of calm. 

All battle plans are only certain until the first arrow leaves the bow, and this one is no different. It would be easy to lose himself in rage over this betrayal; to question every word Wen Qing had ever spoken, every message her brother had sent. She had looked equally as shocked when they found themselves surrounded, but it makes little difference, whether her shock was genuine or an act. Whether he still dare trust her is equally as irrelevant.

The City gates have likely been breached by now, but the battle is still distant, and the palace is still under the Wen Sect control. Only a dozen people he trusts know his exact plans, and only half of those could accurately guess MingJue’s current location in the Nightless City. There will be no rescue. There will be no lucky escape. He must make peace with having lost this battle, and take comfort in knowing that the war will be won nonetheless.

Wen RuoHan is sitting in an exaggerated monstrosity of a Sect Leader’s chair, an enormous gold sun rising above his head, the entire contraption set on a platform, and resembling an emperor’s throne. A boy is standing at his right shoulder, his face blank and expressionless. Another dozen Wen Sect cultivators are lined up against the walls. There is someone kneeling on the floor in front of the platform, their head bent and hidden by a river of dark hair, their robes tattered and rust colored. It is the person’s back that catches MingJue’s gaze, crisscrossed with whip marks, a devastating length of torn skin and ruined flesh.

It takes MingJue a single breath to recognize the kneeling form. In the next, his calm is swept away in a fury that defies words. There are no coherent thoughts to his actions, no finesse, no calculation of any kind. He has never needed the saber to kill. The Wen Cultivator who had pushed him into the hall dies with a mask of shock on his face, the bones of his neck shattering in MingJue’s grip. The man’s sword, graceful and light, feels unfamiliar in MingJue’s hand. But a blade is a blade, and two more cultivators lose their limbs before the rest can react. MingJue can hear nothing but his own howl of rage. He cannot feel any pain. He is bleeding from dozens of cuts, and six men are dead by the time Wen RuoHan’s guards manage to knock him down to the ground.

Wen RuoHan seems completely unruffled, still sprawled on his throne, as if he had expected no less than a full blown slaughter in his hall.

“A-Lin,” he says, “is there anything you would like to say to your sister, before she is put to death?”

The boy at his shoulder is staring straight ahead, and his voice comes out thin but steady.

“I have no sister.”

MingJue hears Wen Qing make a sound of distress, but does not turn to look at her. He cannot look away from the kneeling shape in front of the platform. 

He is aware that the hall is now guarded by less than a dozen cultivators, and that Wen RuoHan is unlikely to have more at hand. He can hear the roar from outside the palace, a barely perceptible sound of the Jiang Sect battle drums, but neither is growing any louder. Wen RuoHan would have sent every last man he can spare to hold the palace. The possibility of a rescue seems even less viable now, than it had been only minutes ago. 

But everything is secondary to XiChen.

He is utterly motionless, his breaths barely discernible, as if deep in meditation, removed from the world around him. How can he stay so still? How can he bear the pain? The whip marks on his back cross one another so many times, that no lines can be distinguished. They must have cut down to the bone.

He does not think that he has ever truly hated Wen RuoHan before. The man is an old fool. Only old fools believe that they are somehow destined for greatness, despite their utter insignificance in the world. It is hard to hate fools, and easier to pity them. But MingJue hates him now, with a passion that feels annihilating.

“Both your sons are dead,” MingJue says, “One may have been killed by the Violet Spider, and the other on the field of battle, but they both died on the orders of a butcher. How feeble is the product of your loins, when I can have it killed without dirtying my hands? You should thank me,” he grins up at Wen RuoHan, “for eliminating such incompetence from your bloodline.”

A hilt of a sword slams into the back of his head, and he pitches forward, the blood from his mouth spraying across the stone floors.

Wen RuoHan rises from his vulgar throne, and slowly makes his way down the platform steps, the boy following behind him.

“You mean to provoke me to fight I suppose,” he says, “but there is no honor in winning against you.”

He passes by XiChen as if he does not exist, and steps lightly over the cultivator MingJue had killed. The cultivator’s sword, he carelessly kicks to the side. The boy following behind him bends over to pick it up, the movement perfunctory, as if picking up objects Wen RuoHan kicks out of the way is a matter of habit, rather than conscious thought. Wen RuoHan, who is only a few steps away from MingJue now, pauses at the scrape of the blade against the stone, and turns with a small frown.

“Put that down, A-Lin. You know I do not allow--“

There is no change in the boy’s expression. No shifting of balance, no sideways glance, no movement to his lips. The same casual movement with which he had picked up the sword, carries the sword upward, and buries the tip in the hollow of Wen RuoHan’s throat.

Time seems to stop. 

No one moves. Not the boy, not the Wen cultivators utterly frozen around them, not even Wen RuoHan, whose blood is sliding down the blade to the boy’s hand. There is a soft gurgle from his throat, and his fingers twitch, as if he means to reach up and remove the tip of the blade himself. Now, there is a shadow of an expression on the boy’s face, a faint wrinkle in his forehead. He steps forward, and the blade punches out of the back of Wen RuoHan’s neck, the blade sickeningly grinding against the bones of his spine. Wen RuoHan’s knees finally fold. The boy, seemingly surprised that the blade is still in his hand, releases the hilt and steps back, which is somehow the most amazing, but also the most ridiculous thing MingJue has ever seen.

He moves before Wen RuoHan’s body manages to hit the ground, his hands closing around the hilt while the men around him are still frozen in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wen Qing moving at the same time, snatching up the sword from one of the dead men, and immediately tuning on the live ones. The battle is short and bloody, the Wen sluggish in their shock. Four of them are dead before the rest decide that dropping their blades and surrendering is a far better option.

“Run,” Wen Qing snaps at them, “Tell the others that there is nothing left to fight for.”

They are moving before the words have even left her mouth completely, not one of them sparing a glance for the motionless body of their Sect Leader.

Wen Qing immediately turns to her brother, her expression both furious and relieved. MingJue can hear her questioning the change in their plans, and Wen Ning’s hesitant replies. But he no longer cares about their failed strategies. 

XiChen is still on his knees, unmoving, and MingJue feels genuine fear for the first time since entering the underground tunnel.

He kneels in front of him, noticing a thousand details at once. XiChen’s hands resting on his knees. The blood under his fingernails. Abrasions around his wrists that look raw and angry, as if the top layer of skin had been scraped off. The thickness of his hair, even dirty and matted with old blood, covering him like a cape. His head is bent, and his face not visible, but he is breathing. MingJue can see him breathing.

“XiChen?”

There is a barely perceptible flinch, but nothing more.

MingJue reaches out, then hesitates. He cannot guess how deep XiChen had drifted, or what the consequences could be, of pulling him out too fast.

“XiChen.”

Another flinch, followed by a slight tremor. XiChen’s fingers curl into the flesh of his legs, and the tremor becomes a full-body shiver, so violent, that MingJue can hear his teeth click. A soft gasp leaves him, then a slightly louder one, and MingJue does not have time to react before XiChen is gasping urgently as if he had ran for hours, his body tilting sideways and towards the floor. Terrified of hurting him more, MingJue does not dare grab any part of him to prevent the fall, but shifts his body so XiChen would sway into him instead. Even so, XiChen’s ravaged shoulder connects with MingJue’s, and he whimpers, palms coming up against MingJue’s chest, as if to push himself away.

“XiChen,” MingJue says again, feeling helpless.

The shivers do not cease, but the palms pressed against his chest curl in, gathering handfuls of material in a tight grip. His head is still bowed, and it shakes once, viciously, as if in denial.

“No,” he rasps, “Not-- real.”

“XiChen,” his own voice is hoarse, something painful and bitter lodged in the back of his throat.

XiChen lifts his head slowly, eyes wide and shining, shock obvious in every line of his face. His hands scramble up, his fingers brushing over MingJue’s jaw and cheekbone, as if needing to ensure that he is real.

“Is-- how?” he breathes, “Are you really--“

MingJue cups his hand over his own cheek, careful of the scraped wrist, “I am truly here.”

“Oh,” XiChen gasps, “Oh!”

He throws himself forward with no warning, arms wrapping around MingJue’s neck, feverish cheek pressing against MingJue’s own. Just as quickly, he is pulling back, face contorted in pain. His trembling hands reach up again, and cup MingJue’s face. Fingers flutter over his temples, his cheeks, his chest. They brush over his shoulders, his arms, XiChen’s frantic gaze following the touch, as if somehow trying to see all of him at once.

It takes MingJue a few moments to understand what XiChen is doing, but when he does, the realization strikes him like a blade to the heart.

“I am not hurt,” he says, trapping the man’s restless hands with his own.

“There is blood,” XiChen rasps, “you are bleeding.”

“I am not hurt, XiChen. I am fine.”

As if only now realizing where he is, XiChen jerks his head in panic, gaze falling on the empty throne. His eyes sweep over the carnage on the floor, the bodies twisted in pool of blood, and settle on the heap of gold and crimson robes.

“Is--“

“Dead. He is dead.”

XiChen shivers, and closes his eyes. His hands are tight around MingJue’s, and he says nothing else, breathing deeply and deliberately, as if struggling for composure. In this moment, their fingers entwined, their heads so close together that MingJue can feel each exhale on his skin, all else in the world ceases to matter.

MingJue will give him all the time that he needs.

[angstymarshmallow]

never look back - ethan ramsey x mc

[a little note: I’m still drowning in in Ethan feels. Here’s a little something.]

[words counted: 1716]

She keeps thinking she'd feel different. Seeing him again after two months. But the moment their eyes collide, Sawyer feels like the air's been knocked out of her and she’s left reeling to steady herself upright again. She remembers her knees almost buckling from shock, terrified and relieved to find the feelings are all still there.

But within seconds, she stops herself from running to him. She digs her heels into the patchy grass and forces herself to remain still. She manages only a semblance of a smile instead while they swapped stories since he's been gone.

Within minutes, she has to remind herself that he isn't the center of her universe – he never was and whatever's left between them has to die.

It has to die.

Because what's the alternative?

She can’t imagine leaving Edenbrook. She can't imagine losing this once in a lifetime opportunity. But how long can she pretend before staring into those somber pools of blue threatens to be her very undoing? How long can she stave away feelings that’s been buried for two months before they claw themselves out back now that he's here?

How long can she keep it together?

Sawyer shakes her head, blond hair mussed as she swipes her fingers through its fine strands for what has to be the sixth time since this evening.

She doesn't know if she can keep it together. And she thinks missing him all this time is almost as bad as having him here.

Uttering a soft sigh, Sawyer drops the patient’s file she's been staring at for the past hour and gets to her feet.

Her mind is too conflicted. Drawn in too many different directions. Even worse, guilt travels to the pit of her stomach at the thought of paperwork still left until she makes the decision to take a break.

She's no good to anyone this distracted anyway.

She decides to venture to the break room, at this time of night she imagines her chances of running into anyone anyway is slim – let alone the one person she dreads seeing the most.

But fate much like the day is against her. Her heart skips a beat when she spots his familiar impossible height – standing close by to the snack machine.

She freezes for a moment, hand still on the door. There's almost no one else around but them. The last bit of people have trickled out.

The good news is his back is still turned and he looks too preoccupied to notice her slip away - if she really wants to.

You're a coward Hutton.

Her inner voice accuses, but Sawyer would rather be a coward than stare into those dazzling blues ever again.

Swallowing hard, the woman turns on her heels with the intention to hurry back until she hears his voice.

“Sawyer.”

Hearing her name on his tongue does something funny to her chest. It fills up with warmth and she has to suck in a breath a she body starts to feel tingly all over.

Sawyer forces her expression to remain neutral as she returns his greeting. “Ethan, hello.” She's even surprised by how steady her voice sounds.

Her eyes quickly drink him in – the slight wrinkles in his coat, the hard lines of his face she remembers tracing from their last night together and his dishelmed hair from what's probably been a long night – at least for them both.

The glasses hide the dark colour under his eyelids well enough until she gets closer. Even though she’s a few feet away, she doesn’t make direct eye contact. Not yet.

“I was just leaving.” He makes a wide gesture to the machine, “don't let me stop you.”

“Oh.” Sawyer wets her lips, trying and failing to find the right words to say. Is this how it's going to be from now on? Tip-toeing around each other because we're both afraid? “You weren’t.” She protests, disliking how hesitant she sounds. “I mean, it's okay.” She continues, smiling weakly. “I was thinking caffeine probably isn't the best right now anyway.” She rubs her arms, as she rambles on. “At least not so late.”

“You've been running on fumes for hours.” His words are stiff but underneath it all, Sawyer detects another layer of concern. “And you look almost dead on your feet.”

Despite his brusque tone, Sawyer manages a light chuckle. “Even when you’re worried, you know how to make a girl feel special.” Self-consciously, she pulls her hair away from her face. She's mostly teasing but there's a sudden glint in his eyes; a look that reminds her they were more than colleagues, once.

“You never look anything less than damn perfection Hutton.”

His words stun her and for a moment she's speechless until he quickly moves on.

“Besides, if we're going to get answers tonight – caffeine is the best  cure we've got.” He turns away, reaching to grab something from the machine but Sawyer is still reeling from his words.

It has to die.

These are the words come back, like a knife to her heart. It hurts to twist them inside her chest but she knows she must. She knows she has to suffer through it, to fight for composure because this isn't just her life - it's his too and they don’t belong together.

Sawyer tests her own will by stepping a little closer. She thinks she can manage a reasonable amount of proximity without making a fool of herself. It's not the first time there's been lingering tension between them.

Before she can think of a response l, Ethan much larger hand is outstretched towards her; a silent offering of her favourite chocolate bar.

Her heart swells. He remembers.

She mumbles a swift word of thanks;  their fingers meet before quickly pulling away.

But his touch lingers. On her skin. All around her.

She swallows, taking a considerable step back but she makes the mistake of looking at him – really looking at him and the sight of the torn expression flitting across his face has gutted her.

Sawyer sucks in a breath, her knees ignoring her desperate plea to remain upright and nearly buckles right then and there from under the intensity of his stare.

Her breath hitches as he keeps in her orbit, never taking his eyes from her face.

He's almost too close to be safe.

She doesn't know who reaches for who first – only that they've been fused together – limbs wrapping around each other, lips crashing against one another with such reverent urgency that she swears she sees stars.

He sinks his teeth into her lower lip.

A moan leaves her throat. And then another as the cool texture of the wall is pressed behind her, cocooning her against his weight.

He whispers her name; half as a plea and half as a denial but either way Sawyer doesn't want him to ever stop.

God, she missed this. She missed him.

His lips are a blend of passion and demand and she answers every kiss in kind.

Another kiss, another gentle tease of their fingers ghosting across supple flesh as he grows stiff against her wandering hand, moving to cup him. When his fingers tilt her head back, she braces one arm against the wall as continues her fingers keep pace with her light teasing, while Ethan's other hand rests snugly by her waist.

And for a moment the rest of the world fades away.

Just for a moment every voice inside her head that had been screaming for her to stop, is quiet.

Somewhere between all the ardent kisses and nonsensical whispers, they’re the only two people in the universe, basking in stolen kisses and the roaring of their pulses beating in erratic rhythms. When he breaks the kiss, it’s only to drag his lips to find purchase by her throat.

He kisses her wild and frantic pulse as she slams her eyes shut and rests her head against the wall.

It has to die.

The words break her from her reverie and the rest of the world bleeds back into perspective.

Sawyer bristles at the instruction, struggling for air.

She feels Ethan stiffen. She hears him swear before he reluctantly wrenches himself free; his features twisting in agony with the same torn expression that she's buried deeply inside her heart.

“We shouldn’t.” The words are clipped and cold – nothing like the Ethan, Sawyer has grown to know and has fallen heads over heels for. “We can’t.”

“We can’t.” Sawyer repeats but she ignores her shaking hands, ignores the denial in her heart as vehement as his words. She tucks them behind her back instead, before he’s able to see just how much his words hurt. Then she pushes off the wall and suddenly the space between them has become too vast for her to ignore.

Somehow Sawyer manages a nod, dragging her eyes away from his face before he sees the cracks in her armor. The cracks that have been there since his return to Edenbrook.

They step away from each other within minuscule of seconds, neither one of them quite meets the other’s gaze. And deep down, Sawyer tries to forget.

Her hand pauses in mid air, the chocolate bar nearly half-crushed between her fingers as she waves goodbye. “Thank you.”

Her voice has cracks in it too, like her armor that has no business being broken over someone that doesn’t want her – that doesn’t need her the way she wants to be needed, has forced her to change. To walk away.

Sawyer is he's still fumbling to put them back together as she whirls away, keeping a wide berth after Ethan's swift nod of goodbye.

As her hand braces against the door, Sawyer wrestles with the urge to look back. To kiss him and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t matter. But the only problem is the rest of the world does matter, it matters enough to keep them apart. And she knows if she does look at him again, if she lets those crystal eyes back into her heart – Ethan Ramsay will carve his initials and never let go.

With a staggering breath, Sawyer steels her nerves and pushes the door open; never giving herself the chance to look until the door slams entirely shut behind her.

--