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1800titz · 4 months

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WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.”

Tiger has perfected the art of edging.

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action.

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.”

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious.

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.”

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty.

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind.

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets.

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over.

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth.

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up.

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.”

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely. A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her.

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed.

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in.

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap.

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole.

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper.

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins.

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets.

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off.

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons.

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that.

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears.

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums.

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out.

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars.

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam.

“…We’ll make it fit.”

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat.

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit.

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand.

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge.

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?”

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs.

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch.

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure.

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?”

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states.

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood.

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises.

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.”

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth.

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him.

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.”

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas.

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her.

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.”

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog.

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face.

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.”

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail.

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?”

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid.

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits.

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds.

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.”

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud.

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage.

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile.

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable.

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous.

“Hello.”

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind.

“…Hello.”

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting.

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis.

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine.

He ducks his chin and laughs.

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering.

“I’m all sticky.”

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further.

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders.

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether.

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest.

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.”

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper.

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?”

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highvern · 2 months

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Espresso

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: dom/sub dynamics (switches back and forth), public fondling/exhibitionism, dry humping, fingering, breath play, oral sex (all the kinds), swallowing, spitting, degradation (reader calls herself a slut, hoshi has a moral dilemma about it), spanking, vaginal sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, sex toys (butt plug, dildo)

Length: ~8.3k

Note: a new chapter for my horangdan queen @horanghater hope you enjoy pookie. and thank you to @c-oupsie for beta reading!! now i must go repent for forty years.

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], YUCK [f], Talk [a, f, s], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Sweat beads at the small of your back under the high sun, the churning waves of the sea echoing in the distance. Your boyfriend is somewhere down in the shallows. He could only sit still on his towel for so long before wandering off to find shells. Last time you looked up from your chair he was chasing minnows across the tide pools.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice breaks through the wind.

Your eyes land on a man about your age. Maybe older. His gaze prickles down your body, leering at the stretches of exposed skin. In Soonyoung words, you can wear whatever you want, he knows how to fight. You wish he was here now, not down by the water. Not with how creepy this dude is.

“Can I help you?” you ask, eyeing him over your sunglasses.

“I was wondering if you’re from around here?”

“Nope,” you dismiss.

“So you don’t know any good places to grab a drink later?”

“Not at all.”

“Listen, I was just—“

“Can I help you?” Soonyoung interrupts. He’s less than intimidating with the lines of a cheap snorkel etched into his cheeks and a bucket full of shells. But his cheery demeanor is replaced by protectiveness you’ve only witnessed on rare occasions.

“Hi, baby,” you coo.

“Hi,” Soonyoung greets, dropping a kiss to your forehead and staking claim the end of your chair for himself. “And you are?”

“Leaving,” you supply for the stranger before examining the contents of the bucket. “Ooo, this one’s pretty.”

Soonyoung watches the other man stalk away, refusing to look back at you until he’s long shrunk in the distance.

“No, I don’t know who he was.” You answer the question you know he’s dying to ask.

“I don’t care about him,” he lies. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure.

Soonyoung shows you all his goodies: plenty of shells, a sand dollar, some sea glass. The entire time his hand creeps up your thigh, the familiar feeling of skin on skin without the usual edge. He just likes touching you. Whenever you’re in arms reach he likes the comfort of making sure you’re real. An arm over your shoulder, his head in your lap, the one time you two argued and Soonyoung kept his foot touching yours because you insisted on sitting as far away from him as possible on the battered couch of your apartment.

“I think you’re getting a little crispy out there.” You trace the constellation of freckles dusting his shoulders from so much time in the sun, pink skin hot to the touch. “Hand me that sunscreen.”

You cover his upper body in a thick layer without much protest from Soonyoung. He happily continues presenting his haul, waiting for your oohs and ahhs before moving to the next piece as you tinkle your fingers across his collarbones.

“Can you help me too?”

He takes the tube without argument, covering his hands in white while you present your back.

Soonyoung smooths the cream over your shoulders, down the length of your spine to the flair of your hips — methodically massaging into your skin and working any knots he encounters along the way. No one is around for a good fifty yards and the shade of the umbrella obscures how your ass arches into his palms.

“Make sure you get it under my suit too, I heard you can burn through the fabric.”

“Oh?” He chokes. His fingers dip under the hem of your bottoms. There isn’t much skin covered by the tiny red bikini. If you had it your way you’d be sunbathing naked with no one but your boyfriend to see. But public nudity isn’t welcomed on a beach no matter how deserted it appears. You’ll have to settle for doing so back at the house you two rented for the weekend.

Need screams through his touch, rough hands squeezing your ass, fingers spreading your cheeks apart not so subtly. He can’t see anything but his thumbs creep beneath the hem and that’s more than enough for a spiral. The inside of your thighs receive the same treatment, Soonyoung pushing and pulling suggestively while you hum content.

He straddles the back of your thighs. The thin strings of your top are no match for his dedication, pulling taunt as he reaches to work a fresh handful of sunscreen into your sides, fingertips ghosting the sides of your breasts.

“Soonyoung,” you sigh. You arch your ass again, pleased to find the weight of his cock eagerly greeting you through his shorts.

“We can’t,” he gasps.

You knew he’d say that. But no one is around. No one would see. If he pushed his shorts down and your bottoms to the side it wouldn’t look any different than what you’re doing now. You two could be quick and pretend it never happened except for the stickiness of his cum staining your bathing suit.

But Soonyoung isn’t the exhibitionist. You are.

“Please,” you beg.

It won’t get you much but your boyfriend can’t resist the temptation when you’re pliant under his hands. Soonyoung pulls at your hips until your back meets the plastic of the chair. The pink of his chest has nothing to do with the sun over head and everything to do with the way your top has twisted around your breasts, barely covering what it’s meant to. Which isn’t much at all. Taut nipples peeking around the edge of the fabric teasing him to dip down and taste.

“Fuck.”

Under the guise of covering you in sunblock, he squirts some across your stomach. It resembles something far less appropriate for current circumstances, especially with how he kneels between your splayed legs, both of your chests heaving. The greasy glide of lotion carries his hands straight to your chest. Your top is pushed up and out of the way, fingertips cruelly teasing your breasts.

The umbrella is perfect cover, and even if it wasn’t the only other person you’d seen all afternoon deserved to see how shameless you are for Soonyoung. How eager he is for you. The way neither of you can think of anyone else outside this moment with the band of his swim trunks stretching under your wandering hands and his teeth bruised lips.

Someone has to call chicken first. You won’t because you love the attention and your boyfriend won’t because he loves giving it to you. But you have to. Because Soonyoung would never live down the embarrassment of actually fucking you in the open if you were caught. You’d never stand a chance at talking him into doing it again, even if in a more secluded place where the chances of being seen really are zero. So you pull away first. Hands returning to your sides, propping yourself up to plant a kiss on his heart.

“Go cool off,” you command. He pinches your nipples again for good measure; a rough tug you’d beg for in the privacy of his bed. But right now, you both need a breather. You swat his hands away, flopping back onto the chair and closing your eyes. “Go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m pretty sure if I stand up I’ll pass out.”

“Well if you stay here someone is gonna catch us with your dick in my mouth so pick.” You run a hand back down his front to punctuate the threat.

The heat of his body disappears, Soonyoung up and sprinting towards the water without a second glance.

You right your swimsuit, not that there’s much modesty to be protected, and doze into a fitful nap. The ache in your gut lingers, mind plagued by images of your boyfriend, some real and some pure fantasy, fucking you on the beach chair. Waking you up with rough thrusts of his cock, a hand over your mouth the only thing to keep everyone from turning to watch. And even that’s not enough. You dream of a crowd, faceless people circled around where you two go at it. Soonyoung fucking you face down like you’re nothing more than a hole for him to dump his load into. Or you riding his cock until he cries from coming so many times but refusing to begin for mercy.

As the heat of the day crescendos so does the raging boil of want in your veins. It’s well past noon and the few people that were at the beach have long left by the time you open your eyes. Soonyoung is still in the water, floating through the waves. Each step down towards the sea foam threatens your resolve. You won’t fuck him. Not in the nasty ocean. Not on the public beach. But there’s still fun to be had.

Broad tanned shoulders and a mop of pale hair are the only things you can see above water. Hopefully something waits below to greet you.

“You’re gonna turn into a prune if you stay out here any longer,” you call while wading closer. The gentle laps of water cool against your blushing skin.

“Okay mom,” he jests. Soonyoung pulls you the last ways into his chest, bringing your legs around his waist and locking his arms around your own.

“I think we should head back soon. Maybe take a shower before dinner?”

“Maybe we can order in and hang out at the house,” he suggests, nosing along your jaw. His motivation is obvious; prodding against your thigh despite his attempt to seem subtle.

Your hand snakes beneath his shorts. This time you don’t care how conspicuous you are. There really is no one to see. Not this time. The water hides everything and Soonyoung’s back is to the beach.

“Maybe…”

“Babe,” he warns.

“Are you not feeling well, baby? Is that why you wanna stay at the house?”

“No.” He rasps. His hips curl into your loose grip, fucking your hand like he’d fuck your cunt given the chance. With limited room you'll make the most of it, nipping at his earlobe while your other hand tugs his hair.

“Then what is it? Too tired?”

“No.”

“Tell me what you want,” you demand with a squeeze.

“You.”

You gasp in mockery, “me?”

“Wanna fuck you. Wanna—shit—make you ride my cock.” He heaves through the request, images of you, head thrown back on that damn sun chair plaguing his brain.

“‘Make me’? You think you can make me do anything?”

“I—” he chokes.

You rub him with a firm hand. If the water wasn’t a factor, he’d have dropped you on your ass by now. Soonyoung can barely keep himself upright when you tease him like this, let alone balance for two. Fingers sinking lower, you don’t stop until his balls sit heavy in your palm.

“I ride your cock because I want to. Because it makes me feel good. You like making me feel good don’t you?”

Soonyoung squeezes your ass, dragging your cunt over his crotch with enough force to bruise. “Yeah.”

“So let’s go home and I’ll let you make me feel really good.”

“Okay,” he grunts, another tug of your palm shooting bolts up his spine.

You let him go without argument, a wicked smile plastered on your face. The swim to shore takes much longer than it should. All due to your boyfriend’s wandering hands beneath the waves, tugging your suit loose and grabbing whatever comes in reach: thighs, ass, your hands. Soonyoung can’t stop pulling you back for more kisses, teeth cutting into your jaw when you indulge him too much. His mouth tastes like the ocean but his hands slipping beneath your bottoms to massage your ass are too distracting to care.

Only when you get to the shallows, water barely skimming your knees and providing no more cover, does he relent.

But you don’t.

You turn around, pretending to invite him in for a hug with deceptive softness in your gaze.

“Hi,” you smile as he meets you halfway.

“Hi,” Soonyoung smiles back.

Gentle kisses lure him in, PG pecks across sunburned cheeks that’d make you sick to your stomach if it weren’t the kind of contact you’ve grown to enjoy. He’s sweet on you. Easily distracted by gooey eyes and bubbling giggles.

Which is why it’s too easy to push him back into the next wave.

The mop of drenched blonde hair pops up after a moment, gasping for breath as he stares up from the surf with disbelief. There’s no reason for him to be surprised. You did the exact same thing yesterday.

Laughter chokes your gasping breaths; eyes watering at the incredulous expression twisting his features. You’re too distracted by your own glee that when Soonyoung jumps in pursuit, you barely manage two steps before ending up flung over his shoulder for revenge.

“Put me down!” you scream. Your fists beat against his backside to no avail.

“Awww baby,” he pouts. The surf sloshes around his legs as he carries you deeper. “but I wanted to swim with you.”

You swat at his ass. “Soonyoung I swear to god!”

“Can’t hear you!”

“Please!”

“What was that?” he calls.

“Don’t do this,” you beg. He fakes like he’s tossing you into the next wave but you cling tighter. “Asshole!”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Soonyoung, will you please put me down.”

“Fine, but only because you’re pretty.”

You slide down the front of his body, chests pressed flat and trembling from laughter. The rest of the way to shore is on jelly legs. Soonyoung follows, unperturbed by the tent in his bottoms now that the beach is clear.

Damn that bikini. He thinks. And damn the three others you’ve donned this week that show more skin than the last. It’s almost worse than if you decided to prance around naked the entire weekend. The tease of what little skin no one else is supposed to see. Not even the sun. But he gets to. He gets to peel off the itty bitty pieces of fabric and look as much as he wants – touch as much as he wants.

You’re a tease through and through; bending over to riffle through your bag, bottoms riding up. It does nothing to help his straining cock. If anything it makes it worse. Spine arched, ass perfectly positioned for him to reach over and make free. He’s got all the permission in the world but he still hesitates even though you’re begging him to do it. You look back over your shoulder, bending deeper after catching his gaze, hips wiggling suggestively back and forth.

He wants to. God, does Soonyoung want to pull the shameful excuse for bikini bottoms aside and take up the offer. Sink as deep as he can and fuck you until you’re shaking. But you’re loud and he’s louder and once you two start it’ll take a miracle to stop.

So when he stands behind you, cock heavy between your cheeks, he responds to your grind backwards with a harsh grip around the back of your neck.

You inhale sharply, surprised by the sudden show of force. “Soonyoung?”

He steps closer, free hand pulling at the fabric covering your ass until his cock slips beneath. His own bottoms cover him but one less layer is better. “Behave.”

Breath hitching, your eyes slip shut. “If I don’t?”

He doesn’t have a leg to stand on. You can’t keep your hands to yourself any better than he can. Two pathetic needy messes perfectly matched. His hand slips around the front of your throat. There’s no heavy grip, just the weight, the promise of something. The potential resting in his fingertips.

“You don’t wanna find out.” He’s bluffing. He must be. But if he’s not, if the threat is real, you’re in no position to argue. You packed lube and nothing else in terms of sexcapades. Nothing here to get off with besides your own hands if Soonyoung taps out. And he’s strong enough to pin you to the bed until you forfeit.

His chest scorches against your back, hand still cupping your throat. His other presses against your stomach, holding you in place for the thick grind of his cock.

“Oh,” you pant. The movement pulls your bottoms tighter, just enough friction against your core to make you crave more. You moan with forbidden pleasure of a public rendezvous out in the open.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung grunts.

Rather than give you more, he lets you go. Leaving gravity to do its damage as your knees buckle. You catch on the beach chair, narrowly avoiding a face full of sand. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry.” He joins you on the chair, rushing for a towel to cover his lap.

That’s when you spot what freaked him out: a pair of old timers up by the dunes. No shot they saw anything given their animated arguing, the crashing waves barely managing to muffle their shouts.

“Seriously?” you scoff.

“I’m not trying to get arrested!” he argues.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how lucky he is that he’s cute.

“Whatever, c’mon.”

The beach has private showers. Little huts to rinse off sand and salt in privacy. You drag Soonyoung into one. He’s still paranoid someone might see but willing to ignore the consequences in favor of whatever inevitable torture awaits. Besides, couples shower together all the time; in the name of saving space and water. But when the door locks and no one is left but you and him, the outside world fades into nothing.

Your suit comes off first. Wet thuds against the floor leaving you naked for his gawking until his trunks join. Cock standing proud, Soonyoung joins you under the spray.

You tease him the same way he teased you on the sand. Lingering touches, obvious gropes; slithering your palm across his crotch and spitting on the leaking head staring up at you. The shower rinses away the evidence of the day as you work up a new mess.

“Oh god, yeah.” He’s limp under your ministrations.

“Feels good?” you goad. “All of this for me?”

“Uh huh.” His voice cracks.

You mouth at his neck, cocky from the way his hips cant into your fist. Crowding him into the wall is too easy when using his satisfaction as a distraction. A nipple comes in view and your latch on. Teeth and tongue and spit get him to the edge and you’re on your knees to catch it just in time.

More blushing that has nothing to do with the sun blooms on his front as he hisses, “Shit.”

His cock pulses between your lips and you take it all like a pro; nose to crotch with a wet choke Soonyoung will certainly think about later.

When he stops twitching long enough to drag you off, you surprise him with a mouthful of cum trickling back down his cock and a tight fist at the base.

“Ha—oh fuck, you can’t just—”

“Can’t what?” you ask before swallowing his dick again.

He grips the back of your head desperately, unsure if he wants to drag you off or force you down to take another load. It’s not fair. He’s only a man and the fact you’re pliant and eager from sucking his cock like you get off on it all the same might just kill him.

“Please,” Soonyoung begs. For what, who knows, but you drop to mouth at his balls, using his own perversion against him, and he’s coming in weak trickles down your knuckles.

“Good?” you smile, licking between your fingers.

He’s an absolute dream leant against the wall, cock soiled and chest heaving. “One day my dick is gonna fall off.”

“Drama queen,” you snort. “C’mon, let's go home.”

Drying off in comfortable silence, Soonyoung refuses to let you go long enough for a thorough job. He’s always cuddly after sex. Or before sex. And just in general. A long day in the hot sun and two orgasms make him cling like a second skin in the steamy bathroom.

He only lets you go to shimmy on your clothes for the drive home. But his usual gawking lingers with an edge as you adjust the straps on your shoulders.

“What?”

“Why are you wearing that?”

“Wearing what?” you ask, tone full of faux innocence. The white sundress had kept you from leaving the house this morning, Soonyoung planting you on the counter and ducking beneath the skirt just to press his face into the crotch of your bottoms like some pervert. Now, you wear nothing underneath, nipples showing through the sheer linen fabric.

“Babe…”

“Babe,” you mock.

“Let’s go home, you freak.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

The drive back is quiet. The roar of waves from the coast and a dull hum from the radio accompanying the comfortable silence. Soonyoung keeps his hand on your thigh, pushing your skirt high enough to tickle the skin of your knee beneath his fingers.

“Did you have fun today?”

“I always have fun with you,” you smile, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Wait, pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“Because. Take this exit.”

He takes the next turn, following your vague directions with ease. There’s nothing more than a decrepit gas station as far as you can see but the billboard advertising the shop implied it’d be a little further down the road.

“Where am I going?” Soonyoung asks.

“Over there!”

You point at a lone store in a strip mall full of empty storefronts. Only one seems to bear any sign of life, a neon ‘OPEN’ that flickers rhythmically. Bad Kittyz.

Soonyoung pulls into an empty spot, mouth open in a mix of horror and shock “What the fuck?”

“You’ve never been to a sex store,” you say. You pull out all the stops, puppy dogs eyes and pouted lips. He won’t say no. But just in case.

“And now is the time you want to pop my cherry?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” You hop out of his Jeep, beelining for the door with Soonyoung close behind. “Besides, maybe we’ll find something to play with later.”

The chime over the door announces your entrance. An older woman, verging on grandmother territory, leans against the counter. She nods a greeting and goes back to reading her book leaving you two to browse in silence.

“Holy fuck,” Soonyoung chokes. A massive four foot tall dildo is displayed at the end of the table, thick as one of his thighs. “Do people use that?”

Face twisting in horror, you move towards more manageable displays. “Maybe as a discussion piece.”

“Discussing what? Being ripped in half?”

“Stop staring at it.”

“I can’t,” he whispers.

The longer Soonyoung stands there looking at it the more you’re tempted to stare with him. This isn’t an art museum for you two to gawk at. God forbid the employee sees and asks if you have any questions about it.

Snagging his wrist, you pull Soonyoung away. “Let's look over here.”

A wall of toys, feathery wands, handcuffs, nipple clamps and more greet you in the backroom; a colorful array of options with a few catching your eye.

You snag a fluffy tiger patterned pair. “These look familiar.”

“Haha,” he says flatly but the burn tips of his ears give him away.

You take turns pointing out toys, some much too adventurous but others that pique your curiosity. An electric shock wand more than your monthly salary, a penis pump Soonyoung can’t seem to make direct eye contact with, cock rings made of glittery silicone, a butt plug that supposedly glows in the dark.

“‘2-In-1 Stroker Realistic Vagina & Ass’,” you read off the package of a fleshlight.

Soonyoung eyes it over your shoulder. “How do they make plastic feel like a vagina?”

“I don’t know. Wanna test and see if it’s like the real thing?” you jest.

“It seems like a waste of money since I can only vouch for one.”

“Well, what about this then?”

Snagging one of the less garish packages, you present the plain silicon plug. It’s not deathly intimidating, none of the fancy bells and whistles promising vibrating or a light show. Just an old fashioned, run of the mill, classic plug.

Soonyoung whips his head around like someone might hear you. As if it’s the most insane item in the store and the monstrous penis from before no longer exists. “Are you serious?”

You examine the package in your hands. Not too big, girthy enough your spark to take a challenge is fed but not so afraid it might rip you in half. You’ve always been curious about it. Played with yourself a few times but never with the same promise of satisfaction the idea of someone else doing it brings.

“Might be fun. I’ve thought about it,” you shrug.

“Really?”

Soonyoung’s gut tightens at the idea; flashes of you with your ass stuffed full, begging for more. Never in his life (except for a brief time in college when porn piqued his curiosity) did Soonyoung think he’d be into anal. It wasn’t his thing; for him or his partner.

But you challenged everything he thought before. Submitting to whatever your latest fantasy was, allowing the needy side of his psyche to flourish under your gentle command. He loved it. Loved everything you wrangled him into. Fucking you in someone else bed? Incredible. Taking your fingers in his ass while you gag in his cock? Nothing short of mind shattering. The time you made him cum so much he started shooting blanks? It’s enough to keep him up all night with nothing but your pictures and an aching wrist.

So fucking you on the beach chair had been an all too tempting edition to that list. But as much as he enjoys groping his girlfriend as the next guy, public indecency isn’t his kink. However, dumping his load in your ass is. Or it is now that you’ve brought it up. Just the suggestion of it is enough for his cock to twitch in interest.

In the car ride home, you both pretend to ignore the bag full of goodies at your feet; favoring watching the sun setting along the horizon, humming to the radio while Soonyoung tangles your fingers together over the center console.

You barely get the front door of the beach house open before Soonyoung is on you, crowding you against the wall with his mouth at your throat. The hem of your skirt edges up your legs until his hand strokes between your thighs.

It's a tiny place; barely ten steps to the bedroom from the entryway. But neither of you can manage that when the promise of something so filthy lingers in the air.

He kisses you with promise before falling to his knees. You wish he’d stayed, let you grind across his thigh while you suck the air from between his lips but this is better. A familiar chill slips down your spine as he eases the white fabric up and disappears beneath to search for the taste of your cunt.

There’s no sound beyond your quiet pants and your boyfriend’s moans. Devilish licks to your clit paired with nimble fingers make you twitch. Soonyoung likes it sloppy; adores pulling back just to admire the soaking mess coating your thighs before diving in. But all he has on his brain right now is returning the favor from before even if that means he’ll have to pin you to the wall so you don’t melt to the floor.

“Oh god, Soonyoung,” you sing, raising your hips and riding his fingers. “There.”

You want to pull his hair, to suck on his fingers like they’re his cock, to touch him; anywhere. Use anything you can to shatter the monopoly his mouth has on your senses. But he’s lost under your dress and you lack concentration to pull him out.

It doesn’t matter how much praise you lavish him with, Soonyoung is lost in his own spiral. The grip of your walls on his fingers, three now and soon to be a fourth because he’s predictable. Or maybe you are.

Your knees begin to buckle under the next harsh suck of his lips and without missing a beat your leg goes over his shoulder and you’re pinned to the wall.

“Soonyoung—fuck—please.” Your hands cup your breasts, pushing the smocked neckline down until the AC greets your burning skin. Insides clenching at the thrill, you sink lower until he catches the hint and fucks his fingers hard enough you hiccup with each thrust.

It feels like you're underwater. That spot that makes you glow becomes his plaything until the ceiling comes crashing down and you with it. You grit through the first shake before your vision blinks into darkness. “Baby, I’m—”

Soonyoung fucks you through it, unaffected by how tight you squeeze around the digits battering your insides. He pushes you back into the wall when you wobble on shaky legs and keeps going; suffocating himself with no concern.

You ride his face for a moment. The prolonged burn of a good orgasm hurting in the right ways as your clit goes raw and your walls swell. But if this continues you’ll be too tired for the main event.

Even with that knowledge you don’t protest as he rises to his feet, turns you around, and flips your dress back up to fuck you against the wall.

With eyes closed you feel, rather than see, Soonyoung peak over your shoulder; breath hot against your ear. He flattens his chest to your back, cock nudging at your entrance until the first inch sinks home without resistance.

“God,” you sigh. “More.”

He gives you just that. Careful to keep from crushing you under his weight, Soonyoung bends you at the waist, cock buried as deep as possible. “Like that?”

“Love it,” you warble.

His thumb is warm against your rim, a tease of what's to come. It’s nothing challenging but Soonyoung pinning your arms at the dip of your spine with his free hand makes it dirtier.

“Want me to fuck you here?”

“Please,” you beg.

“Please?”

“Give me your cock.”

“You have it.” His voice roughens, betrayed by his own need to please you. “Still need more? That desperate?”

“I swear to fucking god if you don’t—“

THWACK!

Your skin scorches in the shape of his hand. All you can do is choke on more noises of pleasure as he does it again.

“You’ll what?” Soonyoung bites. “Gonna fuck yourself?”

You can’t argue back, mouth stuff with his fingers as he starts fucking you deeply. It’s good. The embarrassed heat tinting your cheeks from his reprimands. Soonyoung likes to be rough but never like this. The shift in demeanor prickles along your spine.

“Gonna take my cum in your perfect little pussy.” He groans. “Gonna look so fucking hot dripping out of you. Fuck it into your ass.”

You whimper around his digits, sucking them deeper into your mouth until the weight disappears to give another wet prod against your asshole. “You’re so tight baby I don’t know if you’ll be able to take it.”

Head bobbing, you sigh at the stretch. “I can take it.”

A finger slips into your ass, spit and arousal easing the intrusion. You arch your back for more. Everything feels full. His cock deep battering your insides, his fingers wedge in your hole, the blanket of his body crushing you into the wall so much you can barely breathe.

He might be right. You might not be able to take anything remotely resembling the girth of his length. Not if you’re this strung out from some fingering and dirty words. “Wait.”

Soonyoung is off you like he’s burnt. “What's wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby,” you murmur, finding his face and kissing away the terrified frown. “I just thought it’d be more comfortable if we were in the bed.”

He slouches with relief. “Oh, okay. Yeah. Good idea.”

Soonyoung doesn’t let you walk. You’re over his shoulder fireman style, one of his hands tickling the back of your knee until he almost drops you as you squirm. “Soonyoung I swear to god!”

“Wait, are you ticklish here?” he asks coyly. He knows you’re ticklish there, ended up kicked in the head the first time he decided to take advantage of the information.

Squeals and laughter bounces off the walls as he races the short distance to the bedroom before tossing you on the mattress with a bounce. He drapes over you, sweet kisses on your cheeks and chins as he crowds you into the mattress.

“Go get a towel, I don’t think they’ll appreciate lube stains on the sheets.”

He disappears again – leaving a terrible coldness along your skin in the absence of his warmth. But his trip to the en suite gives you plenty of time to toss away your dress and to crawl to the head of the bed. Face down in the pillows, you arch your back for a view that might very well kill your boyfriend. Pussy soaked, entrance stretched and ready for use.

“Well, shit,” Soonyoung breathes. There's a thud and a few things skittering across the floor; not loud enough to be his head bouncing off the hardwood but whatever he was holding is forgotten in favor of ogling.

You sink deep enough it hurts. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do.”

“Then do something about it.”

He crawls up the bed, kneeling behind you and massaging your ass in his hands. The tickle in your gut flourishes as he spreads your ass apart. Two fingers curl into your cunt with ease while his mouth finds other use – sucking a bruise along the back of your thigh he’ll obsessively trace later.

Muscles pliant, you liquify into the mattress under the gentle stretch of your core. His fingers return to their previous task; a feather weight you quickly become accustomed to before they slide in and you rut back into the motion. “That’s—that's good.”

You force a hand between your legs, mindlessly rubbing slow circles around your clit. Soonyoung bats it away and takes command; a little firmer, enough it makes things fade into haze.

“Wow, multitasking,” you praise, fisting the sheets.

“Trying to give my queen the full experience.”

Even with both holes full of his fingers, you can’t help but snort. “You’re lame.”

“You’re about to let me put my dick in your ass.” He presses deeper to emphasize the point.

Familiar motions, a curl here, spreading the two apart enough you moan. “So?

“Can’t be that lame.”

“It’s—ah—cute lameness. My little loser.”

“What did we say about being mean to me in bed?” he tuts.

“That I should only do it if I want you to come fast.”

“That’s right, so save it for later.”

His tongue joins his fingers, a firm heat spreading between your cheeks. Soonyoung is good at making it messy. You jump with stiff legs as his tongue breaches your hole; there and gone before he’s laving long strokes; a drooly mess left in wake of exploration. “What's it feel like?”

“You’d know.”

“Humor me a little.” Soonyoung leans back enough to spit where his fingers disappear – the smack of his lips leaving you flustered. He eats ass just as well as he eats pussy: devoted and eager.

You curl into the stimulation. “L-like I’ve got fingers in my ass.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I don’t think I’ll come from it, but it's not bad.” Lies. If he keeps going you’ll definitely come. If Soonyoung hands you the vibrator sitting just out of reach it’ll happen faster than your ego would allow.

“Relax,” he commands. Soonyoung pushes until you’re flat to the mattress with nowhere to move besides back into filthy satisfaction.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re not. I’m not doing this if it’s gonna hurt you.” He moves away, an uncharacteristic show of restraint triggering a tantrum of your own.

“Wait, don’t stop!”

The heady pressure multiples ten fold as he drags everything out; his mouth, his fingers, the tight grip on your cheeks to keep the spread for convenience. You crave the sting of his hand again but are left with the grit of his teeth against the shape of your thigh as a generous amount of lube joins the mix; cold and slippery.

“Still good?”

“Great,” you breathe. A third finger joins and it might just be your demise. You might give Soonyoung a run for his money for the most needy; you, begging him to fuck your ass harder. Or him, rock solid and humping the bed for a drop of relief. “Where’s the plug?”

“Are you ready for it?” He strokes the dimple at the base of your spine in slow circles. Honestly, this could be enough. At least for Soonyoung. Since you started this entire endeavor he’s been a quick gust of wind away from blowing his load.

“Go slow.”

A new pressure, not as warm as before but equally intoxicating, rests against your hole. More lube, enough the towel between your legs gets soaked in its own right. You take it though. An easy stretch until the silicon disappears and a foreign fullness makes your tongue feel thick.

You squeeze around it instinctually. Soonyoung keeps your ass spread like a voyeur, both holes teasing him. Your fingers don’t stop on your clit. He could watch you get off with a full ass and an empty pussy and die happy.

“Fuck,” he chokes, pulling the plug out just a fraction before you suck it back in greedily. “What now?”

“Now you fuck me.”

You flop onto your back without much grace, too focused on the intoxicating promise of having your boyfriend’s cock to care about looking sexy. Soonyoung kneels between your thighs – swollen length sitting heavy in his lap, tempting you to lap away the mess if there weren’t better things to do.

He doesn’t waste time. Your clit takes the head of his cock full on, muscles twitching. You go limp and cross eyed – you could lay here all night letting him play with your body as he pleased. But you want him inside you. Need the overwhelming rush you know Soonyoung can give you.

But he tries to kiss you with a mouth covered in lube and you stop him short. “Ew, I’m not kissing you.”

“Why?” he whines. His cock teases your entrance with a slow grind; just the tip.

“I don’t know, maybe the fact your tongue was in my ass less than five seconds ago? Go brush your teeth.”

“Really?”

“Hop to it butt boy.”

“You eat your girlfriend’s ass one time.” Soonyoung shakes his head but peels off you and jumps from the bed.

“I’ll return the favor, don’t worry!” you call.

The cover of running water from the sink disguises the sounds you digging through a suitcase. Tucked away is a tried and true favorite – a vibrating dildo from back home snuck along for the trip when the weather report forecasted rain the entire weekend and you were sure you’d need something to keep you both occupied while kept indoors. Nothing but clear skies for miles made it slip from your mind but now you say a quick ‘thank you’ to yourself for having the forethought even if it’s not exactly what you intended.

“Getting started without me?” Soonyoung calls from the foot of the bed. He doesn’t do a thing to stop the show – entranced by your clit swelling beneath the vibrating head.

You spread your legs wider, knees to your chest. He can see everything: the plug splitting your ass, arousal dripping from your entrance. “Come over here and make me stop.”

“I remember – a few hours ago actually – you saying I ‘don’t make’ you do anything.”

He climbs over you, arms caging you in but just out of reach. You meet his gaze – surprised by the fire burning there. You want to see what will happen if it’s fed.

“Maybe I want you to.”

“Oh? And what do you want me to make you do?”

“Hmmmm, when we were on the couch I wanted you to call me a slut.”

“Really?”

“Makes me feel dirty.” You spread across the bed, ass curving into the mattress and shifting the plug deeper in your ass.

He sucks at your jaw as he sinks inside. “You like being dirty?”

“For you,” you gasp. “What about you? What do you want me to do to you?”

“Dreamed of you choking me,” Soonyoung admits with a fresh rush of his hips.

“That’s so hot,” you whine.

“Calling me a good boy.” He goes for your nipple, a tender suck you keen into.

The tidal wave of pleasure floods your brain. All you can do is lay there and take it while murmuring praises. “You are a good boy.”

“Yeah?”

“The best,” you tease.

Soonyoung rolls onto his back, you planted firmly in his lap as he goes for the plug. It’s difficult enough to sit still when you’re full of his cock, let alone the new addition. You sink deeper into it – knees bent and legs spread to take as much as possible. A stinging stretch in your insides that threatens to tear you in two. He twists the silicon and you collapse into his chest.

“Fuck, just like—nhhh.”

He plants his feet and keeps fucking you from below. The vibrator is stuck between your stomachs but you pull back enough and it’s there, almost painfully forced against your clit. You curl into the painful throb. “I’m—”

His hand is at your cheek, forcing you to look at him with lidded eyes. Soonyoung is beautiful but when he’s like this – skin flushed and eyes wild, the complete picture of debauchery – it’s devastating.

You kiss him. Tongue along his teeth and panting breath, a hand at his collar for balance as you focus on rutting back into the motion of his cock with a tight squeeze. Your throat raws with his name. “Soonyoung.”

Your chin is wet with drool, vision blurry as you collapse into his chest. Soonyoung slows but doesn’t stop, maintaining gentle strokes as condense back into reality; fingers tracing the notches of your spine.

“Holy shit.”

“You squirted,” he whispers awestruck.

You certainly did. Even through the slick of lube the mess is evident, soaking his own crotch and no doubt ruining the sheets.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard,” you gasp.

Grabbing for his face, you kiss Soonyoung again with slow and lazy indulgence. The room warms or maybe it's just Soonyoung’s chest against yours but you crave more.

“You done?” Soonyoung grunts as you thumb one of his nipples.

You sit up, ass flat to his thighs and breasts pressed together between your arms. “Nope, still gotta take care of my man.”

“You don’t have to.” Soonyoung perks up with another lazy thrust. “I can do it like this.”

“You ate my ass. I’d feel like a hypocrite if I didn’t let you fuck it. Besides, I think I can come again.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

You roll off. There’s a pang in your gut at the sudden emptiness but it’s bearable with what will happen next.

Back on your knees, Soonyoung settles in tight behind you. He adds more lube while working out the plug. Gritting against the drag, you nearly rip the sheets under your nails. “Huh.”

Soonyoung fishes the vibrator from somewhere. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Your walls split around it while he plays with the plug, gently rocking back into the motions. You’ll definitely come again.

Batting his hand away, you fuck yourself with the dildo with command. “Spank me.”

Heat blooms in the same place he branded you before; right at the seat of your ass. “Like that?”

Soonyoung isn’t goading. He’s unsure. Rarely is he composed enough to call the shots, so you sink deeper and preen for him. “Harder.”

Another slap, sharp enough you lurch into the sheets. You nod because there are no words capable of slipping past your teeth other than a weak mewl of his name.

“Fuck, babe.”

You reach back, spreading your ass so he can focus on the task at hand. The plug disappears. In its place is the potent weight of his cock.

Soonyoung sinks deep, weight focused behind his hips. It feels…different. Not bad, not necessarily good either. It feels dirty. Like you shouldn’t be doing it but you are anyway. Good girls don’t do this. But you are. You’re letting your boyfriend use your ass as his personal cum dump. And because that's not enough, you squeeze around the dildo still sheathed inside you.

“Good?”

“Big,” you pant.

“Want me to stop?”

“No!” you argue.

Soonyoung maintains a tight grip on your hips to prevent you from overwhelming him. ��Oh—okay, fuck, okay.”

“Does it feel good for you?”

“Yeah, tight.” He palms your ass, spreading you further to watch your walls open around him.

You focus on fucking yourself with the fake cock. Matching everyone of his timid thrusts with one of your own. “Tighter than my pussy?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Soonyoung prattles without thought. He’s unraveling in the dangerous heat of your body.

“Which would you rather fuck?”

“I don’t know, they’re both—god—they’re both good.”

“Wish you could fuck both of them at the same time. Do you think that makes me a whore?”

“No,” he sobs. But a twinge in his core betrays his thoughts.

You’re being downright cruel with the imaginary. “No? You don’t think your girlfriend wanting you to fill her ass and pussy at the same time makes her a slut?”

“I don’t think you’re a slut!” Soonyoung argues. But that edge is still there, he’s taking the bait.

“But I wanna be your slut, baby.”

“Fuck.” Another barely restrained thrust you take with sick glee.

“Say it,” you bark. “Call me your greedy little cum slut.”

“I—”

“C’mon, baby. Watch your girlfriend take your cock like a whore.”

He shoves your face into the pillows – a tight fist in your hair that adds to the fog. A raspy ‘my slut’ slips down your spine as he drives into you with enough force you choke.

His cock swells, the beginning of his end as he wrecks your insides with bruising force. You push forward for your own; abandoning the vibrator and swiping frantic circles around your clit. Soonyoung doesn’t say it again but its more than enough to fuel you and retaliate with more muffled groans to match his.

Soonyoung moves in deep waves; losing pace and rolling into the heat of your ass with choppy thrusts. You wish he was choking you. Maybe it’d be too much but next time you’ll ask him to do it. Or you’ll ride him with his cock seated deep and your hand serving as his new necklace.

“Gonna come. Gonna come for you—oh my god.”

You nod eagerly with an eye roll as if he can see the wreckage of your face. A familiar warmth you’ve experienced countless times in your pussy floods your ass, thick and sticky.

“Oh my god.” Soonyoung drops his weight, a perfect blanket against the AC of the bedroom now that the heat of having your guts battered has faded. “Jesus.”

“I was close,” you pout.

Squirming back in his grip, he’s still hard with a heavy throb. Soonyoung doesn’t disappoint. Weak thrusts maintain the fire stoked in your gut and a reach around to pinch at your clit keeps you right at the edge.

“Soonyoung, please.”

“Beg for it,” he pants.

“Please make me come,”

“My pretty little slut wants to come?”

Fuck.

“Ah-h. Yes! Fuck, yes.”

His other hand circles your neck, enough force you press into your hands and break your back in half just for a peak of him. The second you're done he’ll pass out – his eyes are wet, chin covered in drool. Soonyoung will go all night for you, for this.

A thumb splits your lips open, you think it’s a ploy for power. Something the grip at your throat gives him plenty of but he leans over and he spits in your mouth. “Then come.”

“Ugh, fuck Soonyoung—fuck me harder.”

Your body jumps over the cliff with permission; seizing, claws of endorphins shredding through your veins as your boyfriend rises to the challenge. Every drop turns into a flood with hard pulses, Soonyoung choking behind you from sensitivity.

Twitching in his hold, he pulls out, careful with the vibrator as well. The second he’s done he flops face first next to you like a rag doll.

“I think I died.”

You respond with a kiss to his temple. “I guess we’re both ghosts.”

“Being a ghost wouldn’t be so bad with you. My ghost would have a crush on you.”

“I would hope so considering I’d still be your ghost girlfriend.”

“You’d date me as a ghost? Simp,” he snorts but curls you beneath his arm. A play straight from your own book.

How romantic.

After an hour of naked dozing across the bed, you two manage to shuffle to the bathroom and slip into the tub. Sitting between Soonyoung’s leg, you drift off as the water soothes the muscles already beginning to ache. Soonyoung doesn’t speak; preferring to drag his lips up and down the slope of your neck for comfort. Every time he stops you squeeze at his arm draped over your stomach until he smiles against your ear and starts again.

“So where are we sleeping tonight? Because I’ll be honest, the lube covered bed is not my top choice.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia

series: @pinklemonadeflav @gyuwoosbabie @dinossaurz @vixensss

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grailfinders · 4 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #123: Gawain

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Buster Gorilla himself, Gawain! Big man, big sword, big fires. Let’s go.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOZuxwVk7TU

Race and Background

Take a wild guess. Go on, I dare you.

Gawain’s a Variant Human, giving him +1 Strength and Charisma as well as proficiency with Investigation. His interlude was entirely about tracking down the people who stole his stuff, he’s got a knack for it. He also gets the Magic Initiate feat, giving you two cantrips and first level spell from the Sorcerer spell list and bumping your Charisma up by one. You get to cast Absorb Elements once per long rest for free, but we’re really here for Green-Flame Blade. Your Galatine is an AoE effect, so we can’t replicate it with normal smites like Lancelot. You also get the Light cantrip. Make your sword shiny, go nuts.

Like every other Knight of the Round you’re a Knight of the Order, giving you Persuasion and Religion proficiency because you have to know what the grail is if you want to hunt for it.

Ability Scores

Your nickname’s “Buster Gorilla”, your Strength is going to be pretty high. Aside from that you’re a pretty easy guy to like, so that’s Charisma covered. After that is Constitution, you’re pretty tough. When the sun’s out, at least. Your Wisdom certainly isn’t bad, it’s good enough to get you a sweet job as a guard in Camelot. Your Dexterity is a bit low, you’re kind of a giant brick that gets thrown around than a dancer. Finally, drop Intelligence. You’re called an airhead in your own biography, which is harsh, but fair.

Class Levels

1. Paladin 1: Continuing Gawain’s hotstreak of 0 surprises, this class! You get a Divine Sense to detect extraplanar creatures nearby. You can also Lay on Hands for a bit of healing

You get proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves and two paladin skills. Athletics adds to your meathead aesthetic and Insight makes tracking down those material thieves a bit easier.

2. Paladin 2: You’ve got a great sword, so grab Great Weapon Fighting for a better average of damage by letting you re-roll 1s and 2s on your damage with two-handed weapons. It’s not huge for a regular sword, but you can burn spell slots for Divine Smite, adding a bunch of radiant damage dice to your attack. Speaking of which, you can cast and prepare Spells using your Charisma now.

Normally this is where we’d talk about what spells suit you best, but you’re pretty much the generic holy knight, so there isn’t really a stand out option until level three. Searing Smite‘s good if you want another way to use Galatine though.

3. Paladin 3: Swearing to be by Arthur’s side makes you an Oath of the Crown paladin, granting you immunity to disease thanks to your Divine Health, and two flavors of Channel Divinity, a feature you can use once per short rest. Champion Challenge spends a bonus action to force creatures near you who fail a wisdom save (dc 8 plus your proficiency plus your charisma modifer) to stay within 30′ of you. You could also Turn the Tide as a bonus action, healing bloodied creatures nearby. As a third option, you can Harness Divine Power, turning your channel divinity use into a spell slot.

As a final crown goody, you can keep Command and Compelled Duel on your prepared spell list for free to really swing the power of the law around.

4. Paladin 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up that Strength. Gotta get those buster cards busted.

5. Paladin 5: Fifth level paladins get an Extra Attack each action, and you also get second level spells like your freebies Warding Bond and Zone of Truth. Warding bond will be especially fun in a level or two. Give someone else resistance to damage, give yourself resistance to damage, tank for days, fun for the whole family.

6. Barbarian 1: First level barbarians can Rage, giving you extra attack damage, advantage on strength saves and checks, and physical damage resistance. The downside is you can’t cast or concentrate on spells while raging, and more importantly, you can’t wear heavy armor to use this. Also, rages only last for like a minute, not the three hours your Numeral of the Saint normally lasts. If it helps any, you also get Unarmored Defense, giving you a base AC of 10 plus your dexterity modifier plus your constitution modifier. It’s not a good AC, but it’s better than being naked normally would be.

7. Barbarian 2: Second level barbarians get a Reckless Attacks, giving you advantage on all your attacks for a turn in exchange for enemies having advantage when they hit you. Ideally you’ll have fried them all to a crisp before they get the chance, but it’s a risk you’ll have to keep in mind. You also get a Danger Sense, giving you advantage on dexterity saves for things you can see coming. That should help make up for the base stats a bit.

8. Barbarian 3: Now that you’re a Storm Herald, you can make a Storm Aura when you rage. Storm heralds get a bunch of options, but we’re here for the Desert aura, dealing a touch of fire damage to everything nearby for an area of effect flame burst. It’s only 2 damage per burst, but it’s a bonus action. Just smite and use this at the same time, it’ll be fine.

9. Barbarian 4: Odd numbers make me cry, so use this ASI to become more Resilient. This bumps your Constitution up by one, and you gain proficiency in constitution saves. This also increases your HP by 9, because constitution modifiers affect health retroactively.

10. Paladin 6: Going back to the paladin side of things for a bit, you get an Aura of Protection that adds your charisma modifier to all saves made by friendly creatures in its range.

11. Paladin 7: Seventh level Crown paladins can use their Divine Allegiance to take the damage any creature within five feet of you would take as a reaction. Just a note, this damage can’t be reduced. I’m not entirely sure how that plays out with rage, but it’s probably not good for you.

12. Paladin 8: To help out with the whole “surviving being the party tank” thing, use this ASI to bump up your Constitution for more HP.

13. Paladin 9: Our final paladin level nets you some third level spells for even bigger smites and fancier spells. You can cast Spirit Guardians for a holy trap, or Aura of Vitality to heal creatures as a bonus action. But of course, that’s not the real reason we went this far. We’re here to grab Daylight, for the flavor. Even better, daylight doesn’t use concentration, so using daylight to help you rage at night is mechanically supported!

14. Barbarian 5: The extra attack you get this level isn’t that useful, but you also get Fast Movement, giving you an extra 10 feet of speed. Yaaay.

Oh wait, your storm aura also gets a bit stronger! Three damage instead of two!

15. Barbarian 6: Sixth level storm heralds awaken their Storm Soul, giving you resistance to fire damage, immunity to extreme heat (very useful in the desert), and you can set items on fire as an action. Technically swords aren’t flammable, but I’d allow it for the intimidation factor.

16. Barbarian 7: Your Feral Instinct gives you advantage on initiative rolls, and you can ignore being surprised by raging. Maybe now you won’t always be going last.

17. Barbarian 8: We’ve held off long enough. Use your last ASI to maximize your Strength for extra swording power.

18. Barbarian 9: Ninth level barbarians get Brutal Criticals, giving you an additional die of damage when you hit with a 20. Every little bit helps!

19. Barbarian 10: Your savage flames mix with your protective nature, making you a Shielding Storm, giving creatures in your storm aura resistance to fire damage, which is nice since they’re going to be taking a lot of it.

20. Barbarian 11: Your capstone level allows you to go into a Relentless Rage. While raging, going to 0 hp won’t knock you out right away. If you make a DC 10 constitution save, you drop to 1 hp instead. Each time you roll that save between short rests, the DC goes up by 5. Looks like that scarf you got from the Green Knight is finally coming in handy!

(I know the green sash doesn’t actually protect you from damage, but I wasn’t going to be able to fit “only gets super powers between 9am and 12pm into the build, and you’re only famous for so many things. At least you’re not as bad off as Artemis.)

Pros:

Your fiery soul makes you great at taking on flame-based enemies. Most of your damage comes from radiant energy, but you have plenty of defense against fire attacks, making you a good counter for red dragons and elementals.

With almost 200 hp, rage defenses, healing, and the ability to die up to five times and not stay down, you can be pretty tough to keep down for long. That also makes your entire party a little bit tougher, thanks to your ability to eat their damage for them.

You can pump out pretty consistent damage thanks to your great sword, smites, and fighting style. You’re not as flashy as Lancelot, but you have a pretty good shot at outlasting him.

Cons:

While mixing Barbarian levels in does make you tougher, it also has plenty of drawbacks. Stripping away your heavy armor is a big one, as it makes you dependent on your dexterity for your armor class. There’s also the problem that you’d want to stick close to squishier party members to protect them, at the same time exposing them to you constantly exploding.

Like a lot of the knights of the round, you have issues when it comes to ranged attacks. Anything that wanders too close won’t be an issue, but you might have problems if you end up fighting Tristan. That’s ridiculous though. Knights of the Round? Fighting each other? Never gonna happen.

Compared to other knights, your AC is relatively low. Considering you’re already taking other people’s hits for them, being easy to hit yourself isn’t great. Also, your paladin abilities can probably eat through your rage, which seriously weakens your tanking abilities.

#Fate Grand Order #fgo #D&D 5e #Gawain #Fate and Phantasms #Barbarian #Paladin

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smartzelda · 5 years

Text

Okay, first off, I know I said we would start where I left off in Corona, but I need to take a second to recognize something I forgot in Toy Box when rewriting the last post. Yozora.

Sora's "I never looked this good"

And Donald and Goofy like, "He looks kinda like Riku. Must be him."

And the Kingstagram post: "Yozora looks so much like Riku! I have GOT to play this game someday!"

Soriku bro😔👌

Okay, now back to Corona😂

So, where we left off, Gothel took Rapunzel back to the tower, and I'm skipping to Gothel's Rapunzel trap working on Flynn, and Flynn slowly dying

So, starting with Rapunzel, she starts off pretty confident, talking about how she'll run and run and run from Gothel forever, but in one moment, she becomes more submissive

If only she could just use her hair to save him.

Though obviously these are two different feelings going on, we're gonna start with this loose parallel of Rapunzel to Sora, who also in a single moment or from a single event, goes from confident to crying on his knees

If only Sora had his friends to give him the power to drive back the demon hurricane.

And of course, neither Flynn nor Riku will let it be this way. Flynn can't let her give up her dreams and her freedom to save him, and Riku just can't let Sora give up and believe he can't do anything.

["Sora, I believe in you. You won't give up."]

So, what do they do?

Flynn cuts off Rapunzel's hair, condemning himself to death, but saving Rapunzel's life (or at least, right to truly live)

Riku takes a shot at the demon tide, sacrificing himself in hopes of saving Sora's life.

In other words, they do a true love's sacrifice/act of true love

Quick intermission since here is where Gothel becomes the heartless and final boss. I still suck at this boss. It took me an hour or two to beat her. However, this is also when I started abusing shotlocks for the first time, so there's that. Abuse ultima shotlocks, cast magic, time your dodges, and hope whenever you attack you don't get attacked 😂

So, by the time Sora, Donald, and Goofy get up to the tower, I think we're supposed to presume Eugene is nearly dead, but Rapunzel is holding on, not wanting him to die

And of course, Sora desperately reaches for the light, calling for Riku. I guess you could say he's holding onto Riku.

["Riku! Riku, answer me!"]

Rapunzel sings her healing song that talks about reversing time, bringing back "what once was mine", changing "the fates' design, ect, and then her tear drops onto Eugene's face. And so, after both of them risked their own lives in acts of true love, both of them cheat the different deaths which would have been thrust upon them, changing fate's design

In similar fashion, due to what I believe to have been Kairi holding Sora's form together and Riku's act of true love saving Sora's heart, Sora too has cheated death (at least for now), and after reaching for the light, calling for Riku, and flying into it, he goes for Riku's heart first, saves all of his friends (minus Kairi till the light tunnel, though Sora doesn't save her) and not only reverses, but rewrites the destined events to happen in the timeline. I'd say it parallels Rapunzel's healing song, and even though he does save everyone and not just one person, there definitely is something to the fact that he specifically goes for Riku, specifically calls his name, and ends up wresting him from his fate first.

(Don't worry, bro, his heart'll be okay now)

Also, side note: During Rapunzel singing her healing song, she and Eugene confess that the other was their new dream and that just my heart

Bro, Eugene like, "Did I ever tell you... I've got a thing for brunettes?"

He really be the Riku parallel in this scene, don't he😏

Now of course, being me, I can't pass up the next parallel in this world

Sora: Well, if he comes back and tries to bother Rapunzel again, then Flynn will keep her safe.

Donald: Come on. Rapunzel's the tough one, if you ask me.

Flynn: True. But nevertheless, I won't let her out of my sight.

I mean, maybe it's just me, but it seems this parallels Riku wanting to have the strength to protect Sora, attaining that strength, but also being aware that Sora can take care of himself and has his own strength

And of course, this world is ended with a funny sex joke and Flynn getting stared down by Maximus and wet willied by pascal

Since here we're done with the worlds in the first area of gummi space and launched into the next, I'm gonna add that after every world I spend forever in gummi space farming meteorites and occasionally fighting the heartless and some boss battles, and every time I get launched into the next area of gummi space, I get all the treasure planets and the warp zone things too (apparently actual words evade me for both those things today). Legit though, farming meteorites is so helpful in getting synthesis materials you can use for upgrading your keyblades

So next was on to Monstropolis. I don't have much to talk about here.

Sora, Donald, and Goody freaking out over each other's monster forms? Hilarious.

Monster Sora? He will never not be adorable. Same with Boo

The big blue turtletoad unversed are annoying, and ngl, I had to dodge around a lot and play safe so I wouldn't die in like 2 hits.

Both the keyblade forms for Oathkeeper amd the form for Ultima on monster Sora are just so epic!!!

I still hate light rails with a passion.

Poor Sora so tired of dealing with computers thst when Goofy suggests smashing it, he's completely ready

Monstropolis: Randal nearly becomes leather wear before Vanitas saves him

The fact that Sora, Donald, and Goofy talked about Sora's weird kh1 smile and afterwards actually came up with a name for it. "Do the silly face special!" Also, when Monster Sora does it, it's definitely cute compared to the kh1 scene

The final boss unversed still sucked and took me plenty of tries, but I think I did better than my proud run.

YEETUS VANITAS

Ngl, I chanted YEETUS VANITAS cause I knew when it was coming

Poor Vanitas. He just need some love. From what I can tell in kh3, he's probably not hurting like he was in bbs and is less angry, and because there was a hole in his heart, he believed he had to join with Ventus to fill it even though their hearts have grown apart. Vanitas probably needs love to fill that hole

Poor Sora hurting and falling to the ground while Vanitas tells him that Ventus is in his heart

And last but definitely not least! Sora's Kingstagram post on the Vanitas scene where he learns that Ven is in his heart. And at the end of it, after talking about how apparently Ven is in his heart and stuff (I think) he's just like, "Would Riku know?" And the fact that Sora's included Riku in the Kingstagram posts means he was probably thinking about him and the fact he thinks Riku might know these things just... aaaaaaaa brooooo

And now onto Arendelle, home of many a Soriku parallel and where I did a lot of backtracking to save points

#soriku #sora x riku #critical mode #kingdom hearts 3 #kingdom of corona #monstropolis #parallels

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jabbers-of-jay · 5 years

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Oof....idk about this or if I shoud have done this.....

but like I said it wouldn’t leave me alone......

sooo...umm... here ya go I guess

Courfeyrac brimmed with excitement, he had been waiting for this day his whole life. All eleven years of it. He had practically bounced around Diagon Alley, never standing still for more than 5 minutes, his father desperately chasing after him. Courfeyrac had spent all of his pocket change on sweets and joke items for the train ride, much to the frustration of his father.

“For my friends, and new friends!” Courfeyra had said smiling, his eyes lighting up. His father had simply shaken his head and sighed, but let it go.

Courfeyrac now stood on Platform 9 and ¾ eagerly looking around. He had quickly slipped out of his parents’ supervision as they helped his sister load her trunks. He was happily taking in the familiar smells of the stations, the chatter surrounding him, and the sight of all the people running around making sure the students were ready to go. Courfyerac lit up when he saw his friend and rushed over.

“Marius! What are you doing down there? Come on! We have to get a good seat!” He said, pulling his friend up from where he sat on the ground rubbing his head. Marius looked up confusedly.

“Courfeyrac? What are you doing here?” He asked. Courfeyrac laughed.

“Looking for you, silly. I’m the one who should be asked what you’re doing down there!” Courfeyrac said brightly. Marius looked around.

“Well, my grandfather sent me with Elbie, but I guess he forgot what time the train left and he called Elbie back to the house and I was trying to find, I don’t know, anything really. But then he accidentally bumped into me.” He said, gesturing to a pile of things. A low groan emitted from it and so Courfeyrac curiously started to investigate. Amid all the luggage was another boy, though looking a little more bruised than Marius.

“Hi! I’m, Courfeyrac!” Courfeyrac said enthusiastically. “Need some help?” He asked, offering a hand. The other boy groaned again but it seemed there were words this time.

“Hi.” He groaned out. Courfeyrac began to look very concerned.”Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked him. The boy nodded his head.

By now Marius was standing up, only looking mildly worse for the wear. Courfeyracand Marius shared a concerned look before Courfeyrac looked into the crowd and started gesturing wildly.

“MA! MAMAN! MOTHER!” He yelled waving his arms wildly. Several people around them looked back startled, while others hurried their children along. Through the steam surrounding the platform, his parents seemed to materialize out of thin air.

“Shhhh Courfeyrac, I’m right here.” She said in her calm, quiet voice. He quickly explained the situation and his mother kneeled in front of the other boy.

“Now, you’ll have to excuse my son’s crazy behavior. What’s your name?” She asked kindly.

“Bossuet.” He said.

“Well, that’s a nice name. Do you mind if I take a look, Bossuet?” He shook his head and Courfeyrac’s mother started to check Bossuet.

“My mother’s a healer. She’s really good at it too! Did you know there’s all sorts of healers and they have all kinds of jobs?” Courfeyrac chattered away as his mother looked him over, and his father started to right all the luggage

“Right.” She started, “It looks like you might have a bad sprain. That’s no matter though. We’ll help you onto the train and I’ll notify the hospital wing before you arrive.” She said with a kind smile.

Courfeyrac’s parents helped situate the boys in a carriage and took Courfeyrac aside to fuss at him for disappearing before telling hi to have a good year and saying their goodbyes. Courfeyrac sat by the window, animatedly carrying on the conversation. Bossuet was examining the bandaging job Courfeyrac’s mother had wrapped around his ankle and Marius sat across from Courfeyrac, occasionally adding to the conversation, but mostly sitting to the side and nodding, a book tucked into his lap. Marius also would occasionally send glances to the other occupants of the compartment. One was curled in the corner with a green hoodie on, the hood pulled up over his head. The other sat next to the hoodie, absently playing with their hair and looking at a book that was open in their lap.

After awhile, the scene was interrupted by someone entering the carriage. Bossuet and Marius looked up to see who had entered, the other two occupants didn’t seem to be disturbed, and Courfeyrac continued his monologue. The new occupant shoved his hands in the red zip up he was wearing.

“When you’re finished, the rest of us might have some things to add.” The boy said. Courfeyrac’s head shot to the voice and his whole face lit up even more, if that was possible.

“Enjy bear!” He squealed and shot himself towards the boy in the red zip up. The boy in the green hoodie peeked around his hood but otherwise stayed where he was, Marius seemed to ease slightly in his posture and opened his book, while the other two watched with concern and interest on their faces.

“You know I hate it when you say that.” The boy in red grumbled, catching Courfeyrac in a hug. He stumbled back a step, despite dealing with this for years, he still didn’t know how someone so small could carry so much force.

“Come on! Sit down! I’ve got a bunch of goodies to tide us over until the snack cart comes by.” Courfeyrac said eagerly bringing his friend in to sit beside him.

“Hi, Enjolras.” Marius said with a smile, before turning back to his book.

“Marius.” Enjolras said with a head nod. Everyone else in the compartment glanced around, sensing some tension, but Courfeyrac ignored it and dumped his knapsack on the floor. Enjolras sighed. “Courf, there’s plenty of room on the bench, why did you dump in on the floor?” He asked. Courf looked up somewhat surprised.

“Oh… I hadn’t thought of that.” He said, before eagerly moving all his goodies to the spot on the bench he had previously been sitting, while Marius snickered. A well aimed chocolate frog found its way to Marius’s head, other goodies seemed to land near others’ laps. Everyone, appeased with sweets, easily settled into conversation, Courfeyrac slowly drawing the other boys in the compartment into his discussion.

“My work here is done.” He muttered to himself.

#I'm just gonna go hide now #HGLMAU

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vios-rockland-corner · 5 years

Photo

My Rockland OC Sasha Holmes in an Egyptian costume of sorts.

This is basically a very belated Halloween drawing. I didn’t have time to draw it earlier. I was walking through a costume store with my friends on Halloween and realized Sasha’s natural haircut actually works well with an Egyptian costume. She’d just have to dye her hair black :P

I’m sorry, but I can’t do any written posts right now for The Misfits: First Blood horror game. Not until after the full public release on November 22nd. I do have PLENTY to talk about though, trust me. This was all I had to tide things over until then *shrugs*. If I’m in a drawing mood again, maybe I’ll be brave and try to draw an actual Misfit. But I feel better about messing up anatomy on my own character than someone else’s, haha.

I’m gonna tuck my personal notes below on how I’m going to use her in the future.

I’m sort of back to square one with Sasha in regards to backstory I guess. I wasn’t expecting us to get a solid Misfits game so soon, but I’m so happy we are! Now, I’ll FINALLY have at least some idea on what the group is about. Maybe not everything, considering the game is called first blood. That means we’re probably going to get a lot more in the future. So far, I can say we’re definitely getting a very thorough look at some of the main players though.

Well I’ve said this before, but Sasha mainly what I’ll do is have these journal entry posts written by her, regarding HER thoughts on the Misfits. It’ll be good roleplay practice, as well as trying to think of how a character IN universe would view the situation. For instance, she’s not going to know all the details of what these characters do in their private life. Just...what kind of rumors and gossip pop up in the town/city about them? I also still have to think carefully about WHY Sasha is interested in the group.

I can either just keep her as a pretty simple character who gets a little too curious about anything that seems out of the ordinary, or I can give her a backstory that explains her obsession a little better. For example, I thought of a backstory where she’s actually trying to figure out what makes the Misfits ticks more-so because her dead/missing older brother started to change drastically from a good civilian to someone who was...doing questionable things. In other words, she’s more interested in the comparisons and the “why” even more than the fact that her brother is gone (though yeah, that still eats her up). I don’t know if I’ll keep this backstory. With how the game seems to be playing out so far, there’s things that I think I’d like to change about Sasha.

I’m still planning to keep her as a strict NPC with no interaction with the canon characters. That’s probably a pretty smart idea. I like to keep this all in the realm of canon if I can help it, and make sure I never view the canon characters in an OoC way. And if that’s the case...I’m gonna tell you right now that Sasha would NOT last if she met a canon character XD Not just because of how specific characters are mind you. No she’d have a strict disadvantage when it comes to interacting with...well most any of them because she’s basically on the opposite spectrum ideal wise. And THAT...may irk some of the characters. So yeah, I don’t feel up to having to construct a brand new OC yet lol. It’s too much brain work for me.

Well, whatever the case, I don’t really have to worry about setting her up right away for journal entries. After Nov. 22nd, I’m sure I’m going to have a lot of post ideas to work with. Sasha only exists if I start to get stuck and need some filler content.

Some small stuff I’m trying to figure out at the moment:

Basic Philosphy: Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want done to yourself. Aka, she would not be down with the idea of people being brutal and sociopathic to each other because unless said offenders expect the SAME treatment in turn, then you just have a messy an unfair society. Yeah just consider her a “good civilian.” Not sure yet if a goody-two shoes really. Maybe not that far. [Hence why she would likely NOT agree with some of the Misfits characters, but something may cause her to get curious as to how they came to their mentality. Bad curiosity lol.]

Age: 20 (only if I want her as a college student), 22, 25, or 28 [I might want to see what the age of the canon characters are first, as well make sure I’m happy with her backstory and/or occupation]

Occupation: College student, lifeguard, karaoke host, pianist, daycare assistant, data entry clerk, secretary, minor author [ONLY ONE lol, I just don’t know if I want to go with something I have experience with, something I don’t know anything about that seems interesting, something that requires a college degree, if it even relates to an occupation goal of hers, etc.]

Talent: Singing, piano, running/used to run track, pool/billards, yo-yo, shooting marbles, juggling [I’ll keep the running so that she has like...ONE line of defense if she gets into trouble aka she can and will bolt if she has the opportunity, and then I’d like to pick ONE OTHER just for fun]

#rockland #sasha holmes #my OC #Halloween #egyptian #my art

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maverick-werewolf · 5 years

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Patreon Prompt Fill - Better Than One

Time for another prompt fill! I'm almost caught up on these.

Prompt for this one was, "How about a training flashback? Some nice (or not so nice) nostalgia for Tom or Caiden learning an important lesson in their youth."

I had WAY too much fun writing this one, so thank you for this awesome prompt! Hope you enjoy!

You can, of course, also read this on my Patreon. Please consider supporting me there if you enjoy my writing, my werewolf facts, or my content in general. :) Every little bit helps, and you get access to goodies!

Prompt fill is under the cut, as it is quite lengthy:

It’d taken plenty of insisting, but Warren – Father; whatever – finally agreed to spar with him. Warren liked to treat him like a child. Which, hey, he was. Sure. He was, what, in his teens? Mid teens maybe. Who was keeping count? High-tailing it from the orphanage didn’t help, he hadn’t exactly kept up with time.

But he was totally more mature than anybody gave him credit for, and the streets were mean, and he knew how to fight. Warren needed to see that.

So here he was, a kid taking on a middle-aged knight. This would go great.

Knights did usually start their training even earlier than this, though, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t capable…

Anyway, Warren led the way from one of the manor’s many back doors, out into a sandy training field in a small courtyard. The manor was great, by the way; basically the complete opposite of all the nothing he’d had growing up as everyone’s least favorite street urchin.

Here, though, there was nothing but gritty sand, some grass and dirt surrounding it, and more stonework everywhere else.

And a pair of tall dragon statues on either side of the long training field. Tom stopped and stared up at them, trying not to grin. Then wondering why and grinning anyway.

“Pay attention,” Warren said, and Tom looked at him just in time to not get hit in the face by a long wooden training sword Warren tossed to him from a rack on one edge of the field.

Catching it, Tom gave it a quick twirl. “Fancy,” he said, looking at the little wooden hilt and simple carved crosspiece. Even the training sticks had to be detailed for knights, apparently.

“We will spar,” Warren said, settling into a combat stance. Feet spread, planted, sword gripped in both hands before him, blade forward. “For now, we will have three rounds.”

Tom mimicked the stance, another grin tugging at his lips.

“Begi—”

Tom charged.

Things didn’t go too well for him, all things considered. He struck first, Warren easily blocked, Tom swung again – and Warren sidestepped, bringing a sharp blow down on Tom’s lower back that made him yelp and stumble.

“Round one,” Warren said flatly.

Lip twitching, Tom straightened up – Ow, ow, what’d he hit? – and gripped the training sword again.

“I know of your temper,” Warren went on. “I was told of it fairly extensively. I will teach you discipline. Give in to your temper, and you will always lose. Strike early, and you will always lose. Remain always offensive, and you will also lose. You must defend yourself and know when to strike, not strike continuously, or your enemy will break through with a fatal blow as you tire, turning the tides of your fight.”

Warren came first this time, without warning. Tom managed to catch the sword once – slid his wooden blade along it, freed it, and tried a strike aimed at Warren’s arm, only for Warren’s sword to swing around in the blink of an eye and hit him square in the neck.

That almost knocked Tom off-balance and into the sand, because it didn’t help that he was a lanky bastard still growing into how crazy tall he was apparently going to be (cool, right?).

And it really pissed him off. Heat flooded through him as his blood caught fire. He sucked a hard breath through his nose, set his jaw, and gripped that training sword so hard it hurt.

“Defend yourself,” Warren said, pacing around Tom in a circle. He kept talking, too – saying more things. Tom didn’t hear a word of it. He caught the word ‘discipline,’ the word ‘calm,’ before he turned.

He straightened up, spun to face him, and – both hands on his sword, holding hard enough to strangle most any living thing – started attacking.

Warren staggered back, put on the defensive. Tom hit again – again, and again, as fast as that one sword could go. Bared his teeth and walked forward, sword beating so hard against Warren’s that Warren started taking steps back, himself.

More words. Tom didn’t hear them. Warren said Tom’s name. Once, twice. Loudly. Told him to stop. Tom didn’t listen. Couldn’t hear him.

Swords clacking against each other, snapping loudly out into the cool morning air, Tom beat Warren all the way back to that rack of training weapons. Warren got off one swing, down toward Tom’s legs. Tom took it. It didn’t even make him stumble. He didn’t feel it at all. Not like the blows before.

Releasing his left hand from his would-be weapon, Tom reached to that rack and pulled another sword from it. One in each hand, he whirled on Warren before he had a chance to attack again.

With a roar, Tom did it again. Blow by blow, he drove Warren beyond the edge of the training field. Warren got desperate. Tried to dodge, tried to kick, move one hand off his sword and grab Tom’s arm. Do something. Stop him somehow.

He couldn’t. Every time he tried, one of two twin blades was there to stop him, make him rethink it and put him back on the defensive.

Tom turned on him with a snarl, didn’t give him an inch. Not until Warren’s defense broke, and Tom’s right-hand sword snapped hard down on Warren’s neck. It was his turn to stumble now, from the sheer force of the blow.

For half a second, Tom lifted those dual swords again. But he swallowed, took another deep breath, and lowered his hands to his sides again. Swords still held tight. Still ready. Chest heaving, lip twitching over his teeth.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Warren righted himself. For a moment, he stared right at Tom, eyes wide, sweat shining on his forehead. ‘Surprise’ seemed like a weak word for it. Warren’s gaze flicked to Tom’s dual swords, which he furrowed his brow at, then to Tom’s face – then to his eyes.

They lingered there. On his eyes. He looked almost afraid.

“I told you,” Tom growled, “I know how to fight.”

#writing #Wulfgard #patreon #patreonreward #Tom Drake #werewolves

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thedeviljudges · 7 years

Text

bc i’m an indecisive asshole, here’s what would be the first chapter to this fic.

tattoos on the ether

Steve looks up at a brightly lit pink neon sign and thinks what the fuck have I gotten myself into.

He knows, of course, exactly what the fuck he’s gotten himself into and wonders when he traded any form of rational he’d managed to maintain in that stupid brain of his for ideas of grandeur and open roads. Steve’s travelled a few times in his life, mainly vising what little family he has out of state, but diving head first into the unknown was a plan he sure as shit hadn’t thought through.

Excluding the Upside Down, of course.

Not like he has time to ponder the possibility of that mistake when his next thought bubbles up without warning, toeing the line of desperate and annoyance when Steve feels the growl of his stomach. He doesn’t think he craves the salty bite of another greasy burger; in actuality, the notion makes him want to throw up, but it’s all he’s got, and his body needs sustenance, and diner number seven doesn’t look as bad as it sounds.

That’s what he tries to tell himself ever since he left Hawkins, passing through the Midwest on a one-way ticket to hell because he realized, quite quickly, just how similar these parts of the country are akin to the standard textbook definition: boring with a side of corn fields and cows. Steve could complain, knows that every bone in his body is screaming that if he doesn’t move, they’ll twitch until numbness takes over. It’s the last stop for miles if the crumbled-up map near his feet is worth its salt, and Steve doesn’t think he can go another few hours without anything solid in his stomach. The junk food he’d purchased over the course of the journey has accumulated as a stock-pile of goodies in the backseat of the car. There’s still plenty of it for consumption, but Steve’s sweet tooth isn’t opulent and very much like a diner burger, the thought of eating another Twinkie makes his tongue dry, throat constricting.

The fact that his blood is not a solid stream of white sugar is a miracle in and of itself, really.

“So, are you paying, moneybags?”

Steve breathes deeply and refuses to look at the driver of the car – the car he chose to sit his ass in and leave his home for because he really is a fucking moron who thought that maybe an adventure had its merits. Turns out, all it’s left him with is sore muscles and little patience because sometimes Billy doesn’t know when to keep his fucking mouth shut.

Rolling his eyes, Steve slides his fingers over the latch on the door, waiting. “How long are you going to be mad at me for?”

In a quick reply, Billy shrugs. Steve sees it out of the corner of his eye, still refuses to look at Billy and his temper he’s settled in for over a day. “Dunno,” he finishes, leather jacket creeping past his neck as he stares Steve down with a petulant expression behind the reflection of his glasses. Steve doesn’t need to see Billy’s eyes to know that he’s unhappy with their affair, and Steve isn’t entirely happy to say that it’s all his fault.

But it sort of is.

“You didn’t plan on telling me about the couple grand you stashed away,” he says, refuses to watch Billy pull his shades down the bridge of his nose, far enough to look over the lining while blinking directly at Steve like he’s boring into his soul. He’s settled deep into his seat, knees stretched wide as if there’s any room in the car for such a position, but he waits, expectantly, for Steve to make amends with a particularly good explanation, one he’s definitely not going to get right now when he’s being stubborn, “so, I’m thinkin’ I’ve got a little while longer to keep you on your toes.”

Sometimes, sometimes Steve wonders why the fuck he bothered, why the absolute fuck he went along with Billy’s plan to get the fuck out of Hawkins, why he chose Billy to spend his time with – to sleep with, for god’s sake – because this is an unruly amount of absurdity. Steve knows Billy’s tendency to stew on his emotions until he no longer finds them valuable, and this, Steve thinks, needs to be nipped in the bud before they end up hurtling towards no return. “You’re so fucking ornery,” he says, the crook of his brow a statement of clarity - Billy’s not the only one unimpressed.

Their emotions, rising high like the tide, are mainly due to circumstances and cramped spaces, the car occupied by two persons for an extended period of time without reprieve from each other. It’s been a good lesson for Steve, if anything, that as much as he loves Billy, he definitely needs his space, space in which he hasn’t had for about a solid week since they started their journey with nothing but a few duffle bags and the clothes on their back.

Also, the stash of money Steve had hidden in his, but that’s beside the point.

“I really can’t believe I put up with you.”

Billy snorts, but a wolfish grin splits his face into childish pride. He slides the glasses right back onto his nose before straightening in his seat, and just like Steve, he curls his fingers around the door handle, not waiting for a prompt to crack it wide open so the heat of summer quickly fills the car. “Looks like someone’s picked up a dictionary lately.”

Steve feels it, the way his nostrils flare, the turn of his lips as they settle into a deep frown. He’s an idiot; he knows this, but the matter isn’t meant to be brought in between an argument. As best as he can, Steve ignores the comment and the curl of hurt in his chest, lips thinning as he shakes off the bullshit with a simple, “Go fuck yourself,” as he opens the car door. Long-limbed and lanky, Steve doesn’t exert himself as he peels himself out of the car, turning quickly to duck down and smile sarcastically at Billy who looks more than a little annoyed. “You can starve.”

The slam the door makes is satisfying, only an added bonus to his pent-up frustrations. Steve knows they won’t stay mad at each other for long, and he also knows that really, he’s in the wrong for what he’d done – mainly for what he didn’t do, but he thought it the best decision at the time, made it last minute and stressed himself out to the point of no return.

Lying to his partner had never been his modus operandi, but some decisions needed figuring out before they were exposed to the light, and unfortunately for Steve’s, his timing had run out long before he’d been ready. As much as he’s at fault, however, he also knows that Billy is, too. For not letting him explain, for shutting off his emotions until the only thing he could say were one word replies that left Steve drained, completely ready for sleep to take him. He’s glad, if anything, that they’re speaking to one another, although it’s with passive aggressive intensity. But somewhere deep inside, Steve also feels Billy’s lack of presence, that solid weight he’s grown accustomed to now hollow from the distance between them.

Steve is utterly fucked.

The gravel under his feet gives off a satisfying crunch every time he steps across the rocks. Steve approaches the diner, already smelling grease and salt and hopes that maybe a salad might be an option on the menu, if only because his organs are begging. Behind him, Steve hears Billy fumbling behind him, curses spilling from his lips as he grabs his keys and slams the door shut. He catches up to Steve easily without losing breath, and the sunglasses are gone, eyes narrowed in the light of the setting sun. “I didn’t mean that,” he says lowly, but Steve pays him no mind as he opens the diner’s door and walks inside.

As expected, Billy follows him to a booth like they’ve done since the start of their journey. If it weren’t for the deep shades of red all along the walls and booths, Steve might’ve guessed they’d been here before, same diner, same small town in the middle of nowhere. But this isn’t full of pastel colors, and the building is practically empty save for a booth in the very back filled with older women; the shuffling of bodies behind the counter feel like busy little ants, hoping for the day to be over.

“Yes, you did,” Steve says a few minutes later, refuses to let Billy off the hook for his insult, and fortunately, he has the decency to look embarrassed for the comment. Not that Steve even minds much anymore, accepted the fact that maybe there were some things that weren’t his forte and that yes, Billy was definitely much better at stuff than him, but it didn’t stop the pang of regret for not being what he should’ve been from the beginning.

Just like Billy has his own regrets for not being what he should’ve been either.

Steve really hates that they’re two peas in a pod, doesn’t understand why they lucked out with underhanded disciplinary figures rather than parents who should’ve-

“I didn’t,” Billy insists, cuts Steve away from the trill of thoughts he doesn’t need right now, hates that Billy’s words even affected him like they did. He sits directly across from Steve, but he doesn’t miss that look in Billy’s eye, the one that showcases his true intentions if he were only allowed that in public.

Steve bristles and tells himself that as soon as he eats and they leave, Billy will be his again.

Still, Steve’s slightly apathetic, but it’s at a lot of things and not just towards Billy. He thought- well, he didn’t exactly know what he thought, but he hadn’t expected their road trip to last this long, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected to get into any arguments with Billy either. In fact, he hadn’t planned on them playing forerunner to the second half of summer, but to be fair, Steve hadn’t planned on doing anything with his time to begin with, not with the looming notion that he’d have to make a choice about his future and soon because his father wasn’t the kind to give him an extension between choosing a college that would take him or finding a position within his father’s company. A simple nine-to-five job wasn’t so bad, Steve knew; it was respectable, and the benefits were good as got, but neither option appealed to the likes of Steve who didn’t know enough about the world or himself to make that kind of permanent decision.

At least, not as appealing nor as permanent as Billy’s offer had been when he’d asked Steve if he’d join him.

“You say what you mean,” he says, and it’s a quality that Steve, in any other circumstance, respects because Billy’s brash, and sometimes he doesn’t think before speaking, but at least he has the room to speak from his heart while learning to tame the bite of anger that’d held him hostage for so long. “And I appreciate that,” and he flicks his gaze to the other side of the building, over Billy’s shoulder where he spots a waitress on shift smacking gum, pulling out two menus that will surely end up at their table, “but you know why I did it, and more importantly, why I was waiting to tell you.”

Billy doesn’t look hurt, not anymore, but he does look a cross between wanting to be pissed and calm understanding. “So, you were going to tell me, then?” he asks resolutely, the vulnerability creeping into the tone of his voice.

It makes Steve’s gaze flicker back to Billy’s, the boy slouched in his seat very much like he was in the car, with one arm across the back of the booth, brow pinched like he’s gauging whether Steve’s fucking with him or not. The confusion itself is adorable, but Steve keeps that to himself, resolves that if he hadn’t known who Billy was, this would certainly be a sight to behold and how it’s about to become one as soon as he hears the clacking of shoes approaching.

Steve knows the setting is a disaster in the making, bites his tongue at the notion of jealously playing into the fine strings they’ve already pulled. Billy’s never been one to hide his shame, least of all when he gets what he wants with a thinly-veiled smirk, leaving Steve’s jaw clenched and mildly resentful in which Billy’s motions roll over from vulnerable to smooth.

Steve’s never held an ounce of it in his life, Kings Steve moniker be damned.

“Anything to drink?” the waitress asks as she finally appears. She looks bored, absolutely dull until she eyes Billy, and Steve rolls his eyes the moment the tension dissipates into something too charged for his liking.

“I’ll ha-”

Steve kicks Billy’s ankle, effectively shutting him up as he politely addresses the woman. “We’ll have water. Thanks.”

She looks between them, probably feels the awkward subtlety that makes itself known as neither Steve nor Billy add another word to the request. Luckily, and as Steve keeps smiling, she leaves the menus and trails off behind the counter to grab their drinks.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck crawled up your-”

“We’ve lived on caffeinated beverages for nearly a week now,” Steve insists, voice harsh against the backdrop of relative quiet. He’s not angry, per se, just annoyed about a lot of things, and one of them is the lack of sleep that pulls shades of purple and blue and heavy under his eyes. He’s sure if he found a mirrored surface, he’d notice the discoloration tethering him to the discontent that suddenly hits him twice fold. He doesn’t want to be here, and he doesn’t feel like arguing anymore. What he wants is food and a place of rest that isn’t a lowered seat in the car. “Do me a favor; humor me.”

Billy breathes deeply, agitation painted clearly across his brow, so different from the smile he’d given the woman who took only half their order. The cocky demeanor loses itself the longer they sit in silence, the longer the subject of their animosity remains unresolved. Billy turns his attention to the menu like he hasn’t seen the exact same offerings everywhere else, and suddenly, Steve feels bad, the curve of Billy’s shoulders falling as he keeps to himself. It’s so unlike him that Steve reaches out, hesitantly scanning their surroundings before brushing his pinky across the back of Billy’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

It’s weighted, that word. Not just for his behavior but for the incident at large. It makes Billy sigh, finger twitching underneath Steve’s touch. He doesn’t pull away nor swat at Steve like he’d once done back in Hawkins when Steve attempted affection under the harsh lights and scrutinizing townsfolk that would’ve surely called their bluff.

“For treating me like a child?” Billy proposes, but just like Steve, his tone is cracked with unrest.

With his free hand, Steve runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to pull the longer pieces away from his face. It hardly works, and he needs a trim, but that won’t happen ‘til they get where they’re going. So, the best thing he can do is let his hair do what it wants while he attempts to fix what he’s broken. The thought of them snipping at one another for another few days leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “For that and the other thing.”

Billy finally looks up at Steve through his lashes, fanned out and dark across the skin below his eyebrows. It startles Steve sometimes just how breathtakingly beautiful Billy is when he’s free of annoyance, of any lingering emotions that hardens his gaze, his body, and more importantly, his heart. Steve may not always recognize the plethora of emotions that crosses Billy’s eyes while they stare at one another, but he does identify that susceptibility in them and thinks how lucky, how lucky he is that Billy trusts him that deeply.

It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s fucked up because Steve does, but it hits him again like freight train, and if he wants this fixed between them, it has to happen now. Not later, not tomorrow. Now. So, Steve pulls himself together, and he says, “I wasn’t trying to lie to you.” They may be on the cusp of adulthood, but neither of them are children, and if they’re going to make this work, then Steve has to get used to open and honesty as he’d begged Billy to be with him once before. “I knew you wouldn’t react,” he pauses, unsure of admitting what he really thinks; it’s not unlike Steve to have his own faults – he really is missing a screw or two – but under the concern of money, Billy’s never accepted the kindness when offered, “favorably.”

After the waver of confusion, Steve expects Billy to say something rigorous, always a smart mouth when he’s keyed up over whatever’s pissed him off. Instead, Steve glances down at their hands as Billy flips the script, releasing the menu and shifting so that Steve feels the brush of fingers against one of his knuckles. “You’re sure that’s it?”

A constricting chest is not what Steve had in mind in lieu of his many other emotions, but it seizes him anyway, that choked off feeling he gets when he wants to cry. Sometimes simple reassurances aren’t enough, but Steve hopes that maybe one day they’ll get there. “I didn’t take the money because I can’t live without it, Billy,” he says because that’s the truth. Sure, part of him knows he’ll feel stifled stress in a few months’ time when the money he’d procured from his father’s office, the green that’d ultimately landed in his duffle, runs dry. By then, it’ll be meager earnings from whatever source of income they procure as survival, but the notion hadn’t stopped Steve from saying yes to Billy. It still doesn’t make him backpedal, eager to return to Hawkins as soon as the Camaro rolls towards the nearest bus stop.

Steve’s lived with money all his life, never had to want for naught, and the differences between him and Billy are as wide as the Grand Canyon, but Steve also knew just how easily he could, and did, give it up for something he knew was so much better. Billy hadn’t made him any promises, and Steve didn’t expect them. The road ahead had always been bumpy, but Steve knew he had the ability to make it a little less so. “I took it because I knew you didn’t have a plan. Not a full one anyway.”

Which is the truth of the matter. The thick bruises around Billy’s collar bones are proof enough of that; same as the deep cut across his shoulder, the desperation in his eyes when he’d knocked on Steve’s door at eleven in the morning with nothing more than his car and a packed bag. “My parents won’t miss it,” he continues, and that may or may not be the truth either. Steve’s sure they’ll notice, hopes they’ll find the note he left because at least he had the decency not to let them believe he’d disappeared without a trace.

But aside from that, they’ll think him ungrateful, at the very least, where he’ll call back home and talk to his mother, set the record straight that he’s doing what he should’ve done ages ago. His father will be angry; he’s sure of it, but his mother will forgive him and ask him to visit when he can. “I’d rather be prepared so we’re not sleeping in another shitty motel, or god forbid, your cramped car,” he says, and he swears he sees a grimace on Billy’s face, though brisk as it may be. “We’ll have enough for a place, a roof over our head until we can figure out what to do.”

The clacking of heels follows Steve’s admission, giving him enough time to retract his hand, sitting back in his seat while Billy bites his lower lip in contemplation. Two glasses of water, filled to the brim with ice, are placed before them, and when the waitress asks if they’re ready to order, Steve gives her a gentle smile this time, lacking force and hostility he hadn’t really meant before. She seems to take it in kind, smiling back as she stuffs her hands into the pockets of her apron.

“Eggs and bacon,” Steve says, going on to add, “for the both of us. Thank you.”

And when she leaves, Steve trails his finger through the condensation melting off his glass, giving Billy time to rove through Steve’s words like he might find fault with them. Before, when he’d found the money, he’d hardly given Steve the chance to explain, nostrils flared and color filling his cheeks when he’d asked what the fuck is this, Steve?

“I wasn’t thinking when I told you I was leaving,” Billy eventually says, catching Steve’s attention. He’s not looking at him, though, as he confesses his errors, staring out of the window at the lull of the highway just off in the distance. There’s only a few cars that pass given they’re in the middle of practically nowhere, but some roll on by, eighteen wheelers on their heels. “But it was better than the alternative.”

The alternative sends a shiver up Steve’s spine, knows for a fact that Billy has difficulty expressing the intricacies of his home life, or what it once was. Previously, an utterance made bold through liquid courage had been enough for the both of them, for Steve to understand the implications and that bruises in the shape of fingers aren’t just earned; they’re given out freely under every pretense imaginable. False ones included.

“I don’t fault you for that,” Steve says solemnly, hopes that Billy doesn’t regret the decision he’d made by asking Steve to come with him because he doesn’t regret following. Despite their cramped conditions, the long drives, and whatever station they sparsely transmit through the radio, leaving Hawkins without looking back has provided Steve with a new sense of self, an undercurrent of freedom and excitement that his hometown had never given him before.

It’s like he can properly breathe for the first time, and Steve knows that Billy feels the same way, too.

“That’s what I do, Steve, what I’ve always done.” Billy shrugs, the click of his tongue on the heel of sarcasm, a retrospective look of near defeat as he forgoes their usual address for something more meaningful. Like Billy’s purposefully tapping into the ether of his heart, wants Steve to understand the desperation that sent him on a voyage back to the only place he could ever call home. “I figure shit out.”

It makes sense, the life of one Billy Hargrove akin to a tornado that stirs up as much trouble as it finds him. Steve can’t imagine the lack of stability, of having to navigate the floorboards and delicacies of words. But Steve also understands Billy’s point, that having resorted to a weighted lightness has only left him in a peculiar spot, the drive amid instinct and survival. No plans had been made with a knock against wood, and somewhere, hope always existed because Billy’s always been savvy on his own.

On his own. By himself.

Steve sucks in a breath, sharp and meant to draw Billy back to him, and it works. Billy’s blue, blue eyes, illuminated by the sun through the window, rest upon Steve in a heartbeat. Briefly, he wonders what Billy sees, how Steve looks in day old clothes, hair free of any product aside from water and the small bottles of shampoo and conditioner they’re gifted every night. It hardly matters, though, Steve leaving behind someone he used to be, someone he used to know, and surely, the same can be said for Billy.

“Not anymore,” he says, resilient in nature as he pushes the point that loneliness will haunt no further. The apologies, and whatever else he’d planned on saying, drift into the air like floating feathers, catching Billy by surprise and belatedly, with understanding.

It takes a moment, but only that, for Billy’s resolve – the one he’d always had buried beneath as a contingency - to smother itself into fragmented pieces. Steve watches as it cracks and bleeds, the fine lines between Billy’s brow, and the ones near the corner of his mouth, smooth away.

For the first time, Steve thinks this is truly a new beginning.

It takes the serving of their food for the spell to break, but even then, Steve feels whatever unspoken conclusion they’ve come to just underneath his skin, buzzing with delight and warmth.

And it’s not until they’ve cleaned their plates, Steve pulling out a few bills to pay for their meal, that Billy eyes him, the check, and the moment the waitress carries it all away.

“Not anymore,” he says quietly, and this time, Steve knows Billy believes it.

#harringrove #x

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thegreatnyehehe · 7 years

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A Winter Veil Carol: Part 5

And with the unfestive fiend’s descent into hell, we can assume that this fiend has finally received his long-awaited comeuppance! One of those open-ended endings, I suppose? Surely, it is a true cautionary tale for those whom are wicked and miserly! Sad, of course, but a wonderful lesson! Well, that’s the end, of it, then. Hope you enjoyed it, children!

...

Oh? Oh!

Hoho! Looks like the last few pages were stuck together! Perhaps this The Great Nyehehe fellow may be redeemed after all! Let’s take one last peek into Chrrgglls Drrrkggnss’s “A Winter Veil Carol!” Hope you enjoy it, children!

The flames of the deepest pits of the fire region of the elemental plane consumed The Great Nyehehe, burning every fleck of flesh upon him to ash, reducing his bones to brittle. A horrible, raging fire took him, and the old fool had perished from the universe forever. The inferno was the final end for the legendary fable of the madman, The Great Nyehehe.

And then he woke up.

“Bah!!”

The Great Nyehehe jumped up with a start, terrified but immensely relieved that he was, in fact, not dead, but back in his own ‘Evil Lair’, relatively safe and sound. “Oh, by the Light!!” he cheered to himself, uncharacteristically religiously.

“The spirits!! They were true, and they were real!! Oh, Maldy!! Oh, spirits!! Nyehehe!!” yelled The Great Nyehehe ecstatically. He was alive after all!

But then, a thought came to him, and he popped out from behind his dirty nook in the Cathedral Square of which he resided in, peering around. His eyes found a hulking, shambling abomination standing beside a lone Death Knight, whom was very distracted checking his mail eagerly for a Winter Veil party invitation. Nyeh called out to it, “You there!! Boy!!”

“Wot, me?” moaned the undead golem of flesh and formerly living souls as he stomped closer, having failed to realize he had just been mistaken for an average human child.

“Nyes!! You!! What day is it, good child?” Nyeh yelled out to it.

“Why, eet’s Weenter Veil!” blubbered out the abomination, having no real sense of time or appropriate knowledge of something as complex as a calendar, but it recognized all the pretty lights and Winter Veil trees well enough.

"How incredibly dastardly!! Er... How nice!! The Great Nyehehe hasn’t missed Winter Veil!! The spirits did it all in one night!! Nyes, they can do anything they please!! Nyehehe!!” cackled Nyeh as he pranced around gleefully.

“Mmmhmmm...” mumbled the abomination dumbly, its sight steering elsewhere out of slight boredom and a very low attention span.

“Oh!! Nyes!! Do you know the Cratchcrank household of 12710 Swindle Street on the isle of Kezan?”

The abomination took its attention back to Nyeh, “Nope.”

“Perfect!! Go there, and fetch some medicine for Tiny Tib!!” Nyeh exclaimed, far too consumed by joy, rather than by fire as he had believed not two minutes ago, to realize what the abomination had answered with.

“What medicine?” wondered the brely sentient wall of flesh.

“All of it!! Obviously!! Now, off with you to Tiny Tib to deliver the medicine!!” demanded Nyeh before bursting into another joyous jig, “And take The Great Nyehehe’s spare sack from last year’s evil scheme of stealing Winter Veil!! The Great Nyehehe shan’t be committing any further wicked acts such as that anymore, so it shan’t be of any use to him!!”

‘D’okay!” the abomination burped as it ran off to blindly follow the old madman’s order, stumbling and bumbling on the way with Nyeh’s empty red sack in one of his stubby hands.

Having finished checking his mail, as well as sorrowfully accepting the fact that he’d likely never get that invite to the big upcoming Winter Veil party due to his current condition as a corpse, the abomination’s Death Knight master had been looking around for his near-mindless servant. When the abomination had totally ignored his order, “Stop!”, the Death Knight had began to run off behind him, in a futile attempt to catch it. Despite its immense size, the abomination sure was swift!

“Light guide you, small child!! And merry WInter Veil!!” called out Nyeh after them. “Now, to make things right with all those The Great Nyehehe had wronged!!” he vowed to himself as he donned his old Father Winter’s hat he had stitched together the previous year.

And then, The Great Nyehehe began his not-crooked crusade for redemption. He put his very soul into each festive song he sang with the Winter Veil carolers he had intimidated away just yesterday, though admittedly he was comparatively very dissonant with the rest of the group, his singing voice was admittedly quite wretched.

Furthermore, he gave plenty of gold to charity,...

He gifted toys and presents to orphans...

He gave a present even to the officers of the Stormwind City Guard, of whom they had both shared a rather heated past. Truly, he had changed for the better.

And to further support his redemption, The Great Nyehehe had turned to religion, becoming a devout and faithful believer in the Light! No longer did he claim to be superior to the Light, nor any deity, or truly to be better than anyone else. He was fully forgiven of his sins by Brother Arthur, whom had taken over Bishop Farthing’s duties after the good bishop had mysteriously disappeared during his inconspicuous trip to the Tirisfal Glades.

The Great Nyehehe had vowed to redeem himself, and he was better than his word. He had seen the error of his ways. He became a generous, humble, kindly, and loving man for the rest of his days. He became as good a friend. as good a priest, and as good a man as the good old city of Stormwind ever had!

And it was always said of him that The Great Nyehehe knew how to keep Winter Veil spirit well and alive throughout the whole year!

...

Or... that WOULD have been what they had said, had the following event not occurred, which it unfortunately and undoubtedly did.

“Nai-hee-hee!” cheered the Draenei sincerely, “It is so good to see that you have turned over a new leaf! I am so proud of you, Nai-hee-hee!” The Draenei then made a tragic mistake, and gave Nyeh a congratulatory slap on the back.

Though the Draenei had considered it to have been a rather light and playful gesture, The Great Nyehehe reacted comparatively dramatically and fell right over. Whether it was due to the Draenei indeliberately using a surplus amount of strength he was unaware he had, The Great Nyehehe’s ironic and immense frailty despite his earlier view of himself as an unstoppable deity, or a mixture of both, the slap left The Great Nyehehe tumbling down the stairs and his head colliding harshly with the hard, white pavement of the Cathedral.

When he had came to, it had seemed that the ensuing concussion had left The Great Nyehehe feeling nauseous, discombobulated, and, once again, seeing things.Most importantly, it had left him with a vastly different view of the world: the exact same one he had not just yesterday, on The Great Nyehehe had seen the error of his ways! Again!

Raving and rambling, Nyeh had thought aloud to himself “The proper way of celebrating Winter Veil isn’t being kind or generous or festive, obviously!! It is to be even more villainous and wicked to combat the season’s tidings of goodwill with evil schemes, dastardly deeds, and acts of hate!! Oh, how wrong The Great Nyehehe was to ever think that being a goody two-shoes would ever aid him in the slightest!! Drat those spirits!! Drat them all!!”

And The Great Nyehehe went against his earlier word, and went to make wrong again all the wrongs he had literally just righted.

He stole from charity...

He had took back the toys and presentshe had given to orphans...

He had even forcibly taken back the present he had propounded to the officers of the Stormwind City Guard, of whom they shared a now even more heated and less friendly relationship than before...

And to further renounce his redemption, he cursed the Light, dratted the church, and imprecated all forms of goodness, heroism, and love on Azeroth and within the universe. “Curse you, you lousy Light and your clueless clergy and cretinous crusaders!! Bah!!” Nyeh swore at the Church building itself with a hateful shake of his fist.

There was one, almost heroic deed that The Great Nyehehe could not make wrong again, however, was when he had ordered a Death Knight’s abomination servant to deliver medicine to Tiny Tib of the Cratchcrank household at 12710 Swindle Street on the isle of Kezan, The abomination had no idea what medicine it was the sickly goblin child had needed, so the hellish simpleton had ransacked the homes, laboratories, and bathrooms of various alchemists, apothecaries, priests, and engineers, leaving dozens of years of work between them all down the drain. Luckily, he had unwittingly found an antidote after storming through the hut of a Gurubashi Witchdoctor who never quite got over the death of Soulflayer Hakkar. Still, his presence was not immediately met with welcome by the Cratchcrank family.

“Stay behind me, kids!” directed Ms. Cratchcrank, all three of them, as well as her husband Bozo, immediately following suit fretfully.

“Mama, I’m scared!” peeped one of Bozo’s daughters, the other screeching in agreement.

“G-Get ‘em, dear!’ whimpered Bozo.

“Stop” uselessly demanded the Death Knight to his abomination, having been running just behind after his near-mindless servant in atttempt to catch it, the wall of flesh being just out of reach each time. As mentioned earlier, despite its immense size, the abomination sure was swift!

“Shush, honey! Now, you monstrous brute, what are you doing knocking down OUR door on Winter Veil of all-” scolded Ms. Cratchcrank as though she was nagging a boy that had been playing too carelessly around her garden rather than a half-sentient wall of flesh and souls, before she was interrupted.

“Medicine for Tiny Tib.” the abomination burped, indifferent to the family’s fear.

Popping out from behind his mother and willing to try and anything, Tiny Tib, WHO DID NOT DIE, piped up “Oh? Why didn’t you just say so, then?” Tiny Tib chugged down the antidote after the abomination had handed it to him. He then did a wonderful little diddy of a dance with his now working legs cheerily to celebrate, his parents and sisters awestruck.

Tiny Tib was now perfectly healthy, and the very next week Bozo was promoted from a mid-level accountant to mid-high level accountant, which despite being only a single level above mid-level accountant paid far more handsomely. The Cratchcranks lived happily forever after, never even knowing the name of The Great Nyehehe.

“Drat, drat, and double drat!!” the old fool roared into the air, his stolen goods hoarded in his Evil Lair, “The Great Nyehehe drats all those spirits a nyehehillion times over!! How dare they try to trick The Great Nyehehe into becoming a goodie two-shoes!! And now he can’t even intercept that blasted child from delivering that moronic medicine!! Curses!!”

Far above Nyeh’s head, upon the yellow-tinted roofs of the Cathedral District, the spirits looked down upon their wayward student whom had refused their teaching so strongly with great disappointment.

“Well, the testing session for Operation didn’t seem to work. If we can’t even persuade our one, some foolish old madman to become good, how could we ever trick the faction leaders into trying to call for peace with the Legion?” sighed the first spirit.

“Guess we’ll have teh call off the real thing. Why even botheh tryin’ et on Sylvanas er Anduin at this point.” muttered the second spirit bitterly.

“In that case, can we take off these stupid disguises? These weights are killin’ my shoulders!” complained Maldy, rattling his chains.

The third spirit nodded in agreement.

“Ach, fine. Don’t matter much now anyhow.”

*POOF!*

“Ah, we feel so much better now that we don’t have to look like some prude elf!” admitted the succubus as her illusion faded.

“Well, now tha’ tha’s all done, yeh guys wanna go terrorize some Orphans?” suggested the hulking felguard to his fel fellows, failing to realize he was still speaking in the Dwarvish accent of his illusion.

“Ah, wait, guys, one more thing...” interjected the Imp, whom had not a moment ago been the nonliving phantom of the former Tradeprince Maldy.

“Merry Winter Veil, everyone!!”

“...”

“What was that fer?” thought the second spirit aloud.

“I... I have no idea... I just had the urge to say that... as though that was the only way this all could end...” shuddered the Imp.

~The End.~

I’m utterly amazed, children. What a book! That was, undoubtedly...

The worst book I have ever read! Ugh... remind me to re-gift this for next Winter Veil, children. I probably should have just read ‘T’was the Night before Winter Veil’, anyway... Anyone care for some hot cocoa?

#winter veil carol #winter veil #5/5 #holiday

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rnrmarineservices-blog · 6 years

Text

BLOG – Sealine C330 to the Med: On to the Seine

Heidi and Kev are wowed by the amazing scenery as they continue their journey along the Seine on their Sealine C330

Words Heidi Hasler

Day 6

We carry on up the Seine, with beautiful calm waters, tide against us as we are going up stream. The properties along the river banks are stunning so there is plenty to look at while traveling along.

We have only seen a few large commercial ships so far which is breaking us in nicely. What you do need to be careful of, and to watch out for, is debris in the water. There are logs and large objects on a regular basis.

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Today saw our first lock! We were happily waiting for a barge to come out and he was gesturing madly for us to move over as we had a barge coming up behind us.

One of many stunning properties on the banks of the Seine

They have priority but we knew this and gave way. We thought that we would have to wait for the next opening, when the very nice lock master raised us over the VHF to get us in. As we approached, the space looked very small but we did manage to squeeze in with space at both ends.

I had forgotten how slimy the locks are! I had put my gloves on as I knew I would have to let ropes slide or pull hard on them and I was glad I had them as they took most of the vulgar, smelly slime!

The next nervous moment was the commercial ship starting up with us aft of it. The power from his engines and turbulence from the propellers is a little unnerving and I was glad to have put lots of fenders out as they were needed. Once he was out, we got our little green light and we were off! Just a few more miles to our night stop…

Chilaxin squeezes into a lock with some commercial shipping

More beautiful houses and views, two large piers (that used to hold a railway bridge) and we were turning right into a quiet, disused quarry that is now Port Venables. On Wednesdays, the office is closed so don't bother trying to call for a berth, just head in and Pascale will assist you with checking in.

We paid €18 for the night including water, electricity and showers. The whole place is very quiet and a bit of a nature reserve – no noise whatsoever!

There are a couple of villages near by but no local stores or bars. We will have to wait until tomorrow, at Port Ilon, for any extras that we need as well as topping up with fuel (just to make sure!)

Tonight Kev has cooked dinner – pork steaks, new potatoes, egg fried rice and salad. All good after a long day! At least on the waterways it is easy to make cups of tea and lunch enroute, something that has been difficult at sea over the past few days. I think I will sleep well tonight! It's so peaceful just watching the wildlife in these beautiful surroundings.

Day 7

Yet another beautiful day!

The scenery is stunning and life seems so good… until we get a vibration in what seems to be the port engine. Not what we need so early into our trip.

We stop and drift in the river and lift the port prop to see if anything is wrapped around… nothing! We re-start the engine. The river is empty and flat so we decide to give her a quick blast for a few minutes see if that makes a difference.

It feels extremely naughty but seems to do the trick. We also notice that the part of the river that we are in has a strong under current. This is something we will monitor for the coming few hours.

We face two locks today and the first one isn't too bad. We are on our own, which is a bit daunting as the wash of the water coming in is at such a rate with no other boats to soften the blow.

Heidi gets to grips with the locks

I hang on tight and try to hold the boat as Kev uses the bowthruster to keep her nose in and stop the back end from hitting the lock. Needless to say our lines are now green and stinking!

As soon as we leave the lock the vibration we had been experiencing stops. This confirms to us that it is the current and Chilaxin has a smooth ride for the rest of the day.

Lock number two (mericourt), just before our evening stop, is evil! The sides are concertinaed and mean that, although I have seven fenders on the side, some are missing the lock wall and going in the gap.

As if it's not hard enough holding the boat, the cleats on Chilaxin, though they look extremely smart, aren't quite wide enough so I have to use my foot to keep the line in place while continually moving fenders as best I can. To say I was glad to get out of that one is an understatement!

Chilaxin in Port Ilon

Literally straight from the lock we turned left towards the weir and Port Ilon is on the right.

We are treated to a a very beautiful setting again. Masses of wildlife and fantastic services with really friendly port managers. Ann and Bruno were very welcoming. We asked about the shop and was told that it is 3km away but they have bikes that we can use should we wish.

I've not been on a bike for a couple of years and neither has Kev. These were two beaten up mountain bikes. Mine had a slightly flat front tyre and Kev's a buckled back wheel, but they were good enough to go up the road.

Port Ilon is in part of a national park and everywhere you turn it is beautiful. I stopped to take a photo of poppies in a field just before the village.

Supplies from the local shop are pricey

Guernes is a lovely and very attractive village with a small school, church and cemetery. The shop has a good stock of supplies but, as the nearest shop is over 10 miles away, it has very high prices. Mind you everything in France seems to be a expensive – including fuel at around £1.60 a litre.

We head back with our bag of goodies and €34 less in our pockets for bread, milk, some meat and cheese. We settle down with a beer and a family of Canadian geese come over to have a nose followed by a beautiful swan who was a little too friendly!

Next, we see another Sealine coming across the water We passed them earlier in the day, when they were moored at Vernon (another stunning town). They aim at the pontoon that we are on, which is also the fuel quay.

We help them moor up alongside ours and we meet Pete and Carol – another pair of Brits! They are from MDL Chatham, so we have lots to talk about. Discussing the places that they have stayed at in the past three weeks we discover that they are going at a slower pace than us and only as far as Paris.

The local wildlife takes an interest in the new arrivals

Peter and Carol have lots of sailing experience and have only had their Sealine, which they love, for three years. I have a nose around their boat and they have a good look around a moor modern (Hanse) version. We all agree that we have wonderful boats and are very lucky to be enjoying such wonderful scenery and experiences.

A bottle of gin later and it's time to have supper (Kev cooks up a mean beef pasta) and then get ready for an early night. Tomorrow, Peter and Carol have said that they will come with us to the next stop at Cergy, which is a sister port to Port Ilon.

Only one lock tomorrow, which us ladies are pleased about. We also get our first visitor on the trip – Katy, my step daughter. She will be flying in from Exeter to Paris and then train and taxi to Cergy. We will then all travel into Paris for the weekend and celebrate her birthday together.

Day 8

We wake up to wildlife is awakening and an eerie mist drifting over the water, though it promises be another hot day. After fueling again (150 litres), we head off alone as the other Sealine is making the most of the washing machine before heading out!

We get back on to the Seine and I start to make breakfast. French bread always dries out quickly so French toast it is! Absolutely the perfect way to start the day.

After a quick tidy up I'm told that there are Pirates! On the plotter we have the Black Pearl coming straight towards us – I did look out for Jack but, with the new tinted windows, it was hard to see him – but he did wave! We have an uneventful day and a few locks, which we navigate with ease, and head on towards Cergy.

We head off the Seine and up the Oise River towards the Port of Cergy. We see the pretty tower before the entrance to the harbour. We swing into the entrance (as we have a large barge on our backside) and start to sweat as the marina is very full and looks like it is going to be very tight!

We hear a whistle and the Capitinaire is on the bridge pointing beyond him. We do as we are told, slowly, and with me running around the deck from side-to-side to make sure we do not hit any other boats as it is really close! We get put alongside another boat which has not moved in a long time.

The bustling marina at Port Clergy

We get settled in and look around at an amazing marina, surrounded by restaurants and bars. This will make a nice change from the past few days. Within minutes Kev's daughter Katy arrives.

Once all settled in, a quick beer, and we head out to the other Sealine, which has now arrived and moored up outside as they where just too big to get in. It starts to rain! No problem though, the temperature drop is a bit of a relief to be honest.

While chilling and reflecting on the day the heavens open big time We decide to head out for dinner and get as far as the English bar, which wasn't our first choice but we decide to have drinks first and will then move on.

However, the heavens have now decided they are going to completely dump down on Port Cergy! We are not going anywhere for a moment so we decide to have food here and although not a fantastic menu it will do as it's getting late and we are very tired.

Thirty minutes later the largest burgers arrive but we all struggle to finish the meals! The cost is painful at €40 a head for a burger and two drinks… Ouch!

We head back to the boats in torrential rain, thunder and lightning and to our beds drifting off into a peaceful sleep, knowing that tomorrow we get to Paris!

Next Chilaxin arrives in Paris

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