#moanie speaks

[estebanbicon]

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[sweetimpurity]

“I Think I’ll Keep You”: 2

It’s finally here! Thank you for the love on part 1 and I plan on more parts to follow. It’s gonna be a rocky road.

It’s a long one but I broke it down into three sections to make reading it a little easier. Hope you guys enjoy!

NSFW MINORS DNI

Part 1

WC: 8.7k

**One Month Later**

“Look at me, baby…” His deep voice rasps from above and your eyes flutter open. “Look at me and don’t look away, little one.” He grins and pumps into you. Your trembling legs clasped around his waist, his body engulfing yours, smothering you with his warmth and the intensity of each deep stroke. Your lips part in a soft almost silent moan as his cock glides in and out. In and out with no resistance. With a big hand he pushes one of your knees down to the bed, spreading you out, allowing himself to get even deeper, his cock dragging deliciously through your arousal. You whine at the feeling, slapping your hand against his chest as he’s reached even deeper, taking you, filling you, claiming you over and over. “M-Miguel! Ah.. hah…mm…” Gasps fill your chest as he goes a little faster, fueled by the red mark you just left on his chest. “Take it baby… it’s yours, remember?” A soft and breathy, dark laugh vibrates in him watching you take all he’s giving. Your eyes roll back as he hits the spot and his big hand comes around your throat, not putting any pressure just forcing you to bring your attention back to him. Your eyes lock back onto his and he growls as his hips snap deeply nestled between your thighs. “Ah!…” You gasp and slap his chest again, your fingers digging into his muscles and it’s involuntary at this point. He smirks as you keep slapping him, knowing you just can’t help it, he grabs both your wrists, holding them in one hand over your chest, his other hand going to the pillow behind your head. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours and he moans in your face. Like he’s moaning only for you to hear it. A sound that could make you cum on the spot. “Mm… ah… hah…” You listen to him all hot and moany, putting on a show, the sounds of skin on skin filling the room, the noise of his cock slamming and squishing into your sex fills your ears. Lifting his head so he can look in your eyes, he speaks. “You hear that?” He says with a laugh in his voice. “You know what that is, baby?” His voice is so sweet as always, soft and gentle. The completely opposite of how he’s fucking into you right now. He grabs your face in his free hand, forcing you to listen well. “That’s me inside you…” He whispers and you sob, pulsing around him, right on the edge of bliss. His smiling lips find yours, kissing you breathy and sloppy, his dirty words ringing in your ears.

It’s been a month since your first night with him. The month has been a blur of Miguel and sex. Ever since that first night it’s like no one can do it for him like you do.

Your orgasm is rolling in like soft thunder, blooming in your thighs and in the pit of your stomach. Your muscles tighten and your body resists him, squeezing your thighs around his waist, pushing yourself up the bed a bit but he keeps you down. Pulling down on your wrists to keep you in place as he fucks an orgasm into you. “Mm-ahhhh….” You moan and whine and he smiles watching you come undone beneath him. “Yes baby… yes… oh you’re doing so good, baby…tu siente tan bien…so so good” His voice is sweet but his smile is wicked and his cock is cruel. Pumping into you as he buries his face in the warmth of your neck. His breath coming out in short pants across your chest. “So pretty… so perfect baby…” His deep voice hums soft in your ear. His free hand squeezing hard into the pillow beside your head, his knuckles white and his muscles flexed. His open mouth breathes against your neck, mumbling praises and demands in a jumbled mix of English and Spanish and leaning down to kiss your skin, sucking on the spots that make you jolt away. You gasp and your back starts to arch off the bed. His strong, thick body stops you from moving, pushing you back down, he presses his body down onto you, his bare, warm chest pressed up against yours, keeping you flush to the mattress. And as you’re held down, your moans get more urgent as the pressure is harder to release. Soft cries escape you and he keeps going. “Please please! Ah!” You whine and he intertwines his fingers with each of your hands, pushing them straight out on both sides of your body so you can’t move, you can’t even think. You’re just splayed out for him to use, for him to fuck, for him to fill. His weight pushes you into the mattress, his body completely flush to yours. “Please what?” His voice is still so soft and warm even as he fucks you breathless. “I-I’m…” You stutter and words are impossible. “You wanna cum, baby?” He teases and grinds his hips into you, pushing his dick as deep as he can and his pelvic bones push against yours. He releases one hand, his long fingers curl around the back of your neck. “Tell me you want to…” He pants and picks his head up to look at your teary face, your cheeks flushed and teeth bared. “Say it and I’ll let you do it… say you wanna cum on my cock” He kisses your cheek, ghosting his lips over your face and your lips. Your lips part in more agonizing, silent moans, eyes closed tight, focusing on your incoming release, his thick dick squishing into you filling your guts with every heavy thrust, the sounds of sex and his breathing fill your ears. “Say it!” He rasps and pounds into you, keeping his face so close to yours, his angular nose pressing into your cheek, his covetous cock abusing your wanting walls and he’s shivering every time you suck him back in. “Mm-ahhh! I-I wanna cum! Please c- I-I need your c-ock! Miguel!” You cry and tears roll down your flushed cheeks. He smiles at your obedience and opens his mouth against the side of your face, biting down on the plumpness of your cheek, not enough to leave a mark on your pretty face but enough for you to feel it. To feel that he has complete control. That he can break you just as easily as he can make you cum. His lips and teeth trail down the side of your face and bites down on your warm neck. It makes you moan and the sounds escaping you get higher in pitch, signaling to him that you really are just about there. His toned abdomen rubs against your fleshy tummy, making you even hotter, warming the place his seed will soon flood full. “Then do it… cum on my dick, baby. Cum for me.” He mumbles between pants and moans into your neck, moving his hands to your back, holding you flush to him as he pumps into you, keeping this speed going because he knows this is what’s getting you. He lets your hands free and you hold onto his thick arms, digging your fingers into his muscles as your orgasm hits hard. “Ohyesyesyes! Oh f-uck! Miguel!” You cry out in agonizing pleasure.

He pushes himself up, looking down at you and plunges into you as deep as he can and your orgasm comes over you in waves. His arm hooking around your lower back and slamming his cock into you one final time. Almost selfishly he does it so he can feel it happening over his cock. His own climax hits him as you keep squeezing him over and over, milking him of everything he’s got and you feel the warmth of his release shooting deep inside. “That’s it… oh fuck… oh yes” He pants and groans, caressing his hand over your soft, warm tummy and pressing down gently where his dick is still deep inside you. He sits back on his knees and watches his cum leak out of you, holding you by your hips and slowly pulling your pliant body back and forth on his cock, watching the white dribble out. You look up at him through teary eyes, watching his gaze fixed on your sopping hole. Your eyes travel down his handsome face to his neck and his broad chest as it huffs and expands in heavy breath, sweat glistening on his tan skin in the morning sunlight. He’s a picture of pure perfection. His eyes come back to your fucked out face and he leans forward, wraps his hand around your throat and kisses your lips softly. His tongue dancing with your, his teeth biting down gently on your lips. “Say you’re mine.” He hums against your mouth and keeps a hold of your throat, rubbing his thumb in circles over your thumping heartbeat. “I-I’m yours…” You breathe out and catch your breath. And this exchange of words has become quite the routine. “Sweet baby…” He whispers with a grin, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb. You’re both a pile of sweat and sex as he comes down on top of you. You don’t mind being crushed by him. Your fingers tangling in the dark curls at the nape of his neck as his head rests in the crook of your neck, and you feel him softening inside you.

You’ve never discussed what this means for the two of you. Your instincts told you that he’s not someone you want to be your boyfriend. You’ve thought that ever since he first fucked you a month ago. You only knew that you were mesmerized all the times you saw him in class or in the halls or when they put up that banner of him and the soccer team. The mid-game action shot of him that practically had you drooling. You'd had a crush on him that was purely based on his handsome face, his deep voice and not surprisingly for you, his exam scores. Smart is sexy.

He had never really seen you before that night. Maybe it was because he was always so wrapped up in himself. But you can’t imagine not spending all this time with him over the past month. After all the times of him coming over late at night, meeting up with you after class, spending nights at a time in bed with you, it feels like this is turning into something more. You hope it is. You don’t know what he wants. He doesn’t really open up or share much. He’s closed off and cold most of the time to almost everyone. But that doesn’t mean you want this to ever stop. He does make it a point of telling you you’re his. Making you confirm it in a way he’ll believe you.

Miguel has never been this way with anyone. And this month has been a change of pace for him to say the least. He was usually hooking up with different people all the time. It was something he needed, something he could control. But since he had you, he won’t accept anything less. He’s stopped talking to some of his friends. They’re his ‘friends’ but a lot of them are just people he’s been associated with ever since he got to this school. He doesn’t really think most of them are good people. He stopped going to parties that he never really enjoyed anyway. He’s been sort of hiding away in this little bubble the two of you have created. He’s completely ignored texts from Dana, he hasn’t responded to messages from his parents or Peter. The only people he’s wanted to talk to are you and his little brother. But almost 100% of his attention has been on you.

Some days he can’t stop himself and he does go to find you. Waiting outside your class until it’s over, pulling you by the arm to the empty student lounge and locking the door behind you both. Or finding you in the library where you are a lot of the time and dragging you to the nonfiction section where no one ever goes. Fucking you from behind as he makes you peek out over the books on the shelves and watch the people in the library who have no idea you’re getting pounded near the biographies section. Clasping his hand over your moany mouth, shoving his fingers past your lips… “Shhh baby, someone’s gonna hear… you have to be quiet, little one… be quiet and I’ll be nice.”

…

“I have to go…” You say softly as you keep running your fingers through his soft dark hair. He groans against your chest, his arms tightening around you, his dick still nestled inside the warmth of you. He doesn’t want to let you go. You made plans to go home this long weekend for a family thing and he won’t be able to see you for a few days. He doesn’t like this. It feels almost like an end to this escape he’s been enjoying. “Mmm…” He grumbles softly and keeps laying on top of you. “Miguel, I really have to go” Your train back home is in an hour so you need to make sure you have everything ready to go. You run your hands over his broad back. He groans and looks up at you, his pretty brown eyes just melting you. “Fine.” He sighs, sitting up and carefully pulling out of you, rubbing his hands over your thighs apologetically at the mess he’s made between them. He grabs a small towel from the bedside table and gently rubs away the mess on your skin as well as his own. His eyes stay glued to your body as he speaks. “You’ll be back on Monday, right?” He leans down to kiss your stomach softly, snaking his arm around your back so he can leave wet kisses over your tummy and your hips. “I’ll be back Monday… and midterms start on Tuesday so I'll be pretty busy next week with tutoring sessions. I think I have a… or is it Tuesday night… or I don’t know…” You keep talking absentmindedly, going over the busy schedule of the next week in your head. You can make some serious tutoring money during midterms week. “Mhm…” He hums, not really listening now because how could he when he’s kissing you like this. Your hand goes to his hair as he gets distracted, leaving hickies on your tummy. “I have to go…” You whisper for the third time, the numbers on his alarm clock now starting to worry you. “I know, I know…” He hums and crawls up towards you, leaning down to kiss your lips. Kissing you again, then again, again and again and a few more times after that. Your heart flutters at the feeling. You’re not sure how he feels about committing to something like a relationship. But it feels like he really enjoys being with you, especially with how many times he comes over or you beckon to his every call. You do enjoy feeling like you’re his though. You’re not really sure how he feels about anything since he doesn’t really share much stuff like that. But when he kisses you like this it’s like he’s telling you all the things you need to hear. All the things he doesn’t want to say.

“I’ll see you later…” You look back at him and smile softly as you pull your clothes back on. His dark eyes are still drinking you in as he watches you from the bed. “See you later. Be safe…” He says in his deep voice and you nod to him. It makes you feel something, seeing and hearing him like this. Your first time with him, it was like he wasn’t human, just a machine with the mission to fuck you senseless. But he can be soft and quiet and gentle. You’ve found he’s actually quite reserved. “I’ll text you when I get back” You say while buttoning up your coat and opening his room door. Miguel nods and stops himself from requesting you text or call him while you’re gone. He doesn’t want to seem clingy even though that’s what he wants. He wants to know you’re thinking of him. He wants to make you think of him.

“If you… need me… just text me. I’ll be there.” He says slowly, just a tad awkwardly. Trying to make it seem more like he’s just open to your communication rather than requesting it. He doesn’t want to seem desperate. “Well I’ll be like two hundred and… thirty miles away…” You say and laugh a bit. Although you’re melting a bit as he says that. “I drive really fast.” He jokes softly and it makes you laugh. His eyes seem to shine watching you laugh and smile. His face feels hot and he doesn’t know if he likes the feeling, it’s foreign to him. “Good to know… I will text you if I need you” You declare in finality, your hand on the door and a mission to make your train on time. “Good.” He nods and watches you go.

You leave his dorm, check over your packed bags and make sure you have everything to go before leaving. You make your train. You ride many hours back home. You get picked up when you reach the station and brought back to your childhood home. And all the while you can feel that ache. That reminder of his cock as he stretched you out. A reminder of the past month you’ve spent with him. It’s the first time you’ve been away for more than a day. The two of you have been a bit inseparable. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when you get back.

It’s Sunday evening and Miguel’s in his room, trying to do his lab homework but he can’t stop thinking about you. It’s only been three days since you left Friday morning but it feels like he’s in withdrawal. And he’s having some conflicting feelings, wondering how he let things get this far. This has never happened before. “What's wrong with me?” He groans and covers his face with his hands, running frustrated fingers through his dark locks. “What the fuck is my problem?” He frowns and checks his phone to see if you’ve called or texted him at all. Frustrated with himself for feeling so obsessed with you. He doesn’t like the feeling, not knowing what you’re doing or who you’re with. Since when do I care? He thinks to himself. He sighs when you haven’t contacted him but he does see a text from Peter inviting him to a party just off campus. Apparently a lot of the team will be there and maybe it will be a good way to get his mind off of you. He just can’t get you off his mind.

He arrives at the crowded house party with his signature scowl and is welcomed by all of his teammates, some of the guys on the university football team, other athletes and students all mostly drunk and partying away to blow off some steam before midterms next week. Lots of people watch him as he makes his way through the crowded house. His face is perfect from every angle so as long as you can see him, you’re seeing his good side. He doesn’t care for douchebags that want to talk his ear off, girls that drunkenly try to flirt with him, people that want his time. But everyone seems to want a piece of him.

“Come on, it's a party. Do you even remember parties, Miguel?” Peter teases and hands Miguel a beer, both of them standing in the kitchen which is just a tad quieter than the living room, urging him to drink and let loose. Peter and Miguel are close. Closer than Miguel usually allows, aside from you. It’s true, Miguel had been making up excuses to skip out on the usual parties and hanging out with his friends because he wanted to be with you. Miguel just takes the beer, not really responding. He looks out at the party going on around him with an unimpressed glare. “Dude, you seem more pissed than usual.” Peter snickers and grabs the beer, opening it on the counter and shoving it back in Miguel’s hand. “Looking for someone?” Peter follows his empty gaze at the crowd of people dancing and drinking. It’s a mess of booze and college stupidity. “No.” Miguel grumbles and takes a drink of his beer. Sighing through his nose.

“Did you see Dana? She’s been looking for you.” Peter comments and Miguel’s scowl darkens even more. “I’m sure she has…” He gives Peter a look. Dana is the most clingy and persistent girl he’s ever met. And she makes a fool of herself every time she tries to get with Miguel. They fucked once a while ago and now she’s like a mosquito he just can’t seem to smack. She’s naive to think the fact that he slept with her gives her some sort of claim to him. In fact it’s quite the opposite seeing that sex with Dana was nothing interesting to Miguel. She was whiny and obnoxious, and he only kissed her so she’d shut up. And she was too little for him, too frail. He needs someone like you, plush and perfect, just strong enough to take all of him. You take him better than anyone ever has.

“She says you’ve been all incognito the past few weeks. And I kinda agree. What’s been going on?” Peter asks casually and Miguel glares even harder. “Nothing. You can tell Dana to fuck off.” Miguel grumbles. He wishes you were here and he didn’t have to be at this stupid party. He wants to be in his bed with you, pounding into you until you’re crying over his cock, pulling your soft hair until you’re a moaning mess, kissing your sweet lips, your throat and your cheeks, listening to your soft cries and whimpers of how much you need his cock, pumping you so full of his cum that it dribbles out onto the sh-

“Miguel! Oh my god! You’re alive!” Dana approaches with a snarky smile and two of her friends by her side. She’s drunk and Miguel is not impressed. “Where have you been? Did you see my texts? You’ve been like… a ghost or something.” She whines, looking him up and down, her hand on his arm, a smile on her lips and a frown on his face. “Yeah, I saw your texts.” Miguel says simply and Peter snickers next to him. Dana raises her eyebrows agitated and sighs curtly. “So… you’re not gonna explain where you’ve been? You barely come to any events or anything. People honestly thought you dropped out or something.” Her hand moves up his arm . She’s the kind of girl that would come to his soccer games and practice to try to get his attention. But when he’d blow her off, she’d blow someone else on the team to make herself feel good again. She’d hang on his arm at school and athletic events. Just generally be a fucking nuisance in his life. She’d tried to wedge herself into Miguel’s life for going on four years with no luck and then he just sort of disappeared for a month with no explanation. So of course she’d notice.

But Miguel’s not keen on sharing what he’s been doing. That he’s been with you. Someone like you. You’re not like him. You’re not like Dana. You’re not like anyone he’s ever been friends with. That doesn’t make you less than everyone else, it makes you more than them. And that scares him. He doesn’t know why that is. If Dana or Peter or anyone found out about you, the way he thinks he feels about you, it would change the way they see him. He doesn’t want to admit that because he doesn’t want to seem soft like he’s falling for you or anything. He’s not soft. And he’s not… falling for you… He’s coarse and rough and cold and that’s how it’s going to stay.

“I’ve just been busy… practice and stuff.” Miguel mumbles and drinks his beer. He doesn’t care for Dana’s concern or giving her a reasonable explanation. Dana scoffs softly and shakes her head, her friends grab her arm and try to drunkenly coax her into returning to the party. “See you later” Dana smirks, running her hand down his arm as she tries to be all flirty but it’s honestly embarrassing. She hates that he’s so nonchalant, so unfazed by her. Miguel stays silent, watching her stumble off with her friends to go find someone else to bother.

He sighs and turns to Peter once more, annoyed at pretty much everything in this moment. “You have to admit, her ass is nice.” Peter jokes and watches Dana walk away. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing about her that’s nice.” Miguel glances back at her as she disappears into the crowd of people.

Over the course of the night, everyone just gets more and more drunk, except for Miguel who still can’t get you out of his thoughts and feels the need to stay at least a little bit sober in case you call him. But he throws back a few beers to try and loosen up. The music seems to get louder and the lights seem to get darker. He’s checking his phone all through the night, seeing if you’ve texted him and wondering if you’re thinking of him. Wondering who you’re with right now. What you’re doing. What you’re doing with the person you’re with right now. It makes him angry thinking about the possibility that you could be with another guy right now. He knows you went back home to be with family but still, he can’t help but be a little pissed imagining you with someone else.

What the hell am I thinking?

It’s late by the time Miguel decides he’s had enough. He says bye to Peter and starts heading out, pushing through everyone still crowding and moving. Making his way to the door and out into the hall. Sighing deeply once he gets out into the fresher air of the hallway, he straightens out the sleeve of his black varsity jacket. He looks to his left and his dark eyes narrow. Of course Dana is standing there. Totally wasted and leaning against the wall. He stays silent and just watches her, his instinct telling him to just walk away, leave her here. But he goes against his better judgment.

He stands there, glaring at her and keeps his hands in his pockets. He can see she’s completely drunk and not in her right mind at the moment. She may be a bitch but she is drunk and alone, maybe he shouldn’t just leave her here. If she were you right now, he’d bring you home himself to make sure you got there safely. He wonders if you need him at this moment even when you’re so many miles away.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I wai- was waiting for you…” Dana mumbles incoherently and smiles at him. “I don’t get you O’Hara… where’d you go?” She smiles and stumbles on her heels towards him, and he only catches her when she’s about to face plant into him. “Alright, come on now…” He grunts and tries to push her up to get her back on her feet. This is what he gets the one time he tries to be a little nice and not abandon her alone here. Her hands are all over him, in his hair and on his belt, tugging on him and pulling herself closer to him. “Just let me suck you off, okay?” She mumbles out of nowhere and starts messing with his belt buckle. She tries to get close, close enough to kiss him, reeking of cheap booze. His eyes widen and his lip snarls up in disgust. “What? No… cut it out.” He warns her, annoyed, trying to push her hands off without being too rough. He understands this situation could be taken out of context. She descends to her knees in front of him, he looks both ways down the hall for anyone coming, or anyone standing around. “Get up Dana.” He growls and she smirks up at him. “Oh come on.. don’t tell me you’re gonna say no to this… I literally send you nudes and you don’t even respond, what the fuck?” Dana whines drunkenly. Miguel’s disgusted. Dana has been walking on thin ice for a very long time. He should have blocked her when she texted him those pictures out of the blue and he should have just left her alone here when he had the chance. “You’re insane, stop it.” He scowls down at her and pries her hands off of his belt that’s half undone.

A month ago, Miguel probably would have let her blow him. Sure she’s annoying as all hell but that’s the kind of thing he’d probably enjoy. Fucking her so hard that she’d hate him afterwards. He probably should have done it a long time ago. That’s what he’d usually go for… someone who wanted it. Naive. Like you. He used to be proud of how many people he had in his circle that would give him whatever he wanted on the regular. They begged him for it, just like Dana is doing now. And that always made him feel good.

“What’s wrong, what are you whipped or something?” She teases with empty accusations, still on her knees and trying to get to his head. She’s never known Miguel O’Hara to have a serious relationship with anyone. No one has. “No. The fuck is wrong with you?” He growls angrily that she would even suggest that. “Then what’s your problem?” She groans and puts her hands on his belt again, trying to pull his hips forward. He’d lose his shit if people started viewing him in any other way than what he’s allowed. He needs to control what people think about him.

“You’re my problem.” He seethes and grabs a fistful of her hair in his hand. She gasps and smiles drunkenly, her hands rubbing down on him and thinking she's about to get exactly what she wants. He could just shove himself in her mouth and shut her up, maybe that would be easier. Just like last time. Use her for an easy fuck, maybe get his head straight after not hearing from you for days and not understanding what he’s feeling right now. Maybe he could just force himself to think of you as she does it. Try to ignore what’s actually happening and imagine it’s you. It’s probably the only way he’d manage to get hard. “Come on, I’ll be yours for the night, let’s just do it” Dana smirks and licks her lips running her hands up his shirt. His face hardens.

“…I’ll be yours…” Dana’s words echo in his head. But her voice is replaced with yours. “I want to be yours…” Your breathless voice rings out clearly in his mind. His first time with you, when he wanted you to be his and you said yes, and he felt his heart fluttering in his chest. He’d planned to use you like he’d used so many people before, just to get what he wanted. But what happened surprised him. He’d never felt that way with anyone before. He didn’t even know he was asking you to be his until the words flowed from his lips unrestrained. He’d never had the feeling of butterflies before and it makes him feel strange. Makes him feel weak. Makes him feel stupid. That’s why he doesn’t want to discuss all the relationship shit with you because he’s so damn bad at all of it. And he doesn’t even believe in any of it! Love is a transaction, it’s an exchange. It’s a business deal. What he feels doesn’t matter because it will never lead to anything worth his time.

“Get the fuck off me.” He growls and lets go of Dana’s hair, pushing her hands off and stepping back from her with an angry scowl. “I can get anyone I want. I just don’t want you.” He says meanly and Dana’s face looks hurt. “Don’t think for a second that I can’t do whatever the fuck I want.” He says threateningly and she backs up a bit, feeling intimidated which is exactly how he wants her to feel. That’s how he wants everyone to feel. He steps forward, towering over her, wanting to fuck that look off her face. Make her hate him so she’ll leave him alone. It would probably be very easy for him.

They get back to his dorm and he slams the door behind him. How dare Dana make him feel like he wasn’t acting the way he always does? And Peter noticing Miguel was behaving differently? He’s behaving the same way he always has. Nothing has changed. He wouldn't let anything change. He’s Miguel fucking O’Hara and he’s never had to work hard to get the things he wants. And not hearing from you for three days is making his head spin, and he can’t help but picture you getting fucked by some guy that’s not him. He throws Dana on the bed, pulling her by the ankles and grabbing her face. Could she handle him if she tried? The answer is no.

“You really like to get on my fucking nerves, don’t you?” He seethes, holding her face in his hand. Scowling at her and ready to fuck the bitch right now.

Ding!

His red hot rage is interrupted by his phone going off. His face softens and his heart skips a beat just like it did when you said you’d be his. He can’t control that feeling. Miguel picks up his phone, seeing your name pop up and his eyes dart around the screen reading it.

“Came back early :)”

He sighs audibly, a mix of relief and frustration at the same time.“Coming now” He texts right back. “What is it?” Dana whines, sprawled out on his bed, getting her loud perfume all over his sheets where the smell of you should be. “Get out.” He demands, stepping back and going to put on his jacket again to go. “What?! Are you serious?” She glares. “Yes! Get the FUCK. OUT!” He yells and her jaw drops, scurrying off his bed and running out the door.

He runs his hands through his hair, breathing heavy and seething angry. Looking for something to punch. He storms out the door and starts making his way over to you.

He gets to your door knocking hard. He’s wound tight, angry, confused. He takes a tense breath, letting it out slow, tapping his knuckles on the door and waiting in silence. He hears your steps, and his heart beats fast. He hears you opening the door and he gets nervous himself. What the hell is going on with him? He’s not used to feeling this way. And he’s also not used to being out of control of his feelings.

When you open the door, his eyes lock on your face. And it’s almost like everything slows down. And everything becomes so very crystal clear. He’s feeling so many things at once, all flooding and cross contaminating in his mind. How did you do this to him? Was it your doing? Or his? He’s used to being in control and for some reason it’s like his foot is on the gas and yours is on the brake. Or maybe the other way around? Or maybe both at the same time.

“Hey” You greet him with a smile and it’s like he can breathe again. It’s like the runaway train finally stops at the station, and you’re waiting there for him.

“Hi” He smiles with a sigh and lets his shoulder relax a little. Finding a bit of comfort in the warmth of your eyes and the gentleness of your smile. “Come on in…” You step aside for him to come inside and he does, taking off his jacket and running a hand through his hair.

“Sorry, it’s a little messy, I’m still unpacking stuff.” You say. “It’s okay…” He assures you and looks down at you before him. His hand comes up to your chin, his thumb pressing just below your bottom lip. He leans down and kisses you softly. Your taste, your lips, the drug he’s been needing, finally reentering his system. Your eyes flutter closed and you melt against his lips, kissing him back eagerly. He presses down on your chin with his thumb, parting your lips for you, giving you his tongue. You feel swirls of heat blooming in your chest at his kiss and his taste. It’s another one of those kisses. The ones he always does. The ones that make your knees weak. After swirling his tongue with yours, he gives you a series of little pecks on your lips. So many sometimes to the point that you open your eyes and that’s the only way he’ll stop. But this time you keep your eyes closed and bask in this moment.

You thought a lot about him when you were gone. It was only a few days but it feels like you were able to get your mind clear on a bunch of things. You have feelings for him. Real feelings. Your crush before is nothing compared to how you feel about him now. If anything it’s only gotten stronger. You want to be his for real and you hope he’ll feel the same.

“How did it go?” He asks with a soft smirk, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you, running his hands down your back to your ass. You’ve been so close to him the past month, his touch like this just feels natural. He leans his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in the smell of you, ghosting his lips over your neck. “It was good… a little hectic but good.” You speak softly as he starts kissing your neck and it tickles. “Mhm…” He hums and his hand comes up to the side of your neck, his thumb wrapping around to the other side of your throat. Kissing your neck up to your cheek. He kisses your lips again, deep and intense. His tongue immediately enters your mouth, playing with your tongue and running across your lips. All the while his hand is on your throat like it usually is, his fingers rubbing soft circles into the back of your neck. He pulls away from your lips with a soft smack, going back into your neck for more.

“H-how were things back here?” Your breath hitches at the feeling of him sucking into your neck. As you bring up the past few days his hand on your throat squeezes just a tiny bit, his mind going over just the past few hours alone which were enough to send him into a fit of rage. You really texted him at the exact right moment. If you hadn’t, he could be punching holes in his dorm room walls right now or he could be fucking Dana to dust which is the last thing he’d ever actually want to do. You have a way of doing that to him. Making his mind clear. But he usually finds a way to fuck it up. “It was boring…” He mumbles into your neck. It’s a lie but he doesn’t really want to talk about this weekend. He just wants to forget all of it and focus on you.

With a soft gasp from your lips, his arms scoop under your thighs, to your surprise, picking you up. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and he walks you back to your bed. Wasting no time. He needs to have you. It’s only been three days but that’s way too long. He lowers you down onto the edge of the bed, your back hitting the blankets, his body between your thighs as he leans over you. His big hands run over your thighs as he spreads them wide, pushing down onto you with his hips. You feel his cock through his jeans, heavy and stiff, needing you, as if just the sight, smell and taste of you has made him rock hard in a matter of minutes. He presses his hard-on into you, making sure you feel it, reminding you of what you’ve been missing. At the feeling, you wrap your legs around him, in turn pulling him closer, his clothed dick pressing right where you need him most.

“Eager, little one?” He grins down at you looking down at you with a hint of pride, liking what he’s feeling. “Did you miss this, baby? You miss my cock?” His words are dirty but his voice is sweet. He smiles down at you, watching you grind against him, his eyes lighting up at the sight. His innocent little baby taking what you want. “Yes…” You breathe out, biting down on your bottom lip and feeling him stiff against your sex.

His arms wrap around your lower back and he pulls you closer, pushing himself into you, right where you need him. The barriers of clothing, soon to be removed but he’s just teasing you for now.

His eyes darken a bit as he looks down at you rutting into him like you’re in heat. He’d been worrying so much that you were with someone else. That when you went back home there would be someone waiting, ready to take what’s his. “Have you been with anyone else?” He outright asks you, his deep voice hums as he keeps grinding into you. His voice laced in something possessive, something dark. You look up at him and realize how serious he is about this. “No… I haven’t.” You reply innocently, feeling the heat building and the needy ache in your tummy getting harder to ignore. Does he think you’d be with someone else? You thought he knew you had feelings for him, that you enjoyed being his and only his. “Good…” He grins and leans down real close to your face, his lips dancing over your cheek. “You only cum if it’s on my cock. You understand that?” He whispers in your ear, his hand coming to your hair and pulling your head back slightly. “I-I understand…” You whisper and squirm slightly in his grasp.

“My baby…” He whispers and leans down to kiss your neck, grinding himself into you, the friction sending heat straight to your needy core. You run your fingers through his hair as he sucks brand new hickeys into your skin to replace the ones that have faded with time. You breathe in the smell of him, that you’ve missed so much. But it’s different this time. He smells sort of like perfume. Not any perfume that you’d be familiar with. He comes up to kiss your lips once more, swirling his tongue with yours and sucking the tip of your tongue into his mouth. It always makes you blush when he does dirty stuff like that. And he smiles watching the red wash over your face. You look in his eyes, your senses dialed to eleven. And he tastes like beer. In fact he sort of smells like alcohol too. He doesn’t seem to notice your apprehension and he leans up, pulling his shirt off, his perfect muscular physique on display in the dim light from the bedside lamp. And he leans back down to kiss your throat. Your hands instinctively go to his back, feeling his muscles as they tense and contract. He’s still moving against you, growing even impossibly harder. “Need you..” He whispers, moving his hand down between your thighs, eager to touch you once again.

“Miguel-“ You say softly and he leans up, kissing you quiet. His hand moving with purpose, under the waistline of your sweatpants and breaching the elastic of your underwear. He bites down on your bottom lip gently, moaning softly into your mouth as his fingers circle your entrance. Your hands go to the backs of his thick arms, holding onto him. His thick digits dip into you, stretching you out after time apart. Your hips wiggling slightly at the feeling, trying to adjust and relax. And he works up a steady pace. Fingering you slow but still intensely, getting you ready for him. A soft moan leaves your lips and he smirks, kissing your cheek. And you smell the perfume again. It’s definitely not a smell you know. It’s someone who was just with him. Who he was just with. Is he drunk? He seems really relaxed. More than usual. The thought of that makes you nervous.

“Miguel…” You hum softly and he kisses your lips again. “I know baby… does that feel good?” He whispers between kisses. His fingers pumping into you with increasing speed, curling and reaching deep to all the sweet spots he’s come to know so well. “Ugh… you make me need you so bad…” He whispers, his thick fingers stretching you out, making you wet for him. Preparing you for his achy, needy cock. He breaks away from your lips, leaning back and working your pants off to keep his fingers pumping into you, and you can’t help but roll your hips into his hand. He smiles and pulls back even more, letting your pants fall to the floor, his hand between your thighs, achingly pulsing and pumping as he runs a free hand up your tummy and under your shirt. Pushing your shirt up over your chest so he can see you. All of you. Naked and hot. He pulls his messy fingers from your heat and you can hear the metal clink of his belt being undone, and he desperately pushes his pants down just far enough to free his cock for you. He’s going fast, he needs this. He needs you. It’s like he finally knows what he’s feeling.

“P-please can you just stop for a second…” You say softly, your hand on his arm as he pressed down on your tummy.

He hears your tone of voice and it’s not what he thought he’d hear. He knows how to read you very well by now and knows the difference between you playing hard to get or when you’re actually serious. This is you being serious.

“Yeah… is something wrong?” He asks softly, stopping himself and any further movements and focusing on your face. He takes his hand away, still leaning over you but not touching you so intimately anymore if you’re telling him to stop like this. “Are you okay?” You ask, looking in his eyes. You’re missing a few pieces to this puzzle and it’s concerning. “I’m fine.” He says lightly, brushing some hair off your forehead and behind your ear.

“Have you been drinking?” You finally outright ask him after tasting it on his tongue. “No…” He lies. And you know it’s a lie. So you just stay silent, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Well I- yeah I had a few beers… ” He finally says after the fact. Sighing a bit. He doesn’t know why he just lied, he just did. “How many beers?” You ask and he sighs again, “Look, I’m not drunk, okay? I’m not…” He says, brushing your hair back on the other side gently. He tries to bring back the mood. Leaning down to kiss you again and you press a hand to his chest.

“Wait.” You say flatly and you’re not done yet. He sighs and leans back, looking at you expectantly. “Were you with someone? Just now?” You ask and his eyes widen a bit. “No?” He lies again. And your eyes narrow. “You smell like perfume.” You say softly. The both of you sit in a beat of silence. The tension rises with every second he’s lying to you. “I was with Dana. But nothing happened.” He finally says simply and now your eyes widen. He was with Dana D’Angelo? And he smells like her perfume? What were they doing that she got her heinous perfume all over him. You frown up at him. “Why did you lie?” You ask. “What, I just told you the truth…” He insists, getting frustrated. “Yeah, after you lied… twice.” You say and he sighs getting defensive. “Can we please just-” He sighs as you pull away from him. Sitting up on the bed and cutting short what he thought was going to happen. He fixes his pants and sits on the edge of the bed facing you. And this conversation is triggering something in him.

“I didn’t know you were sleeping with other people but it’s fine. You didn’t need to lie to me about it.” You say softly, almost heartbroken, fully convinced that he just came from Dana’s bed or something because it certainly seems that way. He sighs. And silence falls.

“I’m not your boyfriend…” He mutters but you catch every word. “I don’t know what you thought was happening here but that’s not it.” He says, not even thinking before he speaks. He’s starting to feel frustrated again. And he feels defensive like you’re trying to force him to feel some certain way about you when in reality, he does have feelings for you. He looks up in your eyes and sees how much that just hurt you. He instantly regrets that. He shouldn’t have said that.

“I know. I don’t want you to be my boyfriend.” You say softly. It’s a lie but your instinct was right. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He can’t even make his mind up over you and you’ve been giving yourself to him for a month. He rolls his eyes and sighs loudly. His anger from earlier returning once the fog of fondness is erased by his fear of how important you’ve become to him. “This is a good thing… what we have going… don't ruin it.” He says meanly. And he knows it’s mean. “I’m not trying to ruin it… I’m just confused…” You say softly, sensing his rising anger. “Well don’t be confused! Just keep your messy feelings out of this! It shouldn’t be that hard!” He exclaims and he’s becoming the person he was when you were gone. The person he is without you. The man he’s always been. You’ve never had a fight with him before. Because up until now you thought you had a mutual understanding that this was something special. He calls you baby, you’re his little one, he couldn’t bear to spend a second apart from you and now this? Now he’s saying he doesn’t feel anything?

“It is hard for me! It’s hard for me to ignore what I feel for you!” You say close to crying and he scoffs. He can’t hear this. It’s messing with his head. He gets up from your bed, throwing his jacket on and all he wants to do is leave. He can’t hear this. He can’t.

“Miguel, please don’t leave!” You beg him and get off the bed, trying not to let him go. “Please! Talk to me! Tell me what you’re feeling!”

“No! This wasn’t supposed to happen… you were not supposed to happen.” He says harshly and it’s breaking your heart.

Should you tell him you love him? Keep it to yourself? You have a good feeling those three words are the exact ones he’s trying to avoid. “Miguel-”

“You weren't supposed to do this. I wasn’t supposed to do this! This is all… fucking fucked up!” He grits out and starts to leave your dorm. You’ve never seen him like this before and you have no idea what he’s feeling. So all you can do is watch him leave.

“Miguel-” You start but he closes the door before you can say anymore. It’s like every atom in his body told him he had to leave. Even if it’s tearing him apart. He said he’d keep you, he said you were his. And you believed him.

To be continued…

Taglist: @miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @miguels-aranita @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon @chiikasevennn @m4dyy @nommingonfood @bruhhvv @twwcs @jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @s0fia4 @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen @jadeloverxd

[luvv4j4ybe11]

Girlie please I need whiny and moany and subby neteyam so much,you write him so good🙏😭😭

OO YES😩 the way I ran to fucking write this!, and tysm, baby love<3

Not proof read!! Sorry if there’s errors honeys

Warnings: p n v, riding, overstimulation, teyam starts to cry a lil bit bc he’s so overwhelmed, reader is mean, dom!reader, sub!teyam, and i think that’s it. Lmk if I missed anything, enjoy<3

Dividers by ~ @cafekitsune

It was hard at first for Neteyam to feel comfortable enough around you to be submissive, but once you got the “go-ahead” he turns into complete putty in your hands once you take control.

You’ve been riding him for what seems like hours, your soft, velvety walls milking him of all he’s worth as he cums inside of you paethicaly because it’s just too good:(.

His big hands travel all over your plush curves, his way of desperately trying to tell you to slow down. And even when he does speak up all that comes out is a choked out whimper or broken moan.

“Awh..but tey I thought you wanted this?, poor boy can’t handle when mommy uses you? How pathetic.” He’d be so embarrassed after hearing the low whine that comes from his mouth after you say that, cock twitching and drooling inside of you just because of your voice.

The more the cruel, soft coos leave your mouth plump lips the more his eyes would start to burn with tears, biting down on his bottom lip so hard blood starts pouring from it;which you lick up eagerly.

He’d ask you so nicely for permission to cum whenever he’s close too, babyboy would be babbling complete nonsense but he’s really trying so hard to be a good boy for you:(, and the little huff that’d come from him when you deny him too, ugh. He would just squeeze your hips/ass/ or tits in frustration, and get even more frustrated when that gets him even closer.

“Yawne, p-please..please I-..wanna..cum, please~” he’d plead with you shakily, using all of his power to form a single sentence so he can fill your tight cunt with his hot, sticky cum. All you do is laugh though, leaning in to wrap you arms around his neck, pressing your soft tits against his toned chest. A sensation that makes him groan deeply. “Mhm..not yet. I’m so so close so just hold on a little longer, ‘Kay?….good.” You’d coo before placing a loving kiss on his nose.

A small frown adorns his lips when you deny him, looking up at you with the most pathetic tear filled doe eyes you’ve ever seen. Ewya, he’s the cutest.

The way his strong arms wrapped around your middle was almost like a silent plea for you to keep going. No matter how much he came he couldn’t get enough of your slick cunt, as if it was made for him.

You swear his noises get louder and needier with the way he was buried into your chest, rambling about whoever knows the closer he feels you get.

Your hips stutter once you’re on the brink of your orgasm, a sign Neteyam knew all too well from how many times he’s made you do the same.

“Teyam.. m’close..need you to cum with me, ok?” You feel his arms and tail squeeze you like a vice, and his hips buck up into you sloppily to match your own sloppy thrust. A whispered “mhm~” leaves his lips before you clamp down onto him, the intensity of your orgasm making you whimper in his ear shamelessly.

Between your noises, your soft body pressed against him, the tightness of your cunt, and your addictingly strong scent, he was cumming instantly. Shooting thick ropes of his warm load into your greedy hole.

It wasn’t until you pulled away from him that his he realized his face was covered in tears, something that breifly made him embarrassed before he felt you hold his face reassuringly.

“Such a pretty boy f’me, you know that?” You l encourage subtly, causing his tail to sway like a little happy puppy. “Could say the same about you, babygirl,” he replied through labored breathes, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on your lips. The sensation of his lips instantly making you clench around him, erupting an another low groan from him.

You lift up your hips slowly as you lean into him, cupping his face in your soft hands as you gently bounce on his overstimulated cock that was still achingly hard for you. “Think you can give me one more, my sweet boy?”

A/N~ I need..I need a minute after this one. I’ve never been so soaked in my life istg😭 but btw if any one of my nonnies wants an emoji just put it after you send in an ask/request and that’ll be your emoji 4L😛. Besides all that tho, ima take my ass to bed, love you guys, stay safe, and mwah stay hydrated💕

Duces🫶🏽,

luvv4j4ybe11

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Taglist~ @tallulah477 , @hotdsworld , @plooto , @blue-slxt , @itchaboi-itchyboy , @xylianasblog , @etherial-moon-blog , @criticallybella , @professional-yapper , @rivatar , @aperiraa

(If youd like to be added or removed to my general taglist, comment under this and lmk! And if your @ isn’t working, please check your settings💕)

[brittscafe]

Kinktober Day 11

Kinktober Day 11: Overstimulation, Toshiro Hitsugaya x female reader.

Your eyes are hazy and heavy, ready to shut and get some rest. You had been at this for hours, no, Toshiro had been at this for hours. The bedsheets are soaking in your cum that seems to keep leaking out of your aching pussy.

You whimper as Toshiro cups his hand against your cunt and brings warmth to it. He's in between your legs, your ankles dangling over his shoulders.

His lips are pinker than usual and puffy from pleasuring you. Toshiro is getting his high from making you orgasm for the 4th time. He promised you 5.

Your body is aching, your chest going up and down uncontrollably as you pant heavily. The palm of his hand rubs against your cunt as you squirm against him.

You were clenching and tugging on the bedsheets so much that you pulled them from underneath the bed where they were neatly tucked.

Let me take care of you, he said, you wished you shoved your foot up his ass instead of saying yes so obediently. Now you found yourself a sweaty, sensitive, moany mess.

Toshiro dips his head down, running his tongue over your fold, then the other one. Your body jolts as his tongue swirls over your sore clit and you throw your head back.

Every touch to your sensitive pussy makes you gasp or whimper. Toshiro glances over at you, your eyes full of tears.

"I said I would take care of you, right?" he asks, pressing his lips to your clit.

"Yes," you nod your head. The corner of Toshiro's lips curl up into a tiny grin.

"Then relax," he speaks so calmly as he inserts his digits inside of your wet pussy. You cry out and Toshiro wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard.

It wasn't going to take much to make you cum for the 5th time in a row, you were so sensitive.

Your hand springs out and grabs onto Toshiro's icy hair, tugging on it harshly. Toshiro groans, sending vibrations against your clit which makes you buck your hips towards his face.

His fingers curl up inside of you, nudging and hitting that sweet spot of yours. You whimper loudly, the tears falling down the sides of your face.

Your cunt pulses as Toshiro's fingers deep digger inside.

"T-Toshiro, it's too much," you cry out, feeling your insides ready to explode. Toshiro cocks an eyebrow and release his lips off your throbbing clit.

"Don't be such a crybaby," Toshiro scoffs out, curling his fingers once again. You moan loudly, his fingers triggering your 5th orgasm. His fingers are coated in your warm, cum.

You pant heavily and Toshiro watches your breasts go up and down with each breath. Toshiro swirls his fingers around, before pulling them out.

His eyes gaze over his fingers glistened in your arousal and he smirks to himself. Soft whimpers leave your mouth as your body is exhausted and can't take anymore.

Toshiro hums as he inserts his fingers inside of his mouth. His tongue swirls around them, swallowing every drop of your cum. He groans at the taste of you and slides them out of his mouth, covered in his saliva.

He carefully puts your ankle down on the bed, your thighs still trembling from your 3rd orgasm. His hands are gently as they run up and down your curves.

Toshiro climbs on top of you and presses a soft, gentle kiss to your lips.

Toshiro kept his promise...

Tags: @stygianoir @noyaistall

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter

Chapter Three

Based of this ask (the dialogue from there is used here)

Rated Explicit | Warning: period typical sexism, noncon, non-Consensual somnophilia

Ao3

Taglist: @anastasiablossomlove @tfamidoingwithmylife

Chapter Two | Chapter Four

“Finish her off, Norton.”

When he first saw you, he wished you were dead. Just another rich kid with pockets lined with daddy's money. Your fucking suitor laughing as Norton was getting jumped for his lunch. Sickening, the misery of the poor is entertainment for people like you! Laughing as they fight for table scraps, as the poor are willing to do anything to just have a warm bed to sleep on, speaking on behalf of the poor yet none of them ever struggled!

Every day is a fight. Every night is a fight. The moment he was born, his fate was sealed in the black ink signature of your father's name. Norton had no chance, your father stole that from him!

What? Do you think a few shared meals would make him suddenly think differently of you? Ha, no, he meant what he said back then. If things worked his way, you would be on your knees sucking him off while your father grieved seeing his daughter sell herself for his survival.

The nerve you have to spit out that nonsense about change, hah, politicians say anything for some votes. Everyone knows the corporations won't let them actually change things. Too many hands have been greased to change the status quo. 

Nah, the only change he cares about is whether or not he will get out of this debt his father cursed him with by striking it big.

Damn, bastards! Damn all of them to hell and back!

It would be no surprise if they do not find any gold, they use him as a scapegoat. Quick to take the credit, quick to throw to the wolves. Your father will soon be like all the others.

Buried alive. At least in death, everyone is made equal.

Norton’s hands squeezing your throat, a grin on his face seeing you struggle to breathe.

Until your hand touches the scar, soft and gentle, he can see the tears running down the side of your face. Your voice cracks as you beg him to snap out of 

“Norton~,” The purr of the voice in his voice feeds into his anger, “She's right there. Just get rid of her!” Yelling at him.

It will be quick, a snap and all of it will be over.

Yet, he finds himself thinking about the bread you made for him. Yes, it was for him as a gift. Warm, moist, and fresh; all for him with a cup of warm tea.

Your father… You are not like him. Like others who laugh and look down at him, you honestly want to help. Stupid girl, truly, big dreams with no idea how reality works or how this world will chew someone and spit them out.

No good person lives long enough to see the change they fought for happen.

He flinches, you cup the side of his face, “Fight it.” Desperately trying to call out to him. “Please, Norton.”

“Come on, Norton.” Exaggerating the word ‘on’, dragging it out as if bored. “You have an arrogant little flower under you.”

When you approached him, you referred to him as ‘Mr. Campbell’ as if you respected him. It felt like a joke, an insult as you could—should—have been like everyone else. Constantly fighting, struggling, hyper-aware, plotting. He glares down at you, grabbing your hand and slamming it hard on the ground while making sure to have a painful grip on your wrist.

The pained sound you make is music to his ears, the wicked grin on his face growing with 

The rise and fall of your chest makes him very aware of your breasts covered by the blouse. Whenever he sees you around the worksite, you look… Normal. No showy dress, no lace fan (the one you did have you broke), hell, everyone saw you only wear pants. 

But here, right before the end, you are wearing a dress. The sort of dress one wears in the winter, a bright color that greatly contrasts with the current environment.

“Why don't you show this selfish delicate flower how to behave… Hm?” Dragging out the last few syllables as if moaning with excitement.

You have the nerve to smell good too, clean and sweet like a ripe freshly washed fruit.

The fight for air is a struggle he knows you cannot win. Watching your eyes roll back, the small fading gasps for air, and soon your struggling becomes weaker and weaker.

“Nortoooon,” The voice rings in his mind echoing in his own voice, “.... Come on now….” The voice draws him back seeing your life fade by his hand.

Slip you into unconsciousness. Body going slump on the ground, you look peaceful now.

Did he kill you?! Shit, shit, fuck! He shakes you then places his hand over your chest, a sigh of relief as he hears your heartbeat. The twisted thoughts in his mind raced between needing to escape and… And… Your perfume is sweet. Your clothes are so clean. You are like an angel sent from above into this dark hellhole.

The first button is the hardest, his hands are unsteady.

The second button is easier but still hard, the voice tells him to take; after all, your father took everything from him too.

The third button reveals part of your chemise, plain which he supposes he should have expected to not look like one the other miners talk about after a venture into a pleasure den.

The fourth button and the voice is getting angry, yelling at him again to hurry. Norton swears he can feel something moving his arms without him doing anything.

The other buttons are ripped open, his face buried in your neck as he sharply inhales, it is so different from his own skin. Soft, bathed, unmarked.

“Bite. Mark her.”

It speaks and he does it. Each touch of his chapped lips on your flawless skin is marked by his teeth. Some barely barely a mark while others are deep enough to leave dark bruising, those are above your breasts. Your clothes are cumbersome and it is more work to try to remove your clothes in a civilized way rather than ripping them open, but that is what he does.

The personality switch is not instant, it is through the actions he would have never done if not for this damn cave. He was the ripe fruit plucked and feasted upon, his mind slowly corrupted by the abyss he was forced to dig through.

“Fuckin’ hate you wearing these.” The voice is darker, laced with greed and lust, he tears open your bloomers as if it was made of paper. A mess of your clothes half torn and his buckle that decides to be a pain in the ass, not like he can stop himself.

The only moment he stops is when he growls at himself for not knowing what to do, of fucking course he knows the layout of what to do but the fine detail escape him. Worse, the guilt in the back of him is fighting himself right now. Fighting enough that he has to remove a glove, spit on his hand, and jerk himself off.

“Damn you,” Touching your legs, his black dust-covered glove marking your skin, he finds it rather hotter than the bitemarks all over your neck. When he kisses you, oh you taste like something sweet too, he has to stop to cough out his damn lungs. “When I am done with you, you won’t even know how ruined you are going to be.” Exasperated and angry.

When he is hard enough to thrust inside of you, he swears he saw stars. Bliss but you are so tight. Dry too but this is not about you. The scent of blood makes him laugh as you just lost your virginity in a damn coal mine--Blood for blood, justice.

Each thrust is hard because he hates leaving your heat. Your body reacts to him by getting wet, your moans in your current state are low,  his pace is awkward and selfish. This whole situation is selfish. Grabbing everything he can touch about you, kissing you when he needs a taste of you. When he feels himself about to cum, he makes sure it is all over the floor with your blood.

The whole activity was tiring.

The voice is in control, pleased but annoyed as he now has to figure out what to do next. Kill you with the others or… He raises an eyebrow at a bright idea.

[joojeans]

i really love ur ‘&team hyung line: when others are sleeping’ *FAINTS* it’s fucking hottttt i keep rereading it!

also can i request something like that but it’s when you’re sucking off hyung line? o_o

want to know who do u think will be on the whiny/moany/loud side or the grunty/breathy/quiet side? ><

tysm for enjoying it ahh i keep reading it myself tbh... 🥲 i hope this is what you were asking for!

&team hyung line: how they sound while getting head

k: lots of extended sounds. long groans, deep sighs, drawn out moans. doesn't usually whine or whimper. volume is usually right in the middle—not too quiet, not too loud—but he can fall to either side depending on his mood. likes to let you know when he wants more of something. like that. keep doing that. most of the members curse, but k does it the most. head leaning back into the couch, a strained fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, fuck falling from his lips.

fuma: does not whimper or whine, end of. often times, you get labored breathing punctuated with exhaled words from fuma. oh god, y/n. that feels... so good. you're incredible. not shy about groaning or moaning when he's feeling particularly good and he's not quiet about it. you can always tell he's getting close when he starts talking less and starts sighing more.

nicholas: nicholas wants to be cool and stoic in bed so bad, so he often starts out trying to be as quiet as possible. he'll bite his lips and grit his teeth trying to stuff down any possible sounds, but he can only hold out for so long. it all falls apart when he starts moaning a breathy fuck here and a breathy fuck there. that's most of what you get from nicholas... unless you let him fuck your face. he'll grunt when he does that.

euijoo: latches onto your name !! </3 getting head rips euijoo out of his head and into his body and the sensation of your mouth around him is overwhelming in the best way. y/n. y/nnnn. please, y/n. fuck, y/n. y/n, y/n, y/n. he tries to be quiet, choking on soft moans, but they keep escaping anyway. moans in the same tone of his speaking voice :(( gets a lot louder the closer he is to cumming, but usually cums silently, jaw hung open.

cr. cafekitsune for mdni banners ♡

[landofadonises]

NG-AD0372 Transformations - Eyewitness Testimonies, I

The biotechnician placed a notepad and a pen down on the cold, steel table, taking a seat across from a hesitant soldier fidgeting in his seat. As he adjusts himself and looks toward the soldier expectantly, the soldier takes a swig of water from the glass on the table and speaks up, stuttering. "Doc, you promise that doin' this for ya will get me my dose sooner? Y'know it's crazy weird to talk about this stuff... it gets me thinkin' all... I don't know..."

The scientist smiles knowingly, chuckling momentarily at the soldier's hesitation. "Don't worry, boy. Get to explaining. You're one of the first that were there to see your work partner change before your eyes. We want all the nuance, and believe us when we say we'll compensate you for your... efforts."

The soldier has a smile flutter across his face, but it fades as he gets to thinking about the topic at hand, squirming in his seat for a bit as he adjusts the crotch of his pants. He takes another gulp of water to soothe his parched throat.

"Well... everything was going normal, just cleaning the gym equipment with Mateo like normal, and I guess he picked up a pretty heavy weight to rack it, and I heard him... breathe a certain way when he felt it. He racked it but kept flexing his arms, and it was so weird... his sleeves were tightening like crazy, and he just kept getting, like, overstimulated? Like, his head kept knocking back and his eyelids were flutterin' and shit, mouth open, like he was tryna figure out what to do..." The soldier shifts in his seat more, the tightness in his crotch distracting his recounting of events.

"Then, all of a sudden, I saw some crazy veins poppin' out on the back of his hands, and he just grabbed his shirt and ripped off the sleeves in one clean rip, strong as hell... and the fuckin' pythons on him all of a sudden, so damn sweaty, hairy... and he just looked so unsatisfied, pouty, moany... I just had to help him..."

"Doc, you don't get it... the way that that sweat was shinin' on his skin... the musky smell, and how he just looked so damn pitiful... I went up and smacked a kiss on his lips and he moaned into my mouth... and... and..." The soldier trails off as he bites his lip as he recalls the events, in inner turmoil about how he reacted in the moment and how much he enjoyed it, never being able to properly shift his junk in his pants to bring some relief, so constricting...

"Well, soldier, that about does it. This was incredibly helpful to hear about how the soldiers react when the effects kick in." The scientist rises to his full stature and stares at the soldier across from him as the soldier continues to squirm, losing awareness of the situation around him. "You'll have a firsthand account of your experiences once you return to lucidity soon enough."

The soldier looks up at the scientist. "W--whuh? What? S-so soon...? I thought... evals..." His sentence is interrupted by a moan escaping his lips as his shaft competes for space in his pants, zipper threatening to burst open. He looks down as his double-sized turgid cock snaps open the zipper and latch, revealing a heavy set and swelling balls, the sudden relief and rush of air causing him to release an even louder moan.

The scientist chuckles as he grabs the soldier's jaw and directs his view to the near-empty glass of water on the table, the scientist tapping the rim and flicking it, causing the bit of remaining water to pool onto the table. The soldier, now understanding, falls into a euphoric state, ignoring everything around him, as the scientist walks out of the room and informs the attendant to lock the room as the situation plays out.

[strawbs-screaming]

punch out boxers and what i feel like their worst red flag is

im here to ruin the punchy men (gunshot sound)

Glass joe - moany bitch, have you seen his cutscenes during matches?? also french.

Von Kaiser - thinks hes strong but got beaten up by children not once, not twice but BUT THREE TIMES. Hes also a mama's boy and i think that tells you enough

Disco Kid - hes actually a solid green flag, worst thing hes done is go broke and you cant blame him too much for that

King Hippo - Hes also a solid green flag, worst case scenario he just eats the fridge

Piston Hondo - speaks to you like youre his coworker and hes trying to give you advice while you sob (same)

Bear Hugger - He would ask you "wheres my hug at?" When you see him

Great Tiger - hes concerningly smug, but he can also fly so hes just a beige flag now

Don Flamenco - turns emo after getting beaten by a child + too flirty for his own good

Aran Ryan - hes a entire ass red flag, one glare at this man tells you enough about him

Soda Popinski - drinks soda and pours it all over himself so hes sticky + he likes doping

Bald Bull - yeah, same thing as aran, hes a huge red flag, mainly his his anger issues

Super Macho Man - hes a bragger and flexes his ass off (both literally and figuratively)

Mr Sandman - breaks the entire building after getting mad at a child by punching it too hard

[pebblysand]

Hi Pebbers, how do you do?

Re: Harry and music. Being a 90s kid, I feel like Harry would’ve heard Fast Car loads and would’ve loved that song, don’t you think?

haha, funny you mention it, it was originally mentioned in one of my drafts for hermione & ron's wedding. harry and ginny danced to it. then, i deleted it 'cause, idk, that song is a bit sad? i liked the idea of using it as the background music to harry and ginny going on the road in america, but then i felt like the later verses were a bit of a bad omen i didn't want.

having said that, i'm not sure harry himself would actually like that song. i kind of liken it to the way he called oasis a bit 'moany' in the earlier chapters? idk, i see him as someone who is more into stuff like Green Day or Nirvana when it comes to rock, or, as canonically in castles, Muggle 00s rap. not just eminem but like, i could see him being into The Streets or The Roots or Plan B - closer to grime even. or stuff from a bit later like JME or Loyle Carner. i just don't think he's a soft tracy chapman pop rock sort of guy.

ginny, though, is a swiftie. she migrated from the spice girls to TS effortlessly and is now lining up for the era's tour as we speak 🤣.

[wheredafandomat]

Someone great 💚P2💚

Loki x Divorced!Female Reader

18+ | Contains swearing, eventual smut, angst, ex husband, alcohol, probably some more please let me know if I leave anything major out x

Previous Part Next

If there was a chance, even the slightest possibility that a woman’s vagina could literally close up from being unused, you were near certain you’d suffer that affliction. You felt like a virgin again from your lack of sex life. Times like these, practically seconds away from ovulating, you missed Bucky. He was always so adventurous in bed, trying new positions, buying little toys; sometimes sleeping with him felt sinful. There was something truly iniquitous about how Bucky would moan in your ear, praising every fibre of your being right before he came. The way he held you against him as his hips would change to a gentle rock was addicting. You truly loved Bucky and you were sure he loved you too. Now he was giving those perfect strokes to Alexis and for some reason, now you were pissed about it.

“Oh yeah.” You sighed aloud as you felt a slight twinge of pain in your stomach, you were ovulating.

Regardless of whether or not you felt like your uterus was being torn in half by the horn of a goat, as a woman, you had to still ensure that everything was looked after and that all duties were fulfilled. Before the divorce, when you and Bucky lived together, he’d run you a bath whilst he made dinner and put Olivia to bed but considering you were divorced and he had moved out, there was no time for long hot baths and dinner in bed. Instead, you had to pop an aspirin and get to work. Bellyache, no time to rest you’ve got to clean the house. Headache, no time to sit and have a glass of water, you had to make dinner. Cramps that made you want to scream at the top of your lungs, no time for that, you have to get Olivia to bed. Maybe after you could do all of the above, hopefully with the addition of a handsome man.

Once Olivia was finally tucked in, you were able to collapse on the couch in front of the TV with a hot water bottle and a glass of whine. You spent about ten minutes scrolling through Netflix before you found a show to watch. Settling in, you spent a whole five minutes paying attention to the show before you decided to scroll through Instagram. A fact that you had come to terms with pretty quickly was that regardless of what happened between you and Bucky, you’d be in each other’s life’s for good. You shared a child who you coparented. That’s the reason the divorce wasn’t messy, for Olivia’s sake. You kept the house and your business whilst Bucky moved out and had to pay you a large sum of money which was customary when the spouse was a lying bastard, but we’ll get to that later. Because of the fact that you would always be in each others life’s and that the divorce was pretty tidy, you didn’t feel the need to unfollow him from Instagram which was something you regretted wholeheartedly when a picture of him and Alexis came up on your feed. Your natural instinct was to throw your phone into the fire and run out of the house and into the woods but instead you—

“Ugh.” You reeled, looking at the picture. The last thing you wanted to be was the bitter ex but Alexis was simply just the worst and you were ovulating, you were allowed to be a little moany. Talking of moany, did Bucky also moan in her ear whilst he came now? “Bitch.” You scoffed, scrolling away only to roll your eyes when the next post was an ad for a dating sight. The whole idea of online dating always seemed strange to you however right now, the ad seemed inviting. You wouldn’t have to actually meet anyone, you could have a conversation, a sexy conversation hopefully. Smiling to yourself, you downloaded the app before scrolling through the profiles. Did all guys suddenly become attractive or was your body simply just trying to reproduce?

You made a profile with vague information about yourself as well as a blurry picture before you started speaking to singles in your area, all of which were miles away after typing in a different city from the one you lived in. You spoke to a couple of guys, nothing past tedious conversations until one of them hit you with a dick pic. When the image popped up on your screen, you felt slightly repulsed at the intrusion before you didn’t. You looked at the picture, not too bad you thought as you bit your lip before realising what the actual problem was. You had to get laid and soon before you’d flee your house in search of Anthony who lived well over ten miles away from you.

Putting your phone down, you focused back onto the show as someone typed a green heart emoji. Your eyes widened as remembrance of the funeral a week ago dawned on you. Loki. Loki Loki Loki. He did seem pretty adamant that he wanted to go on a date which was code for he’d rail you so hard you’d have to claim on the health insurance. Smiling to yourself, you decided you’d message him, what’s the worst that could happen.

Y/N: Hey Loki it’s y/n

You waited eagerly, biting your lip as the three little dots appeared on the chat. He was definitely eager and you were one step closer to sex city.

Loki💚: Hey y/n, how have you been?

Horny, so fucking horny

Y/N: I’m great thanks, how are you?

Loki💚: Happy now that you’ve messaged me 😉

Cheeky bugger

Y/N: Glad I could make you happy 😘

Yes, a kissy face, the universal code for fuck me

Loki💚: I was wondering, would you ever want to grab a drink. You know, if you have the time?

Y/N: Sure, I’d like that

Loki💚: Great, when are you free?

Right now

Y/N: Does tomorrow work for you?

You sent the message, biting your nails in the hope that you didn’t sound desperate. Despite really wanting to see Loki tomorrow, you actually were pretty busy after tomorrow plus Bucky had Olivia tomorrow.

Loki💚: Tomorrow sounds perfect x

Perfect

“Don’t worry vag, tomorrow, we attack.” You smiled down at yourself before opening a packet of children’s crisps. The perks of being a mother.

A/N: my apologies, I feel like this fic is a little crude 😂 I quite like it though so if you’re following along, I hope you like it too.

NEXT

Tags:

@mischief2sarawr @lokisninerealms @lokisgoodgirl @lokiprompts @trickster-maiden @el-zef @lulubelle814 @mochie85

[damienthepious]

this is truly an unhinged pull from me. did anyone ask for a flower shop au? no? TOO BAD I GUESS

Budding, Blooming

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, (but there's still monsters), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Tension, Poetry, Flowers, Valentine's Day, (implied but not stated. could be a some weird modern-citadel fest), DOESN"T MATTER

Summary: It is the busiest day of the year at his family's florist shop, and Arum is not in the mood to deal with the worst customer he has ever had. Again.

Notes: i've had this idea for about a billion years and it's vaguely valentine's flavored and i am SCRAMBLING so you get this i guess! Rilla is a tattoo artist in this au and she works literally across the street. Damien is desperately in love, as usual. hope you have some fun with this one! did up quick and dirty, and i don't know fuckall about how florists work. doesn't matter. also it's a modern au but arum's still a monster because why the fuck not. i like that better :P

~

Arum winces the moment he hears the bell above the door.

"If you are here to pick up, the door for that is in the back , and if you are not, turn around. We are out of everything," he snaps without looking up from the arrangement in his hands. "If you wanted something for the holiday, you should not have left it to the last possible second on the busiest day of my year."

"Please," says a fluting, pleading, familiar voice, and Arum instantly grinds his teeth.

"No," he growls, raising his snout enough to glare down it at his least favorite customer. Or- customer may not be the correct term, considering that this particular problem refuses to ever actually purchase a single damned flower.

"Please," Damien says again, clutching his hands together in front of himself. "Anything you have left, anything. I'll take a single rose, a single tulip, anything-"

"No, honeysuckle, you will not." Arum slices a section of ribbon as if it personally offended him, then deftly ties it into a bow across the boring mostly-rose arrangement in his hands. "You say you will take anything, but the moment I shove some imperfect bloom beneath your nose, your tune will change." He pulls a few stems of waxflower in front of himself, and begins to snip the bottoms off at an angle as he speaks. "You will realize that it cannot possibly be given to your perfect, lovely Rilla if it is not perfect-" snip, "and lovely itself, and then you will attempt to wheedle me into giving you something better-" snip, "when I-" snip, "have-" snip, "nothing left for you."

"But-" he looks lost for a moment, uncertain, and Arum (buries a spark of guilt, and) thinks that he might be able to avoid the rest of this annoyance, for once, before Damien seems to steel himself, stepping up to the counter and pulling out his wallet. "No. Please. This is- this is it. This will be the day, it will. Any arrangement you have. I'll double the price. I'm going to tell her today, and I need- I need-"

"You're going to tell her today," Arum repeats blankly. He thinks he feels his eye twitch.

"I am," Damien says, nodding, apparently entirely ignorant of the way that something in Arum's chest is bubbling over like a volcano. "I have to. I've finally written the perfect-"

"Poem," Arum barks at the same moment that Damien tugs a little folded scrap of paper, powder blue, from his breast pocket. He blinks, and Arum laughs without mirth.

"Wh- what?" he insists, and Arum bares his teeth.

"A poem," he spits. "Rather, another poem." Arum turns, tail lashing, and stalks to tug open the drawer beneath the rack of blue ribbons, grabbing out a small circular box that likely held candy at some point in the past. "Every week. At least once a week, you wander in to my shop and insist upon your angst, whining and moaning about your beloved Rilla - who you can barely bring yourself to speak to - and every single time, you say that you will finally tell her! You will find just the right arrangement of flowers, append it with just the right arrangement of verse, and then it will all be perfect."

Arum smacks the shiny-cardboard box down on the counter as Damien stares up at him with wide, almost panicked eyes. He shoves the top from the box, reaching in to pull out scrap after scrap of paper by turn.

"Poems! Countless poems! Verse after verse about her hair and her eyes and her smile and her brilliance, her cleverness and care, about her humor and her confidence and if she is even an ounce like your writing, then perhaps your cowardice is justified."

"Cowardice," Damien half-yelps, but Arum isn't quite done, yet.

"Because every. Single. Time, you lose your nerve! You abandon whatever overly complex floral monstrosity you insisted that I begin to put together for you, you leave your words in a crumple on my counter and you go sigh your way out of my shop without even the courtesy of an apology for wasting my time, let alone payment for the same, again and again and again! And now you come on the busiest day of the year, no notice! No planning! Last minute and desperate and insistent that your dilemma is the only thing that matters, but it is clearly true! Because you," Arum spits, "have finally written a poem. Because today is the day. For the hundredth time."

He levels his most potent glare at Damien, scraping his claws through the abandoned poems and crumpling the paper again. Damien only stares at him, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Today is always the day, and you will never, never follow through. You will never tell her how you feel. You will never buy a bouquet, you will never hand your poems to her, you will never grow a spine. I am tired of dealing with your dramatics and stupidity," Arum says, and then, in his blandest professional voice, "I do not have any flowers for you today, Damien."

Damien looks up at him with his eyes bright and his lip pulled into a pout- a wobbly sort of pout-

And then he drops his gaze. He tucks the new poem back into his pocket without unfolding it, curling his fingers around the leather of his wallet as he turns.

"I- I apologize for-" he wets his lips, then turns away entirely. "Wasting your time," he finishes.

(Another flash of guilt. Ignore it, ignore it. He might actually-)

Damien pushes the door open, and then he-

Pauses, in the doorway, the little bell chiming lightly above his head.

(something in Arum's stomach twists, a placeless sort of anticipation)

Damien turns, brow furrowing as he glances towards Arum over his shoulder.

"... Why did you keep those?"

Arum blinks. "What?"

"All those notes. All my poems, little scraps of abandoned love letters." Damien pulls his hand back, the door hissing closed behind him as he steps carefully closer to the counter again. "Why wouldn't you throw them away? Why keep them?"

If the earth opened up beneath Arum's feet, he thinks, then he wouldn't have to be in this conversation anymore. Out loud, he says nothing. Damien continues to meet his eye, something searching in his expression.

"You kept them," he says, his voice a little softer. "Arum."

Arum jolts, just a little, vaguely surprised that Damien actually remembers his name. He realizes that his claws are still half-buried in the candy box of poetry, and he pulls the hand back as if it might catch fire in there, another hand slapping the lid back down. "I don't," he says, but he doesn't actually know how to finish that sentence in any way that is remotely safe.

"Why did you keep them?" Damien asks again, and Arum struggles to regain his own tongue.

"B-because you- because you are the most obnoxious- to prove to myself that I did not invent you because it is impossible to believe that someone quite so annoying might actually exist," he stammers, but Damien does not look quite so bothered as he should.

"Did you..." Damien pauses, then reaches to brush his fingertips across the top of the box, tracing an errant loop of pink on the red. "Did you read them?"

Arum stiffens, his frill doing something incriminating at the edges of his vision, and Damien's lips curl into a strange little smile, the tension softening from his brow.

"Do you-" he seems to catch himself, and then he shakes his head. "Er. Right. Inconsiderate. Busiest day of the year, you said, and I- am inconsiderate," he murmurs, and Arum-

Does not know what to do, or say, or think. Mostly he would like to try standing very still, and maybe then Damien-the-worst-customer with the pretty voice and the terrible manners and the deft poetic voice will stop looking at him as if he has actually noticed him.

"What... what time, may I ask, is your shift over?" Damien asks, sounding almost meek.

"Not until at least seven, I should think," Arum says, too surprised by the question to be anything but honest. "Wh- er, why?"

Damien- shuffles his feet, almost boyish, and then smiles very slightly up at Arum. "I think I might owe you an apology," he says. "Or... at least, a poem for yourself. May I come meet you, later tonight?"

Arum stares, still baffled, still adrift. "I... I... suppose?" he manages, his voice sounding oddly distant to his own ears. "I nearly screamed at you. Just now," he says, blank. "Why would you want to..."

Damien only smiles a little wider, nodding, and then he turns. "I should leave you to it, I think."

"Honeysuckle," Arum barks, and Damien glances back towards him from the door again, his expression substantially softer, now.

"Hm?"

"I... it isn't. Quite so bad," he admits, haltingly. "On the slower days. Hearing you out. Putting together something for you, even if you never follow through. On the slower days... I don't quite mind."

Damien smiles, a prettier bloom than anything in any of his bouquets. "Until tonight, Arum," he says, and then he nods and ducks out the door, practically bouncing on his heels until he disappears from sight past the edge of the window.

"Until... tonight," Arum echoes, noticing far too late the flowers he has clutched against his chest.

[harrison-abbott]

Less and Less of Ron

My old friend Ron wouldn’t speak to me anymore.

I sent him messages by the by. As we always did. Christ, we went through high school together – those most awful of days. And we didn’t go to the same university but we were still in contact. Just about trivial things; movies, soccer, books we’d read, what have you. And by our early thirties we were living in different cities. And kept up a partial dialogue all the same.

But I was 40, now, and he was 41. And I hadn’t heard from him in half a decade. He was semi-active on social media. And so I knew he was still alive. When I messaged him it showed that he had seen the text, but there was no response. And a few years back I had tried calling him but the line went straight to blank.

Last year I sent him a message which said thus:

‘Hey there, Ron. How have you been? Not heard from you in a while. How is your family doing? It would be good to catch up if you like – just for a phone call, or anything. I should be down there in town in a fortnight, so we could hook up for a pint if you like? Let me know. Your old pal, Anthony.’

Nothing from his end.

I thought maybe I had done something to annoy him. I was hugely immature when I was in high school, and, Hell, still was when I was in my university days. And he would’ve witnessed a lot of my drunken, rude behaviour, especially when I was in the low 20s and I drank like a paratrooper. I do remember saying lots of stupid shit. And there were a few times when I offended him; and I was at a party with him once and I made a blunder comment to his girlfriend (who Ron eventually ended up marrying and having kids with) and so perhaps he was still insulted about that?

But, even with that particular comment at the party – I didn’t mean it as an insult. It just came out the wrong way because I said it off key. But I apologised all the same and I saw them both – Ron and his girl – many times after that. And I was at their wedding.

There were other signs that made me wonder whether he’d just lost interest in me. For instance, though we used to be best mates in high school: Ron didn’t invite me to his Stag Night before his wedding. And I was pretty hurt about that. Although I didn’t tell him so. And when we did hook up for a pint when we were older – he chose not to drink – whereas I had never stopped. He had orange juice whilst I was on Guiness. And he got bored quite quickly. He didn’t seem to be interested in football anymore. Even if there was a big FA Cup game on, or Champions League semi final or whatnot. I was still following the game but he didn’t care these days.

When he had his first kid I saw less and less of Ron. Which was understandable. He had a son and then a couple of years a daughter. And I would see photos of him with his family and friends. At gatherings, which I wasn’t invited to … And I said to Ron “Hey I’d really love to meet your bairns. Would like them to meet Uncle Anthony.” I said that latter thing half in jest and it was meant to be convivial. Wasn’t meant to be serious. I thought that he would want me to befriend his kids, too, and even though I wasn’t related I figured I would be like an uncle.

That might’ve been what offended him?

I didn’t have any of my own kids at 40. And therefore it wasn’t looking likely that I’d ever have them … But to be frank I never thought I would hack it as a parent.

Oh, I’m getting too moany. I suppose I’m just sad that I’ve lost a friend who used to be so close. If he doesn’t want to communicate, then, Hey Ho.

[concubuck]

[A random snippet broadcasted from the ball in Gluttony: the sound of enthusiastic moany slurpy sucking, with multiple overlapping copies of Alastor's voice speaking together:]

—I swear, I won't spill any of your seed on your new suit—I'll swallow every last drop—nnh—just—just shove it deep—let me feel every inch in my throat—

[Sounds like he's having a great time!]

[asherelbein]

Today marks the 90th anniversary of King Kong, one of the best -- and most fascinatingly problematic -- of the 1930s monster movies. In the original film, before Fay Wray's Ann Darrow shows up, we see an island girl being prepared for marriage to her god. The film forgets about her immediately. I never have. So back in 2018, I wrote a story about her. Here it is.

It is a fine thing, thinks Koiapu, to be a wife of the God. 

She grasps that thought, kneeling there amid the whirling dancers, her thighs tight against her ankles. The rough stone of the platform presses up through the mat of woven cane. Splinters prick her legs and she shuffles a little to the side. That earns her a swat from Mother Moani, who has just arranged a flower chain around her neck with long, delicate fingers. Mother Kuinkan holds up a flower necklace, speaks the words—may you be like a flower, to adorn Him!—and slides it over Moani’s handiwork. The tribe weaves and leaps around in another turn, shining black and beautiful against the blue sky, and the drums pound like the breakers on the beach, pounding against the heights of the wall, against the distant green cliffs, even, perhaps, pounding up to the mountain where the God makes his home. 

Her home, soon. Another flower chain slides over her head, woven together with small bones and butcherbird feathers. She can feel Father standing just behind her, like a tall trunk at the center of the whirl, on the stone steps in the shadows of the wall. Father, who quietly complains to the Mothers when he must put on his finery, who prefers to spend his time dozing in the shade beneath the woven roofs, his scarred arms resting on his flat belly, watching his sandpipers play with heavy eyes. He is not her father now, though. Not when the drums pound and the spirit dancers wait to begin their shuffling dance. Now the feather-cloak shines brilliantly in the sunlight, shimmering beneath a headdress of huge plumes, taken from the jungle beyond the wall, the fangs of their owners strung yellow and cruel across his chest.

She remembers a festival seasons past, him staring morosely at cloak, headdress and necklace. Mother Moani standing beside him, hands on her hips, waiting to help him put it on. “It’s hot,” he said, in his sonorous voice. “It’s heavy. And the mites in the feathers. They bite, Moani. How they bite.” 

He kept complaining until Mother Moani swatted him, bit his shoulder and said, “Brave man! You will wear it even so.” 

And he did. As he does now. There are things that must be done, here in the village Beneath The Wall, where the high huts and longhouses crowd against the beach and the farmers work the crop-mats that hang from the ancient stones. When her father does them, there is no sign of the sleepy man in the longhouse. Koiapu rushes back into herself, feels how wide her eyes are, the squeezing in her chest, and exhales, straightens. I will be a wife of the God, she thinks, a little desperately. When they bind me to the pillars he’ll come and take me in his huge hand, and I’ll live in his longhouse inside the mountain. And we will have good harvests and luck in hunting, even beyond the wall. 

***

This she had learned at the knees of her mothers, when the coals glowed dull red on the dark sands of the beach, and the stars shone, and striding toothed birds came darting along the surf to pick at fish bones. She’d danced there as a girl, dancing to the sound of the waves, her fat legs kicking, before she ran to huddle against them in the dark.

“Remember, sandpiper. All of this is the God’s,” Mother Kuinkan said, stroking her head. “Everything beyond the wall is his and his alone—every thunder-beast, every butcherbird, every man-taker.”

“Even He Who Shakes The Trees?” Koiapu had asked.

“Even an old cruel thing like him,” Mother Moani said, pulling her close. “We can’t go there without the God’s leave. That is why we wed our daughters to him, sandpiper. So he will give us luck against his beasts.”

“Will I marry him?” 

Her mothers had looked at each other in silence for a long time. 

And now here she is, and they are draping the flowers over her shoulders, her chest, her hair. The drums are pounding louder, working up into a frenzy, and the tribe is swaying around her, lanky young men swaying and clapping and leaping, young women keeping pace, feet stamping the bare white soil. She sees the young men looking over the young women, and the young women are staring back, bold and challenging. It is a wedding, isn’t it, she thinks. It’s my wedding. Weddings make weddings. And she does not think: I could be out there, dancing on the sand. She catches that thought before it forms and forces it down, like her father forces on the feather cloak.

Instead she thinks about Latai, who went hunting with his brothers beyond the gate, boasting how he would come back with feathers and teeth and good white meat, but who came back torn open, savaged. Baru, who always had a kind word for her, who wrestled so beautifully in the dusk, Ariki with his hot eyes. Men who had walked through the wall to hunt or pick the heavy, stinking fruits, and who had never come back. Or little Tikile, dragged from her parent’s hut by a lone butcherbird that had somehow come over the wall. They’d killed it and burned it, feathers and all, and buried its sickle claws deep beneath the tree roots. But it was too late.

The shaman had come to her father in the longhouse after Tikile’s body was set adrift on the surf, his face serious and set. Koiapu listened as she helped her mothers turn the spit, a great hunk of frog-crocodile roasting and bubbling over the flames. “The God has been without a wife for too many years,” the shaman said. “He’s getting impatient, Paeia. It’s time.”

“Not yet,” Father said, in his slow voice. 

“It’s time,” the shaman insisted. He crossed his arms, a slender figure hung with rattling bones and animal-skin pouches and the ceremonial wrap across his hips. “I know it. You know it. My own sons saw He Who Shakes The Trees take Ariki. When was the spirit last so close to the wall? The God is forgetting. We cannot let him forget. We must wed him again.”

“Not her,” her father said, so quietly, so slowly she was barely sure she’d heard it. “Not her.”

The Shaman squared his shoulders. “I’ve spoken with the spirits and cast the signs. Koiapu, daughter of Paeia, who dances in the sand. I know you’re listening, clever girl. The God has chosen you.” 

And her father said nothing, staring with the heavy silence of black clouds hanging over the blue sea. The Shaman looked at him and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I am. But it must be done. She is a good girl, and she will make him very happy. And it is a fine thing to be a wife of the God.” 

***

Another flower garland slips over her head. The young dancers of the tribe retreat and the spirit dancers come, clad in furs and masks that wrap their arms, come to shuffle and spin for His glory. Soon she will rise, her hands on her mothers’ arms, and she will walk through the great gate in the great wall, and they will tie her hands, and she will be married. The ceremony is almost over. There is a little thrill of excitement burrowing through the fear. Soon she will walk beyond the wall for the first time in her life. She will see the dense jungle, the flowers, smell the heavy scents on the breeze as He takes her away. Soon now. Very soon. Keep your back straight, Koiapu! You are your father’s daughter, his sandpiper, and you must make him proud. 

But Father chokes a gasp behind her, and she cannot help herself—she turns. He is no longer ramrod straight, a rock compared to the people swirling around him. He is leaning forward, arms stiff in shock. And the dancers are turning to follow his gaze, freezing in place, crouching in uncertainty. The drums have gone silent. The sea breeze brings a new scent, harsh and ugly to the nose. Koiapu looks out, a stone dropping in her stomach. 

There are strangers on the beach. 

There have never been strangers on the beach that Koiapu can recall. Not true strangers. Once, when Koiapu was little, an outrigger was blown through the reefs by an errant wind. Inside were men with skin the color of coconuts, who spoke with a strange burr. They had looked at the wall with awe and at the high mountains above with terror, for they knew the tale of the Skull Mountain and the God within. But they were men, and they stayed a few days to patch their canoe and refill their water, and in return they left a few keepsakes of their own. And Mother Moani had explained that they were the far-sailors, who mapped the stars with their eyes and crossed trackless oceans, and that they came from time to time to trade. 

These men are not like them. They have skin as pale as seashells. Cloth covers their bodies, layers and folds of cloth, and their faces are hairy. The breeze blowing behind them carries the salt smell, the fire smell.  Several of them grasp short staffs with the ready ease of a man holding a spear, while one of them looks up from a black box on three legs that clicks and whirrs as he moves his hand. He gabbles something in a strange, fast tongue. One of the strangers turns to run as her father’s attention falls on them, only for another to grab him roughly and hold him, the entire band drawing closer together. One of them shivers, and Koiapu sees that it is a woman, a woman with hair the color of sunlight, eyes wide and white as her strange skin. But that is not the oddest thing: there is something long and gray glinting out beyond the breakers, a great canoe, bigger than any she’s ever seen. 

“Caru. Longoa. By me,” her father says, in the silence. The two men run up, holding hastily snatched hunting spears. Together the three of them stalk toward the strangers, her father moving in slow, measured steps, his feather cloak sweeping down the stone stairs and across the sand. The Shaman comes after him, shoulders tight with fury. 

“Who are you?” Father booms. “Why have you come here?” 

Koiapu begins to rise but Mother Moana’s grip on her shoulder is like stone. 

“Wait, sandpiper,” her mother says. “Don’t move.” 

The strangers are speaking among themselves. A thin man comes forward, his narrow face marked with a band of hair beneath his nose. “Greetings,” he says, his accent strange, choked. “Friends. Friends! Friends!”

“Friends give warning when they come beneath the wall,” her father says. “Friends do not walk into sacred rites uninvited. You cannot come here now and say you are friends.” 

The thin stranger gabbles again with his band and then waves at the silent assembly. “What… for… this?” He points at Koiapu, his white finger gnarled, and she shivers. “Who... that girl?”

“Today we wed Koiapu the sandpiper to the God,” her father says, slow, formal. She cannot see his face but she knows it must be thunderous. What must be done must be done; it cannot be interrupted. It cannot be stopped. “The great God!”

The great God, murmurs the crowd. 

“The great God,” Koiapu echoes.

The Shaman is stiff with rage. “He Who Shakes The Trees take them and their bone skins! This wasn’t for them to see. Paeia, get them off the beach! They must go now.”

Her father’s hand snaps out to cut the Shaman off. He considers the strangers in silence, and all Koiapu can see is his broad back and shoulders, the headdress plumes high and proud against the blue sky. “Look,” he says after a moment, and there is a strange note to his voice. “Look at that. The woman they have with them—look at her hair!”

The Shaman looks. “What about it?” 

“Sunlight hair,” her father says. “Think! Sunlight hair and bone skin. What finer wife could we give to the God? Such a wife would keep his attention for years and years!”

“He won’t take her!” the Shaman says. “Don’t be a fool. There’s still time to go through it again—”

“He will,” father says. “Strangers! You call yourselves friends. What would you take for a sunlight woman?” He is pointing back to Koiapu. “Stay! There are six fine young women Beneath The Wall who need husbands. Let the sunlight woman be a bride to the God. It is a fine thing to be.” 

The strangers are stirring, backing away. The woman’s eyes are very wide, and Koiapu cannot be sure but she thinks they might be blue, blue as the sea. “No,” the strange white man says. “Woman...stay with us.” 

“Will she?” her father says, and there is something in his voice Koiapu has never heard before. Something dangerous. Koiapu catches her breath. Beside her, her mothers are frozen like statues in the stone. 

“We back… tomorrow,” the stranger says. He is pacing backward, an arm back, the strangers shuffling back toward the water. The young men are massing beside her father, tense and ready. “Tomorrow. Goodbye.” 

And the strangers go. Her father watches them retreat back to the beach, rowing their fat little canoes back to the great gray canoe out beyond the pinnacles. Then he sweeps back, climbing up to Mother Moani and Mother Kuinkan. 

“We will have that one,” he says, speaking in a voice that cannot be argued with. 

“Can you do such a thing?” Mother Moani says. 

Mother Kuinkan is shaking her head. “The spirits said—” 

But he is standing over Koiapu now, looking down at her on the stone platform. “I would never give the God such a poor gift,” he says in a loud voice. Then, quieter; “I would not give him a little sandpiper when he might have sunlight. You understand, don’t you, my daughter? Do you understand what I am saying?” 

Koiapu nods. Her head is pounding. It is as if the drums have taken up again, even though the men who beat them are clustered together, talking in low voices, looking out at the stranger’s craft out on the waves. “I...I am not to wed him?”

“No,” her father says, casting a hard glance at the mothers. “No. You will wed a simple man. You will dance tonight on the sand, as we give the sunlight girl to him. Stand up, Koiapu.” 

“Stay!” snarls the Shaman. He comes up the stone steps, the bones of his necklace clicking. “Paeia, I understand your thoughts in this. I do. But the spirits have spoken. She must wed Him. If she does not—”

“Strangers have seen the ceremony!” her father booms, loud enough to be heard across the beach. “They have spoiled the great God’s wedding! It’s only right that he has the sunlight girl.”

The Shaman opens his mouth to object but the look on her father’s face stops him cold. He looks down at Koiapu. “Well, Koiapu, daughter of Paeia? Will you let a strange woman wed the God?”

There are things that must be done, Koiapu thinks, looking at him. So you do the things that must be done. But what if it doesn’t have to be done? What if there’s another way? It is a fine thing to be a wife of the God, to tickle and tease him, to keep his love with the tribe and not with the beasts that they hunt. But...it is a fine thing to tread the sands Beneath the Wall, to fish and look at the long-limbed boys. And as she thinks, she feels something crumble in her, something she was holding tight when there was only the thing that had to be done. There is another way.

And she does not want to go beyond the wall. 

Koiapu stands up, takes the flower garlands and pulls them over her head. “Let the sunlight woman take my place,” she says as formally as she can. “I’m only a sandpiper, Shaman. I dance by the sea. I could never please the God.” 

Her mothers glance at each other, faces clouded, but say nothing. Her father stares at the Shaman. The Shaman stares at them all. And behind, the tribe is gathered, waiting to see what is decided. 

“I do not like this, oh chieftain,” the Shaman whispers. “I do not like this at all. I fear what comes next. Please do not do this.” 

“It’s done,” her father says slowly. He turns on his heel, the cloak swishing behind him. “Tonight,” he calls out. “We will go out to the great canoe and steal the sunlight woman, and she will be a wife to the God. And he will keep her and she will keep him, and we’ll feel his favor in the hunts for years and years.” 

Beside him, his warriors are already looking to their canoes.

***

And then there is the thunder of the drums, the fires flickering in the deep velvet night, the pound and stamp of feet beneath the wall. How they all dance beside the coals! They kick out their long legs, and Koiapu dances hardest of all, leaping and whirling alongside the boys, singing as the woman with the sunlight hair struggles against Mother Moani and Mother Kuinkan, the flower garlands in disarray against her weird white dress. She dances as the warriors carry the sunlight woman out the great gates as the hot, sick smell of the jungle floods in, their torches high to frighten off anything lurking on the other side. 

And what she remembers most is this: The energy in her boiling, forcing her to jump higher, run faster, knowing what she had given up, wondering what she has given it up for. But she celebrates with all the rest as the warriors hurry back inside, shut the heavy, creaking gates, and stream up the cane and bamboo ladders toward the top of the wall. They all follow, crowding the stones, looking out over the deep, hungry darkness of the trees, where the silver moonlight laps the leaves like the surface of the sea. 

Her father rings the gong, once, twice. The sound is almost loud enough to drown out the weeping of the woman below, pale and tiny and white down there in the dark. Don’t weep, Koiapu thinks. It’s a fine thing to be a wife of the God. Let him take you. Let him love you, and spread his love to us. Dance for him, sunlight woman. And when I dance I’ll think of you. 

There is a commotion behind her, down in the village. A cracking sound, like branches splitting. Shouts in a strange tongue. But she cannot look back. There is something coming through the black jungle, huge, almost as big as the wall. A vast sloping back shoulders aside the great trees, the trunks groaning a low, eerie lament. A choking animal odor rolls over them all. And then the roar that makes Koiapu’s bones shake, that could tame butcherbirds and thunder-beasts and even old He Who Shakes The Trees with his taloned legs and coiling tail. The roar of the God she was going to marry. 

And in that moment she wonders, for a half-mad second, if she has made the right decision. If she should have gone against her father, stayed kneeling, spoken up for the Shaman, left the beach Beneath the Wall. Given herself to him. And in that half-mad second she sees it—a trampled longhouse and cracked gates, killing smoke on the breeze, and all of them deserted and bereft, forsaken, for He has been taken away to die in a cold distant land, far from anyone who loves him. She sees it and she does not know what she sees, Koiapu, who might have been the bride. 

But it is done. You can’t question what is done. So Koiapu stands atop the wall and watches. And the great god plucks up the girl with sunlight hair and goes, vanishing back into the moonlight, a stream of the strangers in pursuit, and the heavy gates close behind them.  

[americassteestore]

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