slevenski-blog

[sonic-adventure-3]

msrble blast

[bitchlessdino]

lee chan needs love too (m)

Pairing: fuckboy!chan x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor

Word count: 9.3k

tags: pwithp, mention of high school, mention of alcohol, college au, virgin!chan, fuckboy!chan, frat boy!chan, lip piercing!chan, blonde!chan, yearning, car sex, unprotected sex, breasts play, oral (rec.), degradation, kinda exhibitionism, manhandling, possessive!chan, pet names

Summary: There was Lee Chan from High school and now Lee Chan from college. You insist they are not the same person. The only thing they have in common is they both got to fuck you.

author note: happy early bday to me hehe 🥳🥂🎉🎊🎂 this was entirely self indulgent and although i think i could've done better with the plot, i think it makes sense some what for what it is and regardless i hope you guys enjoy. at least the banner is very cute and look blonde chan even has a piercing.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han

The last time you saw Lee Chan was in the back of his used Camry at Boo Seungkwan’s graduation party. 

He blossomed the fuck out of nowhere into an unrecognizable gorgeous specimen of a man when you caught him fucking your roommate during the middle of finals season when you desperately need the peace and quiet to study. It was probably the dead of night—10 pm in your case—and the juice in your Bluetooth earbuds had just died. It was especially unfortunate since they were sound blocking you didn’t realize how badly you needed it with the fuckfest in the room across from you.

By the sound of it, Minnie was having a great time—which you usually aren’t mad about—but so was her friend, who you might add was obnoxiously loud (hot too, but that wasn't the point). You screamed at them from your desk, but you doubt they heard anything with the music on blast you’re assuming was to block out their noise. It was proven less than fruitful when you get no response in return. Finally, you forced yourself out of your room and began pounding hard against her door in desperate pleas. “I should be used to it by now, but please, please keep it down, even a smidge. I have a really important exam in the afternoon. And I can’t t—“

Before you can continue rambling, the door opens from the other side. You met the eyes of a bottle blonde, 5’8, taut and misted with sweat all over, adorned with a pretty piece of metal at his bottom lip. Oh no, he’s hot.

The man looked surprised at your appearance, despite the fact he was the one that turned the knob and swung it open. He stood there, looking more attractive than you anticipated, and just observed you in incomprehensible disbelief. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah. Look I get it, you guys have every right to…continue what you’re doing, all I ask is,” You squeeze your index and thumb to indicate something small, “take it down a notch, a little notch.”

He scoffed, looking amused. He crossed his arms and lean against the door frame, very fortunately wearing underwear (boner shapely and defined). And it only took a second for you to trace the outline of his gorgeously crafted body. As if he was made with marble, he looks as though one of the greats did him a solid by sculpting him one of the most beautiful bodies you’ve ever seen. You almost didn't realize you were ogling at it until he began to speak in his smooth tenor tone of voice. “Can't really take a notch down, but I can promise it’ll be quick.”

You didn’t like the suggestion in his tone nor the wink he displayed either.

“Come back to bed,” your roommate whined in the background. You shut your eyes in disdain, now in disbelief that you were negotiating with one of her hookups right now. “How quick?”

He grinned. “How do you feel about joining?”

“Not happening.”

“Then…” he pondered in thought, “give or take 10, 15 minutes.”

“How the hell is that quick? Don’t college guys cum for like 5 minutes?”

He chortled, and you caught that gleaming smile that likely coerced your roommate in the first place. “I’m a feminist. Ladies first.”

“I’m also a lady, so I say, make it quick…please and thank you.” You walked off with that and waited patiently for them to be done, only to realize it was going to take way longer for both of them to finish than it would be to charge your earbuds halfway, so you settled for the latter.

By the time he left, it was the morning after and you were honest to Minnie about ‘not liking this one,’ to which she laughed like it was the funniest thing you ever said.

Pieces really began to be put together one afternoon going through your old school yearbooks when you found them in the back of your closet. Minnie joined you in your period of nostalgia, wanting to see possible future hotties to cross reference to now. Then she sees him, points out the fact he was the one you confront around a week ago, and it all comes full circle. Your eyes shot back at the aged pages in pure shock, pulling it up to face to make sure you were seeing it clearly. “No way...”

“Oh my god,” she pulled it back from you, “Chan looks so cute here. I just wanna gobble him and put him in my pocket.”

He had his natural black hair, kind brown eyes, and—dawning on you on that very second—the smile that bares more joy than a kindergarten classroom. Back then, this kid didn’t have the blonde hair or piercings he had now. What he did look like was any other teenager that would listen to his parents and go to church. He was the model good boy. 

The model good boy whose virginity you took when you were 18 years old after a very public breakup with your ex at someone’s graduation party.

“What are you doing in my car?” Chan interrogated the second you let the door shut behind you.

You really had no plan then, all you knew was you wanted to evacuate the party immediately the moment things ended with Gyu. He had to be irrational and so utterly infuriating that you couldn’t stand to look at his face anymore. So, you just entered the nearest vehicle, forgetting the fact you never called an Uber or Lyft.

You weren’t ready to face the music yet, so a change of subject was in order. “What are you doing leaving early?”

“I asked you first.”

You crossed your arms obnoxiously, “And if I don’t want to answer?” In a second, you regret that, seeing the genuine concern on his face. You dropped your arms to the side. “I don’t wanna be around people right now.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “I’m people. Do I not count?”

“You’re a little too…perfectionist to be a regular person. Now, why are you leaving early?”

He simply shrugged. “Curfew.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly scoffing.“Of course, you have a curfew.”

You both sat in complete silence. You should’ve questioned why you were still in here, a car that didn’t belong to you with its owner, a magnet for college recommendation letters and scholarships rather than people with a potential romantic connection. But no, you just stayed there, wallowing in your internal conflicts of average day teenager, thinking about a tomorrow that you wouldn’t even remember two or three years from now.

“Wanna talk about it?” Chan initiated, breaking the silence.

You exaggerated a sigh like the theater kid you were, forearm to the forehead. “No.”

“Wanna hook up?”

You sat up from the seat to stare back at him stunned. It was a shock that such an idea would come out of his mouth even as a joke, yet temptation lingered in your body, making you clench your thighs as if you heard the lewdest thing to be said ever in history. Safe to say, it didn’t get much rile up a person on the rebound.

Before he could jump in and say the automated pathetic phrase, “Just kidding,” followed by an awkward chuckle, you’ve already thrown yourself against him from the passenger seat. You moved against him expertly as one in a high school long relationship could, tightening the crotch of his pants as he could think of anything but what he actually put in his commended college essay about his experience with—fuck what was it about?

He pulled himself away the moment he felt tongue, restraining himself to the car window for dear life. “W-what was that for?”

“You propositioned me first.” You smiled, breathless. You drew closer to him, trying to retrieve the distance–or lack thereof–you had with Chan seconds before where you could practically taste the innocence on his lips. “I want to go through with it.”

His eyes shot open like Wile E. Coyote. “W-what? Here?”

“Yes, here, Chan.”

“W-why?” he stuttered, which he did a lot of. Perhaps, he should look into that.

You mustered a sultry expression, narrowing your eyes at him which helps you notice his dilated eyes that quivered in both fear and arousal. “Because maybe all this time…I’ve wanted you. It’s always been you.”

“R-really?”

You let out a small laugh. “Well, no. But just tonight I can.”

“Does this have to do with why you left early?”

“Do you always talk this much before you fuck someone?”

“No—uh, I don’t know, I—“

You pulled back in realization. “Oh my god, you’re a virgin.”

“Shut up!” he said, typing to cover your mouth to prevent you from exposing him, which you successfully avoid.

“You had a girlfriend all throughout junior year!”

“No, I didn't. She was my secretary. I was the student body president.”

“But she kept giving you eyes.”

He squinted. “What eyes?”

“Nevermind. What matters is do you want to go through with this?”

“Having sex in my car?” He clarified, somehow doubtful.

“Yes, nerd.”

“Is the insulting really necessary?” He winced, you notice playfully.

“It’s my kink,” you dryly jestered.

You’re about to tackle him again when he pulled back one last time.“W-wait, what about condoms?”

“I’m clean,” you shrugged, “don't worry about it.”

“What about, you know?”

You scoffed. “Please, I've been taking birth control before you even started puberty. You can cum in me, Chan.”

His cheeks then turned a vibrant hue of scarlet, spreading from his cheeks to his ears. “I-in you?”

“Yes, Chan.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, hand ruffling through his hair, which was quite soft despite the product. “You can cum all you want in me.” You kissed the top of his nose as your body brushed up against something big and firm. “And by the rock in your pants, you’re not against it.”

“There actually is a rock in my pants.” Chan struggled to get the geode gift given to him by his teacher at the diploma ceremony and he casually tossed it in the cupholder, chuckling nervously.

You fingered over this cheek, noticing the smooth, almost flawless skin adorned by a few moles, particularly one on the left side of his face beneath his eye was devastatingly cute, “Obviously, that’s not the rock I was talking about.”

You leaned into him, your cherry zero coke breath fanning his cheeks, and he can feel the curves of your body fit into his hollows. He stifles a breath before you kiss him again, your tongue brushing against his bottom to regain access. Naturally (as natural for Chan anyway), his hands came up your sides as he familiarized himself with your lips. You lightly moaned, digging your hips at him, before hearing a moan back that sent chills up your spine and pebbled your skin.

“Fuck, you’re so cute, Chan.”

“Y/n…” he whined unbelievably soft and malleable.

You threaded through his soft, dark hair, lightly down his scalp. 

You remember making out with him for a serial amount of time before he ‘accidentally’ (you’re still not sure to this day) lowered his seat position until he was nearly flat on his back. He uttered a soft apology before you were on him again. Clothes were tossed to the back seats and you see the bit of definition he developed from being co-captain on the dance team. You bathed in the heat of his skin as you unbuttoned his khakis, and revealed his untouched glory.

You reveled in being the first of the kind, somehow excited that you were the one to enjoy this side of Chan first, kissing him in unbridled, visceral lust. You lathered him in your wet, raw arousal, feeling the twitch of his cock against your slit as he’s groaning your name. You teased his voice, cooing praises at him for being so big and good for you until you let him take residence. 

You could feel him push through your walls, levying his sizing and stretching until your warmth. It does more than distract you, it satisfies you. You swear you hear a hiss of his voice, followed by, “fuck, that’s good,” before you bounce against his cock. You hope that the car can muffle noise because all you could repeat were your anguished moans and his name, the name that sounded like pure music to the young man’s ears.

You took his unoccupied hands, resting each on either breast while riding his firm, strong thighs. His jaw dropped. The sensation of your plush walls around his girth and the pillowy texture of your tits between his fingers made his hips buckle.

“That good?” You asked softly, to which he nodded. His eyes glaze over back at you, difficulty keeping them wide open and he finds the courage to twist your nipples between his fingers, your stomach churning whimpers escaping you the moment he does. “C-Chan…”

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

You shook your head, “No,” and folded into him, your chest immediately hitting his line of vision. “Touch me more…”

He does as you asked, staring back at you like a deer lost in wonder, and like that, everything after comes second nature. The warmth of his mouth takes over your naked breast, drawing circles against your textured skin with his tongue and he moves more freely against your body. It was fluid the way he moved like his virgin status was and is all it was, a status, not showcasing any of his skill. You fed off of him, his energy, his body, his want. He didn’t even know what he was doing. He was just a natural.

“C-can I fuck you?”

“Fuck me?”

His lips quivered, face flushed red and misted in sweat, “Yes, can I fuck you against the seats?”

You slowly nodded before readjusting in the seats. Chan, still inside you, found his natural pace, letting his cock hit you with enough power and depth that it made your legs freeze and bent in the air as a response, “Mmh, Chan…”

“Is that—ump—good?”

“Yes, but faster, don’t be scared to break me.”

He isn’t sure what you mean by that but he tries. His thrusts become his own, disciplined and sharp, enveloping himself in your fluttering walls that clench harder around him the faster he went. Your hands gripped his upper body, lips latching on his to dampen the sound of your voice. Your body pressed to the tautness of his, pushing him deeper inside and you felt it mere seconds away. An orgasm. An actual orgasm.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me, Chan!” You were blistering the heat of your climax, you writhe underneath him and clutched against him by the back of your knees.

He’s eternally grateful because he was seconds away from cumming himself. He let your hips falter, coming down from the high before letting his hips take over. Drowning you in his grunts, he fucked you until he climaxed, his final thrusts painting your insides in ivory honey and making you feel whole. He panted against you, a tired smile on his face as he held his cum in you with mere his cock. Finally, he rests.

“Congratulations,” you said, laughing.

He scoffed lightly, “Thanks.”

It stayed like that for a few minutes, cock wet and warm in you, finding peace in the gentle chaos. He pushed himself from on top of you and looked down on your sweaty, exhausted form. His lips crashed against yours, and you sense his gratitude as he backed off. “Really. Thank you.”

You smiled lightheartedly, “Shut up and get me some wipes, please. I know you have them.”

He let out a little giggle before retrieving the assumed wipes from the glove compartment, helping you get clean. It wasn’t a thorough job but it did what it could. “Want me to take you home?”

“Might as well as payment,” you joked again, thinking it will get rid of this tension that still lingered. 

The ride went on in silence beside the radio’s pop music, consumed in your thoughts. It’s funny, you were used to being the type to always have to say something in any conversation, but with Chan right now, you had nothing, forcing the quiet until you arrived home. He parked his car, letting you know personally he arrived where the GPS said and you look off at one another, noting how his hair was still messy from an earlier event and you can’t help but fix it.

“Don’t want you caught,” You chuckled, moving your hands through until it was in proper Chan form. “There.”

“Hold on.”

His hand reached over your face. Thinking it was for another liplock, you stayed seated, prepared for the cushion of his lips as you pursed yours. Instead, he’s wiping away whatever it was from the corner of your lips, staring back at you with the sparkle in his eyes. “You got something there.”

“Um, Chan…I’m not wearing anything on my lips.”

“I-I knew that—,” You crushed your lips against him one last time, the salty-sweet taste of want from your tongue lingered on his, and you exit the car to never see him again. Or so you thought.

Was it the best sex you ever had up until now? No, definitely not. Was it good sex? Yes, way better than you anticipated. Then again you were comparing it to your ex, and at that point, anyone’s dick was the next coming of Jesus the more you think about it. 

“God, Chan grew up so hot,” Minnie gushed.

“I’ll say,” you agreed in reflex, “I mean, he sure looks different.”

“Different? They’re like two separate people,” She said, biting her lip, “Is it weird I wanna call him over again?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes at your answer before flipping through the pages while you were still processing this information. You’ve had time to forget it happened and have had plenty of sex after then, but Chan will always be a little special. And you’d be lying if you weren’t the tiniest curious about how he turned out after all this time. It was hard to believe he's who he is now.

Since then and after some light stalking, you found out the college he attended was a neighboring one. He took part in a popular frat (gamma, omega, theta, whatever) that, surprise surprise, hosted some of the biggest parties that even students from your university attended. He just so happens to be one of the members actively posted on the site surrounded by hot people with his gorgeous blonde lip piercing ass. Goddamn, it.

Okay, that’s it. You can stop right there. No need to dig any deeper. Besides, he’s just some guy you hooked up with once (a great once for his first time), just once. That’s it. There’s no need for you to go all yourself like you used to do for your exes. This was just Lee Chan.

“Hi there, you’re Minnie’s roommate.” You found Lee Chan grinning back at you with a stack of fliers in his hands as you walked the neighboring streets that you conveniently heard he’d be around. Social media is a curse. “We have a charity event where all proceeds will be going to feed the starving homeless at a couple of shelters down in the area.”

You accepted the flier and tucked it under your pit as you crossed your arms in a questioning manner. “When were you going to let me know?”

“Ah,” his smile stretched wider as his hand slapped against the stack before clutching it to his chest, “took you long enough.”

“So what, you were just gonna wait until I realized it myself?”

“That was the idea, but I knew you were smart. You’d figure it out—charity event, we’ll keep you company,” he handed off the flyer to a pair of girls with an effortless wink before they’re scurrying off blushing a squealing.

“Isn’t this something the pledges do, what are you even doing out here?”

He stands beside you, a devious smile tattooed on his face, “I’m one of the people that manage social media. I pay attention to our activity feed and couldn’t help but see a like pop up and disappear in front of my very eyes.”

Your cheeks heat up, caught red-handed, “So you knew I’d be here and came out anyways.”

“Figured you wanted to talk,” he said, keeping his hands busy and eyes wide and charming.

“Why? Thinking about me?”

“You’re not someone that I could just stop thinking about, Y/n.”

Your name in his voice burned your ears, making you flick it away as if it were a bug. “Well, just came here because I remembered something I saw. That’s all. Go about your day.”

You’re about to storm off when he’s calling for you again and you shamelessly look back. His eyes turned up the way his smile does, sauntering over as he locked you in his trance. You were almost hypnotized by the sterling steel that looked so pullable you had to physically restrain yourself with pinches to your forearms. “You’re coming to the party.”

“Says who?”

He has this permanent playful expression, one that doesn’t recall down days or cram studying. He looked entirely carefree. So unlike the Chan from high school. “Says me. Plenty of booze, plenty of champagne, plenty of food, plenty of me to go around.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Kidding,” He laughed. “But don’t you think it’s rather serendipitous that we found each other again? After so many years?”

You squinted at him. “Yeah, sleeping with my roommate.”

“It’s like I somehow found my way back to you.”

“You have a hickey on your neck.”

His eyes shoot open, and a hand came over his neck, “Road bumps exist to get to our destination.”

“I lied, there was nothing there,” you said, not falling for his whimsy, ready to walk off again.

He chased after you, trying to lure you back with that smile he somehow found out you can get enough of. “Not fair, but fine. But don’t try to convince me you aren’t happy to see me. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I…I don’t know why I came here. I didn’t know what I was expecting.”

He gave you a befuddled look. “What do you mean? It’s me. Chan. I thought maybe you’d be at least a little excited to see me.”

The Lee Chan you knew was so different from now, blonder, spunkier, riskier for the faint of heart. Your fair trade of relationships was a healthy amount, enough to know what you wanted and somehow it all lead back to Chan three years ago. Like it meant something to be joined in something intimate with him. Your eighteen yourself would be laughing at you right now at the thought of you yearning for Lee Chan of all people. Not that anything was wrong with him, just that Chan was Chan and you were you. And now Chan is Chan and you were, well, same old you.

“You…I’m not used to this.”

His brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You could read the offense as soon as it arrived, immediately coming to defend yourself. “I was excited to see you.”

“Well, I’m here. What’s the problem?” If you knew any better, he looked hurt.

“You’re like a whole other person. I don’t know this Chan.”

“Then get to know me. No offense, but you barely even knew that Chan.”

“I—,” he wasn’t wrong. You hardly spoke as classmates. Hell, the sex was the longest conversation you’ve ever had. Before that was him asking for directions to where the auditorium was since it was a part of campus he never visited, but you weren’t ignorant to him. You always noticed Chan. Just never in that light until the last minute. Yet, you missed that Chan. Not like you had any right to. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why do you already think that lowly of me? You think we can’t be in the same town breathing the same air as each other?”

“Chan, of course not.”

“I get it. Stranger dangers and all that shit right? But we’re a little more than strangers, aren’t we?”

For some reason, you couldn’t answer and instead stared down at your feet. He let out a frustrated sigh, in disbelief the carefree person he knew several years ago was this same person in front of him. “Is there a problem you have with me?”

Because he looks like a fuckboy and you avoid fuckboys like the plague now. Remember?

“I don’t know,” you crossed your arms.

He took a step forward, taking the flier folded against your arm and smoothing out the wrinkles before he placed it in your hand. “Well, it’s just a party. So come. See me, ignore me, drink your heart out. Whatever, but come.”

He gave you one last bittersweet smile before deciding to walk off, following his frat brother who was already far ahead of him.

There was a tug of war between your mind and body, fighting the internal conflicts that make you hesitant to reconnect with Chan again. There’s no doubt a piece of you still hoped for the old Chan that lingered in your mind throughout all these years and the imminent lure of new Chan who was just the embodiment of every red flag you’ve ever seen in your past relationships.

Saying going to this party is a mistake would be an understatement.

“Oh my gosh, it looks so pretty here!”

You came arm in arm with Minnie, admiring the aesthetic light fixtures on the walls, while wearing the nicest garb you could conjure up from your closet. It was a navy blue dress in crushed velvet that hits you right at your ankles that could only be paired with a light pair of heels for the night to go on a little easier. You mused around at the decorations, impressed with the craftsmanship, surprised this was an event planned by college bros obsessed with Greek life. “It does look nice here.”

One block heel over the other, you were subconsciously scanning for a bright blonde head in sight. Instead, you were surrounded by several familiar faces of his members in suits and ties, remembering seeing them all over the Fraternity’s Instagram. They greeted you as hosts do and two of them took you and Minnie to unoccupied seats. The person that guided you to your seat, Seokmin, offered you a refreshment, while Soonyoung, Minnie’s guide, did the same for her. Once they had disappeared for a few minutes, Minnie could do nothing but gush over their looks.

“They’re so cute! Oh, do you think they’d wanna double date us?” Minnie asked with her eyes cheery and bright.

You looked back at the pamphlet and the itinerary, pointing at something peculiar. “Maybe, if we win the date auction with them.”

“Boo, I’m broke,” she pouted, “I’ll just have to charm myself the way I always do.”

You chuckled at her delight before the boys returned and chatted you up for the time being. You remained mostly cordial while Minnie brought in the charm she’s so famous for and amidst the jokes and lighthearted pandering, the awaited blonde is seen entering, greeting other guests that have made their arrival.

Your chest felt light, letting out a sigh of relief as though Lee Chan’s appearance made the event all the more tolerable, and maybe it had. However, it’s tightened as soon as you realize how incredibly his body fits the cream-colored suit, reminding you of white chocolate. Decadent and unique on your tongue, echos of his moans so familiar infiltrate the busiest part of your brain, blocking out background noises and images other than Lee Chan.

“All good, Y/n?” Seokmin so politely asked.

In a broken trance, you turned to them and nodded, seeing Minnie doubtful of your answer. You started getting from your chair, apologizing. “I’m fine. I think I saw my friend? You guys keep chatting. I’ll be back.”

You escorted yourself, smoothing the wrinkles of your dress before approaching him out of his view. He doesn’t suspect the anxious figure walking up to him, attention focused on other company while giving them that dazzling toothpaste smile on his face. As you tapped on his shoulder, he turned to you, melting into a soft, long gaze once he drank in your appearance. He politely excused himself from his previous company and offered you his elbow. Pleasantly surprised, you took it with stride, interlocking through, and quietly followed him somewhere a bit more private (as private as it can be in a semi-public event). “You look ravishing,” He whispered only loud enough for you to hear. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled flushed, arm wrapping tighter around him, “You look really put together like this.”

“‘Put together?’ Way to damper a guy’s confidence,” he laughed, feigning offense.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“It’d be nice to hear it too.”

You exhaled, “You look really…handsome, Chan.”

A peaceful smile grazed his face. “Better. So, did you take a look at the itinerary?”

You nodded, twiddling your fingers before conjuring up the courage to ask, “Are you going to be in that auction?”

“Straight to it,” he chuckled melodiously, “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing like that, just curious.”

He shrugged. “Well, I will be one of the dates for the auction. Get your wallet ready.”

You lightly nudged him, chuckling, “You wish.”

“I do wish.” His lips neared your ear. “Maybe you winning is my end goal.”

Feeling the heat radiate off your cheeks, you shove him off of you away from innocent bystanders. “You’re so funny.”

“It’s my best asset,” he said, joining your arms back again. “Winner gets a weekend date of their choice with a budget of $75. Tempting, isn’t it?”

“You would be one to think so.”

“I’d make our date worthwhile.”

His dark temptation sent chills down your spine and you punched his arm, hard. “Stop it.”

“Stop what,” he teased, rubbing his likely bruised arm.

“Being this.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Why are you bothered by me? Be honest.”

You sighed, loosening the grip on his arm. “You were right and I don’t know you. I never really did. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you. It’s just strange to see someone I saw one way again after a few years and you’re completely different.”

“You don’t like the way I look?”

You shook your head. “No. In fact the opposite, I like it so because it reminds me of so many of the people I’ve been with, but I don’t want you to be any of them. I want you to be Chan.”

“I am Chan,” He said, taking you aside and holding your hand in his. “Just because I look a certain way doesn’t make me any less me. But I’m flattered you think so much about me.”

“What do you even get out of this?” You changed the subject. “Inviting me to places, talking sweet, and being nice to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, an unsure smile on his face. “Okay, so maybe, I felt something when I saw you again.”

“Just like you felt something when you saw Minnie?” You snapped.

“...That’s not what this is,” he answered seriously.

“What is it then?”

He gave you a grim expression. “I’m not sure either.”

“Be honest, Chan. How often is it that you go on dates, or hook up with someone like you did with Minnie?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Because it is. How would I be any different than that? What makes me different from everyone else?”

“Because you’re not like anyone else.” He answered definitely.

Before you could ask him what he meant, Chan is pulled away by the other members of his frat to get him prepared for the auction coming up soon. He graced you with a bitter smile before disappearing behind doors where you’re forced to rejoin Minnie and the boys you left behind. They asked if you were alright, to which you less than sublimely answered, but they didn’t push it.

You tried being good company the rest of the night, making small jokes, greeting new people, and taking advantage of the catering that is surprisingly better than you expected. Yet, Chan was still running rampant in your mind. The auction was seconds away from starting and he would be there on that stage just like everyone else, devastatingly handsome and charming that you could melt in a puddle. You somehow come with several glasses of champagne that night to the point Minnie issued you an end to it by force-feeding you water to sober up. It doesn’t work that well.

The stage lights turned on and music loudly played in the background. A man in a suit different from the rest began introducing potential suitors available for auction, including the friendly members you’ve come to know this evening, who waved back at your table when they got on stage. It goes for a few hours so far and the Greek house has accumulated several thousands of dollars in funds. Meanwhile, your sobriety was gradually replenishing over time until the announcement of the next auction date would step on stage.

“Up next we have is Lee Chan, respected brother and life of the party!”

The blonde stepped on stage with fierce charisma, smiling and waving like it was his own red carpet, even striking a few poses for good measure. The emcee goes on about qualities you already knew and some you didn’t as the slideshow is off in the background like it was for all of the previous dates on stage. That’s when the show really began for you. Photographs of Chan playing basketball, obviously playing for team skins, as his hair bundled up in a sweaty, sexy mess. They were the kind of pictures people used for body fitness inspiration or just plain inspiration because what better motivation could one have other than the bare torso of Lee Chan. 

Cheers of encouragement cause a deep blush to appear on his gorgeous face, and you swear you saw him tug anxiously at his lip ring in the most delectable way. You stifled a breath, heart pitter-pattering like rain in a violent storm. “Holy—“

“Shit,” Minnie breathed out, “Go, Chan.”

You suddenly remembered who and where you were, wiping away your drool before it was visible.

“Let’s start out the bidding at $50.”

“$100!”

“$150!”

“$250!”

“Woah, woah, looks like we already got a couple of takers. Are we hearing a $255?”

The longer that went on the more severe the anxiety was bubbling up inside you. The numbers only got higher and higher, louder and louder, taunting your inhibitions. Before you knew it, you’re jumping up from your seat in a clearly unsober but confident state screaming, “One thousand dollars” from the top of your lungs. Chan looked in your direction, shocked, eyes wide as doe while his lips started parting in a small smile, a reasonable surprise considering the mixed signals you were giving.

You weren’t sure what you were doing since there was no way you had that kind of money, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The higher the bid, the higher the influence. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You were falling under a similar spell they were all under. You had to do everything you could to—

“Two thousand dollars.”

Your gaze swung in the voice's direction to a gorgeous girl standing a few feet from you, beaming with confidence. You slumped down in your shame while the emcee congratulated the highest bidder and shy Chan for reeling in the highest amount of money so far tonight. 

The hours after just drone on, just as much as champagne did and there you were pathetic and sad to have lost. Minnie doesn’t know how you keep finding refreshments for yourself, she blames the eyes candies willfully distracting her. “Okay, seriously stop. I will ban you from alcohol for life.” Minnie carried you off outside, hugging you to her as she went to listen to your unnecessary babble.

“He was mine…”

“I know, sweetie, but she was paying a month and a half’s rent. No way we could’ve paid for that.” Your whines muffled in her shoulder, mumbling something about “fuck the rich” before you started to cry. Even Minnie found it embarrassing.

“Want me to take over?”

Chan is the first person you laid your eyes on coming up from the surface of your drunk childish tantrum, making you wipe the tears away from your eyes in a hurry. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” he said lethally soft.

“Hi!” Smiling at you both before getting up from her seat. “Usually, I wouldn’t approve of letting my girl alone with a frat boy while intoxicated but I have her location on and I know where you live. So, take good care of her or I’ll kill you.”

He gave her a gregarious nod before waving. “Bye, Minnie.”

“Bye, Chan. No more drinks, Y/n.”

She left you to Chan, following after Soonyoung and Seokmin who were surprisingly waiting for her by the door. Good for her, you thought.

“That was stupid of you,” He said sitting next to you.

“Tell me about it.”

“Did you even have $1000?”

Pouting, you shook your head. “No, but I wanted to win.”

“You wanted to win me?” He said smiling.

“Yes, isn’t it that obvious?” Your head fell against his broad welcoming shoulder. You let out a long low breath at that, clutched the breast of your dress as you tried your damnedest to breathe. You were aware of your heart rate, pounding away at your chest like a drum. Your weight pushed against him but made no change to his posture. He was like a boulder that chipped away at your weakness and made you ache for his fullness no matter how much your head told you otherwise. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?”

“Be…this. And make me crazy about you.”

His head turned down to see your face, warm brown eyes staring back into yours. “I could say the same about you. You have sex with me once years ago, give all the time in the world to recreate a feeling like it, just to chase me back when I think I’m finally forgetting about you? Diabolical of you.”

You thought you’ve heard it all before. Usually, sweet nothings go to one ear and out the other. Many of those sugar-coated words and phrases have blended into something homogenous, overplayed tactics that got you into loveless relationships fueled by sex and desire. Who knows if Chan is different, but the words he speaks, and the burning he gives you, you wanted every little bit of it. You grasped his lapel, pushing your face closer. “You thought about me?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying this entire t–”

Your patience soon wore thin. His lips tasted sweet like nectar, felt soft as pillows, warm as the summer. The heat of his skin was in stark contrast to the cool steel of his lip ring expectedly grazing your skin, churning whatever it was in your stomach. You attempted to gain leverage control, thirsting more, but you learned soon his muscles weren’t just for show. “You’re drunk, Y/n.”

“But you taste so good…”

He took a deep breath before sighing. “Let’s just get you someplace to rest up and I can take you home after.”

Chan made good on his promise. As your body was giving in to sleep, your knight in blonde carried you off on his back to the nearest place of rest, which ended up being his bedroom that he luckily didn’t have to share. He laid you sprawled out on his thinly veiled mattress, tucking you underneath his blanket until he couldn’t see any inch of skin except your head up, and he let your soft airy snores play out.

He made his shower quick to return to you, relieving himself of the heavy suit he’s been wearing all night. He gets back to his room and placed the suit in the bag back into his closet. You’re still sound asleep as soon as he’s back but now stir in your sleep, staring to thrash around even. That made him come to your side in a hurry, trying to calm you down. He puts his hands on your body through the covers, soothing you to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, that is what makes you start to gain consciousness, pushing yourself to sit up from the bed. “Where am I?” 

“You’re awake, shit, sorry.”

“Chan?” You blinked back at him with tired eyes, barely focusing through the small slits of your vision to make out the man tending to your drowsy state.

“Yeah, you were really out of it? I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Shirtless?”

Chan looked down at his body to realize what you meant. He only came to the bathroom with a single pair of sweatpants with him fully intending to just throw a shirt on the moment he got back to the room. Now he was deeply regretting the decision seeing how awake you are. Grim at the thought of you perceiving him as some typical perverted college guy, which he was if not a little more respectful than most. “Sorry. I’ll put something on.”

You tugged him back by his wrist, stopping him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” He repeated, heart starting to take race in his chest.

You shook your head definitely. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

You shifted on the bed, realizing how you were still in your dress, subconsciously shrugging off the flimsy straps. Your hand traveled from his wrist and up his forearm. The hairs of his arms stood up at your touch and he sucked in shallow breaths as your hand smoothed over to the back of his neck effortlessly. Your finger threaded through his hair. There’s a look in your eyes, unlike the others you’ve shown so far since he’s reunited with you. They only come close with the gaze he say several years ago when you defiled his 18th birthday gift at a random peer’s graduation. “Lee Chan.”

He doesn’t want to fall for it, but damn it, did he want to be an idiot and just fall, fall hard. “You’re still drunk, maybe–”

“My Lee Chan…” God, did his heart throb.

“You’re definitely drunk.”

Your hand moved over to cup cheek, feeling how he instinctively nestled in your palm. His gaze softened back at you in this familiar way it did once back in the first time and both of you can’t help but call back to that night again. It’s like you’re right where you started, seconds away before melting into one another like hormonal teenagers.

“What are you doing to me now?” He asked so softly you almost didn't make it out.

If his body wasn’t already so goddamn enticing, it was the expression on his face. You could etch out the writhing on his face when you rode his body the first time, remembering how his strong thighs buckled at your touch, burning under the heat of your thighs. Your abdomen was physically contracting thinking about it.

“Kiss me, Chan.”

He doesn’t have the will to resist you any longer and he took the opportunity, crashing his lips into yours. You embraced his naked torso, clinging on to him and tugging against his piercing before pulling him towards you in bed with a thud. You didn’t know what true love felt like but it felt as half as good as Lee Chan, you’d risk your heart over and over again just to have it in your arms.

“Take it off for me,” you whispered once his hand landed on the zipper of your dress. The common plastic rubbed over your spine, and the sound of it traveling down pooled bountiful amounts of arousal in your core. You moaned against his lips helplessly, digging your nails through his scalp. 

His sweatpants did no good in hiding his aroused state as it poked back at your thigh coming out of the slit of your dress, groan at the pain you cause him but was pleased nonetheless. His hands come up your shoulder confidently, sliding down the rest of the material as it slid off the bed and hit the ground. Your knee came up behind him, pressing him down to reunite your curves and hollows as he moved to nip the skin at your clavicle, murmurs from lips occasionally leaving his lips.

“What was that?” you asked, already intoxicated in something other than alcohol for once tonight.

“I said, ‘I’ve been wanting to fuck you the moment I saw you again.’”

His voice exhibited a gravelly rasp, one you wouldn’t have expected knowing him, but fuck, if it didn’t make your pussy full-out throb. “Yeah,” you egged on, “You wanted to see if you still fit your cock in me?”

He gave out a low growl. “I forgot how annoying you were.”

“I guess not too annoying to fuck me full in the front seat of your Camry.”

“I miss that thing. Too many good memories.” His sigh fanned over the back of your neck before his lips sucked against the skin under your ear, causing you to crumble underneath him. “But it’s fine, I can make new memories. And I won’t be worried about breaking you this time.”

His hips dipped down in yours, teasing his bulge at your wet, clothed core before you’re thrusting back in whines. Your hand roamed through his blond locks, gripping like you were doing into your insanity, if only there were just as surprisingly healthy and strong. “Fuck me already. I want you to stuff me with your cock just like the last time.”

He shook his head, that smile of his filling your insides with need and desperation. “Thought I’d catch you up on a bit on how I’ve improved first.”

He trailed kisses down your body, hands caressing over your breast before your sides. You tremble as the pads of his fingers grazed the edges of your panties, pulling them down and off of your body leaving you nothing but nude. Your glistening arousal stared back at him like a limitless fountain of youth, inclination bubbling up inside of him. The back of his hand rubbed against the moisture of your folds, seeing you thoroughly coat him as he wrapped his lips against your thighs, moans ebbing from his lips and yours.

“Your pretty pussy is so wet for me. Just like I remember.” Your clit was squeezed between his fingers, swelling up so enticingly he just had to suck against it. You clenched your abdomen, calling out for him, “fucking hell,” and then his tongue was inside you as though it was digging for gold, “holy shit.”

The sounds he made were simply carnal, like he hadn’t been feeding for months and until now you could help but eat every second up as he devoured you entirely. Your toe curled, your breath stolen from, and your cunt flooded until you could overflow a dam. “I could eat your pussy all night, baby girl…if I knew you tasted this good…would’ve been the first thing I’d done to you.” His thumb presses on your clit, flicking it from side to side, and the stripes he ran up your slit become ravenous, monstrous, torturous.

“You’re gonna make me cum, please…”

“Already,” he teased, kissing your entrance, “I’ve barely started. Or are you saying because you’re such a slut for my cock?”

You winced as he pinched your clit, holding back tears. “No, no. I’m really about to—ah—cum…”

“Guess I should savor it when it arrives, shouldn't I?”

He ate you out until you’re practically screaming, the creak of the bed would be normally something that’d bother you, but his tongue is so tantalizing you don’t even notice. Meanwhile, his hands have taken over your breasts, squeezing them so possessively in each hand you feel like you’re truly his, and none otherwise.

“Such a pretty little mess…cum on my tongue, baby girl…I need you cumming in my mouth…” His pleas sounded dirty, desperate, devastating. Your whines cried out as you begged for more, pushing his face deeper into you, feeling the burn of your cheeks. “Shut…up—fuck!”

You involuntarily came in him as he wished. Painting the inside of his mouth with your milky climax, he laughed contently in your heat as he pulled away. Your cum stretched from your sopping pussy to his lips, forcing you to watch as he licked up the mess, starting with the collection from his cheeks. “Such a good slut for me,” he wiped the cum from the underside of his chin, putting his fingers between his mouth while groaning. “I needed this so bad with the week I’ve had.” 

He wounded himself tight around his digits, letting go with a ‘pop. “Especially with how confused and horny you make me…I’m gonna fuck your stupid cunt until you’re sure you want me just as much as I want you.”

He reached over his bedside to rip open a condom and rolled it on himself, giving you the glimpse you needed to be reminded of how big and delectable just Chan’s cock was. There he then held your legs until they folded against you, spreading you wide and perfect for him to fuck into. Plunging through your cum lubricated walls, he entered you with ease, the familiar sensation of your fluttering grip took him back to his youth. “Shit, that’s good.”

You suppress a moan, to which he scolded you by squeezing your cheeks, gripping your face harshly in his direction, and what he said next was enough to make you want to cum right there on the spot. “Don’t do that. I want you to be loud. I want everyone in this house to hear you while I fuck you senseless to the point you forget your name.”

Whoever dare says Lee Chan is a liar is the real liar because he knows how to keep a promise.

His body, heavy and strong, pressed you unto the mattress mercilessly, pounding out the cheap strings that were bound to break. Your screams of his name bounced off the thin walls, taking every stroke of his cock until you were mistaken for bloody murder. It wasn’t what you expected, and yet you couldn’t be happier to be wrong. Your head threw back at the claim of his hands on your hips, now pulling at you to manually use you for his bidding, only to bottom out in you repeatedly. “Fuck Chan…please…”

After having been told to let your vocal cords loose, you took it personally and screamed his name from the rooftops, which you might as well have done with how obnoxiously boisterous you were taking every gorgeous inch. 

“Good slut,” He flipped you on your stomach, only to rut into you deep. His hand caressed your back, “I’m a bit possessive if you can’t tell. Usually, I wouldn’t care if anyone heard, but with you, I can’t help but do care. I want everyone to know who it is you’re fucking. Who it is ruining you like this.”

“Shit, that’s so hot…” you whine, your ass cheeks burning in the rage of his hips.

“Say it for me then. Say how you like me inside you. Say how you like how I’m fucking you stupid.”

You choked on your words as he pushed in you without abandon, riling himself up at the anticipation of your words. “I love you inside me…I love how you fuck me so stupid, Chan…”

He pulled you up by your arm, his hands clenched your breasts, fondling them on his palms and pinching your pretty erect nipples as his sweaty, toned chest pressed against your back. “You listen to me so fucking well,” he landed a strike on your breast, causing you to moan in response, “I wish I could’ve been fucking you like this all the time. No one was ever like you.”

Your back arched into him, convulsing as you felt the stream of your climax rise up the surface again, controlling you much the way Chan did. As if Chan could read your mind, his lips pressed against your ear tenderly, fingers coming at your swollen clit to rub it pain-achingly perfect. “Do it, cum all over my cock, baby…I want–need you to cum so hard on my cock.”

Even when you cum another time, Chan’s stamina doesn’t cease and he’s asking for another. “Just one more” he pleaded. And he’s fucking you over and over again, until you’re in his lap, grinding on his hips with cock stuffed back inside you as his legs lifted up in repetitive thrusts to rearrange your insides. His tongue roamed in your mouth without abandon, lip ring still brushing against your kiss-swollen lips as he’s whimpering how good you clench around him or perfectly you whine for him in that mouthwatering infliction. “Your pussy’s so damn perfect. Shit, I’ll—fuck, oh god.”

Your pungent honey releases once more, while Chan, unfortunately, poured him into his into the rubber, having you silently mourn the waste. He clenched you against him, your twitch so tantalizing, he had to feel every spasm, kissing you sweetly until you were soothed into stability. He whispered praise of your beauty, your body, your efforts. Bad memories of others washed away with his presence, only allowing his acts of worshiping every inch of you.

“I’m happy I came tonight.”

Chan chuckled, thinking about the unintended innuendo, as he pressed your body nestled into his closer, “Me too. Next time we can do it again, maybe without the condom next time.”

“Not without testing I hope,” You said after hearing him giggle at the thought. Then his words are repeating in your head, ‘Next time.’ You weren’t about to make the same mistake you’re used to and because it was Chan, you were confident with him it’d be different. You held his fingers in yours, lacing them through before pressing them to your lips, “Next time as in the next time we fuck or the next time we’re together?”

He softly smiled. “Looks like someone has a crush.”

“Ugh, fuck you.”

You let go of his hands, initiating his boisterous laughter and euphoria-inducing smile as he spooned your bare backside. “Next time we’re together. After I take you on a proper date that is.”

“What about your auction date?”

He sighed, suddenly remembering that. “It’s unavoidable, unfortunately, but I’ll promise to come to see you right after and show you what things I rather do to you than anyone else.”

“That a promise?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

You turned around to face him again and pressed your hands against his soft and supple cheeks, kissing his lips long and languidly. “You’re so cute.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, pulling you by the waist, “I thought the blonde and piercing would change that.”

“You’ll never not be cute. Everything cute about you I’ll l-adore.”

“You were going to say something else.”

“I wasn’t.” You denied.

“Oh my god,” he gripped tighter around, enough to almost suffocate you, “you love me.”

You flailed in his grip. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, you so love me,” He sang.

“Shut up, I don’t,” You rolled your eyes, “but I do end up loving someone, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was with you first.”

“Is that a promise to one day love me? To have and to hold?” He teases, secretly hopefully.

“Let’s say it’s wishful thinking. All Lee Chans in needs love too.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, someone will make sense of it.”

[k9iriz]

𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐞

18+, [ ♫ 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 - 𝘬𝘦𝘩𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘪 ]

𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳/𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘦

𝘴𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 & 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, (𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 “𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺” 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹!/𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱-𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘴𝘦𝘹)

i entered the house silently as i threw my pink-designed purse on the counter, my pink steve madden heels clicked on the marble floors as i heard a bag being thrown on the floor, a pissed sigh and a rough opened fridge door in the distance as i walked upstairs, slamming the door shut, locking it.

“what happened?” you ask.

travis was mindlessly talking to a woman—who was clearly flirting with him, attracted to him.

noting he was already neglecting me, in my mind, he was more busier than usual, on the road 24-7 even on his free days.

it raised so many eyebrows, the mindless kind and sweet gestures stopped, the phone calls got shorter, not even a full “i love you” would come out, or his responses would be dry and simple.

behind that anger was me, the love of his life,his wife who just wanted some affection, some tlc.

but hey, who’s marriages are perfect?

i showered alone, soonly lathering myself with lotion as i heard the doorbell jangle, soonly it got rough, like he was gonna break the knob off the door.

“y/n, quit fuckin’ playing and open the door.” travis blasted from behind the door, making me jump, rolling my eyes as i traveled back into the bathroom, combing my hair down.

“get away from the door, i don’t got shit to say to you.” i smartly responded, before he began picking the lock, randomly.

i sat in a white beater, my nipples grew harder as i stared at him, rolling my eyes.

“why do all of that if you was gonna pick the lock, stupid?”

travis chuckled as he walked towards me, picking me up as he sat me on the counter, standing between my legs.

i froze.

“you been bitchy with me all fuckin’ day. what’s the issue?” travis spoke simply, not breaking eye contact with my eyes at all.

i felt something tingle at the bass in his voice, the firmness and seriousness.

“you should know why. flirting with bitches in my face. then on top of that, you got the nerve to come in like nothing hadn’t happened. mistreating me, like i don’t got feelings.” i completely sassed back, folding my arms, my eyes still gazed on him.

the tension intensified, apparently just leaving it silent.

“that’s what you’re mad about baby?” travis spoke again as if it was ironic i was pissed about the obvious.

“no fuckin’ shit.” i barked back as travis gripped my neck, pulling me more towards him, our chests touching.

“oooo, you’re so sassy aren’t you? calm down.” travis annouced, making my eyes advert away from him.

“look at me y/n. just listen.” he spoke out as i huffed, rolling my eyes.

“no, let me go. go flirt with whoever the fuck—she was?” i smartly shoved his hand off my neck, jumping down from the counter as i bent over, looking in the sink cabinet.

“maybe i should do the same thing, go out and ask a dude questions who’s actually in love with me—or maybe flirt with him in your fucking face.” i ranted along as travis eyed me after the last statement.

“stop it y/n.” travis warned under his breath.

“or maybe kiss him, but nooo, I made vows to stay loyal to you, you! then neglect you in the process and not give a fuck about whatever is waiting for me at home, hm?” i ranted, pushing at his chest as i slapped it, soonly the anger turned into tears.

travis took it in, and realized what ive said…knowing he was wrong, but your attitude was just clogging his head in order to comfort you.

“im sorry baby, and you know it. listen to me, quit cryin’.” travis sighed as he pulled me into his chest, just sniffling into it.

“imma make it up to you. i won’t do it again, i promise. just let me.” travis smoothly talked to me as i nodded, easily forgiving him once again- before pulled away quickly.

“ugh, why did i just forgive you that fast?” y/n shook her head, mouthing to herself, wiping her tears as she leant over, travis coming from behind pushing me all the way down.

“trav, let me up!” i whined loudly as i instantly got quiet, the slap on my ass was enough to quiet me within one.

“y’aint gonna be satisfied until i put that ass in place, hm?” travis gritted as he ran his hands all up and down my ass, gripping it, caressing it all in one.

i bit my lip to silence my moans, or any sexual that could possibly come out.

“lift up, and spread em, baby.” travis mumbled as i obeyed, practically falling more in love with my husband, and he hadn’t even did shit yet.

travis slowly began stripping himself as i slightly grabbed onto the counter, feeling himself slightly fill me up & stretch me in the process as he shoved my hand off the edge.

“don’t hold onto nothin, i got you.” travis grunted as his strokes started off mildly slow—my light moans leaving my mouth.

“oh baby…” i hissed, as his eyes never left mines from the mirror, skin clappings filling the big bathroom, bouncing off the walls like music.

travis didn’t let up, slightly gripping the ends of my hair, smoothly gripping my neck as my hands touched the mirror, my mouth falling at all the pleasure I had felt in that moment.

“mnm, you see that? that fuckin’ ring? that’s all fuckin’. mines. say it.” travis gritted in my ear as his hand collided with right ass cheek, making eye contact from my upside down vision, whimpering, gripping his hand.

it felt like heaven.

“mnm…it’s yours baby, all fucking yours! ouu—ouu shit!” i whimper-moaned the last part, gritting my teeth as my mouth gaped open.

travis kissed me every chance he got, as he slapped my ass again, as i began matching his rhythm even on all fours standing.

“uh—-uhhh huh-im gonna cum.” i groaned out, as a whimper, feeling myself push back at his chest, grabbing my arm, holding it in place.

i lost it.

“what?”

“im gonna cum, i w-wanna cum.”

“y’ain’t loud enough for me, baby, what’s that?”

“im finna cum!” i whine-cried, closing my eyes shut as he slapped my ass cheek once again, groaning at the sight of me painting his dick pure-white, soonly hearing droplets hit the marble floor.

“you squirtin’ baby?” travis was suprised but wasn’t, as i went silent, my eyes rolling into the back of my skull, just babbling sweet nothings as i let it all out, saying his name under my breath.

“let it all out. mhm. such a good girl for me.” travis encouraged and praised me as felt him pull out, slapping my ass as i weakly held onto the counter, feeling him take me onto the bed.

A SHORT TIME LATER, the skin clappings surfaced the room as my knees touched my chest, my legs opened wide as i the white creamy-wet sight glistened my vision as i held onto his hand, as his other was forcing my head to watch the sight underneath me.

“ouuu—daddy! fuck me just—like that! mhm yes!” i cried out as he didn’t allow me dip my head back not once.

he was enjoying this all at once.

“you like it huh?”

“mhm, it’s so big baby.” i teased as i but my lip, looking up at him. just a undone slut.

my eyelashes were practically sweating off with my makeup and hair, i looked sweated out, along with him.

“you gonna cum for me again, baby?” travis bit his lip at me as i nodded, his hand collided into mines as his strokes remained rough and tact.

“yes daddy, mnm it’s all yours, i love the way you fuck me, mhm.” i whined again as i looked up at him, feeling him swirl his hips, slightly his strokes got sloppier.

his grunts, groans and moans grew louder with every messy stroke he sent as his chest touched mines, feeling him sloppily kiss me, mixing some salvia and tongues with it as well.

“cum in me, give it to me daddy.” i moaned in the kiss as i wrapped my legs around his waist as he grunted fully in my mouth, before sitting up, pulling out, letting a loud “pop!” sound full the air.

straight creampie. “you still gotta attitude with me?”

i shook my head as i smiled, looking down at the oozing cum from my thigh. “no.”

[ HEY YALL. MERRY CHRISTMAS. 🎄 I HOPE YALL GOT YOUR NFL MAN UNDER YOUR TREE BC I DID! ]

not proofread — ��� so excuse mistakes.

[samfkiszka]

Sea Shanty

★・・・・・・★

Warnings: SMUT. This is all smut. 18+ only! Cursing, alcohol use, oral (female and male receiving), drunk sex, face fucking (barely), minuscule spit kink, awful pirate puns. As always, tell me if I missed anything at all :)

Word count: 2,337

★・・・・・・★

If you had told yourself a week ago that this is how Josh’s halloween party would’ve played out, you’d have laughed in your face. I mean, the situation itself was oddly comical. Trapped in a small bathroom, still clad in the cheaply made pirate costume you had put on, while your best friend’s twin brother pawed drunkenly at you. It was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous.

Hot. Ridiculously hot.

“Jake, this is stupid, w-we should—“

“Oh come on. I’m checking you for scurvy,” he slurs in the stupid British accent he had refused to drop all night.

“God, you’re an idiot,” you groan, fumbling with his belt buckle.

“How the fuck do you get this shit off?” He grumbles, his shaky hands struggling to undo the lace on your corset.

You couldn’t really explain how it had happened. It started off innocently. Someone asking if the two of you were “finally together”. Whatever that had meant. Claiming they loved your couples costume.

It was totally unplanned. You were as shocked as he was when you spotted him pouring entirely too much rum into his red solo cup. How the two of you had both decided to be pirates was a mystery. How it led to the two of you drunkenly attempting to hook up in his bathroom was even more bizarre.

His dumbass pirate themed pickup lines were oddly endearing. Not that’d you’d ever admit it out loud. Future you was going to blame this on the several vodka cranberries you had chugged moments prior.

You push his hands away, struggling yourself to take off the cheap corset. It slides to the ground unceremoniously, followed by Jake’s eyepatch and your bandana.

He starts pressing sloppy kisses to your neck, his hands greedily grabbing at every part of your body that he can reach.

Music blared outside, courtesy of Josh’s carefully curated halloween playlist. It was kind of silly to be seconds away from hooking up with someone while Monster Mash played loudly in the background.

He hikes you up onto the counter, grinning lazily when you wince at the cold marble pressing against your bare thighs. You watch him slide down to his knees, staring up at you with lustful eyes.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

But you can’t. You’re too drunk to put up a front. Already too fucked out to say no— how could you when he was looking up at you like that?

“I want this. I want you.”

He nods, pushing your dress up higher before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Usually you’d be nervous, especially with him. For fucks sake, he was your best friend’s brother.

But you couldn’t find the energy to care.

He slides them down agonizingly slowly, throwing them onto the bathroom floor without much thought.

“So pretty,” he hums, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into the skin of your inner thigh.

“Jake, let’s speed this process up, huh?”

“Lord, since when are you so demanding?”

“Since forever, catch up.”

There was something comforting about the usual banter you shared not disappearing the second you were nearly naked in front of him.

“I just wanna make you feel good. Is that a crime?”

You roll your eyes, lacing your fingers in his messy hair.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, inching so close you can feel his breath fanning against your aching cunt.

He wastes no time teasing you. From the way he was straining against his pants when you stumbled into the bathroom, you were sure he was as desperate as you were.

He licks a strip through your folds, a groan escaping his lips when you tug at his hair. Thank God Josh had the speakers on full blast. If anyone were listening, the two of you’d be screwed, and not in the way you wanted.

It wasn’t long before you were pulling him flush against you, removing one hand from his hair to bite down on in a feeble attempt to muffle the moans he was eliciting from you.

“Jesus, fuck—“ you throw your head back so hard it slams against the mirror and Jake nearly falls over with how hard he starts laughing, “Shut up, ass.”

But you’re laughing too. Rubbing the back of your head and grimacing, but laughing nonetheless.

“It’s not funny, I’m sorry,” He sighs, wiping his eyes and smudging the egregious amounts of black eyeliner he was wearing.

He stands up unsteadily, nearly falling against the counter in a fit of giggles as he attempts to get closer to you. He cups your cheeks, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips, still struggling to stifle his giggles.

You pull back, panting slightly as your hands grip his top. He continues to caress your cheek, sliding one hand down to shove his pants halfway down his thighs.

“C’mere.” He nods, pulling himself out of his boxers.

You can’t even bother attempting to hide the shock that graces your features. Sure, you’ve heard plenty of stories. Gossip from girls who had claimed to have hooked up with Jake. But you never placed much weight in them. Yeah, he was an attractive guy, but you didn’t spend most of your free time imagining how big he was.

“What? You okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m great,” You sigh, meeting his eyeline. His pupils are blown, and you're sure yours are just as big.

You slide closer, your mind already spinning. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was him, but the room seemed to grow a lot fuzzier the closer you got to having him.

“No, off the counter.”

God, the slight commanding lilt in his voice sent white hot heat right up your spine. You oblige, sliding fully off the counter, entranced by the way he had begun to stroke himself.

“Turn around.”

Again, it feels oddly satisfying to obey him. You turn around, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are red, your lips are swollen, your dress was falling off your body. Yet, you didn’t seem to feel the least bit embarrassed. Jake came up closer behind you, shoving you down so that you were bent over the counter. The edge dug into your skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the ache between your thighs.

“You’re so fucking hot. Mind if I drop my anchor in your lagoon?”

“Seriously, how many of these do you have?” Your voice comes out strangled and breathless, not even slightly as biting as you wanted it to be.

“I studied up. Had to be prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And yet who’s bent over my bathroom counter?” He whispers into your ear, the smell of rum invading your senses.

“Touché, Kiszka.”

He laughs, pressing another open mouth kiss to your neck before sliding closer behind you. He runs the tip of his dick through you, tapping it against your clit.

“Yeah, touché huh?”

“Jake, I will find someone else to fuck me—“ but you cut yourself off with a soft moan as he slowly slides into you.

“What was that? Hm?”

Cocky shit. Arrogant, egotistical, cocky shit.

He snaps his hips against your ass, giving you no time to adjust to the deliciously painful way he was stretching you out. Usually you’d complain. He had really wasted no energy attempting to ready you for him. But after one too many disgustingly sweet jell-o shots, and a lot of mental preparation, you honestly had no issues. This was a one time thing anyway, better to get it over with quickly, right?

“So fucking tight. You feel so good, leaking all over my cock like that.” His voice was entirely too sweet for the filthy words that were coming from his mouth.

The whole thing was obscene. Watching him in the mirror, the way his face contorted as he fucked you from behind. You hadn’t expected him to be as vocal as he was, but the soft lilting whimpers that were gracing your ears were making your head spin.

“God, you’re so wet. This all for me?” He grunts, his voice nearly drowned out from the indecent noises being made by your bodies colliding.

You manage a weak nod, your hands struggling to grip at anything they can grasp. Your eyes land on him in the mirror. The way his chest heaved, the way the black eyeliner was smudged and running slightly down his cheeks, the way his eyebrows scrunched together. His fingertips dug into your hips as he pulled you impossibly closer, his thrusts growing a lot sloppier.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was because the whole thing was so disgustingly hot, but you already felt way too close.

“You gonna cum for me?” He mutters, so quietly it’s almost like he’s talking to himself.

“Y-yes, fuck, Jesus Christ,” you moan, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.

He reaches his hand across your body, finding your clit to rub sloppy circles with his fingers.

“C’mon. Wanna feel you cum on my cock, please,” he practically begs “I n-need you to, shit—“

Fuck. Was he always this hot?

You fail to keep your body up, eyes squeezing shut as you feel yourself peaking.

“Fuck, Jake,” you scream, hoping whatever stupid halloween song Josh had queued up was loud enough to drown you out, “Right there.”

You don’t care how pathetic you sound. Jake looked just as fucked out. This wasn’t about control, or power. This was almost animalistic. Purely for pleasure. Purely to get the both of you off.

“I’m-” you gasp, unable to choke out the words as you clench around him, cumming so hard your ears start to ring. He fucks you through it, maintaining a steady pace until your breathing stabilizes. He pulls out, gripping your shoulder and lightly tugging you up.

“On your knees,” he rasps, and you are more than happy to oblige. You sink down, coming into contact with the cold tile floor. He continues stroking himself, lining up with your face.

“Open up.”

Again, it’s simple to follow. You feel no need to refuse. No need to act like you don’t want to listen to his every word.

You open wide, sticking your tongue out slightly. You stare up at him expectantly, excitedly even. It’s hard to hide the fact that your mouth had actually begun to water at the prospect of having him inside it.

He slaps his dick against your tongue, earning a lewd groan from the both of you. He pulls back, much to your dismay, grasping your chin with the hand that wasn’t currently wrapped around him. You weren’t sure what he wanted, but there was still a bubbling sense of excitement in your chest.

He spits directly into your mouth, eyes wide as he watches it slide across your tongue.

“Don’t swallow,” he commands.

You moan again, the feel of his spit mixing with yours enough to make you dizzy once more. He tilts your head up, dropping your chin as he lines up with your face again.

You hum around him as he quickly slides in, your hands skimming up his thighs to steady yourself. He pulls your hair up into a loose ponytail, grunting as he starts to fuck your face. Tears prick your eyes, and you’re sure you looked just as messy as he did. Probably even more so. Spit dripped down your chin, and the only sounds that filled the bathroom were your gags mixed with Jake’s beautiful whines.

“Gonna cum,” he grunts, sliding so far into your mouth that your nose was flush with his stomach. He finishes quickly, tightening his grip on your hair a painful amount. He pulls out just as face, allowing you to gulp down air.

“Lemme see,” he pants, leaning down to watch you stick your tongue out for him again. He smiles, seemingly pleased with the sight before he taps your cheek, “swallow.”

You’d continue to blame the alcohol, but you’d do this sober. If you had known how filthy he was, you’d have done this years ago.

He helps you up off the floor after pulling his pants up. Once you're steadied against the counter he fixes your dress and hands you your corset. You don’t miss how he shoves your discarded panties into his pocket, but you keep quiet. He could do whatever he wanted if he could make you feel like that.

“You good?”

“Hm? Me? I’m great. You?” your voice sounds hoarse and almost disembodied, but it’s hard to miss the satisfaction in it.

“I’m fantastic.”

A beat passes, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. The two of you take the time to catch your breaths, attempting to get your bearings.

“So, um—“

“We should do that again,” he cuts you off, “I mean, if you want.”

“I want. I mean, yeah that would be great,” you stammer.

“Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“We probably shouldn’t tell Josh,” you whisper.

“Yeah.” He nods again, “You should probably fix your makeup before we head back out.”

You glance in the mirror. Your mascara was indeed ruined.

“You’re one to talk,” you point out.

He chuckles as he studies his face, using his thumb to swipe at the eyeliner, “Fair point.”

Psycho Killer blared loudly, muffled by the locked bathroom door. The two of you make eye contact, breathing together for a moment.

“We could just go back to my room.”

Yeah. You definitely couldn't blame this on the alcohol anymore.

“Okay.”

“Oh! I got one more. That’s the finest pirate’s booty I’ve ever laid me eyes on.”

“Awful. I rescind my acceptance of your invitation.”

“Woah, too late now! Who else is gonna shiver me timbers?”

You groan, opening the bathroom door and heading to his bedroom anyway.

“What? You don’t want me to scrape the barnacles off your rudder?”

“Jake!”

“Seriously, that’s some treasure chest you got there,” he says in a fit of giggles, following you into his room.

God, you wish you could still blame the alcohol.

[joonlaksme]

Sign Here: Chapter Four

Sign Here Masterlist

Summary: All of Min Yoongi’s partners never knew what he truly wanted. Too scared to tell them to their face, he decides to just invest into a professional. He didn’t know you were exactly what he was looking for.

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

-> Genre: Yoongi x Dominatrix!reader, Smut

-> Warnings for this chapter: Breath play, handjob, Yoongi gets a little manhandle-y, semi-public stuff (briefly), masochist Yoongi, edging (m), aftercare

-> Word Count: 4,400+

A/N: After months of being in a stump, I’m FINALLY back!! Thanks for waiting and enjoy :D

Chapter 4: Maroon

Taking a break has never felt so stressful before. You sit down, an extended sigh resting hot on your lips and you feel the faux leather clinging to your thighs. With it getting hotter and hotter outside, humidity enters your older apartment through cracks in the balcony doors and no matter how often you shower, you can’t seem to get the sticky feeling off of you. 

“Maybe we should eat something cold.” Mi-na interrupts your thoughts.

You lean forward and place your elbows on your kitchen island, marble feeling nice and cool on your skin. Kyung Mi-na has been your best friend ever since your shared second year of college where she became your new roommate. A cute 5’2 with pretty black hair and an even amber complexion. No one would think she had the same job as you considering her sweet appearance but she was the one who had gotten you into BDSM. 

Your fingers feel around the plastic-y texture of the stool, a deep maroon color. It jogs your memory to check your bathtub later. 

“What are you in the mood for, hm? Eggs? A muffin?” She opens your off-white fridge and rummages through it. There really isn’t much in there but you can see she’s smiling ear to ear, tapping her fingers on the fridge door and standing on the tips of her toes. You often wonder why she’s always in a good mood but you suppose you don’t always need a reason to be happy. Maybe she’s feeling content because nothing wrong has happened. Right now, at 9 in the morning, you want to complain and then stew in your pot of thoughts. You have a meeting planned with Yoongi and you have no idea what should be on the agenda. Of course you have a great variety of ideas but not specifically for someone who’s more of a beginner like Yoongi. You even think you went a little hardcore on him in your most recent session.

“Can I just get some tea for now?” You finally reply.

Mi-na tilts her head but turns around to turn on the electric kettle. “What’s on your mind?”

Of course you can never keep anything away from her. She majored in psychology and she was always the top of her class. 

She’s subtly shaking her hips to the blasting music of an apartment down the hall. You gave up on trying to complain about them for a while now.

You’re distracted from the task at hand. 

“Well, remember I was talking about my new client?” 

She nods, “The one you said you were worried about because he was a total beginner? I told you that you should have just offered me. I know you’re uncomfortable with beginners.”

“Based on what he filled out on the form, I was fully expecting him to have experience. You should’ve seen him, Mi-na. He doesn’t look submissive in the slightest. I thought he was joking at first.”

Mi-na scoffed, “There goes you and your drawing to conclusions. So, what’s the issue?”

“I don’t know where to go from here to be fully honest.” And then you tell her what you HAVE done, assuming she can work from there.

She takes out a cup from your cabinet and pours out hot water, plopping a teabag in it and looks you in your eyes. “Hm…why don’t you touch him properly? Beginners feel better when something more familiar is implemented in play. I’m sure you can work your way from there, you know. I think that once you are both comfortable, you can start implementing the things you like to do like shibari, general bondage, sensory deprivation, edging, all of that.” 

You nod. Of course. You have to be the more confident one in this relationship. After all, he is the one paying you for it. 

“So what made him stand out?”

“What do you mean?” You reply, eyebrows knitting.

She lets out a short laugh, “C’mon. You never talk to me about your clients. I was a bit surprised by how much you talked about and described this new guy.”

“Like I said, you have to see him to understand where I’m from. He’s this guy with a composed look, stylish, tattoos all down his arms–”

“So? You’ve had hardcore bikers and models under you. What makes him different?”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. You knew exactly what made him different. You just don’t want to admit it to Mi-na just yet. Instead, you’re fiddling with the tail end of your tea bag, watching the water turn into a deeper red color.

-

When Mi-na leaves, you make your way to your bathtub. Walking into there is a bit of a pain nowadays since water covers the tiled floor and you’ve constantly found yourself too sluggish to lay a bunch of towels down. There, plunge your hands into the dark red water of the tub. You pull out the bunch of ropes you had just bought, feeling the texture on your fingers and then you drain the water, rinsing out the excess dye. You pull it out of the tub finally, the water making it a bit heavier and then you loosely coiled it on a specially made drying rack. 

-

Then, here you were, standing in your closet and deciding what heels would be best for tonight. Something more comfortable or something more sexy? Why is this something you’ve been deciding on for as long as you have? You barely have an hour left and you’re thinking so critically about which shoe to wear on your next meeting. Something tells you that you need to keep your mind on what’s important: Keeping Min Yoongi satisfied. 

So you pick a simple pair of black heels with comfortable soles and make your way out your front door. 

When you arrive at the restaurant, you arrive 10 minutes earlier than you should be. You tell the host about your specific and private reservation. This is a place more familiar with your line of work and more specifically, in a collaboration with the company you work under. So, it’s no surprise when you’re led to a luxurious booth covered with maroon velvet seats and with foldable panels, separating you from the rest of the public. Here, there’s menus with small and fancy writing and no price next to the variety. There’s cherry blossoms decorating the walls and a dim but warm light hanging from the top. 

You’re sitting close to the kitchen so you can smell all different varieties of aromas from food that vary from pasta to creamy sauces. You haven’t been here in a long time so you were looking forward to this. 

Speaking of looking forward to something, that’s when Yoongi takes the corner and sees you sitting there with crossed legs and the small wave of your manicured nails. He takes a seat at the booth across from you, looking how he always does: calm and collected. 

“I’m glad you found the place alright. I know the further you get to the back, the harder it is to navigate. The host and hostess often don’t come back here...” You start, trailing off. You’re looking at him with a piercing stare because he looks good enough to eat. His sleeves are rolled up and one button is down in a normal, white button-up shirt. His belt really shows his hips and his suit pants make his legs look nice and slender. Did he dress up just for you? You clear your throat. “How have you been?”

When you look closer, you can see the shade of Yoongi’s ears turn a nice pink and it sparks up your confidence. “I’ve been fine. Just a long day…So…” and he mutters something you can’t hear. It’s obviously aimed towards you by the way he meets your eyes but you can’t quite hear him. 

“Speak up?” 

“I asked…what’s on the agenda for today?”

“After dinner, we’re heading to your place but after that, it’s a surprise. You like surprises don’t you?”

He lets out a scoff, “I do but it takes a lot to surprise me.” 

“Humor me.” You pick up the menu. “I’m paying so choose whatever you’d like.”

His lips twitch a bit, “Aren’t I paying you? Why are you paying?”

You hush him.

You choose one of your favorite things from the menu and as he’s ordering, you pretend to accidentally slide your foot up his leg. He does spring up a bit but he keeps his expression flat. You mutter an apology but don’t bother to try to hide the small smile that creeps up your lips. The waiter seems submerged in every word Yoongi communicates to him. You look back at your menu but in the corner of your eye, you can see his eyes flicker down to your foot that is a bit too close to his side of the table. He doesn’t acknowledge it outloud but his gaze lingers and then he shifts his weight from one leg to the other before finishing his order. Once the waiter leaves, Yoongi places his elbows on the table with raised brows.

“You gonna try anything else here?” He asks. His lips quirk up just for a moment.

“You should take your elbows off the table. That isn’t very proper.”

Instead of answering his actual question, you offer him a small smirk. Your heel is nudging his leg playfully. There’s an anticipation between you two. The sexual tension is becoming thick and as you reach over and grab his hand in yours, you can feel the goosebumps raise on him. He’s nervous when his mind is submerged in possibilities of what your surprise may be and you can read him like a book, even when he’s just giving you a blank expression. 

Your fingers interlock on the table and you think about your first impression of him. He’s looking at you and slowly, you can tell he’s cracking. He takes a deep breath as tension grows and you slide your foot up until it’s resting on his knee. Then it goes back down to the carpeted floor. You want to tease him more. As your foot retreats, his eyes glaze over. Your foot returns to the floor and his gaze snaps back to yours, while you start up a new conversation and you can see the slightest hint of disappointment in his expression. He quickly masks it, however, and clears his throat.

“I think you’re easily surprised. You just choose not to show it to many but…I believe I can wrap you around my fingers.” You say, taking a sip of water.

The waiter returns with a basket of bread and a small dish full of seasoned olive oil for dipping. He leaves quickly after. Yoongi keeps his eyes on you. When he goes for a piece of bread, that’s when you decide to move your leg up until it’s at his inner thigh. His hand stops in mid-air as your foot drags up until it’s touching his crotch. 

“What am I feeling here, hm?”

He swallows hard, his eyes widening slightly as he feels your foot against him. He tries to steady his shaking fingers. "I…uhm…I don't know what you mean."

You press harder and he can’t help the breathy sigh he releases from the sudden pressure. He pushes himself closer. 

“I think you do. I think you have been anticipating something.” Your smile is kind but your tone is sultry, low. He’s having this conflict in his mind between keeping up his facade to keep cool or to give in and beg you to stop your torture. He thinks he can last longer but he’s burning up so he pops open a button. 

Watching him attempt to compose himself is more fun than you expected it to be. His heart even jumps out of his chest when the waiter comes back with your food. That’s when your foot starts moving and he’s feeling so much that he’s getting lightheaded. 

“Maybe we should get this to go? You look a bit tired, Yoongi.”

He presses his lips together. "I'm fine," he manages to say, his voice strained. You can see the vein on his neck popping with the effort of keeping himself under control. It doesn’t last long because as soon as the waiter walks away and there’s steaming plates of food in your faces, he’s holding your hand tighter. “Please?”

You raise your eyebrows and have to clench your legs closed, “I don’t know what you mean?” You echo his words back at him.

“You’re mean.” You can see the way the side of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Okay, I think we should go.”

So you do. Your untouched food goes in boxes and you send your regards to the owner of the restaurant. When you make it back to Yoongi’s place, you can tell he’s nervous by the way his hands tremble when he brings out his keys to open the door. You lay your hand on his and help steady him. It’s when you start laying light kisses on his neck that he goes weak under your touch. You feel as if you’re sucking his energy from the way he lets out this deep exhale.

The door turns open and he stumbles in with you. His jacket is off and on the floor before you even make it to the living room. His breathes out in short and shallow gasps. His hands make their way in your hair when you find a particular part that gets him rowdy and suck on it. His back meets the couch and his knees buckle. 

He gets confused you don’t come down with him. You don’t bother to fix your hair but you take off your own jacket slowly and get his remote from the coffee table. 

“What should we watch…?” You’re acting as if nothing happened just a couple of seconds ago and as if he’s not half hard in his pants. 

He whimpers your name to get your attention. You turn to look at him and sit down right beside him. Just by the way you look at him, he know you’re not going to give in until he does first and if there’s anything Yoongi is confident about, it’s his stubbornness. So he gives you a movie recommendation and then you lean back and watch it together. 

However, as much as Yoongi wants to calm down, he can’t stop looking at you. You’re dressed like the goal was to tempt him and he’s wondering if this torture was his surprise. The movie begins, but Yoongi's eyes are not on the screen. He’s taking in every detail of your appearance. Your outfit, while it looks comfortable, leaves little to the imagination and Yoongi can't help but feel himself getting more and more worked up as the minutes pass by. He can’t stop shuffling by the time half an hour goes by.

His hand lands on your thigh to your surprise. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

His lips are shut but his eyes are begging. 

“That’s not exactly what I want and you know that…” You move his hand away with little regard for where it goes. 

You look away but it’s quick when he takes hold of your waist. You’re on his lap almost immediately and you’re caught off guard for a just a moment. 

“I thought we were going to watch a movie but you just can’t hold yourself back, hm? If you’re having so much trouble focusing, maybe we can do something else?” You guess he can win this time.

He stopped himself from eagerly nodding, “That would be nice…” He mumbles back.

You lean closer to him and grab his wrists, holding them together up above his head.  While that hand is holding his arms away from touching you again, the other unzips his pants. 

“Is this your surprise?” He lays his head back with a huff. 

You pull out his cock, twitching in your palm. As you begin to stroke him, you start talking. “Let’s set some rules. I want you to last until I say you can. No touching and think about your behavior. I think that if you were more avid, I would be nicer.”

He finally lets out a full blown groan, the same sound reverberating down your body and all along your skin. For as long as he’s had this boner, he’s so sensitive.

“I don’t know how long I can l-last for.” He thrusts into your hand. 

“C’mon playboy…” You let go of his arms and instead grip his jaw. The way you’re treating him has him submerged into what feels like paradise. He feels as if he’s been placed in a place where he does not have to think about anything but you and the way you skillfully make him feel. “You don’t last and there’s going to be an issue, understood?” Your voice is raised just a bit. He’s hesitant to admit that your voice turns him on in itself.

“Yes…” He replies with, hands lowering to take handfuls of his couch as you continue to stroke him at the same torturous pace. 

“Yes, who?” Your grip tightens.

He moans out a blended mess of, “Yes mistress.”

You smirk at his response, “Better.” You’re pleased with his obedience so as a little reward, you lean close to his ear and the heat of your breath causes shivers to run down his body. If there’s anything that Yoongi has learned in your sessions, it’s that he’s definitely more submissive than he ever was dominant. He’s never felt so embarrassed about how he might cum soon if he doesn’t think of something else before and sure, pussy feels good but when he’s been edged for what feels like centuries, he gets desperate. He likes seeing how satistsfied you are, how much you feel from making him feel good. 

You turn him to lay down on the couch just like how it was before when you discovered his seriously sensitive nipples. Only, this time, youre sitting on his face in a pencil skirt. Coming to a conclusion that he feels the most satistisfied when you are, it’s now a new torture to feel you stroking his cock while you’re needy and shuffling on his face. You gather saliva up in the cheeks of your mouth and spit a glop on your hand, using that to  guide your hand in a more slick handjob.

His words and sounds are muffled under your skirt. His mind drifts off to when you made him cum before without even touching his dick.  

“Hm?” You ask him, leaning off of his face for a moment.

“Can I…”

 "Can you what?"

Yoongi swallows hard, his face flushed beneath your skirt. "Can I taste you?" He asks softly, pleading you for permission.

You think for a moment, considering his request. You know how wet you are right now but…“No. You can’t.”

“Please?” He’s getting whiny, out of his typical deadpan character. 

Watching him beg only makes you want to get more mean, more cruel. You finally quicken your pace and instead of answering him with another denial, you sit back down on his face, only with more pressure and he’s damn near suffocating under it. All he can breathe in is the smell of your arousal and feel the limit of how much air his lungs can take. There’s some breathability when you open your legs but sometimes you shut them and practically suffocate him with your thighs. He’s way too into it and he twitches in your hand like crazy. It’s invigorating and pretty soon, he’s getting louder under your skirt. Every once in a while, you lift off of him to give him one big breath before he’s back. 

So it’s a wonder with all the air you give him, why he grabs onto your hips when you explicitly told him not to.

You let go of his dick, wetly hitting his stomach and you lift yourself up again. There’s a mix of amusement and annoyance in your tone and even in your expression, “Didn’t I tell you not to touch me?” Your voice is cold and now, Yoongi can feel it. He can feel a slither of fear run down him and it does nothing but fuel his fantasies and increase his desire for you. He’s gotten himself enamered with you by now. If you react this way, he’s thinking that maybe he should do it more often; acting out and seeing how you punish him. 

“‘M sorry…” He apologizes but any one would be able to tell that it was lackluster, pathetic. 

So he admits he’s surprised when you land a slap on his dick. He thrusts up but is confused why. It burns at first but the shock of pleasure is addicting. His fingers are tingling and his brain is clouded. “Fuck–I’m sorry…” He says it again but it’s even weaker than the first one. It’s not on purpose though, he just can’t think straight anymore. 

You slap it again and the moan he lets out is damn near angelic. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely are now and it threatens to soak through your skirt if it’s already through your underwear. “Oh…seems like you’re more of a masochist than I thought you were. You’re getting off to this, aren’t you?”

He shivers under your touch once you take his dick in your hand again. A mix of pleasure and pain courses through his body and before he can open his mouth and admit it, a moan comes out instead, gushing pre-cum as you slap it once more. 

“I’m–I’m gonna cum.” And he says your name with such a shaky breath that you actually think he’s scared to cum.

“No, you aren’t.” You state matter-of-factly. “You’re gonna hold it for me and make up for your mistakes, aren’t you Min Yoongi?”

He whimpers but nods. There’s pressure building up in the pit of his stomach, the need to release almost unbearable but he doesn’t want to disobey you even more. 

You lean back down so he can tell there’s new arousal, thick and heavier than before. “Good boy,” You whisper.

You can feel his chest vibrate at his groan. After multiple sessions, of course you could tell he liked praise and you found it amusing how much it affected him.  

His words are muffled but he gets more and more despreate as you stroke him harder, tighter, faster. His tip is this bright and pretty shade of pink from your treatment. The last thing on your mind at this point is treating him kindly. It’s when you use your other hand to rub his tip that he really can’t stop moving. You watch and feel him squirm beneath you as you continue. Then you twist your torso and grab a handful of his hair, pulling him back slightly. The breath that touches your skin is quick and hot, chest heaving with every pant.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”

His ears perk up and he lets out this long and low moan as you pull his hair and give him your final command. It’s like a switch flips in him as he bucks his hips and gets closer to your masterful touch. There’s sweat down his stomach as he trembles and rolls his eyes back. 

You keep stroking him and nudge yourself off of his face. “Let go for me. Focus.”

You know he’s stuck at this moment and he just needs a little nudge. That’s what your words do to him and he finally bursts, cumming all over your hand and on his stomach. He’s heaving so hard that you go into aftercare mode immediately. When he’s done. You come off of him and hold his face in yours. Even when his forehead is sweaty, you press it to yours. 

“Breathe…You did so good for me, Yoongi. So good.” 

He’s almost completely limp in your hold but you can see his smile. He’s already starting to feel achey everywhere even when you just finished and that lets him know that he’s going to feel this even more in the morning. He only starts talking when his breath is nearly calm and he’s realizing how dirty he is. Sweat all over his body and he hadn’t taken off most of his clothes. There’s cum on his stomach and dried up tears on his cheeks. You’re flattered.

“Fucking hell…” He mumbled. He whinces as he hears how raspy his voice is. 

You kiss his cheek, noticing a nice purple mark on his neck. “Did I go too hard on you?” You ask him, taking his safety into mind.

He laughs, “Honestly, if you keep doing things like that to me, I’m gonna fall in love with you.”

You both laugh. “Where’s your towels?”

He points to a closed door, “In the bathroom, in the closet next to the sink.”

So you make your way there. You find the closet and take out a rag but before you can close the closet, your eyes catch on a black box. Curiosity takes the best of you and you open it just for a peak inside. 

You find a variety of women’s clothes. Cute turtle necks, skirts, knee-high socks, the works. Your jaw drops. This could mean so many things depending on which way you plan to look at this from. 

When you come back to him, he’s completely calm but just uncomfortable. You bring a bowl of warm water and a rag and wipe him down, assuming he doesn’t want to make his way to the bathroom. He looks at you through it all and feels himself overwhelmed with a certain feeling. Maybe he’s just horny again but the silence is sweet and he doesn’t want to do anything but look at your face. His blinks are slow and eventually, he starts to feel really sleepy. 

“I’m just gonna get you some new underwear and then we can make our way to your  bed, okay?” You’re kinder with him now that he’s completely weak. 

He feels a bit fresher and knows he’ll have to shower later tomorrow but he feels nice when you lay with him on his bed. You play with his hair with let him lay between your breasts, gentle in reflection to how you treated it before. When he falls asleep, you slowly move his arm from on your hip and make your way out of his home. 

You’re chewing on your lips as your mind is busy with other thoughts. What was up with that black box? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[here4tripitaka]

Chapter 56: Tripitaka gets mugged; Tripitaka and Wukong have a blue

In this chapter, rather refreshingly, nobody wants to eat or have sex with Tripitaka. No. In this chapter, Tripitaka has the equally disastrous but rather more mundane experience of getting mugged.

Yep. Not realising who he is, some run-of-the-mill local bandits try to mug him, just like they would any other guy on the road. How’s that for equality?

It also goes to show how important it is to be in the know. If only they’d realised who he was, they could have eaten or sexed him and gained immortality. Clearly word doesn’t travel as fast on the human grapevine as the demonic grapevine. You’ve got to pay more attention to who’s been reincarnated recently, lads.

Anyway. I’m loving Bajie and Wukong’s dynamic in this chapter. They’re just two guys joking around, having fun and annoying each other for shits and giggles. Bajie is trying to hurry up Dragon Horse - who doesn’t care, and keeps plodding along at the same speed. Wukong rebukes Bajie, but then decides Bajie has a good point about hurrying up, and sends Dragon Horse sprinting. Owned, Bajie.

These hijinks lead to Tripitaka being galloped way up the road, all on his lonesome, where he is surrounded by bandits who want to mug him:

Pardon me. Not mug him. They are… self-appointed… tollway men:

They take payment in the form of clothes, horses and gold. And they don’t give concession rates to monks. Failure to pay may result in detention up a tree until one of your mates can come up with the money.

Now, what did I say about Tripitaka being better when Wukong isn’t around? There are no tears here: Tripitaka handles it like a pro. Sort of. He explains that, as a monk, he’s not exactly their best bet if they’re looking for sweet cash money. When they demand his clothes and horse instead, he just calmly explains that his robes aren’t worth stealing. He also implicitly threatens them that they’ll get a bad incarnation if they’re mean to him:

I love this little backgrounder about how the robes are made. It seems like the patchwork thing is a true story. Apparently, traditionally:

“Jiasha are made by piecing together sections of cloth donated from members of the community in a patchwork-style design. Unlike patchwork, the arrangement of panels is very specific, influenced by the Buddhist mandala motif, with a core center and flowing symmetry. The modest cut of the jiasha and pieced-together appearance references the rags worn by the Buddha during his ascetic period.”

Anyway, the muggers slash tollway men still aren’t impressed, so Tripitaka starts lying and pretending that Wukong will turn up any minute with the cash they want. That’s fine, but the narrator has a mega brain fade:

What? “Never lied in his life before”? Uh, remember two chapters ago, when Tripitaka was swearing to love and cherish the queen of Woman State til death do they part? Yeah. That little thing.

In any event, this is where Tripitaka begins crying. Well, fair enough. He did really try. The bandits tie him up and leave him dangling from a tree, where Wukong finds him.

I have to say, I love Wukong’s personality in this chapter, dubious as it may be. He’s so jovial:

I love him trolling the bandits, channelling pretend spirituality:

… before sweetly telling them that perhaps they should actually give him THEIR money:

And playing with the bandits - telling them they can have his staff if they can pick it up:

Ah, the iconic needle/staff in the ear:

But I’m interrupting myself:

Wukong is having a blast. Needless to say, he kills a few bandits. The rest flee.

Tripitaka proceeds to absolutely lose his marbles about Wukong committing homicide. And don’t get me wrong: it’s homicide. But Tripitaka manages to do it in a way that makes him come off as a jerk - which is quite something, when you’re protesting homicide.

When he discovers what’s happened, Tripitaka loses all spiritual composure. He starts acting like a road rager stuck in peak hour traffic, muttering low-grade verbal abuse:

Wukong isn’t even in earshot at this point. When he does get within earshot, Tripitaka continues:

Spite? That doesn’t sound very spiritual!

He attempts to give the bandits a proper burial, which seems nice at first. He gets Bajie to bury them, and tries to find incense and candles for the ritual - or substitutes, at least. But once he starts praying, it becomes clear what his real motives are. All he wants to do is suck up to the deceased, point the finger at Wukong, and make sure no ghosts come seeking retribution against him. It’s totally self-centred and fear-driven - not coming from a genuine place of caring for the deceased at all:

There is more to his prayer, and… it isn’t great, either. It’s just him telling the bandits that he, Tripitaka, tried to play nice (so it’s their own fault they got killed); that their deaths are Wukong’s fault (not his); and that he’s been very nice to them by doing this funeral ritual (ie he didn’t perform this funeral for selfless reasons: he did it so they will give him credit).

He could at least have wished them a positive reincarnation. Or something, anything, that was purely for their sake and not for his. Alas! Our young Tripitaka still has a way to go, spiritually.

Bajie sees through Tripitaka’s pseudo-spirituality, and teases him:

Wukong is less amused. He seems to find the ass-kissing funeral schtick ridiculous and kind of cowardly. Wukong isn’t afraid of any ghosts coming after him and makes this clear - perhaps more to make a point to Tripitaka than anything else:

Next, they find shelter at an old couple’s hut. The old man is nearly hysterical at the sight of the disciples, and won’t calm down. His wife is far more grounded, and gets him back on track.

I love how blunt people are about Bajie’s looks, and how indomitably cheerful Bajie’s response is:

They all have dinner, during which they find out that the old couple’s son is one of the bandits. Wukong offers to kill the son (huh?!), but the old man prefers him to stay alive, so he’ll have someone to dig his grave one day. The disciples gently remind Wukong that it’s none of his business.

Let’s cut to the middle of the night, where the bandits gatecrash the old couple’s house and decide to kill Tripitaka & co in their sleep. The old man tips them off.

I want to pause here to observe how bizarrely calm and composed the old man is. This is a guy who became hysterically scared just looking at the disciples’ faces. Now he’s in a tense and unexpected emergency situation, trying to sneak one group of guests out of the house, lest his other guests murder them. Yet he acts like it’s nothing. Is this not the first time that his bandit son has tried to murder a houseguest? Tripitaka is shaken by the news, but the old man sneaks them out and falls back asleep without a second thought:

Of course, the bandits give chase, and Wukong kills many. He goes out of his way to identify and behead the son of the old man - then show off the head to Tripitaka. 

Why Wukong would do this, I have no idea. Is this meant to indicate something about Confucianism? Or is it just Wukong’s usual love of homicide? I feel like I might be missing some cultural context.

Tripitaka falls off his horse in fright, yells at Wukong and, as soon as he’s able to stand again, breaks out the band-tightening spell on him. This, to me, is where Tripitaka crosses the line. It’s like he’s performing the Cruciatus Curse:

More than ten times? It's awful.

Now, just a heads up. I was VERY upset that Tripitaka did this, and I wrote a lot about it. But I realise we all have different perspectives. So if you don’t feel like reading a giant essay about why I felt this was so bad, here is a pretty picture of a traditional jiasha for you, and let’s pick up again next week.

Alright, brave reader. Here’s my reaction to Tripitaka’s torture spree.

I’m not saying that it’s inherently wrong to punish somebody for homicide with something along these lines. It would be a very different story if Trikitapa had taken time out, reflected on the whole thing, and soberly decided that it was necessary to do this as a punishment. But it just seems like he’s lost his temper and lashed out.

I think I’m more annoyed with Tripitaka than Wukong, because Wukong has never pretended to be anything other than a fighter and killer. Tripitaka acts like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and preaches compassion. Wukong didn’t want to become Buddhist and has only done it under duress. Tripitaka may not have chosen to become Buddhist originally, but he seems to have embraced it pretty enthusiastically. Wukong’s job is to keep Tripitaka alive on the road, so Tripitaka can get to the west - and Wukong is well and truly doing that job, even if Tripitaka doesn’t like the way that he’s doing it.

It’s easy to criticise others and backseat drive. Tripitaka is expecting Wukong to be both a consummate fighter and spiritually precise. Maybe, for Wukong to be the fearless fighter that he is, he needs a certain level of callousness. Wukong goes into situations that nobody else will - again and again. Who says it’s so easy for him to be proportionate when he’s fighting? It’s not always possible to be in two different gears at once. Tripitaka is all too ready to criticise and demand, without ever having walked a mile in Wukong’s shoes.

And Tripitaka seems to expect more of Wukong than Tripitaka expects of himself. Tripitaka hasn’t even tried to learn self-defence. He has not tried to become more well-rounded. Yet he tortures Wukong because, in his eyes, Wukong is not perfect enough or sufficiently well-rounded. I think Tripitaka should have to try to learn the 72 forms himself before he gets to even THINK about using torture on Wukong.

I never expected to find myself defending a killer - even a fictional magic monkey killer. Let me be very clear, I condemn homicide completely. I’m just saying, I think Tripitaka is a prick to use torture here. It was different when he used the band-tightening spell to try to prevent Wukong from killing somebody. That’s fair enough. But using it to lash out is inexcusable.

And it’s totally hypocritical. Tripitaka claims that he’s trying to teach Wukong compassion. It’s like he’s saying, “So help me God, I’ll beat you until you’re more compassionate.” How is that meant to work?

It disturbs me on the level of allegory, too. Like, if Wukong represents the mind-heart, what is this saying? That the mind-heart has to be dominated through force and brutality? Really?

After the band-tightening spell, Wukong begs Tripitaka to use his words, and Tripitaka obliges - saying he doesn’t want Tripitaka as his disciple.

Horrifyingly, Wukong kowtows to the guy who just went full Voldemort on him. I’m gonna say that kowtowing to someone who just tortured you seems like an excess of filial piety. But at least Wukong isn’t getting violent with Tripitaka like Tripitaka just got violent with him.

He begs for an explanation. This is pretty staggering. As wrong as it is for Tripitaka to use the band-tightening spell like this, it should be obvious to Wukong why he’s angry. Wukong clearly hasn’t listened to a word Tripitaka said, and he is a massive jerk for that.

Tripitaka explains (unsurprisingly) that it’s due to all the unnecessary killing, and tells him to get going before he uses the band-tightening spell again. Wukong vanishes.

Oof. Well, that was all very unpleasant. But I certainly want to see how this turns out next week.

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

---

Image credits: The usual spiel. The images above are either AI, or random pictures from the web that I’ve modified, or a Frankenstein of both. They are not original. The AI image generation is by Stable Diffusion. The pre-existing images should turn up with reverse googling, but feel free to ask and I’ll dig up sources.

[okiedoketm]

Unfortunately, Azula’s first memory is Zuko.

The details are hazy. She is two, maybe three years old. Holding something. He quickly snatches it from her hands. Pushes her forcefully into a bow, head to the floor.

Then Father is there. He grabs the object Zuko took from her. Raises his voice. Smacks Zuko. Leaves. Zuko cries.

It’s a rather dull first memory. Not even about her.

~ ~ ~

Her second memory is much better.

She is almost four, watching Zuko’s lessons. She’s figured out how to firebend for a few weeks now, but hasn’t told anyone. Instead, she is watching. Waiting.

Zuko runs through the same kata he’s been trying for days. The same steps, same motions. Azula can see acutely where he falters. Can see Father’s eyes narrow, his mouth mangle in distaste.

She hops to her feet and strides onto the field, beside Zuko. Father barks her name, but she ignores him.

“Like this, Zuzu,” she says, and performs the motions, but turns her foot where Zuko keeps it planted.

Fire bursts from her hand, a perfect blast.

When the light dissipates, Father is smiling. Father has never smiled before. A thrill rushes through her.

~ ~ ~

Azula is five the first time she realizes just how stupid her brother is.

Unlike Zuko, she has never been struck by Father. It’s actually quite simple. If you make Father happy, he won’t be angry enough to hurt you.

Zuko, for some reason, still hasn’t figured that out. And he’s had two years on Azula to get there first.

They’re at family breakfast. Zuko drops his fork under the table. He crawls under the tablecloth to get it. Father scowls.

“I’ve mastered my intermediate forms, Father,” Azula says, “I begin advanced training today.”

Father turns his gaze to her, a smile forming.

There’s a thud. The table shakes. Father frowns, and puts a bored hand over his glass. Azula does the same - quick and calm enough that it seems she did it on her own.

Zuko scrambles out from under the table, holding his head where he undoubtedly hit himself.

“But I’m still learning the intermediate forms!” He says desperately. Azula fends off a cringe. She just played the biggest card in her hand to make Father happy, and Zuko is wasting it.

“Zuko,” Father says sharply. Zuko flinches. Azula wants to strangle him; he should know that Father hates displays of fear.

“It’s okay, turtleduck,” Mother says softly, but urgently, “Sit down.”

Azula wants to strangle her too. Father hates-

“What did you just call the boy?” Father asks, voice dripping with venom.

Idiots. Azula thinks fiercely. Shut up.

“It’s nothing, Ozai,” Ursa says placatingly. Azula wants to tackle her and melt her lips closed. “Zuko just-”

“Zuko,” Father cuts her off, “Needs to behave himself at the table. Or else he won’t be allowed to eat at all.”

He stares at Ursa with hatred that could melt steel without fire. Ursa, to her credit, doesn’t buckle and blubber like Zuko would. She nods tersely and returns to her breakfast, only shooting a discreet look of urgency to Zuko.

It’s messy, but passable. Azula would have actually responded with words, and with dignity, but Azula would never let herself draw so much ire in the first place.

Zuko finally, finally takes a hint and starts to return to his seat.

“Azula,” Father turns back to her pleasantly, and the slight tension in her shoulders vanishes. Her card is still in play. “Perhaps I will join-”

SCREECH

Azula snaps her head to the noise. Zuko is frozen in place, halfway through scooching his chair on the marble floor like a fucking dog-monkey.

“Father is speaking,” she practically spits at him.

Zuko’s eyes widen.

“Azula!” Ursa exclaims. Azula whips her head to her, too, fresh vitriol ready on her tongue.

“ENOUGH!” Father’s voice booms, echoing off the high ceiling.

The table shakes, more violently than before. Azula primly covers her glass with her hand. There is a searing flame of rage in her chest, hotter and fiercer than any chi she’s ever had. She had been crafting this moment for a week, and Zuko ruined it with his incompetence.

“Take the boy and get out of my sight,” Father orders Ursa.

She stands and gathers a petrified Zuko, scooping him up gently from the chair. Like she has all the time in the world to-

“Now,” Father growls, and Ursa drops the gentleness, practically dragging him from the room.

“Should I leave as well, Father?” Azula asks.

Father sighs.

“No,” he says tiredly, cutting into a sausage and popping it into his mouth. “Someone should remain to enjoy the morning.”

He puts the cutlery down and dabs at his lips with a napkin, despite the fact that Father has never let a stray crumb or droplet of any kind touch his face since the day he was born.

“I was hoping to watch your lesson today, but it seems like I will be too busy teaching the boy manners.”

Father stands, dropping the napkin atop his half-eaten food.

“Perhaps tomorrow, Azula.”

“Of course, Father.”

When the doors close behind him, she is alone in the massive room. After ten seconds, when she is sure he’s gone, she snatches a piece of toast off Zuko’s plate and coats it in searing flame, burning it to a puck. With a shout of pure, unadulterated rage, she throws it at the wall. It shatters into a shower of burnt gluten and embers.

The hall is silent, and her angry heaves of breath are deafening.

Then she remembers herself. Azula is five years old and a princess, not a tantrum-throwing toddler. With a wave of her hand the debris are smothered, and she shoves away from the table. The chair doesn’t so much as squeak.

“Clean that up,” She snaps at a servant. “Bring a fresh plate to my room.”

~ ~ ~

Read the Rest on AO3

[fayes-fics]

Pas Quotidien

Pairing: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader (past & implied), Modern AU.

Summary: Modern AU. At 4am all sorts of things can arise…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, oral sex (m to f), flirting, bit of sexual tension, spot of brotherly competition, allusion to threesome.

Word Count: 4.7 k

Authors note: It's the baker Benedict AU no one asked for! This all started because of a hilarious typo with a mutual, so this is dedicated to them, ironic given they don’t eat bread. Unbetaed. I’m sure this is riddled with baking inaccuracies. Everything I learned about bread, is from Bake Off. Also yeah I know it’s not remotely sanitary. They’ll disinfect when they are done. Listen it’s fic, just go with it. Also yes the title is a play on the bakery chain Le Pain Quotidien. Well done for spotting.

It’s 4 am, and the bakery shines like a cosy beacon on this rainy night—the pavement outside glittering in the raindrops and the windows steamed from baking inside.

You push open the jaunty-coloured wood-framed glass door, the little brass bell above it tinkling delightfully as you do so. A warm blast of air bathed in the scent of baked delights greets you, and it’s like a soothing embrace around your chilled body.

He looks up, surprised to see you, or indeed anyone, at this hour as he stands towards the back of the space behind a huge marble counter, kneading dough. 

“Ben,” you greet, shucking your raincoat. His responding smile makes your stomach flip just a little. It really shouldn't; he's just an acquaintance.

“What in the hell are you doing here at… 4:13 am,” he queries good-natured, glancing at the wall clock. 

“Passing by on my way home,” you grin; some decadent carbs seem like the perfect thing to round off your late girls' night out. 

“I should bolt that damn door to stop drunken reprobates wandering into my shop before I open at seven,” he jibes lightly.

“Too late now, my friend,” you giggle and swipe a macaron from the display case, hopping up to sit on the serving counter. 

“Oi! That’ll be two pounds, please. And stop dirtying my serving space, if you don’t mind,” he chides affectionately.

“I’ll get the Dettol out myself,” you shoot back, not moving, and he rolls his eyes, exasperated.

You groan as you take a bite of the macaron, which melts in your mouth, a sugary almond explosion with tart raspberry filling.

“Fuck me, that's so good,” your praise muffled around the treat.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he chuckles and keeps kneading. 

“You should. I’d marry this macaron; I’d have its bloody babies,” you declare, still slightly tipsy, finishing it with a second bite.

“But you just ate your husband,” his amiable laugh echoes on the pristine white subway-tiled walls.

“I'm a black widow baby,” you sing the line probably tunelessly, but he seems to enjoy it nonetheless.

“Dangerous,” he shoots back, and something in his crooked smile makes the room temperature creep a little higher.

“Maybe…” you simper and gesture for him to continue working, hopping down on the staff side and wandering closer.

Your eyes are drawn to him. Watching him work. A dusting of flour on his forearms, a streak on his cheek.  A black apron, almost white with flour, over a fitted T-shirt. You try not to stare at his arms as they flex, but you mostly fail. Lots of kneading makes for very shapely arms, apparently.

“What are you making?” you inquire, genuinely interested.

“Pain de Campagne,” he supplies, the French accent dripping perfectly from his tongue. A sign of those months spent chez Paris at patisserie school. And definitely not remotely attractive, No, not at all.

“Looks like hard work,” you offer casually.

“Always worth it in the end,” he assures with a wink, an errant curl flopping onto his forehead as he pushes on the dough. Oh, that’s not helping.

“I couldn’t do that,” you proclaim. 

“Yes, you could; it’s not difficult; it’s just a technique. I can teach you,” he shrugs.

“Haha,” you deadpan.

“I mean it. Apron’s hanging over there; the sink is there to wash up thoroughly,” he gestures around him.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” he responds, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously. 

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, deciding this could be fun. You’ve certainly never done baking at this time of night (or morning, depending on your perspective) before.

Washed and aproned up, you move closer, and he stops kneading to turn towards you. 

“Well, you’ll need to remove your jewellery if you don’t want it ruined,” he laughs. “Also, roll up your sleeves. Then rewash your hands,” he lectures.

“Okay, okay, Mr Bossy,” you grouse. 

There’s that rich chuckle again, the one that seems to slide down your spine like honey. Instead of dwelling on it, you do as asked, leaving your rings by the sink.

“That’s better,” he smiles as you return to his side, and your shoulder bumps his arm with a smirk.

Flouring up is his next instruction, and you do so, ensuring your hands and wrists are well powdered. 

“Okay, so stand here,” he says, stepping back, and you slide into the spot he was just standing in. “Alright, now grab that dough,” he nods.

You do so, your finger sinking into it. It’s pillowy light.

“Oh my god, it’s so squishy!” you exclaim, and he can’t help his guffaw at your outburst.

“Yes, very apt. Squishy indeed. That’s the gluten; it’s what makes the bread rise,” and suddenly, he is standing right behind you. 

Two arms encircle you and cover your hands. They are warm, dry with flour, and so large you can no longer see your own. You try not to stare at the map of veins stretched over tendons as they curl around yours, guiding your movements.

“Now the key is to stretch the dough out and really get it aerated,” his voice is calming and patient but so close to your ear like that is, well, slightly throwing you for a loop.

As he guides your hands through vigorous moves, you feel his forearms over yours and his elbows bracketing your body. It seems so, well, there’s no other word for it; it’s intimate. His chin almost rests on your shoulder as he walks you through the motions. Your biceps begin to ache as the work continues, and you have a newfound admiration for what it takes to run a successful little bakery like this. You can’t imagine getting up at 2 am and doing this every day. You also really understand his arms now.

“I think it’s there now,” he remarks quietly, stilling your movements, his words soft beside your ear. You can feel his body solid behind you, not quite touching but so close you can feel the heat radiating on the back of your knees and shoulder blades.

“Are you sure?” you check, and you’re honestly not sure what that question refers to.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums, and it feels like it vibrates through you.

“What comes next?” you don’t mean it to be a whisper, but it is.

“Second proving,” he answers, and somehow it sounds sexy. “It’s got to rise some more. Get even squishier,” he adds with a wry smile that you see out of the corner of your eye.

“Are you making fun of me, Mr Bridgerton?” you narrow your eyes and lean back against him as if giving him a slight body check.

That was a mistake. He seems to curl around you even more. Heat seeping through the thin layers between you, the air feels even more humid as a trickle of perspiration runs down from your hairline over your temple. You see his eyes track the movement sideways on.

“You've not done it right if you’re not just a little sweaty,” his voice pitched low, and suddenly it’s not the only part of your body that feels damp.

“Applicable to so many things,” you assert, unmistakable in your intent, rocking back just a fraction. 

“Very true,” he opines. Then he guides your hands down onto the cold marble on either side of the large mass of dough. “This always cools me down,” he murmurs, his fingers sinking between yours and pressing onto the smooth surface.

“Delightfully refreshing,” you agree; your pulse is hammering as he seems to lean you further over the counter. The press of his body entirely wanted.

“Yes, it feels good on your skin,” he mumbles, and there is a flurry of movement as he expertly picks up the dough and throws it aside on the long wide surface. Then his hands are back on yours, leaning and pushing you forward until your elbow bends and your forearms rest on the cool marble.

“Is that helping?” He whispers, and now the message is blatant. 

“I still feel too hot,” you reply softly, biting your lip and shooting him your best flirtatious sideways glance.

“Then we will have to get more of your skin on this surface,” he lectures, and the hands move from covering yours to your waist, where the apron strings are tied around your front. You stutter his name as he expertly plucks the bow open.

“Tell me to stop,” he goads as the strings fall away, tugging them from around your sides. You clamp down on your lip, not wanting to make a single noise in protest.

There is a gentle snag on the underside of your chin as he lifts the apron up and around your head, then lets it fall to the floor as he drags you back upright against his body. His name is on your lips again, breathy and anticipatory. Almost disbelieving this is happening.

“Lock. The. Door,” he rumbles, his breath hot in your ear. Each word is a sentence that sets something alight in your veins even as he steps away. 

You scurry around the counter and bustle to the front door flicking the deadbolt. Behind, you hear him putting the dough into the large proving drawer and then the lights suddenly flick off, plunging the room into atmospheric shadows. All you can hear is the pitter-patter of rain on the street outside and the occasional swish of puddles under tyres as the odd car, mostly Ubers, drive by.

“Get back over here,” he growls, and your knees want to give way. 

Are you really going to do this? Let this delicious man lay you out on his marble worktop and do whatever he wants. There’s a screaming chorus of ‘hell yes’ in your mind as you do your best to walk with a seductive swing in your hips silhouetted by the window behind you. He has taken off his apron and now stands in a fitted t-shirt and jeans. Even in this low light, he looks so good clothed you almost don’t care if you don’t see him naked. Almost.

You squeak slightly as large hands grab your waist and pull you into him roughly, looking at each other eye-to-eye for the first time. It’s quite breathtaking how beautiful he is this close up.

“We have 45 minutes until we can make loaves.” The almost pun is not lost on you. “How would you like to fill that time?” he buzzes. 

“What do you suggest?” your voice cracks, slightly hypnotised by his stare.

A corner of tongue peaks out of his mouth, and you track it across his bottom lip, fascinated by the slick trail it leaves behind that glimmers in the streak of the streetlamp from outside.

“I suggest we cool your naked skin on this nice balmy surface and see what happens from there,” it's velvet soft and so rich you want to bathe in his voice.

“Okay…” you mutter, almost swaying now.

You watch large floury hands dust white trails onto your black shirt, popping each button. Your own breathing sounds too loud. Just as the last one relents, and your blouse hangs open a fraction, both hands move, cupping your jaw and tilting your head as his mouth descends. The slightly grainy texture of the flour on his fingertips against your skin adds a frisson.

The first brush of his lips on yours is electric. Tentative at first, it soon grows, heatedly mashing together in waves of intensity, mouths peaking open, and tongues touching. His hands move again, this time tugging your top from your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the ground. Just in your bra and jeans, you band your arms around his neck, sinking tighter into the embrace, revelling in the feel of those dusty hands sweeping down over the dip of your back. Your lips meet over and over.

He tastes of sweet baked goods - like almond croissants and madeleines - probably a batch he baked before you came in, and you sag against him wanting to swallow him and chase more.

“Ben…” you gasp into his mouth as a hand ventures inside the back of your jeans and grabs the bare flesh of your bottom.

“Get naked,” he commands softly  “you feel entirely too overheated in all this clothing,” he teases.

You chuckle; it’s only jeans and underwear you have left at this point. But then, the bakery is very warm, and all that dough work was very athletic. You fumble with your button and zip as his hand kneads your bottom with that firm motion he used on the dough. It feels wonderful, his lips trailing down your neck, his other hand helping peel your jeans over your hips. They hit the floor, and then you are being lifted off the ground and placed onto the marble, the cold, smooth surface making you squeak as it touches your bottom. 

“Feeling cooler already?” he asks, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome face as his hands round your knees and drag them apart, stepping between, the metal fastener on the hip of his jeans catching the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You nod in response as he moves in for another fiery kiss, your mouths at the same height now. His fingers curl around the back of your knees, pulling your legs up and wide as your hands sink into his hair, loving the baritone noise he makes over your tongue as you pull lightly on the thick chestnut strands. Those large hands slowly make their way up your thighs, caressing your skin, warm powdery tips setting your skin afire. As you kiss, they slide around your hips and up your back, winding delicate patterns until they reach the clasp of your bra.

“You still seem too warm to me,” his tone velvet smooth, “better take this off just to be safe,” he adds seductively and expertly flicks the hooks undone. He gently pulls the straps off your shoulders, and you can't help but giggle over his lips as he raises an eyebrow and comically flicks the bra away. It sails into the air, landing god knows where. 

“Much better,” he hums sensually, his lips back on yours, bodies pressed together, the slightly bobbled fibres of his top catching your nipples.

“Take this off,” you implore between kisses, tugging at his t-shirt. He smirks and half-steps back, whipping it off and throwing it to the floor.

“Baking does wonders for the body,” you sigh, trailing a finger down the divot between his defined abdominal muscles as he huffs a laugh at your statement.

Then there is no talking for a while as he takes your hand from his torso, kisses your knuckles chastely, then runs his tongue obscenely down to your fingertips, drawing all of them into his mouth as you stare wide-eyed, feeling the strength of suction on each digit, the lathe of his tongue. It's a blatant preview of what is to come, and you can’t stop your breath from becoming uneven.  

Your fingers fall from his mouth with a wet smack, and he is leaning in, driving your whole back onto the cold marble; he grabs your feet and places them wide apart on the countertop, your toes curling over the edge. 

He is staring down at you, a heavy gaze cataloguing everything from your kiss-dampened lips to your lacy underwear. With your legs spread so wide, you know he can see your arousal, can smell it in the air. The remnants of flour tickle your bottom as you curve your back upwards, looking at him entreatingly just to touch you somewhere, anywhere. 

“Please, Ben…” you murmur, and a trace of a smile ghosts the corner of his mouth. He leans right over you but doesn't make contact, breathing warm air over your collarbone, down over your left nipple and across to your right, pebbling painfully at just the wisp of sensation.

“Are you feeling colder yet?” his voice is deadly, gravelly and dark, skittering over your ribs.

“No…,” you admit, “Im feeling much hotter.” Your body flushed with arousal and anticipation.

“Hmm, what a shame,” he offers in mock sympathy. “I think the only remedy may be to remove these….” you gasp as his hand covers your underwear, and it’s so large that, as his fingers hook into the top of the material, the heel of his palm bearing down onto your clit, which he grinds a little for good measure.

Before you know it, he tilts your hips and drags the knickers away from your body, down your legs. You now lay utterly naked, exposed and almost shivering with desire, the hot steamy air from the ovens contrasting wonderfully with the chilly marble under your back.

Now he runs his nose over your skin as he skirts lower, inhaling almost obscenely, scenting your body. There's no mistaking the aroma in the air now, and he seems feral for it, his pupils blown wide as he tilts his head to look up at you. 

“Let hope you locked that door really well,” he banters and then you almost scream as he suddenly moves lower and ploughs his tongue roughly into your slit, groaning as he does so.

“Holy shit Ben,” you cry out and throw your head back; the only thing you can see now is the steamed window, upside down, rivulets of rainwater and condensation streaking like trails of golden thread under the yellow lamplight outside.

The prideful noise he makes at your expletive just ratchets you higher, and you know you are leaking onto his chin now. He sucks forcefully on your clit, his tongue rolling a wave that makes your toes curl harder around the counter edge and your fingernails scramble for purchase on the marble. You move one hand between your legs and grab his hair, scraping against his scalp, tugging, making him snarl. 

Then it’s a heady swirl of sensation as he expertly transports your body and mind away from the frisson of fear about passersby seeing this debauched tableau, should they linger on the pavement outside. To somewhere routed purely in your body and the way he conducts it like a symphony with his lips and tongue, one arm banded strong around your thigh, the other spidering up to pinch and tease your nipple. You know the whimpering noises you make are echoing loudly up the walls, but you cannot stop yourself. 

“Come for me,” he pants desperately; just as a long slender finger nudges you open and strokes gently inside you, you see stars.

“Don’t stop Ben, oh god, please, don’t stop,” you chant, feeling yourself spiralling higher, his tongue lathing at just the right rhythm to make your eyes roll back, just the right amount of suction to make your skin feel hot and tight, ready to burst.

He dangles you over the precipice for a few seconds, then, with an edge of his teeth, takes you over. Your body goes stiff, and he holds you down forcefully as you bear down against his face and writhe, staccato breathy cries echoing up the walls as you clench hard around his finger and blood pounds in your ears. 

For a moment, you just lay there whimpering as he gently caresses your belly with gossamer fingers and delicately kisses your inner thighs. 

“Fucking hell,” you exhale, “that was…” you trail off breathily, unable to form a sentence, and he huffs a warm bemused breath over your dewy skin. “Do you want to…” you almost feel sheepish offering sex for some reason.

“Oh no,” he chuckles darkly,  “I’m just getting started here….” His mouth is back on you, making you whine loudly, overwrought and still fluttering from your orgasm.

“I can’t again….” 

“Oh yes, you can,” he assures in a tone that is lethal.

You tilt to look down at his handsome face framed by your still quivering thighs when something makes your heart leap into your mouth.

“Brother, why on earth are the lights off?” an unmistakable voice rings out from behind the door into the kitchen area—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict’s older brother, head of the family, CEO of Bridgerton Investments and very troublesome to your hormones. He must have entered via the back of the building. 

Your head shoots up, but Benedict puts a finger over his lips, signalling you to stay quiet, so you do. The menace doesn’t stop teasing you, though—licking a long, slow, decadent swipe up your folds as you breathe heavily and swallow your moan.

“Stay here, don't move; I’ll get rid of him,” he whispers, jumping to his feet, and with a wink, he pulls on his t-shirt and is off. 

You stare, incredulous, as he loosely hangs an apron around his neck to conceal a rather delicious-looking bulge in his jeans, then disappears through the kitchen door. Did he really just tell you to stay sprawled naked on his worktop?

“Brother,” Benedict’s greeting is muffled through the wall. “I was napping between proving rounds; hence the lights are off. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not staying, on my way to catch a flight, just dropping those keys we talked about,” Anthony replies as you lay stock still, too drowsy from bliss to do anything but take slow breaths. “I’ll just grab a croissant for breakfast and be on my way.….”

“No!” Benedict squeaks. “I’ve… I’ve run out!” he scrambles the lie.

“Please,” Anthony dismisses, “I know you run your bakery better than that. And I know they'll be warm; I can smell they came out of the oven less than an hour ago.” 

“Ok fine, but I’ll get it for you,” Benedict rushes out, and it sounds like he’s trying to block the door, but it’s too late. 

The kitchen door swings open, and Anthony is striding towards the display case, Benedict bustling behind him, trying to block the sight of you naked on the worktop across the room. Anthony doesn’t glance to the side yet, but you’re frozen. Your muscles just unable to move. The stupid part of your brain justifying in the dark, perhaps he won’t see you at all. It’s all happening so fast, and your heart is pounding again. 

“Switch the bloody lights on, will you?” Anthony gripes and reaches for the switch. Suddenly the shop is all lit up. And you’ve lost your chance to hide—to run.

“Fuckkkkking hell!” Anthony cries as he spies you over Benedict’s shoulder, his attempt to shield you unsuccessful.

Suddenly your body is responsive, and you jump down and curl into a ball behind the worktop, mortified, before he can see your face, see it’s you.

“Is this what you are doing at 4 am?? Fucking on your workspace? And with all these bloody windows?!?” you hear Anthony exclaim, sounding shocked.

“No!” Benedict defends, “I’ve never done anything remotely like this before I….”

The fact he admits that makes something in your heart melt just a touch.

“It’s unsanitary, brother,” Anthony cuts in. “It could get you shut down if you’re found out,”

“I know that!” Benedict decries.

Still, you hide, pulling on your knickers and top, head still fuzzy from the mind-blowing orgasm. You cannot find your bra for the life of you; glancing up, you see it hanging on a blade of a ceiling fan. Fucking hell, Benedict. You know you can’t hide forever, and your mortification will only worsen the longer you pretend this isn’t happening. So you slowly stand up, already wincing.

“Y/n?!?” Anthony splutters, and you want the ground to swallow you up. You also don’t miss how his eyes drop to your nipples, poking obviously through your shirt without your bra, then, as they come into view, to your bare legs beneath the shirt.

This is awkward. So awkward. About eight months prior, you had a drunken but amazing quickie with Anthony, but since it’s just been flirty banter, assuming that’s where it would stay. Thinking it was just harmless fun. But as you see a flash in his eyes now, it looks an awful lot like jealousy as well as desire. Damn, it’s attractive. 

“Anthony,” you nod, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You are fucking my brother?” he gusts, disbelieving.

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Well, what the hell is this then?”

“We… we hadn’t got that far yet,” you respond quietly, and Benedict looks agog at you.

“So this is the first time?” Anthony is grilling you as if his younger brother isn’t even there.

“Yes,” it’s timid.

“Why him?” Anthony growls, and something in your body is at war. You know he won’t ever hurt you, but seeing this man all physically riled up and bothered is, well, holy hell, it's hot.

“I like him,” you whisper.

“More than me?” he takes a step closer, and you see over his shoulder that Benedict tenses.

“I didn’t think there was anything between us”, you confess honestly. “Anthony, you've made no other move since that night months ago.”

“You had sex?!” Benedict splutters.

“Once,” you placate, meeting his eyes, “drunkenly.” It somehow feels essential to add that secondary detail.

Anthony scoffs, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s not that you suddenly want me, is it? It’s that you don’t want him to have me, isn’t it?” you goad.

You know you’ve hit the nail on the head when Anthony goes for cutting. “I barely even remember it at this point,” he sniffs.

“Fine, then get out, so I can fuck him,” you challenge, nodding towards Benedict, intentionally using crude words to shock him, shock them both. Benedict’s face is a picture, but you also see traces of lust and victory. That perhaps you want him just as much, if not more.

You watch a vein throb in Anthony’s temple and know if he made a move to claim you in some stupid moment of male pride or familial one-upmanship, right now, you’d let him. Frankly, you’d let them both fuck you right here, and you’re not ashamed to admit it to yourself. You cross your arms defiantly, knowing your haphazardly thrown-on blouse frames your breasts.

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” you retort.

Anthony takes a step closer, and the tension notches up, your chest heaving just a little more. You can’t look at him directly; you fix on a spot over his left shoulder. If you glanced over his right, you’d be caught in Benedict’s gaze, which also feels dangerous right now.

“Choose. Right now,” Anthony orders, low and slow.

You make a noise of derision, but he just stands there, raised eyebrow, hands flexing slightly at his side. You see, on the periphery of your vision, Benedict leaning in. Keen to know your response.

“Right now,” you exhale, “I’m choosing to leave.” You nettle, not appreciating being used as a power play on his little brother. But mostly, not wanting to admit you can’t answer that question.

You peek over at Benedict. “I’ll be back for my rings and my bra once you remove it from your damn ceiling,” you wink at him and enjoy the surprise on Anthony’s face as his eyes naturally shoot up.

Then you feel both of them watching you as you grab your jeans and shoes, stalking towards the coat rack and starting to dress to go out in the downpour.

“Okay, fine,” Anthony’s voice calls out in a loud sigh, “you don’t have to pick.”

You pause in the motions, turning back to them. 

“What are you saying?” you frown.

He looks over at Benedict, and some kind of silent shorthand is exchanged.

“It’s a private jet; it can wait for me,” Anthony states with a killer look.

“Many hands make light work?” Benedict adds bewitchingly.

Are they really suggesting… both of them? Together? Their eyes are both hungry, and their faces are hopeful. The spike of want and triumph in your veins is almost breathtaking. The pile of clothes drops loudly from your hands to the wood floor.

“Okay. I’m listening…,” you enunciate slowly, a smirk growing on your face as you take a pace forward.

There are two very seductive smiles back at you. 

This night is definitely ‘pas quotidien’.

Taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet

[vicmillen]

So, I finished that CA wake up scene @crazylittlejester

Idk it's literally just the scene written out with a few swapped names, despite it being absolutely epic in my head... But oh well I did it, that's the important thing. I'll consider putting it on ao3 if I could get a second part of Cap Wars wandering the streets and being sad af.

Anyway here, behold Captain America Warriors, or as I calls him, Captain Warris:

The sound of softly clacking heels is heard outside, stopping right by the door. Sure enough the door opened a second later, and a lady stepped in. The nurse? Link can't be entirely sure.

******

Slowly, Link wakes to the sound of a radio droning on. He listened to it for a minute, before blinking his eyes open in confusion. The ward he's in is plain; simple cot, light walls. Nothing stands out as odd to him. Yet he can't shake the feeling of unease as he sits up.

"Good morning Captain Warris. Or should I say good afternoon?" she smiles as she glimpses at her wrist watch. "It's good to see you finally awake."

Link didn't answer right away, instead letting his senses roam to take in more details of the room. Finally his eyes land on the nurse figure. Noting the way her hair falls messily loose and her clothes don't fit quite right. Noting her total lack of surprise to see him awake as she enters, barely a minute after he wakes.

"Where am I?" He asked slowly.

"You're in a recovery room in New Castleton." The same bland smile, accompanying a perfectly normal answer. One that gave away no information at all.

Silence hung thick in the air as Link's unease grew. Slowly he's picking up more details that doesn't match up. The utter silence from outside the door, from the whole building, despite the noise from the street coming through loud and clear; the sharp scent of antiseptic and nothing else, despite the open window and busy street outside. The recording of a baseball game playing from the radio.

"Where am I, really?" Link asked again as he starts to stand, dread creeping up among the heavy unease sitting in his gut.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the lady smiled back. Link is getting the feeling that she's not a nurse at all.

"The game. It's from May 1941, I know 'cause I was there." He gestures sharply at the radio, still droning on. "Now I'm gonna ask you again, where am I?"

"Captain Warris-" Ah, there it is, the act slipping. Her smile dipped for a moment into an accessing look, and a small device appears in her hands.

The dread in Link's gut is turning into full blast alarms now. "Who are you?" he demands as he closed the distance. Did he fall into Yiga custody? But why this show?

Before he gets another step further, armed soldiers busts through the door. By pure reflex, Link dodged their batons and managed to flung them at the wall. Through the wall.

Instead of crashing into the next ward, they fall into a drak empty space beyond the thin plaster boards. A filming studio? Ignoring the shouts of the doubious agents, Link took off towards the doors he spotted in the dim distance.

Bursting out into a confusing grand hall of marble and glass, Link start running.

******

Nothing makes sense. Outside the building is not New Castleton, is not even the world that he knows. Giant moving screens covered the sides of towering buildings, stretching down the road as far as eyes can see.

In a daze, Link stopped in the middle of the street. The black cars that rushed to surround him drowned out by the nonsensical world buzzing all around.

Where had he managed to land himself?

More agents in suits and black uniforms flood out from the cars and start to clear the gathering crowded. Distantly, Link realized he's causing quite a scene. He couldn't bring himself to care one bit.

In the midst of it all, he noted dully an one eyed man from one of the cars approaching him. "Hey soldier," the man starts. When Link gives him no response, the man sighs, "Look I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

"Break what?" Link asked halfheartedly, still looking around in a daze. There's another kind of dread creeping up on him now, he likes it even less.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years." The one eyed man said slowly. Link blinks, turns to the screens around him without an answer. "Are you gonna be okay?" The man asked again.

Eventually Link finds his words. Eventually he answers, "Yeah." Eventually, as the colorful world blurs past him, he breathes, "Yeah I just. I had a promise."

(tbc, hopefully)

[glittter-vamp]

CHAPTER 8

Joe Burrow x Bisexual OC.

Warnings: 18+MDNI. Angsty. SAPPHIC SMUT.

Word Count: 3.1k

Body Move by Dizzy Fae blasted throughout Valeria's Condo as she cleaned up. It was a nice Saturday morning and she took it upon herself to clean up her space being that it was as cluttered as her mind has been lately. She was organizing her insane collection of shoes in her closet when her phone rang interrupting the music that was playing through her apartment since her phone was connected to the soundbar in the living room. Sighing in annoyance, she walks from the spot in her closet and retrieves her phone that was sitting on her stripped bed due her sheets getting washed. Seeing the caller ID she sees its Summer which still catches her off guard seeing her name on her phone. They had swapped numbers the day Summer arrived unannounced to Valeria's door with the flowers Joe hated.

"Hello?" Val answers the call. 

"Hey! I hope I'm not calling at a bad time." Summer replies seeming a bit nervous.

"You're not, what's up?" Val asks as she looks at the mountain pile of shoes she was donating, she couldn't believe how many shoes were stuffed in her closet. 

"I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a bite with me, there's this Mexican spot one of the construction guys suggested to me. I'll buy! " Summer asks. 

"Oh um, well what time did you want to meet up?" Valeria looks around her mess, she definitely needed some time to arrange all this. 

"How about 4ish?" I'll text you the address, it's not that far from your place.." She says. Val could hear the smile in her voice which made her smile too. 

"Yeah that's fine, I'll see you then!" Val agrees. It had been a bit since Val had seen Summer. She'd been super busy with the development job she's here in Cincy for and Val was also super busy with the store. It was finally June so, it was pride month and Kade & Elsa's idea was popping off better than any of them expected. They were all pulling early mornings an late nights but everything was going pretty well for the most part. Sure there were trolls on the company's Instagram and even google reviews but the support surpassed the hate by a lot and that's what everyone had decided to focus on. Val even had customers tell her that she'd inspire them to come out to those around them which shocked her considering the circumstances of Val's sexuality coming to light wasn't really ideal for her. 

Agreeing on the plans, Summer and Val hang up and she continues her cleaning. It was only 10AM now so Val had plenty of time to clean and then get ready later. But, as she was finally finishing up on her closet she received yet another call, this time a facetime from Joe. Taking a deep breath she answered.

"Hey!" Val answers with a small smile on her face. 

"So much for calling me back yesterday." Joe gives her an unimpressed look and Val grimaces completely forgetting about that. 

"I'm sorry! I got caught up with the store and didn't get home until 11PM. Once I came home I showered and knocked out." She says looking at him with a sorry look on her face. 

"It's okay, I knew you were already busy there when I called. But, how are are things going?" He asks he looked like he we at the gym and was sweaty as one could be after a workout. 

"It's been busy but so far so good." She nods. 

"I'm glad to hear it, you've worked hard for this...which is why I think we should go out to celebrate." Joe suggests and Val looks at him crazy. This was so out of the blue she wondered if she even heard him right. 

"Since when do you want to go out to celebrate anything, especially with me?" Val asks scoffing making Joe roll his eyes at her comment and reaction. 

"Are you busy next weekend? I sort of made us reservations at the Marble Room." He smirks. 

"In Cleveland!? You never even go past Columbus." Val says shocked. 

"I wanted to try something new with you and treat you to something nice. So what do you say? I think it'll be fun, you also deserve some time off and away from everything." Joe says. 

"Joe...we talked about boundaries last week." Val sighs. He knew better than to do something like this after the conversation they had and both agreed on.

"C'mon Val, I'm giving you what you want and it's still an issue." Joe sighs rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

"I need to know you're doing it because you want to and because you're over this whole, keeping me a secret stuff. Not because you want to win me over and go back to how things were. You know that's not an option. Plus going to Cleveland means an overnight trip and we both agreed on no sex again while we're figuring stuff out." Val shakes her head. 

"Who said anything about that? and I'm not dumb, I know you're hooking up with Summer anyway so of course you don't care to have sex with me." Joe says which annoys and upsets Val. She knew Joe was pity because she wasn't falling for his little game.

"I'm not hooking up with anyone Joe, you need to stop with the shit about Summer. I don't bring up the model from Miami and throw it in your face so you shouldn't do that to me!" Val argues back. 

"Because she's not in my life! Summer is in yours and I know she's working at an angle here. Especially now since she knows about us and our rocky relationship, this is the perfect time to sweep you off your feet." Joe says making Val roll her eyes at him while trying to keep her cool. 

"If you're going to keep up with this we should just call it quits right now because I don't appreciate you acting like this and accusing me of having sex with Summer when I haven't even seen her in weeks and the last person I fucked was you." Val snaps back over Joe's shit.

"There's just no way I believe that, after that video at the club Val. We agreed on dating other people if we wanted but I don't buy that she's not over there at your place late at night or taking you out to places." Joe shakes his head. 

"Then our conversation here is done here, bye." Val says hanging up on him. Val was now livid at Joe at the way he kept throwing this in her face. Yeah she cheated but so did he and she wasn't being petty like he was throwing that stuff in his face like he was to her.

**************************************************************************

"Smells like lavender in here, I love that scent!" Summer smiles as she walks into Val's place. They had just gotten done with their meal and drinks at the Mexican restaurant which was great, Val made a mental note to go back their with her friends soon. 

"When you called me I was cleaning every inch of this place so that's why it smells decent" Val chuckles shutting the door behind her. 

"I'm so glad my job is playing for my stay and I have house cleaning, with the amount of work I need to get done in one day coming home to a clean hotel room is sooo great." Summer teases. 

"Lucky! Maybe I should invest in housekeeping around here." Val pouts making Summer laugh. 

"We should of stopped for some wine! I'm dumb, we literally passed by a liquor store too." Summer says sitting on the couch. 

"I have two bottles, both red. I always have back up, did you forget whose house this is?" Val smirks. 

"You're the best. Reminds me of all the secret bottles of Vodka you had in your room because Gen and Karina would always drink yours if you let them in the kitchen." Summer laughs at Val as she walks over to the kitchen to open a bottle up winking at her. 

"So, now that you're out and proud, are you going to the pride parade this month? I saw a flyer for it at the club the other night, its next Saturday." Summer asks as Val pops open a wine bottle and gets two wine glasses from her cupboard.

"I was thinking of it. The gang wants to go, are you going?" Val asks her. 

"Eh, don't know what I would do there alone other than see the parade." She chuckles. 

"You can come with us! I'll keep in contact with you about it, we're coordinating outfits with some for the stuff from the store, I'll keep you in the loop." Val says bringing over a glass of wine for Summer. 

"Sounds fun, thanks!" Summer smiles as Val sits at arms reach next to summer on the couch after handing her drink. 

"So, how are you liking Ohio? Making you want to move back after all these years?" Val teases. 

"Hell no, my family came down from Columbus and they were asking me the same thing. I love California too much to ever come back here." Summer shakes her head before taking a sip of her wine.

"I haven't been in a while. I should go, I miss Disneyland." Val says before sipping her wine. 

"There's so much to do in Cali and you want to go to...Disney...you have not changed." Summer laughs. 

"I've only been to Disney once! I deserve to go again." Val shrugs not feeling ashamed about wanting to go to Disney at her adult age. 

"You should have your rich NFL boyfriend take you. I think they do private tours, I think he could afford that." Summer giggles sarcastically. 

"Yeah... that's sooo not happening. He is not happy with me and I'm not happy with him." Val snorts taking a generous sip of her wine remembering the stupid argument they had today. 

"You guys haven't made up?" Summer asks and Val shakes her head no. 

"We had an argument today actually so... nope." Val lets out of a breath. 

"Sorry to hear that...can I ask about what? Maybe I can give some advice...if you want it of course. I know you must be really trying to salvage the relationship after everything which is understandable." Summer shrugs taking a sip of her wine eyeing Valeria. 

"You. We had argument about you today." Val chuckles. Summer freezing and giving her a confused look. 

"He thinks we're having sex. Plus he's basically is in a competition with you for some stupid reason. He thinks we have something going on and I won't admit to it." Val says rather nonchalantly. 

"I mean...I guess you could see where he's coming from because of the video and our history but I'm sure you've told him we haven't done anything, he should believe you. you've been honest so far with him, he has no reason to doubt you right now. " Summer shakes her head. 

"Yeah, well he doesn't and its annoying and pissing me off. I don't know how much more of this shit I can take, I tried but I think it's really done. Trying to glue back the pieces isn't going to work if the cracks are still visible." Val admits suddenly feeling very sad about the situation and reality of it. 

Summer doesn't say anything except give Valeria a look of sympathy and pats her hand. Val gulps down the rest of her wine and gets up to get a refill offering Summer one which she gladly accepts. After one too many wine glasses and those margarita's they had at the restaurant, Val was starting to feel the liquor a bit. She wasn't drunk, especially no where near like the night at the club but she was starting to feel a lot more comfortable around Summer and had forgotten about Joe for the time being. She was finally letting lose which resulted in feeling like her and Summer hadn't stopped talking in all these years and forgetting about how wrong she did her all those years ago.

"It's 10:30PM and I really don't think I'm going to be sober enough anytime soon to drive myself back to my hotel. I really shouldn't have had the second bottle with you, I'm driving a company rental." Summer says checking her phone seeming uneasy about her being tipsy at the moment knowing she had to leave soon because it had gotten so late. 

"Just stay over, I have plenty clothes you can borrow to sleep in...you can even shower if you'd like too." Val says setting the empty bottles of wine down by the trash can to take out tomorrow. 

"You sure? I wouldn't want to make things even worse between you and Joe...I can just uber and pick up my car tomorrow. It's no biggie." Summer bites her lip still feeling uneasy about the situation. 

"Of course I'm sure and If he already thinks there's something going on between us then it doesn't really matter now, does it? Now come on, we can watch Freaky Friday like we used to when we were supposed to do homework or study." Val says smiling at Summer and walking to her room. Summer follows Val into the the as she starts to go through her drawers finding something for Summer to wear. She picks out one of her old Ohio State oversized tees and hands it to her.

"Here, you can shower first. I'm gonna finish cleaning up the kitchen in the meantime, then I'll take a quick shower and we can watch the best movie ever made." Val smiles at Summer who chuckles at her excitement. Summer agreed to it and Val does as she says. 

"Sounds like a plan!" Summer chuckles.

***************************************************

"Jamie was so damn hot in this movie. Talk about a fucking MILF!" Summer shakes her head in disbelief as they watch Jaime Lee Curtis go off on the guitar in the house of blues scene of the movie. 

"She really was." Val agrees as the lay next to each other in bed, rather close with the lights off. Summer and Val give each other both a smile before they slowly lean in and connect their lips. Summer slipping her tongue into Val's mouth immediately and straddling Valeria. All she had on was a shirt and no pants or underwear so Valeria could feel her wetness on her bare thighs. It had been so long since Valeria had hooked up with a woman, it's like she needed to get it out of her system. All the memories of their college nights together came running in both of their minds, feeling the familiar soft feminine touch of each other.

"Wait--Are you sure you want to do this? I don't want you to regret anything..." Summer asks, her eyes scanning Valeria's face for reassurance. 

"Yeah, I'm sure." Val smiles brushing a strand of hair away from Summer's perfect face before leaning in and kissing her again. They both undress from their pajamas leaving them completely bare and both girls take in each others bodies for the first time in so long. It was almost like it was their first time ever with each other all over again. 

"You look even more gorgeous than what I remember." Summer whispers kissing Val's neck, moaning softly at the feel of her lips going gently down her body.  Summer starts giving her love bites here and there as she always did with Val, devouring her body. Biting and sucking on Val's breasts, her hands went down finding Val's clit making her moan and buck her hips at the sensation. 

"I really missed hearing that sound come out of you, it's music to my ears." Summer smirks before sucking on one of Val's nipples. The sensation of Summer rubbing her clit and sucking her nipple almost sent her over the edge right there. 

"Can I taste you? I just know you still taste so good." Summer whispers kissing Val's chest gently as she looks up at her with eyes full of lust. Val nods a yes as she bites her lip awaiting for what's about to come. Summer moves down and settles in between her thighs, kissing them slowly and leaving bite marks between them, before her tongue slowly swipes between Valeria's wet folds making Val moan, throwing her head back in pleasure. 

"Oh! Fuck...Summer..." Val moans louder than she anticipated. She had forgotten the insane tongue game Summer had and wasn't expecting this type of intense pleasure from her.

Bringing her hand to Summer's long luscious hair, which was cascading over her face, Val pushes it away from her face to see her, her face was only dimly lit by the tv in front of them but Valeria couldn't get enough of seeing Summer nose deep at her core. Summer batting her big brown eyes at her knowing it made Val even more turned on by her. Sucking on her clit, Val struggles to maintain her hips still as the euphoric feeling started to already build up inside her. Summer grabbing ahold of her hip to maintain her in place with one hand. She then slipped two fingers with her free hand inside Val's wetness thrusting it at a perfect pace, as her mouth was still on her. Which, was enough to send Val over the edge and reach her orgasm. 

"Shit...oh my god..mmph." Val moaned and bucked her hips uncontrollably as she reached her high. Summer smirked as she wiped her face off and then seductively sucked the juices off her finger making eye contact with Val who was still catching her breath and coming down from her orgasm. Val forgetting about any relationship problems, let alone Joe. 

"Tell me when you're ready for round two, that was a good warm up for my Jaw and hands. My god do you taste better than I remembered..." Summer smirks. 

A/N: Well...things just got a whole lot messier.

[patricia-taxxon]

Hello! After watching your marble blast video a little while ago I played Echo and it was very cool - I wanted to draw some art of you and the Echo cast to get better at furry art on my art side account, if I did this who would be your favourites to include? And what should I tag the art so you could maybe see it? Keep poppin pup, you're iconic!

carl is my husband

[spiritofthenortheners]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Thank you for the tag @bilbosmom-belladonna 🧡 Recently I’ve been mostly trying to decide whether I should un-anonymize something I wrote as a writing exercise, inspired by a game my partner played (still haven’t decided 😂) But this here is from something that’s not even a decent draft yet 🙈

One day this should be a sequel to Deep End

With an exhale, Faie’s finger curls and the bolt hits the side of 2224’s stupid grey-painted bucket, scratching at it while Faie continues to snipe down a couple of commandos next to the Imperial officer who used to be Commander Cody. In Faie’s ear, Neyo whispers “fucking beautiful” and at the same moment two imperial gunships explode in a blast of reddish flames and smoke.

No pressure tags @airlockfailure @cobaltbeam @cacodaemonia @marbled-polecat and anyone wishing to play!

[dustedmagazine]

IMustBe Leonardo — Not To Be Scared of Weekend (Self-Release)

“Why should you need gods when you have John Peel or PJ Harvey or Meryl Streep and Stan Kubrick and Kim Gordon, fallible, fantastic, inspiring people but just people like you trying to create and share beauty?”

That’s a small part of a monologue that ushers in IMustBe Leonardo’s “Kim Gordon,” a meditation on humanism, the power of creativity and the emptiness of organized religion. It’s an odd, intoxicating little glimpse into an idiosyncratic mind, spoken in uninflected tones by the Google reader, but even so, deeply, fundamentally human. When the spoken word fades, the music enters, a wispy, whispery voice asking repeatedly, “Why should...you need god…when you have Kim Gordon?” against a minimalist frame of acoustic strumming, which is just a bit later submerged in a most satisfying swell of amp feedback and dissonance. It’s a poem, a philosophy, a lo-fi acoustic lament and a blast of rock-and-roll mayhem all in one, and while certainly one of the most arresting tracks, not even the best thing on this eccentric album.

IMustBe Leonardo is a Berlin-based songwriter who has been making his oddball songs since around 2016. He gets a little radio play here and there, and a handful of people are ardent supporters, but you could spend a whole lifetime listening to music and not run across his work. That would be a shame. His outsider-y poetry is slow to light but catches fire on repeat plays. About half the tracks are hand-made rock songs, bolstered by clicky drum tracks and ravaged guitar tones. The other half are the maddest, most surreal campfire songs you ever heard, gently strummed but extremely odd.

Out of these, perhaps, consider “All the Poets Here” a murmured litany of wry observations about all the things that the poets are getting up to. The line lifts gently at the end of phrases, not so much a question implied as these evanescent thoughts blowing away on a slight breeze, and every sentence is a little koan. “Oh the poets here are naked and they feel like war/oh the poets here they say they’re crying when it rains/Oh the poets here don’t wash for days and weeks and months” and so on.

Other cuts are more taut and rhythmic, as for instance, “Government Press Office’s New Rattle,” with its staccato Young Marble Giants-ish guitar riff and punching drums. The cut might remind you of Lewsberg in its mordant chant that takes brief flights into melody, in its quiet tensions that erupt into noisy crescendos of guitar. There’s a song in there, a well-shaped melody, swamped almost entirely by ennui and static.

And indeed, the artist seems aware of his tenuous but legitimate claim on pop music. His song “Perfect Pop Song” rattles on like a wind-up toy, with its sharp hedges of guitar picking, its nonchalant chatter of verse. And yet, it is sort of a pop song. You can sing along after a bit. It creates an economical amalgam of melody and meaning, a unitary sort of structure that is exactly what it is, and then blows out that structure in a profusion of harmonies and vocal counterpoints.

This is a wonderful album, absolutely original and striking and unpremeditated. Listen to it a few times, and you might find yourself asking questions, like: Why do we need gods when we have human beings making beautiful little songs out of sticks and string and imagination? Why do we need forgiveness when art swaddles us in solace and connection and meaning? Why do we need religion at all when we have IMustBe Leonardo? 

Jennifer Kelly

[sophiaredwood03]

For all those who wanted to see an interaction between MC and King Louis-Ernest.

Notes: this was fun to write! MC did precisely what I wanted to do to this man.

This is longer than anything I've written before- 1099 words!

The land of Luxure is even more beautiful than how Fenn described it. As the boat approaches the dock, the buildings and streets become even more illuminated by the setting sun. Grabbing my satchel, I check that my permit is still there, before paying the ferryman and hopping off the boat.

You see, I’ve come on an errand from Colde. It’s strange that a student would be given this task, but the headmaster was busy, and all the S ranks were busy, and Fenn was still banished from his homeland. So I came instead. I've only seen the king once, and that was when we were deciding how to deal with Iritium and the aftermath. Even though I’ve been promoted to S rank due to technical issues with the ranking system, I don't teach very much, mainly because my magic is different from well… everyone. In fact, I don't teach at all, except help C ranks and stand in for various professors when needed. Most of my time is spent honing my skills, playing with Shifah and Robin and wandering the town. Incredibly carefree, unlike life back on Earth.

There’s a whole string of carriages near the dock. I select a small, comfortable-looking carriage.

 The driver gives me a really funny look when I tell him to go to Castle Luxure. Well, as long as he gets paid, he probably won’t care. 

A while later, I hop off the carriage. The castle… I’m not actually sure which one I’m meant to go into, because all I can see are…well, castles and more castles. I heard that the king had a lot of wives and children, but I hadn’t realised just how many. Until now, that is.

The guards all regard me with no small amount of suspicion.

“I have come on an official errand to see the king on behalf of the headmaster.” I hold out my permit.

The guards stare back at me.

“The headmaster, meaning the governor of Colde, that is.” Still more uncomprehending looks. All of a sudden, they surround me and grab me roughly by the arms.

“What are you doing?!” 

“Miss, you’re being arrested! If you want to cause less trouble for yourself, stay still!” One particularly burly guard claps handcuffs on my wrists. I very briefly entertain blasting them to the ground and making a grand entrance into whichever castle, before demanding to see the king and tearing him apart when I see him. No, no, stay calm. I’ve got more class than that. I’m sure His Majesty will understand when he knows the situation.

I was wrong.

The first impression I had of King Louis-Ernest was that he was quite invested in being a good king, etc cetera. I had to rethink that first impression immediately when he received me. 

Firstly, what self-respecting man (or king, in this case) would see criminals surrounded by piles and piles of his wives? Secondly, (and I do mean this) was he even fit to be a king? Because the way he carried himself gave off the general air of complete nonchalance to his responsibilities. I completely forgive myself for my rather skewed first impression of him, though.

“Well… well. Who would have thought that you, of all people, would have ended up a criminal?” King Louis-Ernest addresses me from his throne of pretty lasses.

I think that I was still in shock at that point, actually, because my brain completely failed me and didn’t register at all what he said. The room was quiet, apart from the whispers of various wives. Whatever you say about the man, it has to be acknowledged that he has good taste in women, if only for their looks.

I think that kneeling on the cold marble floor for a solid ten minutes must have given my mind a sudden shock, because I self-reflexively pushed away the guards and stood up.

“No matter if I am criminal or not, Your Majesty should not be subjecting me to such indignities such as kneeling on the floor. May I add that the floor is very cold and hard?” I glare angrily at him.

“Quite arrogant, aren’t you?

“I am merely stating facts. Ones which I am sure Your Majesty is well aware of. What would people think if they heard what you did today? And anyway, I came on official business.” I shot back.

“Of what sort?”

I have to take a very, very deep breath to calm myself. The headmaster had already written, way in advance, that I would be coming on his behalf and that I was to be treated with the same respect that they would treat him. The fact that King Louis-Ernest does not know of this means that he has been neglecting his official duties. That is incredibly serious and cannot be forgiven.

“Your Majesty.” 

The king takes one look at my face and shuts up. At least he has enough common sense for that.

“You have neglected your duties and treated an important and distinguished guest with disrespect. I have tolerated your tomfoolery until now but-” I pause and take a breath- “ I have reached my limit. Based on what I have seen today, you are unfit to be a king. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“What basis does a criminal have to accuse me of such things? I could have you executed for blasphemy.” He regards me with a cool smile. 

“You must think that I am a naive, foolish young girl, entrusted with a task far too grave for me.”

King Louis-Ernests’ eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. I hit the nail on the head.

I allow myself a small smirk. “I’m right,aren’t I?” I take a step closer. He tenses. I can feel him gathering up his magic.

I slap him. Hard. Right across the face. He reels, stunned. Shrieks and gasps fill the room. Behind me, the guards ready their weapons.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in deeply again. Golden light shimmers gently, illuminating the whole room. “Don’t even think about laying hands on me. I will settle the business I came for another day. And-” I turn and look the disgraced king right in the eyes- “ don’t think you will get away with this.” Having delivered that last blow, I turn and stride from the room.

King Louis-Ernest faints and collapses into the laps of various wives.

I make my way out the castle. I think I’ll go and have a look at the town. And so, I wander off, the sun slowly making its way below the horizon behind me.

[owlhead650]

New DnD Character

I don't know if any of you know this but I like DnD. I had this idea for a pact of the fiend warlock who is also an Aasimar named Talith Dia. Here's the backstory, it is ___ words long.

In Sharn's "High Walls" district a cult dedicated to a fallen angel (Radiant Idol) named Seraphon was very active. It took advantage of people who were losing money and loved ones during the last war by offering them help and comfort in exchange for worship. Seraphon and a human priestess of the cult named Vella Dia both had a child they named Talith Dia.

Talith got to live a mainly normal life for 15 years. Seraphon was a power hungry megalomaniac who wanted people to worship him, yet he actually treated Talith really well. His son Talith was basically his morality pet, if you know the trope. Talith was probably affected by the religious ideas of the cult his parents owned, but not to the point of making him like his Dad. Talith enjoyed a comfortable childhood in wealth until he was 15.

The cult came into conflict with a crime group called Daask. One gang leader of Daask named Zos the tiefling organised a raid in which Seraphon's cult was decimated, both of Talith's parents were lost.

While Seraphon mobilised most of his cult to defend his mansion from the Daask raid, about 30 cultists were sent to evacuate with Talith and hide until the fight was over. Obviously Talith was devastated by the outcome of the fight and realised he would never be able to go back to his old life. He hid in the lower districts of Sharn just about surviving without being noticed. Eventually he had enough and decided to jump off one of Sharn's towers. He didn't see any other way out.

"Talith... don't end yourself, defend yourself. Zos is the one who should die, give killing him a try." Talith turned around to see where those cheap rhymes were coming from. It was a devil, a Rakshasa.

Talith was told about devils. They're cunning manipulators who seem to be offering you a good deal but actually screw you over. He was sceptical but eventually he decided that he didn't have much else to lose.

"Just sign right here, all your enemies will run in fear."

He led the remainder of the cult in a revenge attack against Daask and managed to kill Zos and most of his minions. The cultists with Talith weren't very powerful. He had to carry the team by spamming eldritch blast. No one got out of that situation alive except Talith.

With his parents swiftly avenged and the cult gone Talith didn't know what to do with his life. The Rakshasa is never too demanding with his orders. Every three months and thirteen days Talith needs to kill some random thug or on occasion slay a devil the Rakshasa wants gone. This is because not only does the Rakshasa like rhymes, it also likes overly elaborate plans and Talith is just one of its many pawns.

So Talith is an Aasimar warlock who is lawful neutral aligned and desires lots of material wealth and power. What he really wants is safety and belonging, but subconsciously he associates wealth and power with the safety of his childhood and he wants to return to that.

Was this character idea any good? I don't know if I'd actually play it in a DnD campaign because it's a bit cringe but I still wanted to write about it. I think Talith would have yellow eyes, maybe either marble or silver coloured skin and black hair.

[wandaschaosx]

Just had an absolutely batsh insane dream

I woke up laughing lmao

so

It all started in a tennis court I was probably dropped off at against my own will, I looks around like damn this place boring af I want music.

So I see this speaker right ?

Crazy thing , I turn on some music and it’s playing and everything’s good , people vibe to it (as they should )

THEN THIS KID FROM MY SCHOOL COMES OUT OF NOWHERE

then it starts pouring rain so I decide to

Go outside ???, anyway there’s this really dark an ominous woods so I’m like “no thanks 😀” and then I go back and I hear this rap music that’s blasting at a frequency that could shatter glass and it’s none other than the spider verse soundtrack so I’m vibing until I realize it isn’t the spider verse soundtrack and it’s random rap that the kid from my school put on .

Everyone is PISSED so he starts getting all like “oh cry me a River and piss in it 🙄” so I’m all like okay rude and continue on.

It stops raining and I swear I literally blink and we’re all in this line, I see my friend (let’s call her watermelon I’m not disclosing any info sorry babes 💓)and I’m like oh “hey you here too” and she’s like “yeah lol “

Then I see my other friends let’s call her raspberry smoothie and I’m like omg come here (she’s in the back of the line ) and so I signal for her to come over and the person behind us gave us the nastiest look like I just 🔥ned his favorite store to the ground .

So I’m all like Oop sorry 😰.

I blink again and we’re in a tennis match

AGAINST PEOPLE FROM MARBLE FKING HORNETS

so I’m all like damn okay 😰 absolutely battling it out and then (hold on lemme Google sm real quick I forget his name )

ALEX

It’s Alex, alright so Alex is all like we should go upstairs lol and asks if we’re hungry (raspberry smoothie has disappeared and it’s just me and watermelon )

And me and watermelon look at one another like “??” There ain’t no upstairs to a tennis court wt-

AND IM TRANSPORTED TO A ROBLOX CLUB FOR A SPLIT SECOND WITH A TAYLOR SWIFT SHRINE IN THE MIDDLE (fearless era btw ) and I look around like

What

Then I see that other guy jay I think and we’re heading upstairs with Alex and Im like oh is this your uh

Room 😰

And their all like yeah lmao dwi

so me and watermelon are immediately getting bad vibes but like hey free food why not

By god’s grace

When I tell you

I walked in there

This room had the aesthetic of a back office in a GameStop that’s been running for 30 years on underplayed workers and road water . (I love GameStop absolutely no slander btw )

there was a really run down pc with a single chair (it looked like mine so I was all like ??wyd w my chair my guy ???💀)

and a bed with crumbs over it and a single closet

goodness gracious almighty if tony stark had not blessed me my soul would have been gone because when I opened that closet

It was a clear P L A S T I C T U B

of G R E A S Y P O P C O R N

with B T S McDonald’s fruit punch cups shoved into different areas of the popcorn

Looked like he really had to get in there to keep them in place ig

But I think what unsettled me more was that was the only thing in his closet

Like bon apple teeth or bonappetit as they say so my friends all like

What on gods green earth girl keep that in greasy groves

But I immediately say suit yourself because when in Rome am I right

5 star Gordon Ramsey approved I tell you

So me and watermelon sit down after that delectable meal and jay is sitting across from us and all of a sudden we’re on a plane??? Same positions but on a plane

And apparently I didn’t get the memo it’s 2023 because I saw myself in like 3rd person mode in a video game with raccoon stripes and the really stereotypical like 2000’s emo with the large bangs to one side and honestly I had no complaints

Beside the absolute horrendous lipstick I put on if you could even call it that

Lemme tell you sm, that lipstick came from the back trenches of early Sephora with a consistency so thick and melty I could have used it to butter a pan

So glad I didn’t taste it

All I’m doing now is “Oowhahahaah look at me emo ahaha “

Apparently my friend got a kick out of it and now I look like a single mother with her feral child

Then I woke up the end