#syrupy is the best way I can describe it

[tragedykery]

trying to figure out character voices for my ocs and I think the one I have the clearest picture of rn is taituk. they speak…not quite stiffly maybe but definitely a tad formal. more connective words & full sentences than most people use when speaking. they’ve got the admirable habit of just letting silence fall until they’ve thought of the right thing to say, very little uhming or use of other filler words. they tend to be overly specific rather than vague—e.g., instead of saying something is rare or common, they might try to give a numeric indication of how rare or common it is. they talk quite slowly and quietly, but can make themself heard if so desired. absolutely hate shouting. they prefer to speak calmly, and if they’re in an emotional situation they will wait to compose themself until they know their voice will be level. because of this they can seem emotionless to the untrained eye, but they’re just good at hiding/repressing them lol

[cuffmeinblack]

hi~ I don't know if your requests are open, but I really like your writing !!

I had this idea about the f/gn!MC x Ominis where they show the the Room of Requirement to the Slytherin boys as an alternative secret place to spend time. Especially and firstly showing it to Ominis as they still feel kind of guilty after the first visit to the Undercroft without warning him and lying about finding it by accident. Aaand because the Room is something very special and secret to them that they wish to share with him because they have a crush but can't admit it yet. And just how they wander around together and visit vivarium with all the animals and cozily chill there,,, and maybe have some private time to understand their feelings better,,,,,,, just this awkwardness of untold but mutual feelings in a magical little place and then The Understanding and 😖🤍

Sanctuary

Ominis Gaunt x gn!reader

Tags: fluff

1.3k words

A/n: The beginning of my obsession with Ominis and puffskeins.

The Room of Requirement had been your sanctuary for months, but today was the day you decided to share your secret. Against the express wishes of Professor Weasley, you had invited Ominis to the seventh floor corridor, citing a desire to repay him for your intrusion of the Undercroft.

"After making me climb all those stairs I hope there's a good reason," Ominis said, panting slightly.

"There is, I promise," you said, closing your eyes and picturing the room—your room—in your mind.

The wall rumbled as the door shimmered into view, the ornate detailing snaking its way through the stonework. Ominis had turned towards the sound with a frown.

"Hogwarts has more secrets than the Undercroft," you smiled cryptically. "Come with me."

Ominis followed you as you pushed open the door, stepping into the large atrium. You had spent so many hours here, even slept here on occasion, decorating it to your tastes and laying it out practically for your schoolwork. The warm golden sun poured in through the ceiling, illuminating your plants in the centre potting tables as the cauldrons at the potions station bubbled away softly. Ominis stood just inside the door, taking in the ambience, and you waited for his reaction.

"Where are we?"

"It's called the Room of Requirement, or the Come-and-Go room. It takes the shape of whatever you need it to, and I needed a place to catch up on my studies. It's…expanded a little since then. Can I…give you a tour?" you ask nervously.

Ominis nodded and held out his hand. "I'd like that."

You placed his hand on your forearm and led him to the potting table, steering clear of the venomous tentacula, describing all the plants you had raised. Ominis' hands glided over the Dittany and Mallowsweet, pinching the leaves in between his fingers and breathing in the syrupy scent with a small smile on his face.

"No wonder you're so advanced in Herbology, I'm a little jealous."

"You're welcome to come here whenever you'd like," you said a little too quickly.

Ominis' smile widened and you blushed and looked away, walking over to the potions station.

"What are you brewing?" Ominis asked.

"Mostly Wiggenweld but occasionally Edurus and Focus potions," you replied, peering into a cauldron at the bright green healing potion.

You looked back at Ominis and noticed that his eyebrows were knit together.

"Should I be concerned that you regularly need a stash of healing and defensive potions?" he asked.

The hand on your arm tightened its grip on you and his thumb ran over the material of your robe. The gesture made your heart skip a beat as you looked up at him.

"Nothing I can't handle. Come on, I haven't shown you the best part."

"There's more?" he asked, laughing.

"Much more," you said, leading him through the arched glass door of your central vivarium.

You squinted into the hazy sunshine, peering over the meadow towards the tree line and spotted a group of kneazles. Mooncalves were playing happily near the crystal water and the puffskeins were rolling around merrily in the wildflowers in front of you, chirruping softly. Ominis took a sharp breath, his mouth agape.

"Sit with me?" you asked tentatively.

Ominis knelt down, running his fingers through the blades of grass before sitting with his legs crossed, tilting his head towards the sun.

"I won't pretend to understand the magic involved, but it is fantastic," he said.

"The room just knew I needed somewhere to keep magical creatures safe from poachers."

"Creatures?"

His question was apparently a cue for your more exuberant puffskein to make an appearance—Puck, the little brown and white ball of fur had rolled over to his feet and was frantically trying to climb onto his lap. Ominis recoiled at the intrusion, pushing him away and holding him at arm's length.

"It's just a puffskein," you said, giggling at the sight.

"Yes, I can feel the tongue," he replied, flinching as Puck lapped at his face.

"I think he likes you, Ominis."

"I'm not sure the feeling is mutual," he said, though his lips were upturned in an unmistakable smile as Puck succeeded in rolling into his lap. "I'm sure Sebastian wasn't too keen on being slobbered on either."

"I haven't shown this place to Sebastian," you replied, biting your lip. 

Ominis lazily stroked the furry ball in front of him with a smile on his lips, as you lapsed into silence, enjoying the sounds and smells of the meadow.

-

Ominis had been spending more and more time in the Room of Requirement, with and without you. He told you that he found the place intellectually stimulating and an educational opportunity though you thought this wasn't strictly true—whilst he was interested in your potions, plants and beasts, he seemed to enjoy spending his time sitting in the wildflower meadow with Puck, reading and lazily stroking the affectionate puffskein.

For reasons you couldn't quite articulate, you hadn't shown Sebastian your secret yet, which was slightly unfair, you had to admit. The opportunity to come clean came a few weeks later, when Sebastian came pacing into the common room looking agitated.

"Have you seen Ominis?" he said, running a hand through his hair.

"No, maybe he's in the Undercroft?" you replied, looking up from your book.

"I just came from there. I need to find him, it's urgent," he said, his dark eyes fixed on you.

You sighed, closing your book. "I think I know where he might be."

Sebastian followed you to the deserted corridor, raising an eyebrow and watched you close your eyes. He jumped back as the door revealed itself, staring in wonder at the previously blank wall.

"Huh. I thought I had you all figured out, Hogwarts," he muttered.

You could tell he was irritated that you'd kept this place a secret from him, but he was soon distracted by the wonder of the room as soon as he stepped inside.

"What is this place?" he asked, awestruck.

"Somewhere Professor Weasley told me not to show anyone," you smirked.

"And yet here Ominis is," he said.

You blushed and shrugged apologetically. "He's probably in there," you said, pointing to the large vivarium.

You left the two boys to their business, walking around the potting table and inspecting the plants, snipping off leaves and carrying them over to your potions station. Your latest batch of Wiggenweld was ready for decanting. You'd just finished pouring the last of the liquid into a glass bottle when the vivarium door swung open and Sebastian and Ominis stepped out.

Sebastian glanced between you and Ominis, then tore his gaze away to sweep the room one last time before walking towards the door to the castle.

"I'll expect a tour another time," he said with a smile.

You gave him a small wave and turned to Ominis, who was leaning against the potting table.

"Do I want to know what urgent business he had with you?" you asked, perching next to him.

"Is that what he told you? I suspect he just wanted to know where I've been disappearing off to," he replied with a smile.

You snorted and shook your head. "I was going to show him, soon. I just wanted to show you first. Do you think this makes us even for me intruding on your Undercroft?"

"You didn't intrude, not really," he said.

"Really? Because I recall you threatening to have me expelled," you said, only meaning to tease him but he looked down and frowned.

"I apologise for that day. That was needlessly unkind," he replied, his hand sliding along the edge of the table to find you.

You took his hand and he laced his fingers between yours and smiled.

"You're forgiven," you whispered, laying your head on his shoulder.

[dungeonbent]

more than you can chew

"So you want us to take you to the bottom of the dungeon..." Laios muses, nursing the overly sweetened ale that you've just bought a round of.

At first, your impression of the man had been somewhat less than stellar. The easy-going air he has about him, coupled with the enthusiastic way he asked about your home in the western capitol and his overly friendly demeanor, made you slightly wary. But now that business talk has started, he seems to be giving it serious thought.

Laios asks, "Could I maybe get a timeframe on that?"

You say, "I was hoping to enter within the month." You don't have much more time than that. Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you think things might just work out.

Then Laios Touden says, "Yeah, uh. I think we'll have to turn you down on this one?"

He smiles apologetically, as if he hasn't just dashed your heart straight onto the rocks. You stare at him in shock, letting the ambient noise of the tavern and its festival-going patronage fill the silence between you as you struggle to grasp onto what could have possibly gone wrong.

You start to say, "If it's about the money, I can always-"

"Ah- it's really not about the money, I promise!" Laios says, holding his hands up. "It's just... okay, how do I put this..."

You allow some time for the tallman to articulate his response, hands tightening around your own mug. You don't even like to drink. But within the Festival of Lost Hearts, there seems to be some invisible decree that states all of those who so much as step out into the sun ought to have some syrupy alcoholic bullshit liable to destroy more relationships than just that of the body and its liver.

Laios doesn't get to formulate his full response, because his companion takes a pause from downing some of that alcoholic bullshit to cut in with a dry, "Yeah, what you're describing just isn't logistically reasonable."

"How so?" You ask, peeved. You think you've laid out the relevant points quite succinctly, actually. You even provided flow charts! No one can deny you when you have pictures! You are sure there is a law somewhere that says this.

The half-foot- Chilchuck, you think- leans forward, looking entirely unimpressed. "You want us to take you to the bottom of the dungeon on, and I quote, a 'research mission-slash-treasure hunt-slash-general dungeon things', trip. Do you have any idea how vague that all is?"

"That's what this diagram is for," You say, starting to rifle through your papers, "I really have it all well divvied out-"

"And you're basing this off a book?" Chilchuck presses, leaning up to plant an elbow on the table and stare you down. "What makes you think it's even accurate, exactly?"

"I'll have you know that it's written by a very reputable source," You say, trying to keep your hackles from rising. "You can check with all the scholars- R.L. Theras really did disappear in Skaia dungeon--"

"Yeah," Chilchuck interrupts, "and some guy took the real story of some missing adventurers and decided to make a quick buck."

You scoff. Theras's writing style is far too lyrical to be merely any charlatan off the street. "To say such a thing sounds to me like a lack of experience. Perhaps you should live a few more years before making that assertion?"

Chilchuck scowls, the ale sloshing in his skein as he gestures with it, "I am plenty fucking experienced-!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Laios cuts in, putting a large hand on Chilchuck's narrow shoulder. Chilchuck turns a glare towards him as he says, "Chilchuck here's one of the best lockpicks you're gonna get. He's more than experienced." That seems to mollify the smaller man somewhat, though not for long, as Laios continues, "That being said, assuming that the book is real-"

"- are you trying to get scammed again?" Chilchuck hisses, but you elect to ignore him since you... suppose it might make sense why this would seem like a scam, to someone who thought R. L. Theras's work to be fiction.

Laios glances at Chilchuck and Chilchuck appears to back down, sinking back into his seat with a grumble. Laios continues, "Assuming that the book is real, you're not giving us much time to prepare, and no clear goal to actually prepare for. It's like... just asking us to bring a bunch of rations down and survive, and nothing else."

"Is that a bad thing?" You ask.

Laios and Chilchuck both look at each other. You do not appreciate whatever secret message they appear to be communicating to each other with their eyes. You wish you had any kind of mental magic to take a peek into what it could be. Or any magic at all.

"Say, Kanaya," Laios says, "have you ever actually... been to a dungeon?"

"Not before yesterday." You say honestly, "But I've been reading about them."

"Okay, so. The big thing about making a trip into a dungeon successful is having a clear plan on how long you're in the dungeon, and how you're going to get out. How long did it take R. L. to get to the bottom?"

Is this a pop quiz now? Somewhat confused, you answer, "Two months."

"And their only goal was to reach the bottom of the dungeon," Laios says, "No layovers for extra research and no extra treasure hunting. So how long do you think it'll take to reach the bottom if you have all that other stuff to do on top of it?"

You start to deflate. "... Longer."

"And getting back?"

"Does your sister not have a teleportation spell...?"

"If she can't use it for whatever reason, I mean."

You feel like sinking into the floor. "Even longer."

"There you go," Chilchuck says, raising his glass. "What you're asking for assumes that nothing's going to happen and that nothing will go wrong. In the dungeon where everything goes wrong constantly. That's a death wish."

You're starting to feel rather foolish, and rather desperate. You know you haven't been entirely forthcoming about the true nature of your desired trip into the dungeon, but even still...

"What if," You ask, despite yourself, "it was to... save someone?"

This catches Laios's attention. He asks, gently, "Save who...?"

"I don't know." And that's the truth.

Chilchuck heaves a sigh and says, "Well, that'd need even more planning- unless you know the exact place their corpse is- and who the corpse even is- you could be canvasing those floors for weeks..."

"What if they're alive?" You ask.

Chilchuck clicks his tongue. "Yeah. That's... kind of doubtful." He pauses, then sets his mug aside. "Sorry. We really wouldn't be able to help you with that."

You all lapse back into silence and you stare at your plans, trying to figure out how you can still salvage this. Porrim gave you six months to find what you've come for in Skaia's dungeon, and you know that if you don't leave in time, the Canaries may well follow. The Touden party are the most qualified party you've spoken to today. If they think this is an impossible task...

"Hey," Laios says, "wanna get something to eat? My treat!"

"Oh, no," You start, "I couldn't possibly-"

"You may as well eat something- it's not like there's anything else to do at a party," Chilchuck says, starting to flag down someone carrying two large trays of bowls, weaving through the throng of unruly patrons.

You have no recourse to deny the men their meager offer of comfort. You're still slightly bitter at having been shut down so soundly, but the stew that's served is warming. It is a dish the locals call 'bukenade', bowl filled with tender pieces of goat meat falling apart under the slightest pressure of a spoon into a savory, fragrant broth which seemed tinged with just the barest hint of sweetness from verjus.

It's only somewhat into the meal, after you start to feel a bit better, when Chilchuck clears his throat and offers, "You talk to Vans yet?"

"Hm?" You hum through a mouthful of food, covering your mouth as you're caught mid-chew like a startled animal.

"For your job." Chilchuck adds.

You swallow and shake your head. Though the name does sound somewhat familiar for some reason... "I don't know who that is."

"So there's this guy," Chilchuck says, and you nod, because you did assume it was some kind of guy. "His name's Karkat Vans. He and his lockpick buddy have a party together. Can't say I see eye to eye with him on everything, but... kid's good at what he does. He gets people to listen to him." Chilchuck leans back, "If he can do that, he might be able to help you out."

There's a glimmer of hope that strikes you when you hear that. You look at Chilchuck and say, "I'll have to do that. Thank you, Chilchuck... sir." Gods, you sound so awkward. You hope he doesn't say anything.

Chilchuck doesn't say anything, but he does roll his eyes a little. "Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it."

[eddiesfaerie]

blood on your knuckles

Summary: Say it like you mean it with your fists for once. OR Your best friend puts up a fight for you. So you take him home to clean him up. (7.3k words, i swear i meant for this to be shorter) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, angst, canon typical violence, friends to lovers, misogyny/harassment towards reader (very brief tho), hurt/comfort, drinking, alcohol, smoking, description of blood and cuts, tending to wounds, unprotected PIV sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, blood kink, honestly really soft sex for everything else thats going on here, soft dom!eddie, possessive + protective eddie, marking, a single use of the word daddy

A/N, he protec he attac but most importantly he break your bac <3

Having a crush on your best friend was not your proudest moment.

Watching him play at The Hideout with his band and nearly creaming your panties wasn’t too low on that list either. 

In all fairness, this is the first show of his you’ve been too. Eddie told you it’d get fucking crazy, that the girls at these shows usually get fucked up and start throwing themselves at them because the bands are never as good as we are but shit, you didn’t think you’d be one of them. 

You stand backstage, watching your best friend perform from the sideline while the girls in the front rows make eyes at Eddie. All you could do was giggle and squeeze your thighs together, your face growing hot whenever Eddie looked back at you and winked your way. Some of the girls could see you, some glared, some smiled. Either way you didn’t care too much. It’s not like you were his girlfriend, not like you had any reason to get jealous, to feel as possessive as you do. 

But you can’t help it. It must be the lingering weed in the air, the one or two beers in your system, or the way Eddie smiles at you despite all the pretty girls smiling at him that’s making you all loopy and desperate. You can’t help how fucking hot he looks out there, shredding on his guitar and grabbing the mic stand like he wanted to shove it down his throat and fuck it right there on stage, in front of everyone. 

The truth was, you’d always found Eddie attractive. You met at the beginning of the summer, only a few months ago when your new friend and coworker Robin introduced the two of you when he walked into the movie store one day. You found him very charming and cute from the moment he asked if they had Halloween, your favorite horror movie, in stock. 

But now you’re friends. Just friends.

And seeing your friend play a show for a packed room of horny girls and metal guys was making something hot and syrupy twist up in your gut. A feeling you’ve been trying to ignore all summer but it was proving to be pretty damn hard tonight.

The show’s been over for a couple of minutes, the lights in the venue dim after the guys wave and thank the small crowd a few times. Eddie runs over to where you stand backstage. You can’t help the way your face lights up at the sight of him.  

“So? How was that?” Eddie asks, face shiny with a thin sheen of sweat, his voice breathy, raspy and deep like you’ve never heard it. Your chest tightens, something like a girlish giggle bubbling in your throat. 

You bite your lip and smile enthusiastically, nodding your head. 

“Amazing, Eddie. It was fucking insane.” You smile. 

Eddie engulfs you, hugging you to his chest. His scent is overwhelming, something that can only be described as boy and the cologne he sprayed on his neck and chest before leaving for the show tonight. It’s nothing but comforting. 

You let him hold you, you welcome his warmth despite the hot and heavy atmosphere of the venue which nearly suffocates you. You don’t think about his bandmates that give you an odd stare, the same ones that ask you over and over if you guys are dating. The same ones you always say no to, insisting that you’re just friends. 

“Knew you’d dig it.” He says proudly, his smile evident in his voice. You hum into his chest but pull away before you get lost in it, in his embrace. 

“Do you guys need help packing up?” You ask meekly. You look towards the stage, most of it is packed up anyways. Eddie shakes his head. 

“Nah, they’re almost done anyways.” You nod your head, looking around the venue awkwardly. Eddie reaches into his leather jacket for his pack of cigarettes. He hits one out of the pack and sticks it in his mouth. 

You avoid looking at the way his brow furrows, how his full lips purse around the stick and turn to look towards the bar instead. An older man sits there, staring at you and Eddie, or perhaps just you. You make eye contact with him but he doesn’t look away so you do, unnerved by his unshakeable gaze. Okay, rude.

“Alright, let’s get you home. It’s way past your bedtime anyways.” Eddie chuckles, the cigarette between his lips now lit, smoke puffing out of his mouth after every word. You giggle as he ruffles your hair as though you were a little kid. 

Eddie throws his arm over your shoulder, hauling you into his side and leading you out of the venue, towards his van. You let him guide you outside, his arm dropping from your shoulders as soon as you hit the cool night air of late summer. 

However you find yourself wishing he had kept it around you as a figure emerges from the shadows. 

“Pretty girl you got there.” The strange man sneers, whistling as if trying to beckon over a dog. 

Eddie barely pays the guy any mind. You don’t have to turn around to know it's the guy from the bar who’s followed you outside, he’d been looking at you all night. Eddie gives the man a side glance, a silent acknowledgment that something was said to him without further engaging with the guy. 

You reach Eddie’s van but the man is fast approaching, a crooked gait to his walk. You stand closer to Eddie as he searches for his keys in his jacket seemingly unhurried, not anxious about the stranger encroaching on the two of you. Eddie just sucks on his cigarette. 

“She’s out of your league bro.” The man slurs. 

Eddie chuckles, still not looking at the man. “Yeah well, we’re not together so I realize that, bro.” 

Your heart twists in your chest. You wish Eddie would unlock his van. You wish you were alone in there together, listening to music with the late summer wind blowing through your hair and his alike. 

“Not together, eh?” The guy smiles, reaching for you. His clammy hand wraps around your forearm and you jerk away from him quickly. 

“Guess she’s mine for the taking…”

“Get off me-”

Eddie is so quick you can barely register what’s happened before you hear it. The first thing you notice is his half finished cigarette, falling to the pavement and burning red until it dies.

Then, the sickening crack ringing out through the quiet night, out in here in the desolate parking lot.

Eddie’s fist makes contact with the guy's jaw. The man groans, crumpling to the ground and grabbing his face. Eddie shakes his fist out, his chest heaving as he approaches the man on the floor, ready to swing again. You stand there in quiet shock, unbelieving of what you’ve just witnessed.

“Mother fucker-” The man groans.

The man gets back up, holding his jaw and smiling something twisted at Eddie, blood pooling and spilling out of his mouth thick like strawberry syrup. Your stomach churns. 

The stranger moves too quickly for how hard Eddie just hit him. Before you know it, he’s hitting Eddie back square in the mouth. Eddie groans before quickly hitting the man back twice as hard. You cover your mouth as blood flies onto the dark pavement - who’s, you’re not quite sure. 

The man is drunker than Eddie, so he’s able to beat him to the ground fast, until the man is curling in on himself. Eddie lands blow after blow on the man’s face, grunting with exertion as his arm comes down and down again, his silver rings unforgiving on the man’s soft body - they leave sharp imprints on his face, cutting on his cheekbone and upper lip like a knife. 

Eddie suddenly stands, looming over the stranger like the reaper himself. Eddie kicks him in the back, hard. Something cracks and the man lets out an emasculating, high pitch scream and you call it, finally snapping out of whatever daze the fight had put you into. You grab Eddie’s arm and pull him away from the man. 

“Oh my god, Eddie stop!”

Eddie whips around to face you, his mouth and shirt bloody. Something shines behind his marble eyes, something absolutely fucking livid and wild and unhinged. 

“Y-You’re bleeding.” You point out, unable to say anything else as you take in the blood that’s splattered all over him. 

Eddie blinks at you, his marbled eyes huge and watery and dark like black opal. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks you, like he didn’t hear what you just said to him, like he didn’t just beat this man to a pulp who still lays there on the ground, motionless. 

You pull Eddie further away from the stranger, back towards his van. He goes reluctantly.  

“Eddie I’m fine, you literally just beat up a guy.”

Eddie looks around, looks back at the guy on the ground who’s crawling away now, only standing up when he gets to the curb and hobbling in the opposite direction of the two of you. Eddie smiles, spitting blood onto the asphalt and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, staining his milky skin crimson. 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He chuckles darkly. 

You grab his hand, looking at his knuckles, at the blood coating what used to be his pristine silver rings. You can’t help that it does something to you, can’t help but clench at the fact that he did this for you. Even though you’re just friends. 

“Alright, let’s get you home.” He says suddenly, like everything’s normal. 

Before you can object, he's dragging you to the passenger side and lifting you into his van by underneath your arms, slamming the door shut behind you and jogging to his side. Eddie starts his van and speeds like hell out of there. 

The car ride is silent, the quiet radio fills the empty silence as you can’t quite find what to say to him.

Eddie just beat up a guy for you. He beat the shit out of a guy. For you. 

You try not to think about the way his bloodied knuckles grip the steering wheel, his knuckles tight and the skin scraped open as he steers you back to safety. You try not to think about his body, how it moved on stage with such elegance, such fluidity, and then how it moved while he pulverized that stranger who tried to hurt you; what was once a seductive wave had become hard, his muscles flexing differently - no longer to seduce but to do harm. How his muscles must have rippled underneath the cover of his leather jacket, how said jacket had ridden up his back, revealing the soft skin of his hips to you. As the man screamed, all you could look at was Eddie’s back, how wide, how strong he was. 

He did it for you. And he had smiled. 

The van jolts as Eddie parks outside your parent’s house. All the lights are off. It’s lonely and vacant and after what just went down, you’re very uncomfortable being left alone. Or more so just uncomfortable with the idea of being without him, without Eddie.

“It seems we’ve reached your castle, princess.” Eddie smiles, leaning back in his seat all too nonchalantly. You look at him with such sad eyes, filled with so many unsaid things. He can barely look at you. His jaw fucking hurts and he needs another cigarette.

“Let me clean you up.” You offer, voice quiet and soft. Crickets chirp from the trees.

Eddie hesitates before shaking his head ‘no’. 

“Please, it’s the least I can do.” You beg and Eddie’s heart clenches in his chest. 

“Not too sure your parents would love the idea of you inviting a boy in after midnight.” He smirks, his hand wrapping around the steering wheel again and clenching it tight. You swallow hard. 

“They’re asleep. We’ll be quiet.” 

Eddie smirks, enjoying the double meaning of your words. You’re his friend, you’re his friend, you’re his friend, he has to remind himself. Even if he did just beat up a guy for you. Even if he would do it a million times over if it meant you’d look at him the way you did - with so much admiration, so much security in your eyes. Like you trusted him, like you trusted him to protect you. 

“I’ll give you one of my dad’s beers.” You offer up, knowing that’ll get him. 

His hands do ache, they do burn with the sting of an open wound and there’s blood all over him. Eddie sighs dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest before reaching down for his seat belt. 

Eddie groans, like it pains him so. “You know me too well, sweetheart.” 

A sly smile creeps up on your face and you jump out of his van too quickly, slamming the door shut behind you too loudly for how quiet you just promised you’d be. 

Eddie’s never met your parents, and he would not want the first time to be tonight - when they’ve been roused from a peaceful nights sleep in the beautiful suburbs of Hawkins, when he’s bruised and battered and covered in another man’s blood from trying to protect their perfect little daughter. But the longer he thinks about it, the more and more perfect that actually sounds. He reaches down and subtly adjusts his hardening length in his pants.

He follows closely behind you as you unlock the door, barely taking in the sight of your pristine house, instead, he’s intently focused on the back of your head. He just wants to hold you, to be held by you. 

You instruct Eddie to head upstairs to your room while you get him his beer from the fridge and the first aid kit from the bathroom. 

He’s sat all pretty on your pink duvet covers when you get back; covered in blood and sweat from his show that feels like hours ago now. You close the door quietly behind you. 

Eddie smiles at you, all lopsided and goofy and your tummy flutters. He makes grabby hands for the beer which you’ve already opened, taking a quick swig of the ice cold drink as soon as you’ve handed it to him. 

“Cute room.” He tells you and he means it. 

It’s fucking adorable, actually: memorabilia from your childhood everywhere, things that maybe you’ve been meaning to get rid of but can’t really because you still love them, posters on your walls, the overwhelming warm smell of girl that he can only describe as you. It’s fucking intoxicating and Eddie never wants to leave, doesn’t want to drive back to his cold dark trailer after this. 

You ignore the way your face grows hot at his comment. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, or being mean to you, so you say nothing. 

You set the first aid kit down next to him on the bed and start assembling the things you’ll need. Rubbing alcohol, wipes, gauze, bandages… God, hopefully his skin hasn’t split so deep that he’ll need stitches. 

You look down at him and realize you’re sort of standing in between his legs. And you’ll need to get even lower to tend to his hands and face properly. You swallow nervously and slowly lower yourself until you’re on your knees in front of him. Eddie watches you go down with wide eyes, taking another swig of beer to mask whatever burns inside of him. The alcohol stings the cut on his lower lip, Eddie decides to focus on that sensation instead of the one in his jeans.

“This okay?” You ask, your own voice shaking. Eddie nods his head quickly, keeping the glass bottle to his lips. 

You have a brief flash of a vision, him looming over the man like he had tonight, but this time over you as he looks down at you between his legs. You feel vulnerable, yet unafraid of him. You feel small in comparison to Eddie, but you like it. You like it a lot, actually. 

You blink it away, sighing quietly to yourself and begin soaking some cotton pads with rubbing alcohol, Eddie watches it all intently. You take his hand into yours and immediately press the disinfectant into his skin. Eddie hisses through clenched teeth, the knuckles on his other hand going white around the bottleneck and you pull back quickly. 

“Yeah, yeah just go crazy like that, no warning or anything.” He groans, eyes squeezing shut in pain.

“Sorry, sorry I thought you were looking!” You defend, voice urgent in a quiet whisper.

He had been looking right at you, but more so at the way you’re just sat all pretty in between his legs like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Like you do it all the time. You could have been sitting there doing anything and he wouldn’t have noticed you pressing literal lava into his skin, not when you looked up at him with such big eyes like that. 

Shit, he’d let you do anything to him if all you did was just look at him like that.

Eddie takes another swig of beer, flicking his chin at you in a silent command to keep going. You press the pad to his skin again and his flinches less this time as you wipe away the blood from his aggressed skin. 

You clean his knuckles in silence for the most part, besides quiet hisses and protests from Eddie’s end. You wipe the blood from his guitar calloused hands, you polish his rings. Your mouth waters as you hold his hand in yours, his fingers so much rougher than your own and you try to think about anything else rather than how badly you want to kiss each individual digit, each cut that ruins his hardened knuckles. You try not to think about how much rougher and stronger they’ll be once they heal. 

Your windows are open, the cool night time summer breeze wafting into your room cools the both of you down from the rather hot and humid night you’ve both just had. 

Both of his knuckles are nearly clean by the time you speak again. 

“You look really cool there, Munson.” You tell him, a small smile pulling at your lips. An identical one creeps up on him. 

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You look pretty metal.”  

Eddie’s face lights up. 

“Shit, I should go beating guys up for you more often if you’re going to butter me up like this.”

You snort. “No, you definitely shouldn’t.” 

Eddie grins the way he does, all wide so that his dimples pop out. He leans in close, tilting his head at you and making his hair flip a little.  

“‘Kay but… you kind of liked it, didn’t you?” He asks cheekily.

You don’t respond, instead you throw the bloodied cotton pads into the trash can and look up at him, smiling at him quietly, not denying nor confirming anything. 

Eddie’s nostrils flare, eyes narrowing.

“I bet you liked seeing me beat that guy up for you, liked seeing me covered in that asshole's blood.” He sneers, voice suddenly gone ragged and something like a gasp gets caught in your throat. You look away from him, refusing to indulge him in this, in the careless violence of it all. 

You did like it though. You loved it so fucking much. And that was a problem. It was dangerous, reckless and he could’ve gotten seriously injured, he could have killed that guy, could’ve gotten the cops called on him if anyone from the venue saw the brawl that was going on in the parking lot - 

You feel his fingers at your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark, his lip split with a deep dark red. You realize there’s still blood on his face, you’ll have to clean that next.

“Tell me you liked it.” 

“You’re drunk, Eddie.” 

“You gave me one beer.” He scoffs.

“You had multiple before your show even started.” You remind him. Eddie smiles. 

“M’not that drunk either way.” 

You laugh a little, smiling through a scoff.

“Well I know I liked it.” He admits, his voice suddenly sounding more serious, deeper. 

You roll your eyes at him but his hand finds its way to your cheek, pinching your lips softly between his thumb and pointer finger, not enough to make you pucker your lips, just enough to hold you in place. You wonder if he can feel how hot your skin is, how much you burn for him.

Eddie looks into your eyes and remembers how scared you looked when that guy touched you, when he had the audacity to grab your arm to try and pull you into him. He remembers the rage that coursed through him, spilling through his mind and just sending him flying, filled with fucking fury and his fists up. Eddie thinks he could have killed that guy then and there for putting his hands on you. Eddie thinks he would kill anyone who scared you the way that man did. He never wants to see you like that again. 

“I loved it,” he says again, “and I’d do it again, and again, and again if it meant that they’d all leave you alone, if they knew you were-”

Eddie stops himself short. Stops himself from blurting something out he probably shouldn’t. Something he’d probably regret in the morning. 

Too bad you’re nosey. 

“If they knew I was what, Eddie?” 

He swears your voice has gone up a pitch, swears you’ve gone all breathy and wide eyed as you look up at him from between his thighs on your quickly bruising knees. His cock twitches in his jeans, he’s so fucking hard he can’t believe you haven’t noticed yet. 

“If they knew you were mine.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“A-And how would they know I was yours?”

“Sweetheart,” he says sweetly, a slight tone to his voice that was almost condescending, menacing, “I’d be all over you. I’d never leave you alone for a second.” 

You hum, something filled with yearning, something restrained and you swallow it down so that you don’t moan at what he’s suggesting. 

“They wouldn’t even think to come near you again. No one would touch you. Except me.” Eddie tilts your head with his hand that still holds your cheeks, moving you so he can ghost his lips along your neck. You stand up on your knees in between his thighs. 

Eddie leans in closer to you, his lips hovering yours and you can practically taste the blood that’s on his mouth, the blood that flowed out of his gums when that man punched him in the face. You don’t seem to mind it anymore. 

“Would you like that?”

You nod your head almost immediately. You don’t have to think about it, you don’t. Your mind practically goes blank due to the proximity of his lips to yours. You can’t think you can’t think you can’t think -

“Say it, baby.”

Baby. You nearly die on the spot. You think you do. 

“Yeah, Eddie.” You respond, not even entirely sure what you’re agreeing to anymore. Eddie leans in, nudging his nose to yours and you suck in a breath. 

“I-I’d like that a lot.” 

“Good.” He growls. And then he’s kissing you. 

His tongue is hot on your lips and you’ve let him into your mouth before you’re sitting up higher on your knees while he leans down into you. Your knees dig into the hard wooden floors of your bedroom but you can’t seem to mind with your mouth on his, whimpering pathetically like you can’t get close enough to him, like you’ve waited your whole life for this. 

You have you have you have. 

There’s metal in his mouth, it's thicker than water and you feel the red blood on your tongue before you’re fully aware that you’re tasting it and swallowing it down. You whimper and Eddie’s hand is hot on your throat, feeling you swallow. 

You continue to kiss him hotly while your hands go to his belt, unbuckling it quickly. Eddie smiles against your mouth and you tongue at his teeth, desperate to taste all of him. 

“Want you in my mouth.” You tell him, practically begging for it and Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Eddie pays no mind to what you said, as if he had not even heard you with the loud thumping and coursing of blood through his system, loud in his ears and deafening every other sense of his besides the ones that were focused on you. Smelling you, looking at you, getting closer to you, pushing into you. His cock was raging in his jeans and although he’d love nothing more than to shove it down your tight little throat, he had to smother you, had to lay his body flat, tight against yours and get as close as he could, to assure himself that you’re okay, you’re here, you’re real, you’re his. 

You’re his and he’ll take care of you. There’ll be plenty of time for you to return the favor afterwards. 

You let out a pathetic squeak as you hit the bed, bouncing with the force of his throw. Eddie watches you, just as mesmerized as you are as he peels his blood soaked shirt from his body. The blood barely transferred onto his milky skin, or perhaps its dried now and has left some damp patches that’ll taste of metal on your tongue but it’s too dark in your room and he’s too covered in tattoos for you to be able to tell what’s the glistening sheen of blood versus sweat over his soft yet toned body. 

Eddie lunges at you, his hands frantic and desperate as they grasp at the waistband of your cute little skirt, ripping it from your body along with your panties with so much force that you wonder how he didn’t just tear it to shreds to get to what's underneath. 

He stares at you like that, just admiring you underneath him in nothing but the shirt you wore tonight that clings to your breasts, damp with your sweat from the humidity of August. You’re angelic, his own personal angel to ruin for tonight. Eddie ducks down, diving in between your thighs, mouth hot and velvety on your weeping slit and your hands are in his long hair, curling and fisting and pulling his face further into you if it were possible. 

Eddie groans, his mouth just as open and wet as your pussy is, his tongue a red hot savior for you to clench and grind on as he feasts on you. 

“E-Eddie, oh fuck-”

He shoves his fingers inside of you, rigid and hard and his rings are cool at the base, the same ones that cut that man’s cheek, the same fingers he was clenching into fists as he pummeled that man to the ground, the same ones you clench on now, the same ones you grind and flex your hips on, chasing what’s quickly approaching. 

Eddie’s tongue goes flat against you, his fingers deep and spearing and curling against something fleshy and textured and he’s groaning as loud as you are. You cover your own mouth with the back of your hand, biting into the paper thin flesh to keep quiet, to keep from screaming his name in the middle of the night and alerting everyone in the neighborhood that your best friend was in between your thighs, making you cum.

And suddenly, like it was nothing, you were. Your back arched beautifully and your pelvis twitched against his hold on you and you were cumming on his tongue. You could feel his smile, feel the way his lips curled devilishly as he continued to flick his tongue against your clit and pump his fingers as deep as they would go, like he was reaching for your heart through your cunt. Your body spasmed, your chest heaved like you were desperate for air, like you had just been held underwater and now you were up, gasping with every fiber of your being. 

Eddie did not let you rest, his surged forward and attached his mouth to yours and fed you what you gave him, the tang of girl sex strong on his tongue and you melted back into him all over again. 

“So fucking good, you taste so fucking good.” He groaned into your mouth, pushing you back onto the bed, back onto your soft duvet blanket and cushiony pillows. “Could eat you forever.” 

You whimper. 

Eddie pulls back from you and you make a pathetic, sad little noise that has him grinning like a wolf, all too fucking pleased with how desperate you are to be near. He feels the same, but he needs to get these fucking jeans off if he’s going to do anything about your weeping cunt that flutters and winks at him, clenching around nothing at the pure thought of soon getting stuffed.

You had half undone his belt already, he does it the rest of the way, quickly undoing the zipper and shoving them down along with his boxers before flinging them across your room. And you stare at what he’s now made bare to you. 

His cock hangs heavy with its own aroused weight, the tip red and leaking precum. The heavy length of him molds perfectly into his hips, his bones only protruding slightly, enough to only make him look strong, lean yet still soft. The thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock trails upwards onto his belly, just until his belly button and something carnal inside of you begs you to shove your nose, your face against it. 

Your mouth waters almost too quickly, something Pavlovian about it; like you were made, trained to crave him. Like this wasn’t the first time, like you knew and were familiar with how much you’d want him, need him inside of every single hole. Made for him. 

“Eddie…”

He spits into his palm, wrapping it around his cock and then smearing it across himself, pumping, once twice before he’s towering over you again. One arm by your head, the other leaving his cock momentarily to push your knee up to your chest, crushing you underneath his weight. You hold your legs there without being told to, your wet sticky cunt on what should be a shameful, embarrassing display for him but you’re so needy, so desperate for him that you couldn’t care less. Your parents could wake up and you’d still beg Eddie to fuck you despite it all. 

Eddie runs the head of his cock through your glossy folds, your hips automatically twitch upwards into him and he smiles, his cheeks a furious red, his golden sweaty chest heaving with labored breath, much like your own. 

“Fuck, please - please, need it so bad.”

You look up at him then, hovering above you with those big wet eyes of yours. His features are dark in the night of your room, everything around him such a contrast in aesthetic, in feel. Where your room is soft, warm and welcoming, Eddie is dark, imposing and sharp - everything should lead you to be scared of him, to be timid in this situation but you only spread your legs further, pussy desperate to suck him into your core. 

Eddie notices, notices you watching him, observing him so vulnerable and he smiles, leaning down to connect your lips together in a messy ensemble the exact moment he begins to spear you open on his cock. He kisses you and your mouth parts in a broken gasp, unable to kiss back while he just settles for licking at your open lips, nibbling at the lust swollen petals. 

He groans into your open mouth, letting you swallow it down, watching your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head just from the pure stretch of him breaching you for the first time. It’s a lot. He’s much bigger than you had anticipated, and you’re tighter than he had envisioned, even when he had you on his fingers - he worries briefly that he hasn’t prepared you enough, that he’s hurting you but your thighs fall open for him and your back and pelvis are arching perfectly, letting him in deeper until he swears he feels the end of you. 

Eddie closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours and rolls his hips, drawing out, then pushing back in and shivering at the way you suck him in desperately, at the crude, wet sounds your pussy’s already making. He’s barely fucked you yet. 

He was quiet in the lead up, barely able to contain himself, so focused on just getting inside of you that he could barely speak. But now that he’s got his cock wet, now that he could feel your gummy walls clenching him like a vice - all of hell’s breaking loose in his mind now.

“Fuuuucckk, fucking- pretty girl, you feel so good oh-” He moans, voice broken and hoarse and desperate as he surges his hips into yours again, his thrusts much too slow for your liking. 

You anticipate his onslaught, you wait for his hips to dig into yours abusively but it never comes, he stays just like this, feeding his cock to your pussy in slow, mind numbing drags. You can hear how wet you are, you both can - the creamy drag of every inch of his cock through your body. It’s sickening.

“M-More. Harder, please.” You beg, legs going high, tightening on his waist, your arms around his back, nails threatening to pierce his taught, muscular skin. 

Eddie growls, stilling his hips for a moment before continuing to push himself into you at his own pace. You whine, desperate for him, desperate for more, for him to hurt you in the way dances the line between pain and pleasure. 

“I won’t break,” You pant, voice quiet and needy, “I can take it, E-Eddie. promise.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as he swallows a groan, his cock reaching something deep inside of you and he curls into you, burying his face into your neck, breathing you in and willing himself not to spill himself inside of you just yet. 

He can’t get close enough, he needs to be all the way inside you, he needs you to feel him in your stomach, your throat. He never wants to leave, never wants to not be inside of you again. 

“Baby,” He practically whines, “c-can’t, just wanna take care of you, wanna feel you all over.” 

You grumble something unannoyed, unhappy with his rejection to give you more, to fuck you dumb stupid harder. After seeing what he was capable of tonight, what he did for you - something dark and twisted had grown in your gut, had blossomed into something totally unholy and you needed him in a way you didn't think you could want a man. You want him violently, you want him rough, mean - you want him to do to you what he did to that man only with an edge of softness around his violence. You want him scary and intimidating, you want him whispering filth, near threats in your ear in between kisses and harsh thrusts of his cock inside you, the same one that was giving it to you almost luxuriously slow.  

“W-What you did, Eddie- fuck, want you to be rough with me. Please, please, please.”

But Eddie meant it when he said that he can’t. After seeing you so vulnerable, so small and fragile in comparison to the world, that scary idiotic scum of a man who tried to hurt you - he couldn’t think to handle you the same way he had handled him. He won’t lie, something twists in his gut at your pure desperation for him to be rough with you, to get manhandled and roughed up around the edges all by his hand - how he usually fucks. But he can’t tonight, not this time, not with you, he can’t he can’t he can’t  -

“I don’t care,” he growls suddenly, hips stuttering into your own, cock drilling into you for a near painful second and you screech before Eddie’s clamping his hand over your mouth. Oh right, you’re in your room, your parents asleep just down the hall. 

“I-I don’t care how you want it. You’re going to take what I give you and daddy needs it slow right now, okay angel?”

You swear your eyes roll into the back of your head. He did not just refer to himself as-

You clench around him. Eddie groans, hands on your hips tightening their grip and you mewl for him. 

The way he calls you angel is nearly menacing and you have to bite back a smile on your lips at the slip of his character. You nod your head, his hips unrelenting this whole time and you’ve nearly gone cockdrunk already. Eddie smiles, burying his head back into your neck, licking and sucking like he wants to swallow you whole and continues what he promised to do. 

So Eddie fucks you how he wants. He fucks you slow, languid, like he has all the time in the world and it has tears welling in your eyes as you cling onto him for dear life. You nails anchor themselves into his muscular back, trying to root yourself here, in this reality, where you’re fucking your best friend in the middle of the night while cicadas chirp outside, and the neighbourhood is asleep, clueless to your affair. 

He sucks on your neck until he swears he can taste blood seeping through your pretty skin, till you’re all marked and bruised and painted in him and he’s desperate for more, needs more but he doesn’t know how much closer to you he can get. Eddie’s already enveloped you whole, his entire body laid flat, tight against your own while his hips and cock rut desperately into your molten core. 

“D-Don’t, don’t wanna stop- don’t ever wanna stop fucking you, sweetheart. Your pussy- fuck your pussy’s so fucking good, so tight around me- shit.” 

You moan at his incessant babbling, his loose tongue and swollen lips promising to sink you if he doesn’t stop fucking talking like this, like he’s obsessed with you. 

He is. 

“Eddie- oh my god.” You break around a particularly hard thrust, the coarse hair at the base of his cock grinding against your clit and you see white, something painful and blinding building in your core. 

“I would have killed him, you know?” He says suddenly and something kin to an eruption flares up inside of you. Red and burning and devastating. 

I know I know I know you want to respond but you can’t because suddenly he’s fucking you harder - not faster, but rough and hard and precise like he’s trying to break through something inside of you. You swear you can feel him in your stomach. 

It comes out a garbled mess, between moans, whines and hiccups. “I-I…. I know.” 

Eddie hums or growls. His voice deep and raspy and booming through his chest, you can feel it vibrate through your own from how tightly pressed to you he is. 

“Do you?” He asks, his voice laced with challenge and your pussy tightens around him menacingly. 

“Do you know how much further I would have gone, what I would have done to him if he - fuck - if he hurt you?”

You shake your head from side to side, tears spilling down your hot cheeks and Eddie licks them away as you cry for him. 

“I’d kill anyone for you, I’d fucking kill anyone who tried to hurt you like that.”

“Eddie-” You moan, but it’s no use. He’s going to make you cum. 

“I promise, pretty baby, baby angel, my good girl- Jesus, I promise.”

“Eddie I’m- I’m gonna cum-”

He speeds up, gives you a sliver of what you had begged for earlier. He fucks you a little rougher and suddenly you can’t see anything, your eyes screwed shut, hands tangling themselves in his long hair and your thighs squeezing him like you’re afraid he’ll leave you. 

Eddie whispers to you, “You’re so safe with me, do it baby. Fucking cum for me.” 

And you cum as if on command. Your back arches like a bow into his body, you swear you would have levitated into the heavens had his body not been anchoring yours down to your bed. 

Eddie feels you gush around his cock and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face almost subconsciously, so fucking proud of you, so obsessed with the way your cunt rythmically clenches and unclenches around him, coating him in your sweet, sticky cyprine that soaks both of your thighs. Messy girl. 

“Thaaat’s it, that’s a good fucking girl.” He keens, watching you as you fall apart beneath him, leaning forward and pressing kisses all over your face. 

He can feel his own end nearing, the tight spasms of your cunt sending him threatening to send him into oblivion. It will, it does. 

Eddie leans into you so that his chest is pressed tightly to yours, so much so that you can barely breathe in anything that’s not him. His groans rumble throughout his chest like thunder, loud and deafening and all consuming - yet utterly beautiful. He sounds beautiful like this. Completely broken for you. 

His cheeks are pink, deep and rosy and soft as he smushes his face to yours, his tongue going hot into your mouth and licking into you like you’re candy. 

“M’gonna cum,” he mumbles, pressing the promise into your open mouth. “Gonna cum inside of you, okay?” 

You whine your assent, happy and delighted and you nod your head against his even though Eddie wasn’t really asking. There was no way in hell he wasn’t cumming inside of you tonight. He needs to feel it, needs to feel his hot spend seep into you and then gush out when he fucks it deeper. He needs to make a mess of you. 

“Yeah? Gonna let me fill this pretty pussy up?”

“Uh huh,” You moan, over and over again, cock drunk and stupid and so so pretty with your eyes all glassy, Eddie thinks. So pretty with not a single thought in your head besides how good he’s making you feel. 

His hips speed upas he pistons his cock into three, four, five more times and he’s cumming so fucking hard, impossibly deep inside you. You can practically feel him filling you up to the brim, can feel it gush out around his cock and onto both of your thighs, your ass and your mattress underneath you. 

Eddie quivers, he groans and nearly growls deep in his chest, so much so that it reverberates through you and you cling to him impossibly tight, with your pussy and arms like he could vanish from you at any second - like you need him bound to you.

You whine as you feel his cum leak onto your thighs, the sticky squelch of it as he pushes it deeper. 

“O-Oh my god.” You cry, overstimulation an oncoming threat. 

Eddie just laughs, a bit breathless and exhausted. 

He collapses onto your chest. You hold him there, your hands immediately tangling themselves in his sweaty hair. Fuck he smells good, how does he still smell so good after that. Cheap cologne, blood and sweat and metal. It’s intoxicating. 

You both stay like that for a while, maybe an hour. You can’t tell, lost in the way his ragged breathing slows to a crawl, soft like a kitten’s, fanning over your bare chest. His hands are at your sides, gripping you just as tightly as you grip him. 

Eddie still has his rings on. His knuckles have split open again and you’ll need to clean your sheets. The blood had seeped from his knuckles down to his rings, the rings that leave imprints in your skin as he digs his nails into you - so you can be bound to each other. 

[milkbreadandtadpoles]

precious, precious yuji

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

snippet: (1k!) ur at the movies and see a poor, sweet boy and flirt with him very subtly but big brain moment because in your head the two of you are already married (not rlly) reader is described with feminine, female characteristics, but that's all!

warnings: yuji being sweet and naive and dumb, reader being an obvious flirt (dark connotations because their love is obsession and violent.. cute aggression, if you will) probably poorly edited

author's note: this is so self-indulgent. story time- i was at the movie theaters and saw this angel of a boy. only person i could connect it to was the sweetest, sweetest yuji. all of my characters are above the age of eighteen, because 2d characters can be whatever i wish. hope you enjoyyyyyyy *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

Your stomach hurts.

The sweatpants hang loose on you, the fabric of your shirt tight against your tummy. Scalp tugging against the hair ties against your midline- the lipgloss slathered on your pouty lips sparkles underneath the dim theatre. Because goddamn it, if your stomach is going to hurt you’re going to look good, too.

Your friends, a close girlfriend and her annoying, annoying boyfriend gather around the screen to print the tickets. And as you do, you wander, surveying the snacks and busy bodies that gather to get their goods and go to their selected box.

And-

Oh. Oh, he’s cute.

Whoever you tagged along with melts into a fine mist, eyes sharply cutting to the boy who stands by the register. His pants are baggy, dark- there’s a chain with keys clicked and dangling on the thick fabric. A one size too big company shirt poorly tucked in the cargo, the black belt snug between the loops emphasizes his waist.

Despite the dinner you just had, hunger finds you.

And his face. Preciously sharp with a touch of fat around the apples of his cheeks, tan in color. Buzzed hair, died a soft color. Eyes wide and-

He looks kinda stupid.

Your lips quirk- how endearing. A puppy dog about to read your ticket and tell you which numbered room to go to. There’s a glint on your face, eyes rolling up and down the poor boy’s figure as you take a step closer with your friends.

Plucking the ticket from her (because your best friend’s name doesn’t matter right now, despite the three years of friendship), you saunter towards the booth.

The boyfriend urges your attention to ask you a question. But his eyes catch you, tracing each atom of your curvature as you turn your head and answer with an annoyed look. Can’t he see that you’re busy?

As you turn back around, the boy is sitting on the register table. And you blink, languidly walking forward. One foot in front of the other, the reconciliation that he might be bad at his job is frowning. But he’s just so pretty you can’t find yourself turned off just yet. He makes eye contact with you, and hops off the booth.

Just a few inches taller. You smile.

“Hi.” You thank whatever force of nature that made your voice so dreamy, so soft and syrupy.

He leans towards you as you hold out the ticket, manicured nails expectantly waiting to hear what he sounds like. Openly, you gaze at his face. There are three pimple patches on his cheeks, yet hardly a blemish in sight. A naive twinkle in his eye, as though he might be too good for this world. Too good for you. Something feral claws in your gut, but your face is serene, perfectly content with this little mouse in the palm in your hand.

A breath of surprise fills your lungs when his fingers, so long and thick and pretty, reach towards the small piece of paper to turn it his way.

“Sorry, can I see-?”

You tilt the paper, a soft, darling laugh leaving you. The boyfriend, your girlfriend, watch with a knowing, amused expression- you can feel it in the back of your skull.

“Mhm, sorry.” You murmur.

“It’s okay,” There’s a nervous laugh that leaves him, too, and you’ve never wanted to wrap your hands around a boy’s throat faster because he’s still holding onto the paper, still looking at it as though reading number was a jigsaw puzzle. An egotistical, unrealistic part of yourself believes that he’s looking at the rings that sit upon your freshly polished fingertips.

“That’ll be theatre twelve, on the left side..”

You look at his name tag- Yuji.

How fucking cute.

The stars above have the two of your tilting your heads to stare at each other for a second longer than a casual glance. And a serpentine smile flits your face. He sweetly, nervously grins back as you say the sweetest thank you! You even wave, like the silly, cute thing you are- yin and yang with the devilish desire to rip him apart with your teeth, to watch him twitch under your grasp. Poor boy- it's a good thing he's on the clock, paid to be nice.

Looking back, you motion your friends to keep up with you as you go to grab the M&Ms you’ve been craving since back at the Asian restaurant. They trail behind, and you walk with a sway, knowing he’s watching you instead of guiding the next round of movie goers.

It’s your turn to buy, you offered. The boyfriend paid for your dinner (as he does every time because he makes a little too much money not to spoil his girlfriend’s best friend), so it’s only right to pay an outrageous thirty dollars for your candy and their drinks.

You’re waiting for said best friend to fill up your soon to be shared soda, and catch sight of Yuji again. He’s wandering away from his post, passing right by your seeing eyes. Heedlessly, you watch as the manager questions him.

“Where are you going?”

Yuji must do this often, based on the expression his supervisor wears.

“To the bathroom?”

The manager, with curly hair and a baritone voice, scoffs, watching Yuji walk off with gaunt, unsurprised eyes. Your friends gather your attention, the bandwidth of a carrot, and you smile with your candy in hand- your ticket in hand.

It takes a moment before you’re actually following them, gaze on the boy walking to the bathroom and digging around in his pocket. What could he possibly be doing- whoops.

The two of you make eye contact again; this time you look away, a prickle of embarrassment spreading through your fingers as you nudge the ticket into your purse pocket.

“Come on,” the boyfriend complains, motioning to you with his hands as to say let’s fucking go.

And you shrug, feet falling into place with them as you go to theatre twelve.

“Sorry, he’s cute.”

[gingerbreadmonsters]

kingdom come

or: flustered by four of a kind, call that a royal flush…

gn!reader (both lovely and freelancer), contains sub lovely and dom freelancer, the spicy sexy get-together of my dreams. at last, the awesome foursome come out to play! oh, discord, i owe you so much… who would have thought that @sri-rachaa ‘s innocent little discussion about sam waiting in the DAMN car park would have turned into this? a round of applause for the inhabitants of the incubi channel, without whom - despite several attempts on my life - this would never have been possible. a BIG thank you to @haradasaya , who very generously proofread this for me, and @daveyismyloml , who valiantly attempted to, despite… challenging circumstances. oh, and a little birdie told me that @friendlyfaded and @autisticempathydaemon might want to know about this... 💕💕💕 features east asian!vincent, as he appears in 五二零, but it’s only a few nicknames so you can ignore that if you really want, i guess. lovely having a very, very good evening in just over 5000 words.

neither lovely or freelancer’s bodies are described in detail, and neither is stated to possess any particular… hardware. no degrading or gendered pet names are used, although both lovely and freelancer are referred to as ‘beautiful’, ‘pretty’, ‘sweetie’ etc.

this fic contains explicit nsfw content, and is very, very 18+. reader discretion is heavily advised. minors dni. thank you. 

You don’t know what you did in a past life to deserve this, but it must have been something really, really good.

“Tease. Do you always sit with Vincent like that, or is that just for our benefit, hmm?”

“Oh, not always. Show them, lovely - you like it this way too, don’t you?”

Vincent’s hands on your waist are warm and strong as he deftly turns you to straddle him, hiking your leg over his hips as he grinds up into you. Head tipping back, your chest presses against his and your fingers twist in the collar of his shirt, lost in that delicious friction. Briefly, you mourn the loss of what was a very nice view, but you don’t have to wait long - the incubus behind you wastes no time in crawling past you on the bed, draping himself over Vincent’s back and reaching around to fiddle with his belt. The room is hot, air slow and syrupy in the darkness of the blackout curtains, and you’re very, very grateful that this room is soundproofed.

Wait, but where’s-

“Forget about me?” Freelancer’s fingers turn your chin as they smile into your shoulder, kissing slowly across your back and around to your other side. “Don’t tell me you’ve let them distract you already.”

“And what’s wrong with that, deviant?” The clink of metal, the smooth slide of leather against fabric as Gavin pulls Vincent’s belt free with a flourish, one careless hand dropping it over the side of the bed. “We make an excellent team, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Vincent nods, pulling your shirt off as he smiles not-so-innocently up at you. “We really do. You gave us a glowing review last time, didn’t you? Go on, honey. Tell Freelancer what you said.”

“Mmm…” It’s hard to think, with all the hands roaming your body, with Vincent hard and breathing heavily underneath you, but you do your best. “Very - mmm, very full…”

“You were, weren’t you?” Freelancer grabs your waist and twists you round again, pulling you down on top of them while Gavin keeps Vincent occupied - faintly, you register the sound of clothes falling off the bed and hitting the floor behind you. Their thigh presses just right between your legs as you fall, and you have no choice but to stifle your moan into their shoulder. “So beautiful. You were so good, little lovely. You want to be good for me now?”

You nod hurriedly, hiding your face in Freelancer’s shirt to hide what you’re sure is a humiliatingly needy expression. It’s kind of embarrassing, being stuck on top of their body like this, but their voice is so nice that it doesn’t really matter. Your shirt might be gone but the denim of your jeans is infuriatingly thick as you try to roll your hips, whining quietly at the loss of friction.

Quickly, your moans turn into a sharp gasp as Freelancer slips one hand between your bodies, wrenching the button of your jeans open and dipping inside to stroke over the thin fabric of your underwear. Their other arm holds you close, forearm locked around your waist as you writhe at the delicious pressure of their fingers, and the appreciative sigh somewhere at the other end of the bed tells you that the view must be pretty good from where the others are standing. Sitting? You can’t tell. Feels good. Freelancer laughs quietly, though not unkindly, at your eagerness - with your eyes shut tight against their collarbone, you feel it more than hear it.

Fortunately, the others take pity on you - a noticeably-undressed Gavin scoops you out of Freelancer’s arms to hold you, back against his chest, while they scramble out of the way to take their clothes off. Vincent takes it upon himself to rid you of your remaining clothes as well, pressing kisses down the line of your legs as your jeans and underwear join the growing pile of fabric by the side of the bed.

“Now, what do we have here?” Gavin purrs against your ear, palms sliding slowly over your chest, dipping down to the crease where your hip meets your thigh before trailing back up, bright pink nails catching just slightly over sensitive skin. “If I remember correctly…”

You gasp as his lips find the side of your neck, the gentlest brush of teeth and tongue electric over your pulse as his fingers find their mark. Laughing softly, he nudges your legs just a little wider apart - they’re not spread out across his just yet, but the memory of what happens when they are makes you shiver in anticipation.

“Make a bet with me?” Vincent clearly remembers as well, lying down and propping himself up in front of you with a cheeky grin. “Twenty bucks says I can make you finish fastest, little one. I have a lot of practice, after all.” He winks at Gavin, smirking over your shoulder, and you know immediately that you’re going to be here a while.

“Oh, is that what you think? You’ll have some stiff competi- ah! Okay, oka- I’m stopping!” Wow, you really need to start paying attention to what Freelancer’s doing. The angle makes it a bit difficult to see, but if you crane your neck you can see exactly how they’ve shut Gavin up. Their hands in his hair, from where they’re kneeling up behind him, don’t seem to have entirely had the intended effect, if the way he’s looking up at them (and the hardness pressed against your lower back) is any indication, but none of you mind at all.

“You’re on. How does that sound, pretty thing?” Their voice is dark, all wicked promise and teasing bite, and it’s the best thing you’ve heard in ages. “One for each of us. I think you can manage that, can’t you?”

You must nod, or maybe Freelancer’s a better telepath than they let on - wordlessly, they take Gavin’s place as he swoops down to leave one last kiss on the top of your shoulder, sliding you down the front of their body until your head is cradled against their stomach. From here, one hand gently cups your jaw to keep you looking up at them, while the other traces slow loops across your chest. The sensation makes you shiver slightly, warm fingers skating across sensitive skin, but it’s not unpleasant. In fact, it’s almost enough to distract you from-

“Wait, wait. Not so fast.”

“What?” You can’t see him, but you can feel Vincent lying between your legs, the comforting weight of him pressing down the mattress beneath you both as he shifts impatiently. You don’t need to see him - you know exactly the disappointed pout he’s giving Freelancer from where his head is resting on your thigh. “What is it?”

They don’t reply to him, looking mischievously down at you instead. God, their eyes are so pretty. “You know, I think Vincent’s right. He does get a lot more practice with you, doesn’t he?”

“...Yeah?” You’re not really sure where they’re going with this, but Gavin’s low laughter from where he’s lying by Vincent’s side makes you want to play along. “Yeah, he does.”

It’s the right answer, and Freelancer’s answering grin makes your mind feel all nice and fizzy. “Exactly. I think our Vincent deserves a bit of a handicap, just to make it fair. Don’t you agree?”

“Scared you’ll lose, deviant? Fair enough. What exactly did you have in mind?” They let go of your face for a moment, and you look down your body to see Vincent, eyebrow cocked and looking thoroughly amused.

Freelancer looks pointedly at Gavin, and your skin feels cold as he lifts Vincent’s hand off your thigh and licks his fingers into his mouth. “I said. A handicap.”

You’re… To be perfectly honest, you’re not sure if they lose or gain points for the pun, but you’re too distracted by the sight of Gavin with Vincent’s hand halfway down his throat, spit-slick lips around elegant fingers, hot pink nails clasped around Vincent’s wrist. The sounds he’s making are obscene, and you can’t help but squirm slightly in Freelancer’s lap as you wait for them to be done.

The two of them don’t take long, Gavin’s eyes going a little hazy as Vincent slowly drags his fingers out of his mouth, leaning over to kiss him deeply before turning his attention back to you. It takes a few seconds of slightly awkward repositioning, but before long they’ve sorted themselves out - Gavin’s stretched out against your side, lazy and relaxed, while Vincent’s propped up in front of you, one arm supporting your hips while his other - his, his, uh - haahh, his other - mmm…

His other hand dips down, further, right where he knows you want him - quick, even strokes and confident caresses, slim fingers pressing inside until your back bows and your hips twist in a half-formed plea for more, more, more. Freelancer’s hand finds its way under your chin once again, tilting your gaze upwards and making you blink heavily a few times before you can focus on their face.

“Look at you, darling. Tip your hips up a little - there you are.” Their voice is so nice. Vincent curls his fingers slightly inside you, the angle ever so slightly different, and oh - wait, wait, just - right there! “That’s better, isn’t it? You can tell me, sweet thing, it’s alright. It feels good, doesn’t it? Oh, those fingers are good for more than just the piano, aren’t they…”

Words are too much right now - you whine and nod desperately as their hand returns to your breathless chest, nails dragging lightly over aching nipples. The position is a little clumsy, but Gavin nestles himself against your other side to keep trailing kisses over your neck, and the shiver that races down your spine as he blows cool air teasingly over the skin is just the right side of too much. Between Freelancer’s soft words above you, Gavin’s lazy kisses, and Vincent working you open, it takes an embarrassingly short time to bring you almost to the edge.

“That’s it, lovely…” Maybe he can hear it in your voice, or maybe it’s the way your hands are frantically clawing at the sheets, but Vincent always knows how to take care of you. “So good, aren’t you? So good, always so precious… Let go for me, sweetness, let go, just like that…” You still can’t see him, but the smirk in his words is undeniable - inside you, his fingers twist, deeper and deeper, catching against that soft spot that makes you see stars, and, and-

The world spins white, and for a long moment you’re floating in Freelancer’s arms, letting the wave wash over you, bathing in the calm rhythm of Vincent’s voice. Everything feels warm and happy in your helium mind, and Freelancer lets you relax against their chest while Gavin rubs soothing circles over your hip. They all take such good care of you. It’s nice. You want to say thank you, but your mouth won’t yet form the words, so you settle for a low, contented hum.

Weakly, you smile down at Vincent, one hand lazily carding through his hair as he lays his head against your thigh. He gives you a cute little wave, hands still faintly shiny in the dim light, and - wait, how did you not notice that? - you can see the dark, sticky ring of Gavin’s lipgloss wrapped around his fingers, barely staining the top of his palm. Noticing your gaze, he pops his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean, eyes closed and sighing happily at the taste. Fuck, that’s hot.

“Feeling good, lovely?” You nod, reluctantly letting him untangle himself from your legs, although he makes up for it by leaning up and kissing you softly. “Sure you’re alright to have some more? We can call it a night here if you like.”

“Mmm…” As nice as it would be to just fall asleep like this, you’ve been promised more than just one orgasm tonight, and it would really be a shame to pass up the chance to play with Gavin and Freelancer for a little longer. “No, I wanna keep going.”

“Are you sure, honey? We don’t mind either way,” Gavin’s expression is kind but serious, and when you look up at Freelancer, they’re much the same. “It’s up to you, same as always.”

“I’m sure,” you tell them both, pushing yourself up to sit just in front of Freelancer, reaching over to give Gavin a reassuring hug. His arms feel good around you, safe and steady, and you can’t help but smile when he leans the side of his head against yours. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop, promise.”

He meets your eyes, a familiar smirk spreading across his face before he tilts his head and motions to Freelancer, still sitting behind you with their hands draped over your waist. They laugh, nudging you gently out of the way as they crawl past you.

“My turn, love? Nice of you to let me go before you.” They blow Gavin a kiss, and if you weren’t looking closely, you might have missed his little smile as he catches it out of the air and presses it over his heart. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to win.”

Vincent, coming around your other side, a stray pillow in his arms. “Please. You really think you can beat me?”

“Oh, I know we can. Can’t we, lovely?” A cheeky wink, fast as lightning, tossed over their shoulder as they swing their legs over the side of the bed, kneeling down in front of you. “Over here, sweetness.”

“Prove it, then. Put your money where your mouth is, deviant, and then we’ll see.” Gavin takes up Freelancer’s earlier position behind you once you’re nice and comfortable on the edge of the mattress - you jump slightly as two quick fingers swoop down to brush between your legs, and he giggles as he brings them up to his mouth to taste. “Mmm, as good as I remember.”

“‘Prove it’? With pleasure, love.” The look in their eyes is positively wicked, and Gavin pulls them in for a harsh kiss as Vincent hops down to join them, slipping the pillow under their knees before they settle in front of you with a slow smile. “I think I like the look of right here…”

Their tongue is deliciously warm, one long, eager lick all the way up before they dive right in, teasing and swallowing and sucking until you can’t look, throwing your head mindlessly back against Gavin’s shoulder. His hold is comfortably tight as you buck and tremble against Freelancer’s face, grinding himself against your lower back, murmuring gently in your ear as if to soothe your struggling, although you both know that his words are anything but calming.

“Put your legs over their shoulders, sweetie, that’s it. You can - yeah, there you go. They won’t break, it’s okay…” Freelancer looks up at you as Gavin helps you adjust your legs, and just the sight of them is enough to make you whine - their lips and chin all shiny and slick, pupils blown wide, meeting your gaze as they twirl their tongue just - nng! - just right. Vincent, leisurely perched on the floor next to them, watches you too as his hands trace down their sides, and their moan as his fingers dip between their legs ripples through your body like a wave breaking.

They tap Gavin’s ankle twice with their free hand, and you know exactly what that means - he reaches around you to tenderly pull them closer, closer, his hand around the back of their head. The angle is obscenely good, that sticky, filthy kiss - you’re completely lost in the thick, indulgent haze of pleasure, rocking shamelessly against them and scrabbling at the sheets every time Vincent makes them gasp against your heated skin.

“Mm, I think you’re close, pretty thing…” Somehow, the room feels even hotter than before. Behind you, Gavin sighs headily as you roll your hips and his cock presses against your back, one hand pulling Freelancer impossibly closer to you, his voice like honey in your ear as your breath gets shorter and shorter.

“That’s it, little lovely. Oh, you’re going to make a mess, aren’t you? Gonna get Freelancer’s pretty face all messy?” It’s so much. Their tongue, their fingers, their breathless little moans. More, more, please. “Mm, you are good - you know how much they like it sloppy. Feel that? Yeah? Oh, I bet you do. Show them, there you go.” He turns your face to kiss you, hard and deep, and you can’t help it, please, please-!

“Show my deviant how much you like their mouth on you.”

And you do - crying out, your hands fly to their shoulders, shuddering through your orgasm while they work you through it, bowing forward over them and gasping for air as electricity licks up your spine and pools under your skin. Vincent cups your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheek, and you lean into his touch with a dazed smile and a broken moan.

Freelancer gives you one last little kiss, sweet and sensual, pulling away before they can push you too far into overstimulation. They sit back to admire their handiwork and grin widely, all teeth, licking their lips approvingly.

“Did I win?” A mischievous wink, that has Vincent groaning in faux-disappointment and Gavin choking out a laugh, warm palms running up and down your arms.

“Oh, deviant. I really have taught you well, haven’t I?”

Freelancer opens their mouth to respond, but Vincent beats them to it, pushing himself up off the floor and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you and Gavin. “Still with us, hmm?”

“Mm-hmm,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in him, listening to the others sorting themselves out around you. “Thirsty.”

“Thirsty, okay. Blood or water, baby?”

“Water,” you mumble, and there’s a dull thump as Gavin’s hydro flask lands on the bed next to you. Vincent flicks the straw top up as he passes it to you, supporting the bottom of the metal bottle as you sip. “Mm, thank you.”

“Still good to keep going? Or shall we call it a day?” Wonderful, beautiful, angel Vincent - always so kind, always so good to you. “It’s up to you, tianxin. How are we feeling?”

You take a minute to think about it, watching Gavin sit back against Vincent’s other side and beckon Freelancer over for cuddles, laying them against his chest and resting his chin on top of their head. Neither of them speak, but the soft sounds and occasional giggles coming from their general direction probably mean that Gavin’s speaking to them telepathically - if you squint, you can just about see the faint disturbance in the air where his horns should be, the cloaking magic relaxing slightly as he concentrates on their silent conversation. Your hand slips past Vincent’s waist to hold Freelancer’s, threading your fingers with theirs, and they give you a gentle, easy smile.

“I’m good,” you decide, squirming a bit in Vincent’s hold as you stretch out some of the built-up tension in your back, your shoulders, your legs - you definitely enjoyed building that tension, but it’s nice to chase out the pleasant ache in your calves as you experimentally flex and point your feet. “Still want one more, I think.” Gavin turns his head to peek over Vincent’s shoulder at you, and you give him a lazy little wave with your free hand. “I was promised one from each of you, you know.”

“Sure? You know it’s okay to say no, honey.”

“Yeah, I know,” You tip your head to the side and kiss along his jaw, soaking up the way he melts a little more each time your lips meet his skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too, xingan.” He gives in to your touch, tipping your chin up to kiss you properly before nudging Gavin lightly in the side, kissing his temple as the incubus leans over to you. “Take good care of my lovely, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, Vincent, darling,” The words are innocent, but the look on his face is anything but. “I always do. Don’t I, precious?” The last bit is directed at you, and you nod enthusiastically as he lays you out on the bed next to where Freelancer is sitting cross-legged. “We have fun together all the time.”

He taps your cheek softly with one hand and you eagerly open your mouth, eyes closing dreamily as you close your lips around graceful fingers, hot pink nail polish smooth against your tongue. Alas, he takes them back far too soon, but you don’t have time to mourn the loss for long - Freelancer slowly guides your legs apart to let Gavin press his fingers inside you, making sure you’re nice and stretched out for him. His pace is slow, and you relax into the sensation, knowing that you’ll need it.

Vincent, for his part, shifts up to sit by the headboard, propping your head and shoulders up against his hip and idly resting one hand across your chest, comforting contact over your heart. Freelancer gives him a questioning look, pointedly glancing down to where he’s still hard, but he shakes his head. “I can take care of it, sweetness. I’d rather - haahh - I’d rather watch.” He hisses as his hand wraps around his cock, smearing precum across the sensitive skin, and you feel him shake slightly underneath you, arching into the slick friction. “Give me something nice to look at?”

Gavin, now knuckle-deep inside you, pouts up at him in mock-offense. “Rude. Are we not a nice enough sight?” He curls his fingers slightly, just a little more pressure, and the rush of heat makes your hands fly up to cling to Vincent’s body behind you. “Guess we’ll have to try a little harder, won’t we, precious?”

You’re not really listening, eyes locked on Freelancer as their head tips back with a pleased groan, leaning back on one arm as the other hand dances down their body, finally slipping between their legs just as they wink at you. “Gavin asked you a question, sweetheart. You going to - mmm - to try nice and hard for us?”

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah…” Anything, just please get on with it. You’re so empty. “Want it harder, please…”

It’s the right answer - at last, Gavin decides you’re prepped enough and spreads your legs a little wider, crawling up your body as he lines himself up. “Think you’re ready? I think you might be,” he purrs, brushing his lips against yours in a not-quite kiss. “You’re practically drooling, darling, and I haven’t even started yet.”

It’s torture, feeling the head of his cock pressing against you but not quite pushing inside, and in your frustration you can’t help but whine desperately, begging for the pleasure you know he can give you. The sound makes Freelancer shudder, fingers working faster, and Vincent gathers your wrists in his free hand at Gavin’s cue, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” A proper kiss this time, Gavin’s tongue brushing slowly over your fangs as he swallows your needy whimpers. “Breathe, little lovely, and take it all for me.”

His cock finally pushes into you, heavy and thick and dripping, and you can see Vincent’s affectionate little smile above you as your eyes go wide, before Gavin rocks his hips to press the last few inches inside and they slam closed with a silent gasp. He gives you a minute to adjust, but you don’t really need all of it - before long, you’re pleading frantically, half-formed words encouraging him to fuck you properly.

“Ahh - honey, you - ohh…” His pace is fast and just the right side of rough, that perfect friction, that wonderful fullness that he knows you need. It’s hard to focus on anything but him, hot and breathless above you, moaning into your mouth as your kisses turn sloppy and the heat low in your stomach builds and builds. “So - so good…”

“...Freelancer?” Next to you, Freelancer’s cry catches in their chest, and you can tell that they’re almost there. Vincent’s still holding your wrists above your head so you can’t really touch them, sweet nothings that you don’t really hear falling out of his mouth, but they seem to register your voice, blinking heavy eyelids open as they try to meet your gaze. “Please, I - yesyesyes - please, wanna see you- haahh-” Their breathing is sharp and short, just a little more and they’ll give in. “Freelancer, want it, I need - please, please, wanna watch you cum, wanna see-!”

They don’t scream, but it’s close - they arch forwards, keening as they finally snap, and Gavin’s pace stutters as the feeling of their orgasm washes over him, horns flickering into existence for just a second over your head as he loses concentration. The sight of them is almost too much, slumped down on the bed, panting and sweaty and giddy with release, and you hear Vincent swear through his teeth behind you as they give one slightly-shaky hand to Gavin, letting him lick their fingers clean before gently flicking the hair out of his face. It’s achingly sweet, even as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress, even as Freelancer ducks their head behind you where you can’t see and you hear the unmistakable sound of them swallowing around Vincent’s cock-

“You - ahh!” He stumbles over the words, slim fingers flexing against your skin as Freelancer buries their face in his lap, moaning around his cock, and his mindless babble gradually focuses in your mind as you start to reach fever pitch. “Lovely, you look - nng, please! - oh, fuck, lovely-!” He lets go of one of your hands, letting you slide it downwards to play with yourself as Gavin spreads your legs even wider, reaching impossibly, wonderfully deeper inside you.

“It’s - hahh - you like it, don’t you?” Your head is spinning, giddy with sensation and desire and heat, and all you can give Vincent is a fucked-out whine in reply. “Yeah? Is that it, lovely? It is, isn’t it - I think you like it when Gavin fucks you like this, don’t you?” He asks and you can’t reply, but you do, you do, you do. “When he holds your legs nice and wide, stretching you out, filling you up… Look down, honey, there it is - feel that? Feel how full he makes you feel?”

It’s nearly enough to have you sobbing - Vincent’s heady, heavy words swimming through your dazed mind, Gavin’s broken gasps above you, warmth and weight and moremoremore until you’re nothing but a writhing, pleading mess, needing them, needing this.

“You’ve done so well, xingan, so good, so good, all for us,” he chokes, voice cracking beautifully as you hear Freelancer get faster, and you know he won’t last much longer. “My lovely, my - nng! - my sweet little lovely, honey, please - let him, show me, show me, let him make you feel good, that’s it - fuck! Cum for him, cum for me, let me see it, let me see my lovely, that’s it - baby, please-!”

You can’t tell for sure, but this time, you think you might actually scream - the pleasure swallows you whole, white-hot and wanting, and your free arm shoots up to wrap around Gavin’s back and pull him flush against you, inescapable. He’s heart-stoppingly beautiful above you, eyes screwed shut and mouth dropping open with a curse and a loud cry. Vaguely, you feel him tremble through his own orgasm, pleasant warmth spreading inside you, and the pair of you lie draped over Vincent’s side in an exhausted heap, listening to his low hiss as his cum fills Freelancer’s mouth.

At last, the room is finally still. The four of you stay there for a little while, catching your breath, and although it’s still hot, it’s not entirely unpleasant. Vincent hasn’t let go of your wrist, thumb idly running back and forth over your pulse, and you’re more than happy to just flop against him, totally blissed-out and utterly content.

Eventually, Gavin breaks the silence, huffing under his breath as he lifts his head and beckons Freelancer closer to him. “Messy thing,” he laughs quietly, tenderly brushing away some of the stickiness around their lips and kissing away the rest. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to play with your food?”

“You certainly didn’t,” they retort in faux-offence, although the gentle look in their eyes, marshmallow-soft and gooey, betrays them. “In fact, I think you said you’d…”

“Lovely?” Vincent’s hand on your shoulder distracts you from Gavin and Freelancer’s playful teasing, and you soften into his touch as he shifts beneath you, letting him pull you up so you’re properly lying on his chest. “There you are. How are you feeling, tianxin?”

“Really, really good,” you sigh airily, squishing your face against his warm skin and enjoying the quiet thump of his heartbeat. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, baby,” he says, mumbling into your temple as he kisses your forehead. “I’m just glad you had fun. You did so well, and I’m so, so proud of you.” Your heart flutters at the affection in his words, and if you thought you could move your legs, you’d tackle him backwards and wrap him up in a great big hug - as it is, you settle for a pleased hum of acknowledgement and a soft kiss on his collarbone. There’ll be time for cuddles in a minute.

It’s quiet again, comfortable silence in the dim light, and in that long moment you know you were definitely right earlier. You must have been a saint in a past life to deserve all this.

(Well, it’s sort of quiet.)

“So,” Gavin starts, beaming widely and not-at-all innocently, throwing you a quick wink as a graceful hand neatly brushes his hair out of his face. You can’t help but smile back, watching Freelancer roll their eyes fondly and feeling more than hearing Vincent’s quiet snickering under your head. “Same time next week, then?”

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[st-el-la-luna]

El's WIPs (Wow I Procrastinate) (Works in Progress)

Find below the estimated order of release for my WIPs as well as some simple summaries. Please note that I make no guarantees that I will follow this order of release, but I will try.

1. Only Love Can Set You Free (So Could the Key, but You Ate That): Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

When your friend had invited you to stay with them in Las Almas, Mexico, you were excited. Sure, Las Almas is known to be a cartel hotspot but so long as you keep your nose clean you should be fine. You are not fine. With armed mercenaries shooting their way through the city you find the one person who could maybe help you. Unfortunately for you, he seems to be on a mission of his own. But you can't risk him leaving you behind. And those handcuffs on his belt are right there... tags: gn!reader, meet ugly, handcuffed together, comedy, action, violence, gore, multi-chapter fic, eventual feelings

2. Pros and Cons: Nerd König x Cosplayer!Reader

When König got the notification from one of his favourite cosplayers twitter he nearly had a heart attack in excitement. They were going to a Con in Germany? König is close to Germany. He... He could meet you! He's your biggest fan! And... And you have no idea he exists... tags: gn!reader, cosplayer!reader, fan!König, angst (due to anxiety), meet cute, shy awkward nerds being shy awkward nerds, meet cute, fanboy/girling, infodumping, fluf

3. Darling You Could Serve Me Cyanide and I'd Drink It With A Smile: Philip Graves x Reader

Graves usually doesn't pay attention to bartenders. On occasion he has been known to take one home for a spot of fun. Until he sees you, the new bartender at the bar near the Shadow Company base, threatening to rip out a rowdy patron's throat. tags: gn!reader, drinking/smoking/drugs, men being gross to women(not Graves), bartender!reader, anger issues!reader, Graves is whipped, reader doesn't really give a shit

4. Syrupy Sweet: Nasty Baker! Soap x Reader (pt. 2) NSFW 18+

Since you and Soap first met, you've become a regular at the cafe. Easily the highlight of his day... Or the second best. Jacking off to the thought of you is the best part of his day. And he does it a lot. Hmm? You heard him say something? Don't worry about it, he's just thinking aloud. But, hey, if you've got a couple minutes he has a new recipe he's been trying out... Just let him get them from the back room. tags: gn!reader, non-con/dub-con cum eating, male masturbation, obsessive behaviour, cyberstalking, actual stalking, psychological manipulation, dirty thoughts, fantasizing, lust at first sight, disgusting!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish Part One

5. Cuddling with Task Force 141: Individual + Poly!141 x Reader

In a career so embroiled in death and violence, with high stakes and constant adrenaline, it's nice to have a chance to relax. And what better way to do that then by snuggling up with your favourite teammates? tags: gn!reader, fluff, soft boy hours, as the title describes

6. Airplane!: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Kyle didn't used to be afraid of heights or airplanes, but after a recent event he finds the idea nauseating. Unfortunately, he has no choice. Even more unfortunate, he's stuck in the window seat. At least the person sitting beside him looks nice enough... What is that they're watching? Final Destination? He's never heard of it. Sure he'll take an earbud, anything to distract himself from thinking about falling out of the plane. tags: gn!reader, meet cute turns meet ugly, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is understandably scared of heights, comedy

7. I Am Gonna Make It Through This Year If It Kills Me: Childhood Best Friend! Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

It's not often that Ghost lets himself be dragged out by his teammates to celebrate a successful mission. But he couldn't be happier he agreed this time around. Not when the live singer in this dump of a bar looks so familiar; it's you. His best friend from childhood, who had told him once, as you both sat in the back of a bar you were too young to be in, pretending that your home lives weren't more hellish than the ninth ring, that you would be a musician one day. And that you would make enough to take Simon away from it all. His best friend from childhood who thinks he's dead. tags: gn!reader, childhood friendships, reminiscing/nostalgia, angst, fluff, reader and Simon both have bad home lives, Simon escaped, reader didn't, drinking, bars, music/singing (not a song fic but bits of songs will be quoted here and there), angry at the world!reader, Everything Stays by Rebecca Sugar core

8. Draw Me Like Your Art Teacher Says You Have To: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Art Class Model! Reader

Soap decides to take Ghost's suggestion to heart. After all, LT wouldn't give out advice or compliments if he didn't believe his words to be true. So, with a couple months of leave ahead of him, Soap enrolls in an art class. It goes smoothly at first. Almost boring. Until the class moves on to anatomy studies. He's expecting an old woman or man, easily past their prime to stroll in. Instead, he has his breath stolen away by the most stunning person he's ever seen in his life. And they're about to get very naked. tags: afab!gn!reader, meet cute, fluff, humour, nudity, slight pervy!Soap, crushing, jealousy

9. It's Not Enough: John Price x Reader (pt. 2) NFSW 18+

With both his hands in casts for the foreseeable future, your Captain has been calling on you for help with a number of mundane tasks. You didn't expect him to ask you to help with this... Not that you're complaining. How could you pass up on making a grown man cry? tags: afab!reader, pure smut, pwp, sub!Price, mommy kink, begging, orgasm denial, desperation, dacryphilia, dry humping, pillow fucking, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, handjobs, blowjobs, anal fingering Part One

10. 1fur1 Thots: Task Force 141 + König x Reader

My many, many thoughts on @charliemwrites 1fur1 AU tags: gn!reader, inspired thots, wolf shifter/werewolf Task Force 141 and König, fluff, found family, naive!reader, deceit, maybe angst, maybe smut, monster fucking (?), they're dogs (affectionate), they're dogs (derogatory)

[peakyblinders1919]

Haddie Harrington Pt 3

|part 1| |part 2|

“And he just looks… exactly the same?”

“Well, not exactly…” Stopping, the wheels in your brain turned and turned. How was one supposed to eloquently describe something so beautiful? In simile, in metaphor, with a wave of a paintbrush, and still no words or drawings could do him justice. “He looks like Steve but older. His hair is a little shorter in the back, still long on top, sort of reminiscent of his hair junior year when he still cared enough to style it-” before he let it grow out, you remembered, nearly salivating at the thought. “He was wearing wire-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose, shirt tucked into his jameans at the right place, a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks…” You were doing a meek job of describing him, babbling rather than using words to form the masterpiece you’d laid eyes on. Like a fine wine, he’d only aged well. 

Better than well. 

Robin listened, though inattentively, while focusing on the new vase on her potter’s wheel; tongue sticking out in concentration, hands covered in gray mud, wet clay caked under her fingernails. 

“And all you said was ‘hi Harrington’?” 

It was way better than you had anticipated.

“Well, yeah. At first. But we talked a little bit about the school day, when he should expect to pick her up and all that.”

“And he had nothing to say about being MIA for four years?”

“Robs, I had twenty other parents and students to greet, we didn’t exactly have time to catch up.” 

“Then I hope one of you dingus’ asked the other to coffee after school or something…”

That would have been too easy. 

As much as you’d like for it to be that easy, as if four whole years had not gone by, it was too long a time to ignore. Too many changes; the school, your job, all of Hawkins looking a little different, subtle changes like the new statue in Jefferson square, the restoration and slight modernization of city hall, his daughter, his life.

Steve Harrington looked like a Dad ready to live his life.

“Was he wearing it?”

“Wearing what?” 

As if reading your thoughts, as if she knew what you were anticipating, she made you stop and think. How easy it was to remember the buttercup yellow of his polo shirt reflecting against his pale ivory skin, freckles leaving dots of constellations glowing across his face. How easy it was to notice the way his biceps stretched against the cotton sleeves of his shirt, the chocolate brown of his eyes matching the rich, brown syrupy swoop of his hair, even how easy it was to notice he still wore that damn watch on his left wrist, hands ticking a few minutes behind, the watch that he had inherited from someone who’d believed in him along the way, and you swore he never took off since.

But you failed to notice if he was wearing a ring.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Your best friend brought the potter’s wheel to a halt, extra wet clay spinning off in a flash and smearing against her cheek.

“I didn’t look.” 

“Well, that’s the most important thing to find out.”

“Well, why do I have to do it? I’m his daughter’s teacher for fucks sake, I’m sure I’m going to see him again. Dropping her off, picking her up. Speaking of, when are you going to go see him?”

“Whenever he decides to step up and call, introduce his little girl to Auntie Robin.” Rolling your eyes, nudging your shoulder with hers as she wiped herself clean, you waltzed around each other in the studio space, closing it for the night.

“She looks just like him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s some miraculous clone of him, no woman involved.”

“That’d be easier for you, wouldn’t it?”

“I know what that smile of yours means Buckly, and you can wipe it clear off now before I do. Steve Harrington and I are just friends.”

Did just friends know each other’s favorite color, favorite ice cream flavor, favorite band, favorite guilty pleasure song? Did just friends finish each other’s sentences? Did just friends remember little things about each other, like their mother’s birthday, the anniversary of the day they first met, their birthdays? Did just friends know how to comfort the other when they were hurt? Did just friends remember what made the other laugh, what made the other tick, how the other liked to be touched softly here, roughly there? 

Did just friends know how each other tasted?

Did just friends dream about getting another taste?

“Just friends,” Robin mocked as if the woman lived in your head. She shut off the lights, edged into the refreshing night air, and walked a few blocks with you back home. 

Even if you did entertain the thought of Steve being a single father for even a second, who was to say he wanted you to be anything more to him than his daughter’s teacher? Your relation to him destined in the stars, never to change from just friends to something unspoken, something more.

“I’m not a homewrecker.”

“I wouldn’t insinuate such a thing.”

“Why are we even entertaining this?”

“You tell me.” Through the darkness, you could make out the wiggle of Robin’s eyebrows.

Were you entertaining it? No, not yet. Daydreaming wasn’t your fortè. The bubbling in your chest felt that morning was just the anticipation of seeing him again if you were going to see him again. The bubbling simmered, low and hot and persistent when it was him standing in front of you, not a ghost of who he was. Even in the dark, evening breeze cool against your cheeks, maybe the heat never left, parts of you warm to the touch and still a bit bothered by the sight of him. Who he was.

A father. A dad. Carrying his little girl with ease, speaking to her softly and sweet, mirror smiling his. If there was one thing you could never forget about Steve Harrington (besides the hair) it was his personality. Spilling over such a strong sense of caring for others, protecting others, and accepting others. More so than himself. You didn’t have to wonder if that remained the same, that much was obvious from his smile as he picked Haddie up earlier that day.

“You’ll love her. She showed up in yellow rain boots.”

“Yeah?” Robing laughed, maybe a bit sad at the realization she might have to meet Haddie Harrington through you and your stories alone, left forever wondering what happened to make her best friend leave her life without an explanation and never give her the chance to enter it again.

“She’s smart, knows her letters and numbers. And she’s a real artist. Knows all her colors.. She had a unique interpretation of her and Steve, two yellow blobs with a blue sky background.”

She’s in her Picasso era, you could hear him say to his wife through a low laugh, hanging it up on the fridge. 

“Who’re you in love with here, Haddie or Steve?”

“What? Neither!” Defensive shouts fell from your lips at the accusation, the heat from earlier mixing with the blush on your cheeks making you realize how impossible it’ll be to stay out of her life, his life. “So.. so when do we pull the trigger?” Suddenly, your mouth was dry, licking your lips to continue when it was clear Robin had no idea what you were referring to. “When do we confront him? When do we tell Dustin and Lucas and Max? When are you going to see him?” 

Because I’m going to see him tomorrow, you thought selfishly. It was a 50-50 shot anyway, that, at least, you’d see him again. 

And that was somehow enough.

[mysunshine-youremoonlight]

i think honestly the best way i can describe Ryuu is just by telling you that his blood type is listed as "thick and syrupy"

mmmmm syrup

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Rite: a Malevolent Fanfic

Spring: what better time to honor Shub-Niggurath, the Great Mother?

Arthur’s not thrilled with being tasked to start the "festivities" off with music. He’s even less thrilled that Hastur's efforts to call John to himself have exponentially increased.

Magic-drunk gods and difficult confessions lead to an impossible choice - one Arthur fears he is not strong enough to make.

(Takes place in the Surrogate series, after Misstep)

——-

“The spring rite is next week!”

The whispers are excited.

“Spring rite at home, at last! I was sick of traveling for it.”

The gossip is potent.

“You can’t wear that. Everybody’s already seen it.”

“This is the scent I’m planning—”

“Oh, fuck yeah, that’ll work.”

“Do you think he’ll provide mead?”

Mead. Scents. Clothing. It all adds up, but Arthur’s not sure to what.

He doesn’t think he wants to know to what.

I don’t fully remember, John says when asked. Something… I know it’s important? I remember good feelings; I remember the certainty of blessings from Shub-Niggurath after. Fertility, and all of that.

Oh, that doesn’t sound good. “Fertility?”

I’m sorry,  Arthur. I just don’t remember. You could ask someone.

Arthur considers the way people have been speaking, the way John has described their behavior (“leering” comes up an awful lot of late), and shudders. “I’m not sure I have the courage. Let’s just… keep our heads down. Stay out of the way. Maybe it’ll pass us by, like a storm.”

Hastur doesn’t give that option.

He’s coming by daily now, checking on music, insisting on listening to every note—which he usually trusts to Arthur’s discretion.

Arthur hadn’t realized he was being trusted until that trust disappeared.

“No, that still isn’t right,” says Hastur, thoughtful and ponderous, and rests one heavy tentacle on Arthur’s left shoulder.

Arthur tries to shrug it away to no effect.

John reaches up, grips it with his left hand, and shoves.

And that, Arthur is certain, is the whole reason Hastur keeps doing it.

“Perhaps I should find you an… example,” says Hastur, as though that didn’t happen.

Arthur can’t feel it, but Hastur’s tendril must have touched his left hand, because John reacts. Suddenly and with no warning, Arthur’s left arm yanks right, across his chest, like trying to get away from a fire.

“John?” says Arthur.

I’m fine, John snaps.

“Ah, I know,” says Hastur, again as though that didn’t happen. “Here is the piece I want you to base the music for that night on.” He waves his tentacles, and music just starts playing in the air.

Arthur knows it. His jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

The touch is on his left arm this time (and Arthur feels it, and leans away). “Of course, Arthur. I also expect you to do it better. This is a very restricted version of what I want, after all.”

Seducing John. That’s what he’s doing. Or maybe just trying to be near him? Arthur shifts on the bench so he can face Hastur directly. “It’s inappropriate.”

What? Inappropriate? What, do they slaughter goats in the middle of it, or something?

“No, John,” says Hastur, positively syrupy now. “Not at all. Perhaps Arthur can explain it to you? I would be happy to, naturally, but I know you two prefer to find things out for yourselves.”

Pretentious prick, John mutters.

“You’d rather I explain? I thought we weren’t talking over Arthur’s head anymore.”

John doesn’t even yell, but Arthur feels it. John’s anger hurts. You just have to push, don’t you? You have to keep pushing, and keep pushing, and—

“John. Stop.” Arthur rubs his face. “Hastur, just… go. I’ll answer him.”

He can feel Hastur lean in. “Are you sure?”

His left hand jumps to grip… well, some part of Hastur that came too close. Arthur doesn’t know what.

But it lingers.

Arthur knows why. “I’m sure,” he says.

“Good. I will have important guests. I expect your best work yet,” Hastur says, and leaves them to it.

What the fuck, Arthur? says John, subdued, as he always is these days when Hastur physically leaves them.

Arthur knows John is in pain.

He also thinks he knows what Hastur wants from this song, from this mysterious spring rite, from next week’s performance, and he has never felt more awkward in his life. “Fuck,” he mutters.

#

I am still not getting this, says John.

Arthur sighs. “It’s hard to explain. It’s the way the piece works, I suppose; also maybe because it’s French.”

French?

“They’re a bit… licentious over there compared to the States.”

They are? John sounds flummoxed.

Arthur sighs again. “The point is, the piece is not ostensibly about sex, except that it is, and everybody knows when they hear it.”

I don’t know when I hear it.

“Yes, well… look, it works, all right? The consistent marching rhythm with those snare drums, the repeated theme, growing, surging… it just keeps getting bigger and bigger until it ends in fireworks. It works. And I have no idea how to match it, and certainly not how to top it.”

Arthur doesn’t mention the newspaper articles, the cries for censure, the uproar in the musical world. This had made waves a few years ago.

It failed to make waves with John. Maybe it’s better live?

Arthur groans and tries again.

#

It isn’t working. He knows it’s not.

“No,” Hastur says that evening, gratingly patient as Arthur struggles through. “That is less. Not more.”

“I don’t know how to do what you’re asking,” Arthur snaps in a rare moment of defiance. “Why don’t you go kidnap Ravel, if you’re so desperate for his work?”

“Because I don’t want his work. I want yours,” says Hastur, magnanimous. “Now. Try again.”

Arthur rubs his face.

He keeps trying.

He keeps producing repetitive and dull.

I don’t know how to help you, John says, subdued again in Hastur’s absence.

“Need a working libido to figure this out,” Arthur mutters.

What?

“Nothing.” He keeps trying.

#

Arthur thanks all that is good and holy that Faroe will not be here for whatever happens in a few days.

She’s thrilled about her special trip. Camping with Dis is such a grown-up thing to do in the Dreamlands, under the stars.

“Alone?” Arthur blurts.

“Naturally not. There will be a contingent, out of sight, to ensure nothing happens,” says Hastur, because of course there would be.

Arthur dislikes many things that go on in this place, but the focus on Faroe’s safety is not one of them.

“I’m going to gather herbs,” she says, showing off her new gear. From what John describes, there is an inordinate amount of buckles.

“This sounds like you’re going to have a lot of fun,” he says.

“We’re going to catch fish. And we’re going to roast something.”

“Something?”

“Whatever we can catch,” Faroe answers, mimicking Dis’ cadence. “It’s girl’s pre… pree… prerog…rative.”

Arthur grins. “Prerogative. And well it should be. Leave all us nasty guys behind, eh?”

She beams. “That’s what Dis said!”

She’s very cute in her gear, John confesses. She even has a little knife with a wooden blade—I don’t recall her working with weapons like that yet.

“You have a knife?”

“It’s my early birthday present!” she says.

She’s holding it out for inspection. Just to the left—there.

A four-year-old with a knife. Fuck, life was different in the Dreamlands. “John, what does it look like?” he says, holding it carefully.

A rich, dark wood. Its burl is beautiful—whorling, a clearly intentional pattern. I see power all through it; it will never cut her, but anything she means to cut should part like butter.

“It’s very sharp, darling,” says Arthur seriously. “Be very careful with it, or you could hurt someone.” And he hands it back like offering a sword to a knight.

She is grim as she takes it and sheaths it, buckling the handle down. But now, her smile is bright, Arthur. “Dis says to bring you a cabbage.”

“A what?”

“You’ll see,” says Dis, approaching from the left.

The captain is similarly kitted out. She must be coming from the stables because she’s leading Vemmaerra.

“And is Nibbles prepared?” says Arthur, taking all this very seriously.

“Yes!” says Faroe. “I get to ride her when we are out in the wilds.”

Out in the wilds is clearly a phrase she’s heard and has no concept of, and she repeats it with precise and meaningless annunciation.

Arthur smiles. He gives her a quick hug, then finally stands.

“Come, my daughter,” says Hastur, who will, of course, get the final goodbye, and any final words, and anything of real importance.

But Arthur got to see her off, and that matters.

#

He slams the lid shut so hard it makes the piano ring, then gets up to pace. “I can’t do this.”

Sure you can. Maybe tomorrow.

“I did…” Arthur waves his hands. “Commercials for Burma shave, for crying out loud! I can’t make… sex music.”

John really is trying to help, even though he’s been distracted, even though Arthur still feels like he’s losing him, inch by inch. Maybe you’re trying to make it too human?

“What does that even mean? Sex is sex.”

I… uh. Not really.

Arthur sighs. Paces. Then he stops. “Wait. Maybe you’re right.”

How so?

“Too human. That’s the problem. The rhythm is too human. I remember the sound,” he says, sitting back down. “The pace is wrong. But I think I know what to do.”

#

John stares at Arthur’s hands on the keys. He can tell by the tension in them how ready Arthur is to play or compose—and the hands look good. Relaxed and strong. Sound? Pace? What?

“Let’s try this.” And Arthur begins.

It’s a simple bass, a merciless pulse that John immediately finds damn near mesmerizing.

And familiar.

Arthur keeps it low, repeated octaves like a slow-beating heart, but what he does with his right hand makes John forget Bolero even exists. It’s all off-beat. Like the jazz, but not sparkling; it reminds John of the long-forgotten sense of his fingers in the flesh of some pityable thing, parting veins like opening noodles, blood warm and then sticky in the aftermath of intimate death.

Arthur takes his right hand up the register, transitioning to a new key, and John suddenly recalls wrestling with his half-brother Cthulhu back in the eternity of forever, when there was no pecking order, when there was no law, only the joy of twisting tangling tortioning strength and the endless fight for power.

Arthur is breathing hard; this seems to be taking a lot of concentration (and John cannot remember how to feel through the mark to see just what the hell is going on in there), but Arthur transitions again. Another key change, and the pulse has picked up speed.

Then he begins a new rhythm in his right hand, a counterpoint beat, like the high notes have their own heart, their own ichor to circulate, and John has enough awareness to realize Arthur was right about the difference a concert grand piano makes to raw sound.

Arthur’s teeth are bared.

Then Arthur doesn’t transition keys again. He doesn’t change rhythm. He just makes it more.

Louder. Heavier. Stronger, until he’s striking the keys, putting the whole of his core and upper-body strength into the assault, until John feels like either the piano strings are going to snap, or he is.

It peaks, huge, crazy, a breathlessly rich conclusion—and then it doesn’t just stop. Arthur flutters the rhythms, quieting them, bringing them down in volume and up in register until the whole piece comes to rest in soft, sparkling tones, still a counterpoint rhythm, but slowing as if to sleep.

John has forgotten words exist.

“Ha!” Arthur says, absolutely cheerful, wearing a smile so huge that his eyes crinkle.

It takes John a moment.

“I got it!” Arthur says. “What do you think?”

It takes John another moment. How did you… do that?

“His hearts.” Arthur looks happy, and it’s an expression John would have given anything to see, and right now is so overwhelmed he doesn’t know how to handle. “I remembered his hearts.”

His…

“When he marked me. I heard them. Felt them. They’re not in sync, you know.”

S-sure. He knew that, but it never seemed this interesting before. It takes John another moment. Do you have any idea what you did?

“I gave him what he wanted, I’m pretty sure.”

John is pretty sure Arthur hacked eldritch biology, is what he did, but he doesn’t know what to say. Yeah. That’ll work.

“It better, because I’m too damn tired to do it again.” Arthur is pleased and exhausted; he sweated a lot, which probably means he will even more on the night of the performance.

So a sound like that, plus his own scent, plus whatever magic is making the rounds on the night in question. John is thinking practically. We are going to need an escape route.

“Sure, John.” Arthur is all too happy to shower and go to bed. He hums his new, weird melody until he’s finally in bed.

John stares at the inside of Arthur’s eyelids and worries whether Arthur maybe did too good a job.

#

The next day, Hastur comes in during practice, and, like John, he falls silent as Arthur plays.

Arthur barely notices he’s there. It’s enticing, this piece, though it’s not a rhythm he’s known before. It’s grown on him; he doesn’t just play it. He breathes it, feels it; his own heart cannot follow this beat, but he’s fairly sure that if it could, it would.

He’s proud of this crazy piece—and yes, he thinks it might be better than Ravel’s.

“John.”

Arthur jumps.

Hastur.

Hastur sounds… breathy, a little. Voice rough. “Well, Arthur. It seems you did not disappoint.”

This will be dangerous for him tonight.

“Before hearing this, I would have disagreed, but… you have a point.”

“What?” says Arthur.

“I had not planned on his participation beyond the music.”

When they hear this, they won’t give him a choice.

“What?” Arthur blurts. “Look, what is happening tonight, anyway? Did you seriously ask me to write… incidental music for an orgy?”

“If you wish to phrase it that way.” Hastur seems unconcerned. “It is an offering to the Mother Goddess. You remember, John, surely; we celebrate every year—an ode to spring, a chance at new life.”

John’s voice is rough now. I remember.

Arthur feels ill. “I really don’t want to be part of this.”

“You will not. Your life would be in danger, and while I personally wouldn’t at all mind seeing you fucked to death, we would all suffer, including Faroe. So, no—you will be safe.”

Now, he feels really sick. “Great,” he says, tasting bile.

You would want that, you piece of shit.

“John, I would do anything in my power to remove you from him,” says Hastur. “The only reason it has not happened is I have not yet found a way.”

Give it up. I’m never joining you.

“You will. You need it even more than I.”

John growls.

Arthur is so not in the mood for this repeated, endless, circular argument. “Stop. Both of you. Just stop. I don’t want to hear it right now. Hastur, I’ll play your bloody piece, and then I am going away, and nobody is going to bother us tonight. All right?”

“We are, for once, in agreement,” says Hastur. “I will personally ensure you are… escorted to safety.”

You’d better.

“I’d like to know what you would do, should I not.”

You already know. I told you. I will take one of the deals offered to me.

“John.” Arthur grips his head. “Stop.” He doesn’t know why John’s anger hurts, but it does.

Every damn time, it hurts.

Hastur makes a low, pleased sound. “By all means, John… don’t calm down on my account.” And he leaves.

And John seethes.

And Arthur’s head aches, and he wonders if tonight, he should find a way to go armed.

#

He doesn’t go armed. There’d be no point, and he has no weapons, anyway.

The evening comes.

John keeps description minimal. Arthur is glad, because the rest of his senses are going nuts. The scents are... indescribable. Sweet, sour, musky, floral. Natural pheromones? Weird perfume? He doesn’t know.

The sound of thick and swishing fabric everywhere is absurd, and he tries to amuse himself by picturing giant squid-people in fairy-tale ball gowns.

“Awful lot of clothing for an orgy, isn’t it?” he murmurs under his breath.

Just more for them to unwrap, is all. John sounds choked.

Arthur swallows. “It appeals to you, doesn’t it?”

Shut up.

“It’s all right, John. This is your scene. I get it.”

Arthur, it isn’t—

“And now, my honored guests!” Hastur booms, Hastur bellows, his voice making the piano strings vibrate. “We join to celebrate renewal… regrowth… the magnificence of beautiful and undefeatable life!”

The whole group cheers.

And Arthur thinks, for just a moment, that even this absurd proclamation doesn’t hurt his head as much as John’s anger.

“My… court composer,” says Hastur with a chuckle, as though the idea itself were absurd. “We are ready. Guide us into the path of creation. Guide us into her shadow, that we may partake of her essence and give her praise.”

You can do this, Arthur.

Might as well get it over with, he thinks, and begins to play.

He plays with focus, with the memory of Hastur’s hearts through all his being, and loses himself in their song.

Why it’s so moving, he doesn’t know. Maybe gods do it differently; maybe Hastur’s vascular systems pump some divine beat, and not just whatever he has instead of blood.

It doesn’t matter. Arthur plays, and Arthur breathes, and he blocks out all the world.

#

He’s panting when it’s done, and is surprised to find there is silence.

He’s drained. Sweaty. This was exhausting, even with the better shape he’s in; at least nobody’s doing anything, judging by the sound, though why they’re all so quiet—

They’re looking at you, John hisses in warning.

Arthur tenses.

Then Hastur suddenly grabs him, just plucks him off the bench like a flower from the grass. There is the ear-popping shock of a portal opening, and he is thrown through.

He lands hard.

The portal closes with a shoop.

Arthur! We’re in your room! We’re safe! He… he actually did it! You’re safe!

“Oh, thank fuck,” Arthur says on his hands and knees, hanging his head. Then the air begins to tremor, a weirdly metallic thrumming, and Arthur absolutely does not want to know more.

#

He wants to sleep.

That would be lovely, wouldn’t it? Just sleeping right through this, sliding right past whatever freakish coupling they’re all engaged in, but he can’t.

There’s too much… something. In the air.

It isn’t noise.

It isn’t any sense he understands, but it wires the room and leaves his every breath heated, and John is absolutely not being a damn bit of help.

John is acting drugged. He’s completely silent unless spoken to, and then only responds with nonsense.

It is frightening that John is so affected even though they’re in a different part of the palace. Arthur is very glad Hastur is not here to take advantage of it. “How much longer can they keep this up?” he mutters into his pillow.

Days. Maybe. I dunno! Could be fun for days!

Arthur sighs. John is positively blotto. “Fuck, I hope not.”

Why? Hey. Hey. We could go peek.

“No, thank you.”

But I bet it’s something in there!

Arthur snorts. “I’ll bet it is, my friend, but I want to sleep.”

That’s okay. It’s nice here, with you. In the dark.

It isn’t dark. Arthur’s face is in the pillow. “Sure.”

The tensing metal air thrums.

“John,” Arthur says. “Should I leave? Go outside, or something? Leave the palace, maybe?”

I… I wouldn’t. Think something would catch you. Might not go so good. I would have to bite them.

Arthur laughs weakly. “You can’t bite them. My mouth is my own.”

Oh. I could tell you to bite them!

“No, that… that’s all right.”

Hey. You really don’t know what you did. Do you? Know what you did do?

“I wrote some music.” Even to himself, he sounds absurd.

Noooo. You wrote fucking amazing music.

And Arthur can’t help himself. “Fucking amazing… fucking music?”

There’s a pause.

Then John is laughing, and Arthur is laughing, and the tension judders back, and Arthur rolls over so John isn’t stuck staring at a pillowcase any longer.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Arthur, who isn’t.

The lights came on! says John with delight. You did so good. Such a… such a good music. That’s all. Maybe if there’s a blessing, you’ll get some.

“Sure. So… this is how you people repopulate, or something?”

No, we don’t need anything like that.  Most of us don’t even need a partner! We just do it. Choom!

Arthur turns his laugh into a cough. “Choom?”

Yeah! Participation is just for fun. But assigning meaning to things gives them meaning.

“That’s profound, John.” It’s impossible to stay so grim with John like this. “Will there actually be a blessing?”

Think so? Maybe? They’re having fun!

“Yes, I know they’re having fun.”

Wish I could have fun.

Arthur swallows.

You could, too!

“No, I… I don’t want any, thank you.”

Aww. You don’t like fun, Arthur?

“I really don’t deserve fun, my friend,” Arthur says quietly.

Nooo, Arthur, no! You deserve it! You should have it! Fun is good, Arthur.

“John…”

Fun is good.

He’s so sincere.

Arthur smiles weakly. “After this whole affair, John, to be perfectly honest, I’d rather never even think about anything like this ever again for the rest of my—”

A portal opens.

Arthur sits up, tense.

Hi! John says, cheerful.

“Peace, both of you.” It’s Hastur, and he sounds absolutely fucking drunk.

Slurring. Warm. There is something like his growl rumbling under his words, only it’s far from an angry sound.

The sounds behind him aren’t angry, either, but Arthur is very glad when the portal closes and they are cut off.

Hi! John says again. Wait. Go away! You aren’t invited, John growls, or tries.

“Pfff,” says Hastur, and flops beside the bed like a pile of laundry dumped on the floor.

The whole bed jumps as if caught in a quake.

“Is he fucking purring?” Arthur blurts, and doesn’t get an answer.

Is Hastur here to… do something to him?

Faroe’s unanswered question about catamite comes back to mind, and Arthur feels a distinct urge to run for the window and leap out of it. “What are you doing here?” he says in a small voice.

“Mm,” says Hastur, and leans half of himself on the bed.

The bed groans and damn near bends in half under his bulk.

Arthur slides toward him a few inches, just gravity and satin sheets working against him, and he panics.

Easy, says John, slowly, still not sober, but definitely scared closer to it. Just… slide… back a little, maybe. Don’t rush.

Arthur is far beyond not rushing. He scrambles backwards, breathing too fast, high and whimpering, and he gains three whole inches before Hastur moves.

Just grabs him, just curls a tentacle around his waist and plucks him in the air without warning.

Arthur shouts, kicks at nothing. “No! Let me go!”

“Calm down,” says Hastur, and pulls Arthur down into the mass of his arms.

Like he does Faroe.

Arthur makes a choked sound. This is terrifying. They’re heavy, hot; they aren't doing anything, but he can’t push them off him or fight his way free. He feels like he’s been wrapped in heavy silk and dropped into deep water, and he can’t breathe.

He makes panicked sounds on every exhale; tears sting his eyes.

Hey. Hey! Arthur’s left hand can’t get any space to move, but it seems to be poking. Hey! You’re making Arthur cry!

Hastur seems to stir. “Why are you so afraid?” he says, slurring.

The absolute craziness of that sentence snaps Arthur out of it. “You’re joking.”

A beat. “I am not,” says Hastur with a gravity he completely misses by turning his consonants to mush.

“You… you hate me,” Arthur says, trembling with effort to push Hastur’s unmoving arms off him. “You’ve broken my leg, you… you’ve hurt me so many times. How can you even ask that?”

Hastur takes this seriously. “I am not breaking your legs now.”

He’s magic-drunk, John says. Hahaha!

This isn’t remotely funny. “Please!” his voice breaks. “I hate… I hate confined spaces. Please let me out.”

“Faroe likes this,” says Hastur, as if being completely reasonable.

“I’m not Faroe! Oh, gods, let me out!”

“What nonsense,” says Hastur, but his arms slither apart, opening, dropping Arthur to the floor.

Gasping wildly, he tries to scramble away.

Hastur picks him up again.

“Stop!”

Hey! Hey! John smacks the tentacle with his left hand.

“What?” Hastur settles against Arthur’s bed again (which creaks alarmingly, springs snapping), then tucks Arthur against his chest like a teddy bear with an arm around his waist. “Shhhh.”

It’s better than being engulfed. It’s still bad. “Hastur, please!”

“Shhh.”

At least he’s not being swayed. There is that. At least there is that. “John, what do I do?” he whispers.

I dunno! Uh. I dunno? Hey! What are you doing?”

“Presence,” says Hastur. There is an ominous crack in the bed somewhere, as of wood breaking. “It didn’t work.”

“Wh… what didn’t work?”

It takes Hastur a moment. “I hate you very much, you know,” he says, and those words should come with a crushing squeeze, with the breaking of bones and rending of flesh, but they do not.

Arthur stays pressed against his yellow cloak, breathing fast. “I know?”

“You took him away from me, you know,” says Hastur, raising one of his humanoid hands to brush Arthur’s hair back from his face.

Arthur tries to lean away. The tentacle around his waist is like steel. “Don’t hurt me.”

He won’t dare! Arthur’s left arm whacks Hastur’s repeatedly.

“He won’t come back to me, you know,” says Hastur, ignoring John. “And you won’t even… you don’t even break right. They’re mine when they break, you know? Any human I break and show myself to is mine. I break them, and then they love me. They’re all mine! Pop, like eating a ripe cherry. But you didn’t even do that right.”

Arthur is stunned. Kayne said something like that, hadn’t he? No, he’d said… he’d said that everyone else who took John from that book died, popped like a ripe cherry.

It’s too weird. It can’t be a coincidence. But is it? “I… I don’t know why that is.”

“I do,” says Hastur, and pokes Arthur’s chest right where he’d marked him.

That—

Ripples of something from that spot flash through Arthur’s whole being, and he briefly whites out.

“—a stubborn piece of shit,” Hastur finishes.

Arthur wipes his eyes. He’s sweating. “I… uh.”

Hey! Mine! John hits him again.

Hastur sighs. “Oh, Arthur… Arthur Lester. It hurts. It always hurts. It didn’t work tonight. I am supposed to feel better.” The purr has ceased. “I do not feel better. It did not work.”

Oh.

It hurts.

It is weirdly human that Hastur threw himself into physical intimacy in an attempt to get away from non-physical pain.

“John hurts, too,” Arthur says slowly.

What? Noooo, John says, and waves his left hand. Well, yeeees, but not so bad. I have life-support, remember? I have you!

Hastur sniffles.

“Are… are you crying?” says Arthur.

Hastur sniffles again.

Arthur rubs his face. “Really?”

Take that! John says for some reason.

Hastur is petting his head again.

Sad drunk, Arthur thinks, and that helps. He knows how to handle sad drunks. Tentative, he pats the arm around his waist, and somehow, gets the words out: “Um. It’s going to be okay.”

It is? says John in wonder.

Hastur sniffles again. “He won’t come back to me, and that is because of you.”

Could this be more pathetic? “It’s because of him, too—and because of you. We’ve all made choices. We’re all in this. We dug the pit together.”

It’s my fault! John declares. Don’t you dare blame him!

“He keeps choosing you,” says Hastur, ignoring John completely.

“I know,” says Arthur, soft. “I don’t deserve it.”

Arthur! Hey. Hey, Arthur.

“Why does he do that?” Hastur says.

“I don’t know.” Arthur swallows. “I really don’t. I don’t know why he keeps choosing me.”

Arthur… John sounds so sad. Don’t say that, Arthur. Arthur?

“Yes, John?” Arthur feels like his heart weighs a thousand pounds.

Can you sing me a song?

“Yes,” says Hastur. “A song.”

I want a funny song.

“I don’t want a funny song,” says Hastur.

Well, why not? It’s better than anything else he feared happening tonight. “All right. I’ve got… maybe one that’s both? Um, let me see.” He doesn’t actually have that, but they’re both drunk now, so they’ll hear what they want. Softly, he sings:

“The cuckoo is a fine bird. He sings as he flies, He brings us good tidings and tells us no lies. He sucks the sweet flowers to make his voice clear, And the more he cries ‘cuckoo,’ the summer is nigh.”

Yeah! John says. Suck those flowers!

Arthur laughs, surprised into it.

Hastur sniffles. “He sounds like a very good bird.”

“I’m sure he is,” Arthur mutters, clears his throat, and sings again.

“Come all you fair maidens, take warning of me, Don't place your affections on a sycamore tree, For the top it will wither, and the roots they will die, And if I'm forsaken, I know not for why.”

Fuck that guy! John proclaims.

“Roots,” Hastur rumbles, sounding angry.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” says Arthur. “I’ll stop.”

“No!”

No!

“More, Arthur,” says Hastur, sitting up.

You should write me a funny song, says John, who sounds absolutely chipper now. You could make it dirty, too. I wouldn’t mind.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” says Arthur, feeling lightheaded.

“When roots die, so does the tree,” says Hastur, solemn.

“That… that’s true?”

I’ll give you roots, says John for some reason.

“It’s all… going to work out,” Arthur says, and wonders: if he keeps John to himself, will Hastur eventually die?

They are an opportunistic family. If Hastur dies, his kingdom will fall to another.

And that will absolutely fuck over Faroe.

She’s his heir. They’d never stop chasing her. Little Faroe, who is so strong, and so smart. Faroe, who is learning and experiencing things Arthur could never give her in a thousand lifetimes.

Faroe, who is, right now, incredibly safe.

He could never give her a life like this. He already threw away any right he had to try. His stomach churns.

Hey, says John, who must be watching in the mirrors. You’re not supposed to cry. You’re supposed to be funny!

“Well, John, I—”

And dirty, John says.

“I think I’ve had enough of dirty for tonight,” says Arthur. “Gentlemen, I’m tired. Please let me go. I need to sleep.”

“Humans do need sleep,” says Hastur, slowly rising. “Horrible activity. Don’t know how you stand it.”

“Well, we do,” says Arthur. “It’ll kill us if we don’t get enough.”

Hastur puts him back on the bed, but neither moves away, nor lets go. “I really do hate you, you know.”

“I know.” Arthur sighs.

“Fuck,” Hastur pronounces, lowering back down and covering Arthur’s bottom half in hot, heavy weight.

The bed creaks, shudders, and the frame finally breaks.

Arthur grunts as the mattress hits the floor.

Hastur does not move. His breathing is slow and steady.

Aww, says John. Look at us! All together, the way it should be.

And John does not seem to register Arthur’s gasp.

Or Arthur’s hard swallow.

John begins humming the tune Arthur just sang, fairly accurately. His left hand comes up, strokes Arthur’s hair, then settles on his chest over his heart.

Gods don’t sleep, but they both seem to be in some kind of daze.

Good, Arthur thinks, because he can’t talk right now.

Good, Arthur thinks, because his heart under John’s hand hurts, because his stomach under Hastur’s weight twists, because his throat—in no grip but his mind’s own—tightens.

He knows what needs to happen for John’s sake, in time.

He’s known since the beginning. He has.

He knew he was being selfish when Kayne gave him that choice in Addison, years ago.

He knows he’s self-centered. He knows.

He knows he needs to give John up, for John’s sake, for John.

He doesn’t know if he can.

Sing for me, Arthur? says John.

“Always, my friend,” Arthur whispers, and it’s a vow, because John is in pain, and Arthur knows he’s in pain, and he knows Hastur is right: Arthur is at fault.

“They told me last night there were ships in the offing, And I hurried down to the deep rolling sea. But my eye could not see it wherever might be it, The bark that is bringing my lover to me.

“Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly. Blow the wind south, where's the bonnie blue sea. Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly. Blow bonnie breeze my lover and bring her to me.”

Arthur’s voice trails off, and the two gods breathe—one in his head, the other draped across his stomach—and no one speaks any more at all.

[maiewad]

5 alkemia samples

silken tent

first impressions: its a bit disappointing.... smells nice and sweet abit powdery but its extremely similar to a $10 vanilla body spray i got from woolworths.... not worth it so far but ill let it sit for a while.

+after sitting for a while its gorgeous. sweet syrupy golden but not too edible smelling. the angelica adds a soft fuzzy herbal tone that balances the fragrance and cuts through the syrupy texture and keeps it from getting cloying. i cant stop inhaling it. i can smell the candied angelica, rice pudding and caramel the best and the jasmine, tuberose and chrysanthemum are more of a subtle white floral in the background.

★★★★★

aurora

first impressions: stexture eally nice reminds me of those musky perfumes you get from mecca that are by byredo or sum shit... i like it fresh neutral a bit of cardamom and iris.

+the iris is really pretty very buttery and milky not too powdery. i can smell the cardamom, violet, musk clearly and the cashmeran adds a cedar element but i cant detect any ginger. ethereal is a good word to describe it. i was wearing it while watching spirited away the other day and i felt like they were a good match especially soundtracks like a road to somewhere and the beginning of nighttime coming.

★★★★

bohemiens en voyage

first impressions: i put it on tadhg it smells like a hippie perfume but more pleasant and wearable in my opinion. a bit smoky a bit like hay a bit sweet. i tried to smell it again but he had made a smoked salmon croissant and all i could smell was da salmon.

+theres no anise in the notes but the beginning smells like it has a licorice note. i can smell the hay, tobacco and amber in the beginning plus a lowkey background sweetness from the sugarcane which smells crystalised. after about 10 minutes the licorice type note is gone (maybe the tabac leaf?) and i can smell hay, sugarcane and the most gorgeous skin musk. buttery salty creamy is how id describe it which might not sound so appealing but it really is beautiful. this is also a golden coloured fragrance like silken tent but instead of being an amber colour its more of a soft dusty yellow. this scent makes me think of malibu by hole. i think that tobacco hay sugarcane and iris are very kinderwhore themed notes in my mind. my mother said that the opening smells like talcum powder.

★★★★★

the wild atlantic way

first impressions: SOO GOOD..... smells fresh and oceanic and floral and the flowers are like honey-sweet wildflowers this is GOOD ASF..... i like it fr. abit soapy but im still lovin it

+the opening flowers are so sweet and full that they almost smell fruity. they smell bright yellow and juicy and you can really smell the nectar and pollen in them. after ten minutes the flowers arent as juicy but they are still very bright and sweet and you start smelling the salt of the ambergris. slowly the flowers die down and it becomes a slightly floral ambergris perfume. im learning that im a huge fan of yellow florals. i saw someone on reddit say that this fragrance reminds them of a romantic scene in a movie (braveheart is the example they used) and i can see that. to me it calls to mind a scene of green fields bright yellow flowers cliffsides and rough waves. the clouds are thick and covering the whole sky except for one break where the sunlight streams down in rays golden and the bright sunlit landscape is contrasted by the dark grey clouds in the distance and it looks otherworldly. one of my favourite kinds of weathers but yeah i like this scent though i am generally a floral lover.

★★★★★

wings of flame

first impressions: this shit smells delicious like coffee yummy.

+smells edible but not overly sweet. the coffee is almost dessert like and the honey is chewy and amber coloured. it makes sense that the coffee note is described as "golden coffee" because it almost smells a bit like caramel with how rich and deep and sweet it is. i put it on tadhg to see his reaction and he says he loves honey+coffee combinations because its decadent in an ancient way. i can see what he means especially for this fragrance in particular. theres no patchouli in the notes but that was a note my mum picked up on.

★★★★

[moshintheteagaiwan]

Tasting: 2022 “Snoozefest” Raw Puerh - First Tasting Of The Year!

After several years of missing out I finally got my hands on a cake of White2Tea’s yearly limited Raw Puerh release called “Snoozefest”. This cake comes out once a year at limited quantities. According their website, the cake is made from material that would usually sell for a much higher price tag, but is sold at a steal as a kind of “thank you” or “customer appreciation”. Basically a really good tea, that normally has a very high price, for a limited time low price. There is no samples offered of this cake and at a price of $15 for a 200g cake, it doesn’t stay available for long.

Every single year I have somehow managed to miss it. But in 2022 I was at the right place at the right time. I was one of the first people to order a cake of Snoozefest. How do I know? Because the first 30 orders also would get a free White2Tea winter beanie, which I now wear every time I got out. LOL.

From the moment you unwrap this cake it’s crystal clear this cake is not joking around. It is no doubt high quality. The sweet aroma of the tea before it even hits the gaiwan is outstanding.

In the warm gaiwan the aroma this cake is incredibly sweet like honey and sugar cane. A plethora of sweet stone fruits hits you right up front. The dry leave aroma is very clean and fresh, much like a spring morning breeze. Welcoming, comforting and energizing yet calm. The wet leaf is a fruit explosion of poached peaches in sugary syrup, juicy plums and nectarines. In the background there is a noticeable sweet musk acting as a wonderful accent to the fresh fruity breeze in the gaiwan.

The soup is syrupy thick and smooth as hell. No bitterness or astringency! The mouthfeel is lubricating, clean and soft. Imagine if you will - a piece of fresh cut teak wood. Atop this teak wooden is a gathering of ripe and juicy stone fruits, plump and sweet. And around these fruits are little accents of delicate flowers. That is the only way I can describe the taste of this amazing beauty. As the infusions go the musk of the teak wood becomes more forthcoming, acting in harmony with the sweet syrupy juicy fruit notes.

And you best believe this teas can go the distance. I easily get at least 12 infusions out of this tea and it doesn’t miss a step. After so many years of waiting for this tea, this was no doubt the best possible way I could have asked to start of the tea journey of 2023.

Now because I am a nice guy and have decided that this is the year of giving, I am willing to part with 2 – 25g samples of this cake. Normally I would give more but I’ve already drank quite a bit and it’s gotta last me till at least November or longer if I miss out again this year. LOL. But if I do get lucky again this year, I’m buying my first ever Tong of teas.

 If your interested in trying this precious beauty to see if you too need to line up to grab your own this year, send me a private message with you address and I’ll send it out to you!

I promise you, trying this tea may very well be one of the best things you do this year!

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 7th MArch

I have been waiting for this week! Not because it's a particularly big or significant song, or anything. No, even better - it's David Whitfield's final hurrah! Present since the early days of the charts, David's become a perennial irritation of mine, and I am so happy to see the back of him. He gets one more chart hit after this, but it doesn't make the top 10, so for our purposes, doesn't matter. Farewell, David!

The Adoration Waltz - David Whitfield (peaked at Number 9)

Even the title of this one sounds old-fashioned, and not in a good way. In an era of rock and roll dancing and cheeky teenage flirtation, waltzing and adoration sounds hopelessly behind the times - but let's see?

Okay, as expected, we've started with some rather syrupy strings, and a very, very sedate pace. It's not the worst thing ever - it's got the feel of a classic Disney romance theme, the sort of thing that would play in the background of a montage of two people falling in love with each other and doing lovey-dovey things. It's a very sleepy vibe, but it's pretty enough - I sometimes find that with waltzes, they just feel elegant, somehow.

David does his best to wreck it with his delivery, of course. But he doesn't even really let loose with those belting, warbly high notes that have plagued his other songs. His voice is still not my cup of tea, that said. It's very mannered, slightly nasal, and has these very forced sounding "ooooh" sounds on lines like the one about how I adore everything you doooooo. Also, the slide up to a high note at the end of the song needs to be mentioned here. It's particularly horrible, and genuinely set my teeth on edge. But as David's songs go, overall it's not the worst I've heard.

Lyrically, it's also fine. There's something way too earnest about describing your love as perfection without any faults, and rhymes like Skies are blue / Dreams come true / While I'm holding you aren't exactly cinvincing me either, but the only thing you can really accuse these lyrics of are a lack of originality.

Honestly, I could have this playing in the background and not object too much to it. As a piece of unobtrusive mood-setting, it's fine - barring that final note, perhaps.

Well, that's it for David. I kind of wondered if I'd feel any sense of nostalgia or sadness for his final song. But no, I'm mostly just happy we're not going to hear from him again. And in terms of final songs, this inoffensive number is about as good as it was ever gonna get.

Favourite song of the bunch: The Adoration Waltz

[vostok3-ka]

🛒👀

Hi! Thank you so much for the ask :))) Hope you are alright!

🛒- Honestly, it's a combination of drugs, mental illness and poetry. I think that best describes what I find myself often incorporating into my works. I enjoy writing drugs because it's so other-worldly from a writer's perspective, where you get to play with sound and smell and what the character feels and sees and hears and thinks and so on. For example, in Noch' Ulitsa Fonar' Apteka, I had a lot of fun trying to make the scenes in which Bucky shoots up on Morphine realistic compared to my research of first-hand accounts, and it involved a lot of dripping imagery, seeping syrupy, almost ethereal descriptions and to me that was just really really interesting to work with. Also I think that Bucky being an addict just makes perfect sense, and that's why I've sorta incorporated that or hinted at it in more than one work.

The mental illness, well, I'm a psych student. I find psychology so so interesting, and I am really into abnormal psychology, as I want to specialize in schizophrenic disorders. I don't enjoy reading characters whose mental health is written inaccurately, it grates at me and is one of the reasons why I might DNF a fic, so I want to try writing them with as accurate and as realistic kinds of mental illnesses as much as I can, representing mental health the way I would like them to. I enjoy the challenge, and I love incorporating what I am familiar with into my writing as well!

As for poetry, I started out with poetry. I'm very new to prose writing, and in the process of sort of learning prose, I somehow managed to slip my poetry into it as well. I've been told that my prose is very poetic before, and I've always sorta worried that it was TOO poetry-like because I was trying to write prose not poetry, but I've come to love the style I have in that regards, so you'll probably find me incorporating a lot of poetic methods into my writing!

👀- OOH okay! I have a story I'm working on called "Новое новое" or 'Novoye Novoye' and it's about Zemo and Bucky's power dynamics with each other. It's not a light story, and it starts out with a classic Russian 19th century style duel. I wanted to sort of showcase the power that Zemo holds over Bucky, and the way Bucky's past sort of haunts him, whispering over his shoulder and into his mind. I cannot explain enough how much I love Zemo and Bucky's dynamic. It's like Zemo knows that Bucky could absolutely obliterate him, but he is so intimately versed on Bucky's personality that he is able to hit him right where he folds, and it's just so enthralling to me! Here's a little snippet :D

"Almost helplessly, Bucky’s body shudders in sporadic bursts, and Zemo cocks his head in that incessant way of his, and the sun shines and shines and shines, and there are poppies kissing their ankles and shins as they stand, face to face in a field damned to take back what once was hers.  They meet between languages, not English, not Sokovian, but Russian. “We don’t have seconds.” “Men like us, do we need seconds?” Bucky says, and trembles again. It is warm. Summer is in full swing. Zemo hums and looks away, towards the distant trees bordering the meadows. They stare hollowly, dark eyes blind and uncaring, and he turns back towards Bucky. “Who will shout the command?” “When the shadows of the sticks point towards me. That is the command.” “Rather innovative, no?""

Thank you again for the ask! Hope you have a good day!

[orange-peony]

Written for the Liquid Luck Never Have I Ever Challenge at @liquidluckdrabblechallenge .

I'm a moron, and I posted this two weeks earlier than I was supposed to. 😓

New pairing: Blaise/Ron

New AU: Dirty Dancing AU

Prompt: "Close your eyes"

Rating: M

WC: 500 words

Ron groans and stuffs his Auror robes into his bag. He starts walking towards Tesco's to fetch some dinner, but a sudden noise startles him. He turns around, wand raised, only to find an old friend staring back at him.

"Ron! How's it going, mate?" Seamus says with a grin, three massive watermelons precariously perched in his arms.

"I'm good," Ron replies, catching one of the watermelons before it smashes onto the pavement. "Where are you going with these?"

"Party," Seamus replies with a wink. "Wanna come? I bet you need to unwind after a long day fighting criminals."

Ron is too tired for parties, but he still finds himself following Seamus into a dodgy building in a Muggle neighborhood, up a flight of stairs leading to an old wooden door.

When Seamus kicks the door open, loud music bursts out, but it's not the disco music Ron was expecting. It's slow and syrupy, sensual in a way that makes him blush as his eyes adjust to the dim light and he spots a few dancing couples. Their bodies slide against one another in a way Ron can only describe as lascivious, hips rocking and hands sliding wantonly as Ron stares with his mouth agape.

"Come on," Seamus says, and Ron follows him inside, doing his best to avoid the dancing couples.

"Are those two humping each other in public? Wait, is that bloke wearing any trousers?" he asks, wondering if he's supposed to arrest them for indecent exposure.

"There's Blaise," Seamus replies, ignoring Ron's blushing cheeks and confused gasp. Ron nearly drops the watermelon when he sees him, tall and slender, his dark skin glistening with sweat as he moves like a panther, his body perfectly in sync with the music.

Ron's jaw is on the floor by the time Zabini spots them and abandons his partner to join them. And that's when Ron realises that Zabini is actually taller than him, something that hardly ever happens to him these days and that makes the Slytherin look even hotter in Ron's eyes.

"What is he doing here?" Zabini asks with a raised eyebrow, and Seamus shrugs.

"I carried a watermelon," Ron replies dumbly, wanting to curse himself for his stupidity as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"Do you want to dance?" Zabini asks, his deep voice like velvet, and Ron finds himself nodding despite himself.

"Don't know how to," he replies sheepishly, and Zabini's sly smile goes straight to his cock.

"I shall teach you, then," he simply says, fingers interlacing with Ron's as he leads him to a corner of the room.

Zabini's big hands press against Ron's waist, guiding his movements until they're rocking against each other, hips touching and shoulders swaying. Ron is painfully hard and ridiculously embarrassed, until he realises that Zabini is equally aroused, his lips stretched into a knowing smile as he rubs his erection against Ron's.

"Like that," he whispers in Ron's ear. "Close your eyes, Ron. Let yourself go."

[bastardtetsu]

—fine line .

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙞 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊𝙓𝙄𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗

pairing: mattsun x f!reader x makki

genre: smut (18+), threesome (mmf), friends to fucking

wc: 4.7k

warnings: dubcon via sex under the influence, drug use (psychedelic mushrooms), oral (f and m receiving), brief mentions of nausea, one mention of w33d, the nickname "princess", a dash of finger sucking, overstimulation but it’s brief, creampie

the come-up is usually the worst of it—at least that’s what mattsun said.

some nausea is common as the shrooms start to kick in, so he suggested that you don’t eat anything immediately beforehand—and you’re glad you took his advice. makki, on the other hand, let his munchies get the best of him and ran off to the bathroom about 20 minutes ago, leaving you & mattsun by yourselves on the couch in your living room. hopefully he’s doing ok.

it’s approaching an hour since the three of you ate your shrooms together, and you’re beginning to feel the slight uneasiness in your stomach fade into a pleasant dizziness spreading throughout your body. you giggle a bit at the realization, drawing the attention of the tall brunet splayed out on the other side of the couch.

“yeah?” he smirks at you with a quirked brow.

“yeah,” you grin back at him, more giggles bubbling from your throat. you can already tell how silly you’re acting, and this observation only makes you laugh harder as your muscles begin to loosen and tingle with giddiness.

“nice,” mattsun responds simply, not moving from his place on the couch. it’s hard to tell where he’s at—being the more experienced one when it comes to shrooms, his tolerance is probably much stronger than yours—but the way he’s sinking into the cushions with glazed-over eyes tells you he’s likely on his way up too.

meanwhile, you already feel like you’ve arrived—any tension in your body seems to have evaporated, leaving you lithe and syrupy and pliant. you feel light as silk, like the slightest breeze could make you flutter away, and you can’t help but drape yourself over the arm of the couch as a stream of giggles continues to spill from your throat.

you hardly even notice the way mattsun looks on with an amused smirk on his face—not that you’d even care. you’ve been friends long enough, and between you, him, & makki, the three of you have embarrassed yourselves in front of each other more than enough to be well past the point of shame.

oh right—how is makki doing?

you abruptly hoist yourself off the couch—though you barely make it a couple steps before pausing to take in the brand new sensation called standing.

“you good?” mattsun asks with a light chuckle. the room feels like it’s floating—or maybe it’s you. either way, your legs feel steady enough to keep you upright, and any sickness you’d felt before is long forgotten.

“yeah, i—”

you don’t have time to finish your sentence before you’re suddenly being pulled into mattsun’s lap, falling against him with a small yelp, followed by even more laughter.

“issei,” you whine as you lean into him, your movements clumsy yet fluid, “whaddaya want??”

“hehe… nothin’,” he snickers in response. he’s definitely tripping now—mattsun’s not particularly physically affectionate most of the time, but now it seems like he can’t get enough of you, tracing his fingers idly up and down your arm while he nuzzles into you. the sensation sends pleasant tingles up your spine, and you can’t help but melt into his chest, the scent of his cologne and the remnants of the weed you were smoking earlier filling your nose as you sink into his warmth.

“wait—“ you sit up, suddenly remembering the reason you stood up in the first place, “you’re distracting me. ‘m gonna check on hiro,” you attempt to stand, but mattsun’s arms are still locked around you.

“don’t wanna get up, though,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

“then lemme go,” you whine playfully. as nice as it feels here in his embrace, your curiosity and urge to explore is more powerful.

“ughhhhh,” he relents with an exaggerated groan, finally freeing you from his grasp.

“stop pouting, i’ll be back,” you call over your shoulder as you scamper off to the bedroom. you don’t quite hear his response, but it definitely sounded like another incoherent grumble.

you check the bathroom first, only to find it empty. you peek your head through your bedroom door next, and sure enough, there’s makki—face down on your bed, the lights still dark despite the sun having gone down a while ago.

“hiro? how y’doin’?” you call out gently, leaning against the doorframe.

“y/nnnn,” you hear him drawl, “c’mere ‘n’check this out.”

you make your way over to the bed to find an entranced makki staring intently at his own hand as it toys with your blanket, captivated by the soft texture and the fluid motions of the fabric beneath his touch. your laughter chimes in the air as your hand drifts to join his, quickly becoming entranced as well.

“soft,” you hear takahiro mutter.

“yeah.”

your vision isn’t blurry or wavy, but it isn’t static either--you aren’t sure how to describe it, but you find yourself unable to look away from the movement of your blanket, its pattern warping under your touch.

“where’s issei?” makki’s voice interrupts your trance.

“still on the couch. didn’t wanna move.”

“lazy ass.”

you both go back to feeling the blanket. though your hands drift beside each other, they don’t quite meet until you brush against his on accident, the new sensation catching your attention and reminding you of makki’s presence at the same time.

of course, this realization makes you burst into laughter.

makki doesn’t seem fazed, though. he just giggles along with you as you flop the rest of your body down across his. soon enough, this turns into both of you rolling around in his bed, the captivating feeling of the soft fabric only rivaled by the sensation of your skin brushing against his. it’s like you’re an extension of the cotton sheets, something soft and pliable that billows in the breeze and tangles in your limbs with ease.

and before you even realize it, you’re all tangled up with him. makki’s warmth surrounds you now, limbs entangled & chests practically pressed against one another, so close you swear you can feel both of your hearts beating together.

a situation like this might’ve flustered a sober you, but by now, your inhibitions are out the window. besides, the two of you are close enough already that it doesn’t feel terribly strange being held by one of your friends like this—you’re already plenty flirtatious with each other anyway.

so you snuggle in closer.

even in stillness, the two of you find motion—your fingers dancing across his back, toying with the material of his shirt, nuzzling your forehead against him while he runs his fingers through your hair. it’s like you can’t stop moving, the restless buzzing in your veins urging you to get closer, to submerge yourself in makki’s warmth.

“okay... your hair?” he says, “is really doin’ it for me right now.”

“yeah?” a smile spreads on your lips.

“yeah,” he whispers, almost a sigh, just like he did when he was spellbound by your bedsheets.

you glance up to find him staring right at you, the expression in his glassy eyes unreadable, but you’re too high to get in your head about what it could be about. you just stare back, drinking each other in in comfortable silence.

makki really is cute—did he get cuter, or is it just the drugs?

“can i—” he finally breaks the silence, “can i make a wild suggestion?

“what?”

“you can say no if you want.”

“what is it?”

you swear you hear his breath catch for a second.

“…what if we made out?”

you pause for a moment to process his words.

“you don’t have to,” he blurts out quickly.

“no, i—“ you pause for another brief second, but arrive at your answer quicker than you expected. “yeah, let’s do it.”

“really?” makki’s eyes widen slightly, and you don’t miss the flicker of a grin across his lips.

“yeah, sure,” you answer, nonchalant but certain.

you’re plenty aware of the potential consequences of hooking up with one of your best friends while you’re both tripping on shrooms— but you’re actually shocked by how much clarity you have.

you know that you want this right now. you, makki, & mattsun have always walked that line between friendship and something more, and though none of you have been bold enough to cross it yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find them both attractive. how can you not when two of your friends look like that?

you figure that’s a good enough reason as any to kiss your hot best friend. so you do.

and fuck, does it feels good. every sensation is heightened as your lips move against each other, parting for each other without hesitation to allow your restless tongues to slip past. in one fluid movement, makki rolls onto his back to bring you on top of him, and you smile into the kiss as you allow gravity to press your bodies even closer.

small whimpers and giggles slip unfiltered between your lips as makki’s hand traces patterns up and down your back. the drag of his fingers along your spine sends shivers throughout your body, like every nerve is buzzing with excitement. your body seems to be moving on its own, propelled by some unseen magic that runs through your veins and warms your skin as your hips roll mindlessly against makki’s—causing a familiar tingling ache to form between your legs.

“ahh, shit,” makki suddenly hisses, “y/n, you’re—“

he cuts himself off as another roll of your hips is met with something firm poking against your ass, causing makki’s breath to hitch in his throat. almost instinctively, you grind your clothed heat against it, eliciting a choked moan from the man underneath you.

your thoughts suddenly catch up to you, and you break away for a moment.

“is this okay?” you ask.

“i feel like i should be asking you that,” he responds breathlessly.

“yo, am i interrupting something?”

a third, deeper voice on the other side of the room grabs both your attention, and you turn to see mattsun standing in the doorway, looking all too casual for the situation, save for a slightly raised brow. to your own surprise, though, this doesn’t seem to faze you either—you know it’s the effects of the drugs, but you’re just happy to see him.

“hi, issei,” your face breaks into a dopey grin.

“‘sup dude,” makki chimes with reddened cheeks and an only slightly awkward smile.

“whatcha up to in here?” mattsun drawls teasingly.

“c’mere,” you whine, ignoring his question to beckon him over with outstretched hands.

“am i being invited to join the makeout pile right now?” he muses, smirk stretched wide across his face as he saunters over to the bed.

“yeah, man, get in here,” makki motions to him too as he shifts to make room on the bed. your collective nonchalance at the situation is enough to make you erupt into even more giggles as mattsun obliges you, sauntering over to the bed as makki shifts over to make room, sitting up from beneath you. a long arm wraps around you as he sits down on the bed.

“this ok?” mattsun utters just a breath away from your lips.

“yeah,” you breathe, smiling into his lips as they press together clumsily. mattsun kisses you leisurely, relishing in the taste of your warmth as his broad hands begin to trace your silhouette, gradually pulling your body closer to his.

your head angles slightly, and soon enough it’s makki’s lips on yours again, biting at your lower lip while issei’s mouth continues its way across your jawline, then down your neck in slow, wet kisses. you can still feel the press of makki’s cock through your clothes, rocking your hips against it and eliciting a deep groan from the man below you.

“shit, princess,” mattsun rasps against your skin, feeling his own pants beginning to tighten, “how far you planning on taking this?”

you’re so lost in the sensation of both of them you can hardly think, but you know one thing for certain: you want more.

“as far as you’ll let me,” you whisper, eyes darting between the two men as your lips curl into a flushed smile.

you swear you feel both of their cocks twitch as they register your words, a single shared look between them sealing the deal before they turn their full attention back to you.

“whatever you say, beautiful,” mattsun’s voice sends a shiver straight to your pussy as he repositions himself on the bed, kneeling beside you so he can lean in closer. his kisses are hungrier now, tongue gliding against yours in broad strokes while makki’s hands grip at your hips as he rocks your dampening core against his hard-on.

hungry for more contact, you reach down to palm the stiffening bulge in issei’s pants, the vibrations of a groan rumble against your neck in response. a hand tangles in your hair while another greedily squeezes around your breast—you’re not sure whose hands are whose anymore, but you’re well past the point of caring. all you want right now is to lose yourself in the electrifying warmth of their caresses.

makki’s hands slip under your shirt to grip your bare waist, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of your clothing—a thin, but excruciating barrier between your skin and theirs that you need to get rid of as soon as possible. your fingers fumble at the hems of both men’s shirts, too distracted by the surplus of sensations to do much else.

they both take the hint immediately, and before you know it your shirt is being lifted above your head while another pair of hands undoes your shorts. once your shirt is off, mattsun’s tongue is back in your mouth in an instant, while makki wastes no time taking one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking hungrily at the soft flesh and eliciting small, breathy moans from you.

you whimper against issei’s lips as he undoes his pants, tugging down his boxers to reveal his length, half hard but already an impressive size. you can’t help but stare at the veins beginning to protrude from his flushed shaft, tracing them with your fingers as you watch his cock twitch and stiffen under your touch.

“you want that?” his voice is low and breathy. your gaze flickers up to find his lust-darkened eyes staring hungrily at you.

before you can find the words to answer, you feel the body underneath you shift. you look down to find makki’s face between your legs, nipping at the meat of your inner thigh, infuriatingly close to your wet, tingling center.

you can’t help but groan contentedly at the sight as you grasp at his hair, strawberry blond locks tangling in your fingers with ease. he hums in approval at the slight tug, the vibrations tickling your sensitive skin.

“don’t forget about me, now,” issei’s deep voice gets your attention, two calloused fingers pulling your chin back towards him. you’re quick to close the gap between your lips as you wrap your fingers around his thick cock. you stroke him slowly, taking your time to enjoy the feeling of his hot skin against your palm and the buzz of his low groans against your lips.

meanwhile, you can feel makki push your panties to the side, leaving your bare, glistening cunt hovering inches away from his face. though you’re busy with mattsun, you can’t ignore the almost painful hum of anticipation emanating from between your legs as makki’s hot breath fans over it.

“fuck, you’re wet,” he utters breathily, more to himself than anything, but the words still cause your walls to clench around nothing. you can feel mattsun smirk against your lips when you moan into his mouth, your whole body buzzing with pleasure as makki finally begins to lap eagerly at your arousal, his fingertips digging into the giving flesh of your thighs.

you’re trying your best to focus on the movements of your hand around issei’s cock, but you can already feel yourself beginning to fall apart as makki’s tongue circles around your swollen clit, every sensation crystal clear and heightened, while mattsun’s tongue continues to glide against yours.

your pace falters, but a large hand soon wraps around yours, guiding its movements around issei’s cock as your hips begin to twitch with your impending high. makki seems to sense this, letting out a hungry groan that vibrates against your soaked pussy, resonating throughout your body and urging you to cum.

when mattsun leans down to suck on your tits, the wet sensation of his mouth latching onto your hardened nipples melts into the feeling of makki’s sucking desperately at your clit, and just like that you’re cumming, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through your body and making your head spin as you gush all over makki’s face, wanton moans and strings of curses falling from your lips uncontrollably.

even as you ride out the crest of your orgasm, you can still feel the echoes of your high reverberating through your body with every thump of your heart.

“fuck, that was hot,” makki sighs, out of breath and as he detaches himself from your cunt, face smeared with your juices. “how y’doin, y/n?”

“hahh—i… ah…” you struggle to form coherent words through your breathless panting, mattsun’s littering of wet kisses up your breast and collarbone doing nothing to help you collect your thoughts.

“aww, our sweet girl’s already cock drunk,” mattsun coos, almost menacingly sweet, “and we haven’t even put ‘em in yet.”

“mmm,” makki hums as you feel him shift beneath you again, “maybe we should change that.”

you let out a shuddered sigh at their words, your neglected hole fluttering with excitement at the prospect of being filled. your brain is buzzing with endless thoughts and sensations that tangle and fuse into one another, unable to separate the euphoria of the trip from the bliss of being pleasured by two men at once.

you feel someone’s thumb is brushing against your bottom lip, and without thinking you begin to suckle at it, earning a chuckle from the dark-haired man at your side. suddenly, the tip of his thumb is replaced by two thick fingers pressing past your lips. your tongue swirls around the digits without hesitation.

“need something in your mouth that bad, huh?” issei muses, his voice raspy and hot against the shell of your ear. suddenly, he’s licking a slow, wet stripe up your neck as you whine in response, overwhelmed by the multitude of sensations, soon joined by the tickle of makki’s laughter as he teasingly drags his lips across your chest and abdomen.

“i can help with that, sweetheart,” he utters into your skin, peering up at you with half-lidded eyes before leaning back on his elbows, the strain of his cock more than visible through his underwear. you’re not sure exactly when he stripped down, but you’re too high and ravenous to care.

issei removes his fingers from your mouth as he moves to situate himself behind you, rubbing the drool-slicked digits over one of your nipples in the process. you gasp as the cool air hits your hardened bud, the sharp contrast in temperature making your head spin.

your breath only deepens when you tug down the waistband of makki’s underwear to free his length, flushed and dripping with precum already. you find yourself mesmerized by the red, glistening tip, eyes swimming with lust as your gaze travels down the slightly curved shaft to his plump & round balls.

“gonna keep staring all night?” the light-haired man says with a sleazy grin. your eyes flicker up to his mischievously.

“you’re the one who got this worked up just from eating me out,” you tease back as you lean down, wrapping a hand around his shaft.

makki doesn’t even have time to retort before you take one of his balls into your mouth, cutting himself off with a stifled groan as you begin to stroke him at the same time. you suddenly feel a pair of large hands gripping your hips and pulling them upwards, your pliant body surrendering to his touch with ease.

your ass is in the air now, messy, throbbing cunt on full display while you lap at makki’s balls, and you can feel mattsun’s hands kneading at the flesh of your cheeks, spreading them apart to admire your wetness. you arch back into his touch, and you can hear a hungry growl from behind you as mattsun watches your hole flutter around nothing.

you let your tongue glide along the underside of makki’s shaft, his head lolling back with a groan as you reach the head. the sounds he makes when you finally take the tip into your mouth are like music to your ears, and you can hardly control yourself before pushing him further and further past your lips until the head of his cock bumps against the back of your throat. makki’s noises are unrestrained as you begin to bob your head up and down, moaning like crazy and spurring you on as you increase your pace.

you suddenly feel a glob of something warm and wet fall onto the lips of your exposed pussy, but you hardly even have time to process before mattsun’s cock is pressing past your folds, the tip alone already stretching you wide.

you keen around makki’s cock, the vibrations sending a surge of pleasure throughout his body that causes his hips to buck up into your mouth. a hand flies to your head as if to steady himself, breathing ragged as his fingers intertwine in your hair, the tug against your scalp only adding to the sensation of mattsun stretching you out on his cock as he pushes into you slowly, the ache of his thickness slightly painful, but so, so satisfying.

“that’s a good girl,” you hear his voice strain from behind you, “takin’ me so well, fuck.”

you can feel his words reverberate in your core as he keeps going, savoring every ridge and vein of his cock dragging along your walls and splitting you open. a guttural sound spills from your throat as he bottoms out, the delicious press of his cock against your cervix nearly mind-numbing. you feel makki’s fist tighten in your hair, another moan falling from his lips as you continue sucking him off.

mattsun pauses for a few seconds to let you adjust to his size, but when he finally moves, it’s with an abrupt snap of his hips. the sudden motion jolts you forwards and nearly causes you to gag on the cock that’s in your mouth, and you yelp at the sharp pang of pain mixed with pleasure. issei doesn’t let up, gradually increasing the pace of his pistoning cock while you struggle to take makki’s down your throat. your vision is going fuzzy, eyes watering as the pleasure and pain meld together into a confusing yet exhilarating ecstasy.

“mmm, look at you, princess,” mattsun hums, “you like choking on makki’s cock while i fuck you? yeah?”

you can barely even whimper in response with your mouth stuffed with cock, already feeling your next orgasm approaching. your head is spinning from the overwhelming range of sensations, drool beginning to leak down your chin while mattsun keeps pounding into you, the rhythmic sound of his hips skin slapping against yours underscoring the breathy whines coming from makki’s throat.

“oh fuck,” the light-haired man practically mewls, his breathing heavy and labored, “m’gonna cum soon. fuck.”

you glance up at him through your lashes, attempting to signal your consent through your gaze. the sight of you peering up at him with your lips stretched around his cock is all makki needs to fall over the edge, letting out a loud string of moans and curses as his cum spills down your throat.

you hardly even taste the bitterness as you swallow it all down, too high and dizzy and distracted by your own impending release as issei keeps railing into you, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every plunge of his cock into your drooling hole. makki’s lewd cries only spur you on, your brain clouding with pleasure as mattsun’s pace increases, no doubt approaching his own high as well.

the angle of his thrusts changes ever-so-slightly, just enough to hit that perfect, spongy spot deep inside you and sending your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave of euphoria. makki’s spent cock falls from your mouth as you cry out in ecstasy, incoherent babbles spilling from your lips as mattsun fucks you through your climax, his pace unrelenting as he chases his own high.

you can feel tears spilling down your cheek, the overstimulation nearly too much for you as issei continues pounding into your abused cunt. soon enough, though, his grunts and shallow breaths get louder, his hips stuttering to a halt as he releases inside you with a long and breathy groan.

there is silence between the three of you for a moment, save for the sound of your heavy breaths as you each regain your composure. the sweat on your skin is still warm, minds buzzing blissfully with the high of both your climaxes and the drugs.

“fuck,” makki exhales, finally breaking the silence.

you start giggling uncontrollably again, still situated between the two men in a less-than-compromising position that you’re well aware of, but too fucked out to be embarrassed about. your breath hitches as mattsun slides himself out of you, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the sudden emptiness.

“you seemed like you enjoyed yourself, princess,” he purrs as you collapse onto your back, body feeling more rubbery and slack than ever. a dreamy grin adorns your face as you hum affirmingly.

“yeah, i did,” you sigh. makki’s fingers affectionately toy with your hair as your head rests against his thigh, pushing aside the strands stuck to your sweat-sheened forehead, and you instinctively nuzzle into his touch. “why didn’t we do this sooner?”

the two boys pause to share a look.

“you never asked,” they answer in unison.

“pff—“ you nearly snort at their response, “wait, does that mean you—“

“we’ve wanted to fuck you for a while now, yeah,” makki states, straightforward and unfiltered, “never thought we’d get to do it together—but hey, i’m not mad about it,” he adds, glancing over to mattsun, who answers with a simple nod.

“oh my god,” you lament in disbelief, throwing an arm across your face as you devolve into quiet laughter.

it’s honestly pretty hilarious—all the “platonic” flirtation between you & your two hot best friends, the dirty comments and teasing and the pushing of boundaries, and it took a collective shrooms trip for you to finally cross that line. and now, on the other side of it, you wonder what the fuck took you all so long.

through your amusement, it takes you a moment to notice the way issei stares practically spellbound between your legs, splayed open carelessly while he watches his cum drip from your pussy in thick, pearly rivulets.

out of pure curiosity, you reach down to feel its consistency, swirling the creamy substance around before collecting it on your fingertips to stare at. you don’t even realize that you’ve pressed your fingers to your lips until you’ve smeared cum across your bottom lip, mattsun practically gawking at the sight.

“fuck, y/n, you’re gonna make me hard again,” he chuckles.

“shit, man,” makki gripes, “i’m already hard again from watching her cum on your cock.”

you turn your head to look, and sure enough, his dick is already twitching upwards as the blood rushes back into it. you find your mouth watering.

despite the workout you just had taking care of the two men, your find yourself remaining strangely energetic—still thrumming with a delighted sort of excitement, no doubt a result of the psychedelics coursing through your system—not to mention the dull ache of desire still emanating from your core.

“do you wanna keep going?” you ask.

this catches both of their attentions, eyes widening as their gazes snap to yours.

“you for real?” mattsun asks in disbelief.

“i mean, we already fucked,” you reply plainly, “and we’ve still got a while until the trip’s over. besides,” you add, taking hold of both their hands as your eyes flicker between the two criminally attractive men you get to call your friends, “we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”