#who opened up *entire worlds for him* that he held onto even as he struggled to be something he wasn't

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Girl help I’m getting emotional about how much Munkustrap admires Gus the Theatre Cat again. 

[tubatwo]

workaholic - kang taehyun

summary: doing soobin a favor leads to a night alone with your boss... who you just so happen to be crushing on

pairing: gn reader x kang taehyun

genre: fluff; 1.6k words

a/n: maybe in a dream world a boss would let you take all the hours you wanted LOL but let’s just pretend~

some would call you a workaholic, but you simply called it living. there was no such thing as “working too hard”. you liked having money, and you didn’t dislike your job. especially as long as you got to see a certain someone. a certain someone who may also play a teensy tiny part in the reason why you enjoy working so much.

maybe that certain someone was your boss.

who you definitely did not have a crush on.

nope…

the door to ‘kang cafe’ chimes as your coworker soobin walks in, halfway through the process of putting his apron on. “y/n! you’re here already?” he asks while opening a drawer that held all of the staff name tags and important keys. 

“yup,” you nod, “i’m working day shifts this week since i’m a little ahead on schoolwork.” you had been working your ass off teaching yourself the material since your professors proved themselves to be absolutely useless. going to class in the mornings only wasted your time and frustrated you further, so you decided to switch up your schedule a little. 

there’s a hint of disappointment and guilt in soobin’s eyes, his fingers still fumbling his name tag around, desperately trying to attach it to his apron. “I was gonna ask if you could cover my night shift tomorrow…” he whines slightly. “I can’t ask you to work a full day…”

“huh? you won’t be here?” you ask. soobin shakes his head before a shy, proud smile covers his face. “nope, I happen to have a very special date,” he responds before loudly groaning, “ah, this stupid thing!” you laugh at the sight of him still struggling to get his name tag on.

“here let me..” you reach over to help the clumsy boy while giving him a reassuring smile, “and don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, I was gonna take some extra hours anywa–”

your words are interrupted by the sound of the back room closing and footsteps approaching. you both look over to see your boss, taehyun, looking at the two of you with a startled face. the sight of you and soobin, close proximity, your hands laying on soobin’s chest. he quickly clears his throat before returning to his usual chill persona.

“okay one, sorry for interrupting whatever this is,”

“um, they were just fixing my na–”

“and two, y/n, what are you talking about?” he looks at you, a glint of confusion in his eyes as he completely ignores the boy next to you. 

your hands finally release from soobin’s nametag as you turn to fully face your boss, trying your absolute hardest not to scan his entire body. what was someone so attractive and close to your age even doing owning a coffee shop like this? I mean, you know he’s slightly older. graduated too. but shouldn’t he be the manager at a best buy or something? better yet, working a modeling job? 

stupid kang taehyun.

stupid kang taehyun and his stupid black tee that just so happens to be tightly clinging onto his–

“y/n?” taehyun snaps you out of your trance while soobin snickers to himself behind you, pretending to make himself busy with a random cup.

“huh?” you ask, completely dumbfounded and a little embarrassed. 

“why do you need more hours? you’re already scheduled every day this week.”

oh right. “oh, um, well you guys know me…” you start, “always working...” the chime of the door sounds again as a trio of customers walk in. taehyun gives soobin a look, signaling him to handle the small crowd as he grabs your hand to take you to the backroom. you don’t even have time to digest what’s happening or the dizziness that’s suddenly consuming you because taehyun immediately continues his light scolding.

“y/n, I know i’m your boss but i’m not a shitty one,” he says with a sad look, “I know you still have classes, so you don’t have to worry too hard about the cafe, okay?”

“no, I promise it’s okay! I don’t mind helping you, really.” you explain, quickly shaking your head, “it could be busy too and I know the feeling of having to handle it alone…” taehyun sighs at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you can’t really point out. at least not until his next words:

“ah, you’re too sweet to me, what am I gonna do with you?” 

your eyes widen, blinking quickly as you mentally remind yourself to scream into your pillow about this later. how do you even respond? why was he looking at you like that? maybe you’re overthinking. does he talk to soobin this way?! 

“um… g-give me a promotion?” you joke, trying to distract yourself from whatever just happened. 

…

“alright, get back to work.”

“are you absolutely positively sure you’re okay with taking my shift?” soobin asks for the hundredth time over the phone. 

“yes, soobin, now please go get ready before I punch you for making your date wait.” after a few more minutes of bickering (and lots of complaining from soobin’s end), you end the call. you guess you could say the angels were on your side since it was extremely quiet tonight. since there weren’t many customers, taehyun had excused himself to run a few errands. he told you to call him if a large crowd ever showed up. but they didn’t. only a few customers here and there. you spent most of your time scrolling through tiktok and seeing if there was anything you could restock. 

you start trying to remember if you restocked the toilet paper already before your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door chime. you look up to see your boss, dressed in a different black tee, looser this time, and a pair of sweatpants. 

great. 

“taehyun? you’re back already?” you ask, trying your hardest to keep yourself composed. 

“mhm, I finished my errands a while ago, just went home to get into some comfortable clothes if that’s okay with you.”

“oh, no it’s okay!” you shake your head, “never thought i’d uh– see my boss in sweatpants but here we are.” taehyun lets out a light chuckle before joining you behind the front counter. he pulls a fancy notebook out of the drawer and begins writing inside. whatever it is, it’s probably business owner things since it looks quite important. 

“so, uh, do you know what was so important for soobin tonight?” he asks, eyes still locked on the paper.

“he’s on a date tonight~” you respond, slightly exaggerating your words in a teasing manner. taehyun’s hand freezes and his eyes immediately shoot up to look at you. “a date?” he questions. you nod, a bit confused at his reaction.

“but I thought you two…” he trails off while looking somewhere else. anywhere else but you. 

your eyes widen in disbelief. soobin? you? and soobin? I mean sure, the guy is handsome, but he was like an annoying brother more than anything. “huh?! no– no, me and soobin are just friends!” 

…

“ah, that’s a relief…”

you freeze. taehyun was a good-looking guy. you’ve witnessed customer after customer try to flirt with him multiple times but he usually didn’t go along with it. instead, he would give a blunt answer that would leave you snickering in the background. 

but with you, things were different. it started with small compliments on your performance, then your personality, then maybe one or two about how you did your hair that day. then it turned into long glances from afar and warm smiles. and now, it’s these comments that he keeps making. comments that are making you feel like you’re one more word away from exploding.

taehyun was silent for a while, taking a moment to find the right words. “actually, i’ve been meaning to tell you something, and I hope you don't mind me being honest.” turning to give your full attention to him, you nod and wait for him to continue.

“over time, i’ve come to realize that I really really like you, y/n. not just as my employee, but as a person too. you bring so much joy to this place, I can't help but feel drawn to you."

his words leave you in shock, your mouth gaped and your hands sweaty. you can’t even come up with anything to say, but he wasn’t finished yet. 

“and you work so hard. so hard to the point where it leaves me conflicted. because sometimes I wish you would just give yourself a break, but I also wake up every morning excited to see you again…” 

“i’m sorry if this is crossing the line, and I understand whatever decision you decide to make after this. I appreciate the relationship we had, no matter what happens."

you smile warmly, taking a few steps closer to taehyun, making him flustered in the process. you reach out to grab his hands and rub them with your thumb. ”I really really like you too, tae, you have no idea.” 

taehyun smiles widely at your confession and your nickname for him before hiding his face in your neck, letting out one of his famous cute noises. “oh? who knew my boss was such a softie?” you let out playfully. “don’t tell soobin.” he whispers, making you laugh. taehyun removes himself from your neck to cherish the sight of your smile, one of his hands reaching up to rest on your cheek.

“is this okay, darling?” 

“more than okay.”

you both lean in to finally press your lips together. the kiss is soft and sweet, filled with the unspoken words you two had been sharing through glances and gestures. as the kiss becomes deeper, your arms wrap around his neck loosely and his arms wrap around your waist to pull you even closer. the two of you are so wrapped up in each other that you don’t even hear the familiar chime of the door.

“guess who just had the worst date eve– OH MY GOD”

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Sleep Well Pet

Astarion X Y/N - drabble - 927 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: injury to reader, descriptions of injury, blood, arguing, fainting, confessions, Astarion being sweet

-----------------

Astarion paced back and forth outside Shadowheart’s tent. Her and Gale doing their best to heal you after Orin slashed your side open. It was a deep gash, the blood that spilled out of it looked almost black. Astarion saw bone and knew the laceration could be fatal. The battle finished quickly, he rushed to you. Catching your head just before it hit the ground. Your vision was doubled and Astarion sounded far away. You watched the world around you blur and fade, the last thing you saw was Astarion’s hands covered in blood. 

You woke up and heard the sounds of the night. Grasshoppers, the chirps of bats, the bonfire crackling. You tried to get up, immediately groaning as you felt stitches in your side stretch uncomfortably. You lifted your shirt up, the gash was as long as your forearm. From your last rib to just barely past your hip bone. At least she used a sharp sword, making the gash nice and clean. You looked around the tent, you had been put in Astarion’s tent. Confusion filled you, sure you were friends, maybe even something more after your little romp in the clearing but you had no reason to be resting in his tent. The flap to his tent brushed open, your eyes found his. The tent remained silent.

“Help me up.” you said, struggling to even sit up.

“What?” Astarion said, kneeling next to you trying to keep you in place.

“I’m not staying in your tent.” you struggled against him for a moment before looking at his face, trying to see what he was so worked up about. 

“Really? That’s your concern? You almost died!” he shouted, standing and walking away from you with frustration. 

“Astarion, please let's not do whatever this is.” you said struggling to your knees, working up the motivation to stand. 

“Is it so difficult to hear that I’m worried about you?.” he said with venom in his voice. 

You used the stool next to his bed to stand, hand immediately coming to your wound. Your head was spinning, your hand felt wet. You looked down, seeing blood cover your palm. You looked at Astarion who had an angry look for a moment. It vanished instantly when you stumbled backwards, he caught you. Laying your unconscious self back onto his bedroll. He lifted your shirt, looking at the five busted stitches out of…. 28. Your bleeding was steady. He held a clean rag to your side. He poured an elixir of pain on the wound, numbing it. The last thing he wanted was you waking up mid stitch. He gingerly stitched you back up. He put a soothing salve on the stitches before wrapping your entire waist in gauze. He stayed next to you, watching you sleep. He knew why he was worried. He had known since you and him shared that night in the clearing. He had grown to like everything about you, but did an excellent job of acting aloof. He didn’t know how you felt, he couldn’t read you like everyone else.

-------------------

Your eyes rolled open sleepily, your side felt better but you could feel the heat coming from it. Astarion was meditating next to you, leaning against the pole holding the tent up. He always looked so pretty, you thought. You lifted your shirt, surprised to see you were patched back up. Your eyes scanned over Astarion, landing on his bloody hands. He had helped you. You didn’t mean to come off so mean earlier, but you had to be. The last few weeks he was all you could think of. After your lust filled night you developed, begrudgingly, feelings for him. The pale elf conquered every thought in your mind. You wanted him in every way. But you knew Astarion well enough to know what you two had was transactional. 

“I wished you knew how much I like you.” you whispered, fingers caressing the back of his hand. You stretched as much as your wound would allow before closing your eyes to get some rest. 

Astarion peeked his eyes open after a few moments, listening to your heart beat even out. “I know little love… and I feel the same.” he said, pulling the blanket up higher. He tucked you in, noticing how you nuzzled into his hand as he smoothed the blanket out and brushed you hair away from your face. He felt his heart swell. 

He gently leaned down and kissed your cheek, “Sleep well pet.” 

He went to walk out of the tent before he heard a faint, “Stay?” he looked you over, convinced he was hearing things. Your hand was stretched out, waiting for him. Your eyes barely open, you felt his hand slide into yours. “Sorry I was mean.” you whispered.

Astarion smiled, laying down next to you, caressing your hand. “So you like me, huh?” he asked.

Your eyes shot open and you looked at him with panic on your face. Astarion chuckled before he pressed a kiss to your lips softly. You hesitated but kissed him back after a moment. You opened your mouth to speak but Astarion beat you to it. “Rest now, we can talk in the morning. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek, kissing you one final time. You nodded at him, closing your eyes. Astarion wrapped himself around you carefully, avoiding your wound. Sighing with content, you slowly drifted off. Listening to Astarion whisper praises into your ear, and his strong arms holding you.

--------------

Naboo's Note:

Hellooooooo :) just a little something that crossed my mind. I'm really loving writing for all of you <3 thank you for all the likes, comments, requests, and reblogs! See you all again soon! XOXOXO

[kombuuuu]

He groans, the wet sound suddenly turning into a loud hiss, followed by deep breathing and a *thud*, as if something had landed in some sort of thick liquid. Miguel speaks, but his voice is more hoarse than before. “I just.. I-“ There is another hiss, followed by a sharp, high whine that Miguel tries to speak through. “I really need to talk to you *mi amor..* Just talk, you know?”

i can work with this anon.

—

“Miguel.. I can’t—,” You stuttered, tripping over your feet as you stumbled back. His left hand was gripping his chest, wet gasps breaching his blood stained lips.

“I can’t do this anymore!”

He stumbled against the alley wall, right hand dragging to steady himself, a slight limp in his walk.

“C’mon, baby please. Just—,” He begged you, closer now. Your feet had stopped moving, breath held. You wanted to run, to get away from him. This man was dangerous.

“,—Listen, yeah? Just listen, please Mi Cielito.”

He reached towards you with bloodied fingers, wet hands grasping your face. Smearing your smoothened skin in another man’s blood.

You closed your eyes and near sobbed. A heavy feeling in your chest as your squinted your eyes shut, not wanting to face the monster before you. Because you knew he’d be so so pretty.

“Mirame.”

You couldn’t, you couldn’t do it.

“[Name],” He whimpered your name and the sound that followed could’ve been mistaken if not for the thick smog of iron filling your lungs.

“,Open your eyes, baby.”

You listened, the pure sight of him — haloed in red light, bathing in its colour like it coated his very being. Like the very shade was fine tuned to compliment his warm skin.

“I can’t going like this, Miguel.”

“You can’t—,” He mumbled, eyes rolling back at the pain before he grunted and righted himself, hand sliding from your face down your arms and onto your hips, using you as leverage against gravity.

He was basically crowing onto you, whining and crying at the prospect of you leaving, and the slash across his chest.

“,..Won’t leave me.”

“I’m trying—,”

“You won’t.” His voice was former now, eyes glowering down at you while his claws gripped your hips gently. A firm hold but never pressing hard, never testing the limits. He’d never give you a reason to leave.

His head dipped lower, and his left claws drew to the buttons of your shirt, toying with them just enough for them to almost snap.

“Treat you s’ well, you gonna leave?” He dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. Right hand hooking into the waist band of your pants. Your breath escaped you and you stuttered out a solemn reply.

“You scare me.”

He groaned, hands twitching and leaning even further into you. You couldn’t see, but a dopey smile graced his pain-worn face.

“I’d kill worlds for you. Universes.”

And he wasn’t lying, he’d lay a deathbed to anyone who so hurt you. Destroying entire worlds just to keep you within arms reach. You wanted to hate him for it.

Fear overrun you like silence overrun the streets, quiet for lack of people. Too late in the night for anyone to see his invasive form carved over yours.

Miguel smiled against your shoulder, canines dragging against the junction between your neck and shoulder. He grazed his fangs just to a scrape, letting your blood prickle at your skin before licking it clean, relishing in your stuttered breath and sudden shivering.

He shifted, a soft cry of pain leaving his lips once more before he slumped. Near dead weight on top of you, you struggled to hold him up while he was almost passed out.

Your apartment was right there, what once an escape, now a return. You could help him there.

You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t even have thought about it. But you had, and now the thought won't leave your head.

"Please, Mi Sol."

He stays in your bed, curling up against you. Still smelling like copper and him. You love it and he's hurting you.

You cry when patching him up, knowing this would happen.

And it had, like it had every other time.

[officerrrfriendly]

The Taken, First Strike.

stranger things conjuring!AU, priest!steve harrington x demonologist/clairvoyant!fem reader.

With an abundance of reluctance, your feet found themselves taking brave steps one after another as they eventually met a birch-wood doorway. But it wasn't any ordinary doorway, inside sat her. The frail and misfortunate Maxine Mayfield, who you still referred to as such- out of a habit of profession- much despite her insistence on "just calling her max, she doesn't go by Maxine anymore."

And in that moment, all of your previous doubts from earlier flooded back into your brain, before you could give into them and turn back, she spoke out. She called your name, a glint of hope present in her tone with some desperation, too.

You sigh heavily to try and alleviate all the weight you suddenly feel pressing against your chest before you eventually reply.

"Hi, Maxine," you mutter, smiling softly before slowly approaching the vacant armchair beside her, full of funky patterns and colours. She sat timidly, her hands held onto one another whilst fingers from each hand wandered over freckles on the backs of her hands she had forgotten she had. Her hair was shorter now, bobbed and fell just below her ears but she was still so beautiful. You tried your hardest to avoid looking into the milky white orb of her left eye and the thick bandage that covered the gaping wound on her right.

If you thought about that night for any longer, you thought you would just about lose your mind- so you shook your head of protruding thoughts and focussed on the topic of importance here, which was the girl beside you.

She laughs, and this time it wasn't humourless or dry but it was real, amusing. "How many times have I told you to just call me Max, hm?" she pokes, she sits further up in her seat as you laugh along with her.

"If I had to guess...I'd say only about 100 million times," you say, with a sigh. Your answer makes her smile for a moment but then she sighs, something is clearly bothering her.

Unexpectedly, without needing encouragement to open up, she speaks. "No one's visited in a while, Lucas...he finds it hard coming here, seeing me like this. He's never said it- but..." she huffs, lowering her head down to the floor. "I know that every time he's here with me he's just stuck in that night, what happened to Billy...me. Even though I can't see him, I can sense it, he's terrified to be around me and I hate it. I hate it because I love him so much...do you have somebody like that?" As the forbidden question leaves her tongue it triggers thoughts you had wished to never think about again, you think of him- and how neither of you haven't seen or spoken to each other since that very night.

Your head shakes, wishing to be done with the thought of Father Steve, and how you've treated him since after the night of July 4th 1983...at the exorcism of Billy Hargrove.

"I'd rather not answer that question... Honey, tell me more about what's been going on with Lucas!"

.•.•.•

You wipe desperately at your tears as they fall on your way to your ocean-blue Austin Maestro car. Your fingers struggle to keep up with the vast amount that began to flood out of your tear ducts.

You harboured a considerably brave face - despite Max not being able to notice it- throughout the entire hour after Max had asked you that god-forsaken question to which you had no answer.

She had talked about Billy, her nightmares, PTSD, her love life and even her mom running off to the other side of the world with her new young boyfriend and a bottle of Jack...she lived a sad life, one you had hoped to someday be able to save her from. You wanted her to come and live in your miniature, yet cosy townhouse you had inherited from your late father Richie, god bless his soul.

Seeing her so frail and lonely, woke a sadness inside you that hadn't long gone away, however that sadness also carried a fuckton of guilt. The guilt of knowing that if you had actually, fully prepared for what you were getting into, perhaps you could have saved Billy Hargrove, Max's eyesight (and her sanity), along with her family.

CLONK, you pull on the door handle to the driver's side door and hop inside before taking one last pitiful glance at the hospice. "I'll be back for you...Max," you mutter.

You turn the rusty key into the ignition. The engine fires to life.

.•.•.•

Days had passed and now you were sitting, pondering in your office inside your humble abode. Max hadn't left your mind since your previous visit and you were thinking through the idea that has floated into your noggin and is actively refusing to leave.

A THUD snaps you out of your daydreams and you quickly glance up from your oak-stained desk to see the culprit who dropped four thick textbooks in front of you, stacked on top of one another. You groan when you realise that it's just Robin, the nosy librarian-now-assistant with a child-like grin on her face. 'Oh, she's up to something' you thought, rolling your eyes before asking- "What is it now, Roberto?" you ask, intrigued as you sit up in your seat.

"I think I may have a case for you, Psychic Sally." she grins smugly, pulling a picture of a young boy out of her pocket.

Now that caught your attention.

"Tell me everything."

And she does, she tells you about how a 'Joyce Byers' had called several times today whilst you were out buying groceries begging to speak with you, for your help and assistance as she believes something is gravely wrong with her 11-year-old boy Will and has been ever since they moved into their house two weeks ago with her fiance, Bob.

She claimed a fever, a change in behaviour, sickness and bruising randomly appearing all over his body seemingly coming from nowhere. OH! And not to mention whatever 'entity' is wreaking havoc among them is causing a putrid, rotten smell to linger throughout the entire house...and her dog suddenly died the first night living there after it refused to enter the home.

You were going to visit the Byers' residence...but not alone.

You had somebody to visit.

"Call Father Steve and tell him I need to speak with him immediately, please Robin," you demand, sighing nervously. as your right foot begins to shake uncontrollably under the table.

"Are you sure that's a...I...uhhh-yes! yes, I will go and do that for you right now, if that's...are you sure that's what you want to do because you know I can totally-" she rambles, her voice high-pitched and unsure.

You can't find words so you nod repeatedly, sporting a polite smile and motion at the door. She nervously laughs, gulping "Ha ha ha ha, well! I am just gonna - yep! Haha! Going," she begins to back out of the room pointing to the door, "going..." she reaches the handle before forcibly chuckling, "and gone!" she shuts the door and you can hear her scold "What the hell is wrong with you?...freak!! god...how do I still have this job?"

.•.•.•

"God...how do I still have this job?" Robin questions, huffing embarrassedly. She treks down the terracotta-painted hallway, full of plants and pictures of who Robin had learned to have been your late father. She had found that out accidentally on the first day of moving in with you when she asked, "Is that your husband?" which sparked a very awkward, tense conversation that you both had very quickly laughed off.

She had reached the coffee-coloured door with the cream handle and twisted it, opening the door to her room- filled with posters of Molly Ringwald, Phoebe Cates, Lisa Bonet, Madonna you name it and she had it!!

Full of purpose she sits on her side of the bed, cross-legged and grabs the telephone from her bedside table and dials Father Steve's number carefully before knawing on her lip and impending an answer.

The phone rings a good three times before there's an answer.

"Hello?"

A/N - Hi babies!! how was that?! I know it wasn't the longest but its just to give the story a good push before we really dive into the plot and have some fun. Poor Max :(( SHE DESERVES BETTER!! and poor Chester, such a sweet dog.

LMK how you found this chapter!!

current taglist: @stveharringtn

comment to be added loves :))

[mizutenshii]

BEHIND THOSE HAZEL EYES.

— pairing ; dazai osamu x gn!reader

— summary ; dazai treats life like a joke but you know what lies behind his mask – a broken man who struggles to find a reason to live.

— cw ; probably ooc dazai ( i have yet to watch bsd and i'm writing this off of clips i saw ), comfort, fluff, dazai is a liar

dazai osamu was a peculiar one.

on the surface, he never seemed to take anything seriously, treating life as if it were one big joke to laugh at. he was nice and cheerful, waving off others' concerns as if they were nothing. not that anyone was worried; practically everyone around fell for his act. he was very convincing, after all, and you knew you'd believe him too if you didn't know better.

dazai was a keen actor, pulling along everyone into thinking he was a walking sunshine without clouds that shed their shadows upon his world.

however, he wasn't enjoying it in the slightest. his laughter and giggles were empty, void of glee that usually came with jokes. rather, his attitude portrayed the exact opposite. dazai hated being alive, and would rather end it as soon as he had the chance. he struggled to find a purpose, a reason to live, surrounding himself with wrongs to fill the void he felt.

a broken soul pretending to dance on rainbows. lonely in the depths of his despair, swallowed by gloom and held down by the invisible strings of depression.

well, until he found you.

someone who managed to look past his sunny facade, who saw what really went on behind those hazel eyes. dazai can fool anyone, anyone but you. he wondered, how come you were so perceptive? why weren't you falling for his act? and most importantly, why was he so happy about that?

"dazai, you're doing it again," you pointed out as the man was about to say something with a perfectly manufactured smile – again.

"doing what?" he innocently asked. he made a face, feigning ignorance while he knew very well what he was doing.

"pretending," you sighed, lightly flicking his forehead as if to scold him lightly. "you know you don't have to put up an act around me, right?"

dazai was quick to drop his grin, shoulders slumping and his entire demeanor just... deflating. the spark in his eyes went, and what remained was a tired man who gazed at you with utter exhaustion.

"heh, it's pretty pointless with you, hm?" he smiled tiredly.

"yes, it is," you nodded. you were done scolding him and opened your arms. "c'mere, dazai. it's okay to be not okay."

there was absolutely nothing left of his sunshine act as he waddled over to you, stumbling into your embrace without hesitating. his forehead dropped onto your shoulder, strands of his messy brown hair tickling your skin. he exhaled deeply, his tense body relaxing in your arms. the full-grown man tossed his entire weight upon you as he urged you backward ever so gently until the two of you plummeted down to the couch together. dazai sat atop you, wrapped comfortably in your embrace like a big baby.

you held him close, as close as you were physically able to. his weight pushed you down into the pillows uncomfortably but it was okay. what mattered most to you was dazai, who now finally showed his vulnerable side around you. with you, he didn't have to act, to pretend, to mask his true feelings. he trusted you, he felt safe with you, so you got to see a side of dazai osamu no one had ever seen.

his true self.

ever since meeting you, his life had gotten a bit of meaning. ever since meeting you, he stopped doing stupid things to end his miserable life. because those moments he relished in your embrace made all the pain worth it. they filled the void in his heart, even if it was just a little.

the key, you ask? love.

the storms behind his hazel eyes lost a bit of their velocity, as you brought peace to his turmoil. even though the sunlight he cast upon his life was fake, your rays of light touched his path for real, illuminating the shadows in your wake. slowly but surely, you were dragging him out of his misery. would it be enough? only time would tell.

dazai osamu was a peculiar one, but you understood him so well. and he was grateful for that.

mizutenshii — O2.1O.2O23 — masterlist

[kuailiangshellfire]

every road that i've been on.

When I was a boy, I was stung by a scorpion.

It lit on my blood on fire, turning me into a restless, drooling mess. Twitching in my bed before stiffening with a seizure. The doctors within the Lin Kuei had written me off, condemning me to death before my seventh birthday. Bi-Han had been indifferent the entire time, keeping his distance from me, like it had been a disease I contracted. We'd never been close, him and I, so it betrayed nothing when he stayed away. Tomas, from what I heard, was a wreck. He'd beg Father to let him see me, but he had insisted of keeping him away as well. To keep the thought of me alive and well in his mind, just in case I had perished. Father had been getting ready to bury his youngest son.

In the end, on the fifth day, I prevailed.

I awoke, covered in stale sweat and drool from the night before. Standing up, I walked out, scaring the doctors of the Lin Kuei. It had been different after that.

Despite recovering from the rest of my symptoms, the fire in my blood never receded.

It scared me. I had dreamed of taking up the mantle Sub-Zero after our father, perhaps before Bi-Han, as much as that had been a pipe dream. It was dashed after scorpion sting. Holding out my palms, the fire manifested itself. Bright and warm. I gasped, trying to hold in the tears. I sobbed once, and it was all over. It spread up my arms, and my panic caused me to flail about, trying to put it out. It did nothing but spread it to the walls of my quarters.

The room was engulfed quickly. Thick, black smoke filled the room, my lungs, causing me to cough. The tears I struggled to keep inside left me blind as they poured down my cheeks. I fell to the floor, coughing. I was barely aware of Tomas wrapping his arms around me. Immune to my flames and the smoke, he dragged me outside. I gasped and coughed and clung to him like a lifeline. Sobs began to wrack my body. I almost wanted to push him away, as if I'd burn him if I held on too long. Tomas said nothing. Just held me close.

Half of the Lin Kuei's quarters had to be rebuilt. I kept my head down as Father surveyed the damage. He frowned, displeased at the wreckage. I suppressed a wince. I bit the inside of my cheek, as to keep from crying again. He sighed, and I dug my nails into my palms. Glancing up at him, I was stunned to find that there had been no anger as he looked at me. He looked almost amused. I opened my mouth to ask why, but he turned from me and the question died in my throat.

My survival and the fire earned me the name Scorpion.

Father smiled as he gave me the moniker. The yellow mask feeling heavy as he handed it to me. I swallowed. It tasted like ash on my tongue.

When I placed the it onto my face, I felt like an impostor. A traitor to the Lin Kuei. A clan of cryomancers and I had fire in my veins. I had hoped I'd been a late bloomer. That the ice would manifest itself as it had done for my father and brother. As I watched the fire dance in my palms, I willed it to turn cold. It did not.

Years passed. My dream of being Sub-Zero melted away as ice does around fire. I fought with feelings of jealousy and inadequacy as Bi-Han placed Father's mask onto his face. Tomas squeezed my wrist before joining his side. After a moment, I followed, forcing the feelings back down into the box I kept them in.

The feeling of being an impostor didn't fade. It had only grown. Even as I wore the yellow mask, and the yellow garb my father had made for me, my world felt tilted. I would look in the mirror and see someone else. A stranger, but so familiar. A man I knew like the back of my own hand, but as soon as I'd try and recall his face or name, it would be gone. Touching the mirror, tracing the mask's reflection with a finger. It was on the tip of my tongue, who this person was. I knew him. I knew him.

Tomas started teasing me about it, as he became my confidant. I couldn't tell Bi-Han, so focused on helping the Grandmaster lead the Lin Kuei into greatness. His eyes blatanly focused on the title of Grandmaster. To him, anything else was a distraction, one that we couldn't afford. Still, the thoughts that troubled me were getting increasing harder to ignore. A longing ache in my chest had settled in, becoming almost unbearable as I thought about the unknown man. I was no longer comfortable in my skin and there was something in me calling to seek him out. Find this mysterious stranger that bore the mask on my face.

I just didn't expect to find him as soon as I did.

The Grandmaster had gotten reports from our scouts of enemy activity in one of our outlying villages. One that neither Tomas or I had heard of. Accused to harboring enemies, and them using the village as a base of operations, Tomas and I were the first ones tasked with spying on them over the next few days, with relief coming then. Tomas jokingly complained the entire time we traveled there.

It had been a farming village. A simple life compared to ours. Everyone pitching in, almost like they had been a family. Watching them filled my chest with an unfamiliar longing. Touching my chest, I had no idea where it came from. Tomas looked at me with an odd expression.

“You alright?” He asked.

My tongue felt heavy with the answer. It felt like a lie. Maybe it was. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

Another few days passed and nothing changed. No enemies. No secret armies. Nothing. I began to question why we were here in the first place. I huffed, rubbing my eyes as Smoke shifted next to me. The sun was high overhead, bearing down on us in our makeshift camp. Familiar footsteps behind us were welcoming, asour relief. Back to base for rest, a wash and a decent meal. I was ready to leave this village behind and whatever uncomfortable longing it was bringing me.

“I'm so glad to see familiar faces,” Tomas chuckled.

I shot him a glare. “You tired of seeing my face every day?”

Smoke's eyes crinkled with a smile. “Something like that.”

Bi-Han shook his head at the two of us. “Find anything interesting?”

Smoke stood, stretching. “Not a thing. They're farmers. Seemed to be getting ready for their harvest.”

Bi-Han hummed, low and thoughtful. “Doesn't prove their innocence. The Grandmaster has instructed us to observe for another week. If we observe nothing, we move on. If not, we...”

As I stood, Bi-Han's voice fell away as my eyes landed on a villager. He was a bit older than myself. He held himself differently than the other villagers, almost like he had once been a fighter. At rest, but there was a tension in his shoulders, almost like he was ready for an attack at any point. Trailing after him, a young boy with a small stuffed animal tucked under his arm. The boy was his clone – his son – and warmth filled my chest.

He stopped, picking the boy up and putting him on his shoulders. As they passed down the street, people were greeting him, smiling, waving. Whoever he was, he was well known. Watching them, the warmth spread through me and I found my eyes getting wet. The urge to sob for joy, for happiness was getting overwhelming and I blinked hard and fast to clear my eyes. I bit back the sob that was caught in my throat, but I know I had made a sound, because Smoke's eyes were on me instantly.

He made his way to the town square and familiarity washed over me. A tear escaped down my cheek. Smoke moved closer to me. Watching them, I suddenly couldn't breath, like the mask that was never mine to begin with began to suffocate me. I tore it off and with clarity, I knew. I knew what I had to do.

“Kuai?” My heart was beating so loud in my ears that I almost didn't hear him. My feet started moving. Slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed down the hill towards the village. I heard Tomas calling after me, while Bi-Han roared at me to stop. I didn't care.

I ran into the village at top speed. The man had stopped, placing the boy gently onto the ground. He said something, giving him a smile before his eyes met mine. In them, there was no confusion, no hostility towards the man running at him. Only familiarity and warmth greeted me.

I barreled into him, causing both of us to whirl around as he wrapped his arms around me. I squeezed him tight, burying my face into his neck and inhaling. The scent of pine and freshly fallen snow hit my senses and I gripped him tighter. His nose buried into my hair as we just stood there for a moment. Eons passed and everything was clicking back into place. The man I saw in the mirror, the man I ached for, was here. The clarity that eluded me for as long as I carried the name Scorpion was now a welcomed friend as I gazed at the man who I knew like the back of my own hand. My thumb brushed against his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, before grasping my hand with one of his own. The coolness of it seeped into my skin.

“You have my ice,” I whispered, “Hanzo.”

“And you have my fire,” He returned, “Liang.”

He brought his other hand down, wrapping it around the forgotten mask. Bringing it up into the light, he smiled. “Scorpion.”

My face heated with a blush. He dropped the mask before catching my eyes. The fire in his eyes ignited my own.

Our gaze never broke as our lips met.

(updated 7/30/23, also x-posted on ao3)

[cultofdixon]

Hurting in Silence

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • The Whispers just had enough. Had to show them who they’re messing with…and it only brought pain. It takes a lot to kick someone down, but Daryl couldn’t stand there watching the world crumble while you endured it alone • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / PTSD / Nightmares / Mentions of Self Harm / Scars / Canon Violence

Requested by: Anon

I haven’t slept yet Y/N frowns staring at the ceiling and feeling their stomach growl. Or eaten they sigh slowly sitting up and looking toward the window to find it is still snowing.

They slowly and quietly got up from their bed checking the hall making sure no one was awake before going down to the kitchen. Granted it was just Carol and Lydia in the upstairs part with them, while Daryl kept to himself in the basement.

She’s still breaking cups Y/N frowns seeing the broken glass in the sink knowing it was Carol. They started to think about that day again while cleaning up the pieces.

________

“Siddiq!” Michonne frowns rushing over to her friend’s tied up body as Daryl gave Carol a worried look instantly giving her the same anxious feeling.

“Siddiq where’s Y/N?” Carol frowns watching as he struggled to speak and pointed outward to the horizon making Daryl take lead on approaching while Michonne helped Siddiq up.

As the small group moved forward, Daryl went on a full on sprint the second he spotted Y/N knelt before…

The pikes.

Daryl froze behind them wanting to assess his kid when he realized who were on the stakes. He left their side running to Carol.

“No!” Daryl blocked her view holding his best friend watching the shock turn into sadness instantly. “Just look at me. Just look at me…”

Y/N continued to shake in their place ignoring the pain coursing through their body as they watch Daryl drop to his knees when Carol did. She held onto him trying her best not to break entirely there…

But how could you sit there? Watching this all unfold…knowing damn well—

________

You should’ve done something Y/N suddenly felt pain in their right hand looking down at the blood spilling. “Shit…” it wasn’t smart taking care of the broken glass when their mind is elsewhere. They finished taking the glass out of the sink and into the bin beside them before even caring for the gash on their hand.

The sound of the front door opening and closing rang a bit through the house. But only woke Daryl from his sleep, even if he was sort of already awake when he heard shuffling upstairs. Light sleeper. Dog jumped off his bed before he got up to investigate.

It doesn’t take long for the tracker to find Y/N in the infirmary trying their best to keep quiet given Siddiq is asleep upstairs. Daryl didn’t say a word so he wouldn’t startle them but the fact that they went out of their way to go to the infirmary to get a bandage instead of the bathroom in their place, only concerned him.

Don’t wake Siddiq. Don’t wake Siddiq. Y/N repeated to themselves holding the bandages in its packaging feeling the blood stick. They went toward the door when they locked onto Daryl causing them to gasp a bit. Quick to cover their mouth with their uninjured hand.

Daryl held up his hand with the ‘keep quiet’ sign before getting out of their way to leave the infirmary…and before he could ask question.

“What’re you doing?” He frowns seeing them hide their hand from his gaze. “Let’s clean that up”

“I don’t need—-“

“I know yea don’t need my help, but yea getting it” Daryl scoffs helping Y/N back to their home.

The two were sat at the table in a comfortable silence even if every part of Daryl wanted to ask how it happened. He eventually gets the answer himself but he really wanted to know from them about what happened.

“Mmm…might need stitches.” Daryl frowns not liking the fact that it bled through the first set of bandages. “Stay there” he states going to get the first aid kit they have in their place.

Y/N watched him leave before bringing themselves forward again to stare at the bandage.

________

“Too tight?”

Y/N looks up from their lap with a confused look at Michonne who’s currently redressing their wounds before they leave with the Kingdom folk toward Hilltop and then Alexandria.

“Is it…too tight? I don’t want you to lose feeling in your arms. Should’ve kept you with Siddiq but after what happened…it’s best to keep you with family”

“All of you are my family…” Y/N frowns watching Michonne finish up and before she taped it down, they stopped her from looping once more. To avoid taping it too tight. “…it’s cuz Daryl’s afraid isn’t it?”

“You’re his kid. He doesn’t want to lose you either. He’s afraid of such”

“But it’s my fault…”

Michonne finishes up watching the tears spill from Y/N’s eyes as they couldn’t help it. The sobbing came faster just from that statement and Michonne didn’t hesitate to bring them into her embrace.

“It’s not your fault. Neither yours or Siddiq’s. Both of you didn’t see what was coming” She kept her voice low and she was already a calming figure to Y/N. They knew she wasn’t moving until they were okay.

________

Thank god she wasn’t the only like that

“What are you doing?”

“Setting up the couch?”

“But why” Y/N watches Daryl get himself situated to sleep in the couch for the rest of that night.

Daryl didn’t want to be blunt about it. Didn’t want to scare Y/N off just because he cares and thinks there’s much more to it than cleaning up Carol’s mess.

“Just in case. Can barley hear anything from the basement”

“Fine…” Y/N left him to sleep, returning back to their room to find themselves like how they were earlier.

Laying in bed

Unable to sleep

Staring at the ceiling

And trying really hard to fight that urge.

“He still sleeping on the couch?”

“Yeah”

“That must be annoying” Kelly scoffs finishing up packing the crate the two were asked to fill with rations for their trip to Oceanside. “Connie can be over protective, maybe it’s just that”

“It’s not…and I don’t really know how to talk about it” Y/N frowns taking the crate leaving Kelly to pack it into the wagon.

Right as they left, Connie came up to Kelly tapping her before giving her sister a worried look.

“Y/N is still…going through something” Kelly signs to her sister as Connie looks over to her friend seeing Y/N triple check the bands securing the boxes.

“We’ll keep an eye on them” Connie signs back with a smile of reassurance before going to get her bag on the wagon.

“I know I ain’t coming til later, but mind checking up on Y/N before you leave for your voyage or whatever it is” Daryl asks Carol while she was occupied getting her belongings on her horse. “Carol?”

“They seem fine to me right now, why do I have to check up on them later?” Carol caught Daryl’s annoyed expression instantly as she quickly turns away to avoid what he has to say with it. “Fine pookie”

The ride to Oceanside was quiet with a few murmurs here and there about the plans Aaron and Daryl have drawn up about training. Y/N watches as the scenery went by and felt their anxiety get the best of them whenever a walker would come into view of the fading tree line.

We are the end of the world

You’ll join us eventually

Y/N groans a bit, leaning over the edge of the wagon letting their arms dangle a bit. Trying to focus their mind on something else but hearing that will always eat at them.

That and the sound of Carol sobbing. She lost her son. Her son. Blood didn’t matter or anything. That was her child that she had lost for…wow.

How many times is this going to happen Y/N choked up a bit gripping their head a second before returning back to their seated position staring at the now moving sky. How can I make up for it?

I can’t turn back time and switch places

But god is that all I want to do

The night before Carol was setting off on this fish expedition, she was watching Y/N carefully. Not because Daryl asked her to. Not entirely because Daryl asked her to. But how Y/N went from being awake that day right as the sun rose doing chores given by Oceanside folk to that evening cleaning up after everyone after dinner. They’ve been working all day and night doing everything that was asked and then some. Even got the shipwrecked walker cage more secured until the training day.

Carol took the opportunity to check on them when Y/N took a second to sit. But as she got closer, Y/N just knew someone was approaching and their whole body flinched causing them to fall out their seat.

“Sorry. Sorry, Uhm. Hey Carol” Y/N scrambles up to their feet brushing the dirt off their hands once rising and quickly pulling their sleeves down. “Did you need me to do somethin’ for you before you turn in?”

“You’ve been doing everything, hun. I’m just checking on you” Carol frowns watching them continue to scramble to collect themselves. “Are you alright? I know we…haven’t talked since—-“

“I’m fine. Really.” Y/N smiles reassuring Carol who wasn’t buying it in the slightest but they both knew why neither of them said any more.

________

“You have to stop blaming Y/N. They’re just a kid”

“Seventeen is a fucking adult in this hell. And they got my fucking son killed. They should’ve had his back”

“By laying down their own life? You know how many we found out there and the army they have. They couldn’t have saved us all by themselves” Michonne tried to get to Ezekiel but all he was hearing was excuses through red colored sunglasses. His rage was doing all the talking.

And it wasn’t the only one.

“They should’ve…”

“Carol..”

“They should’ve tried harder”

“Carol listen, Siddiq was also there. He couldn’t have stopped them either—-“

“I DONT CARE ABOUT SIDDIQ. HE HAS A FAMILY, WE FOUND Y/N AS AN ORPHAN” Carol snaps. “THEY DONT HAVE A FUCKING FAMILY TO WORRY ABOUT. NOBODY WOULD MOURN THEM”

There was regret when saying that. Yet as the words fell…Ezekiel regretted everything he said, Michonne stood there shocked at the words that escaped her friend, and Carol watched as Daryl stormed out of the room as he couldn’t believe the words that left her lips.

But when he left the room, all the rage left his body as he dropped to his kneels taking Y/N’s tear stained face into his hands. They were eavesdropping when they should be in bed resting, and every ounce of their body wish they would’ve just listened. Instead of hearing Carol say all of that.

“Hey. Don’t listen to her”

“H-He…” Y/N struggled to just say what they’ve been saying since they survived that night.

________

It should’ve been them.

It really should’ve. Y/N frowns sitting on the dock listening to the ocean and taking in the calmness that the silence brought.

They were unexpectedly joined by the infamous Dog that they thought they weren’t seeing until the morning. But the heavy footsteps that followed the pup’s quick paced ones, made it obvious Daryl drove through the night to get there.

“How yea holding up?”

“Don’t you know cuz you always call on the radio in the morning just to check on me?”

“Mhm. But it’s night now” Daryl smiles hearing their annoyed scoff as he joins them on the edge. Dog immediately moving to their other side resting his head in their lap. “He missed yea. Cried every night at the door”

“He just likes me more because I let him sleep in my bed”

“My bed is a couch. He’s a space hog” Daryl kept his smile hearing them laugh to such, especially when Dog sighed. “Watch Carol go?”

That’s when the mood changed and his smile faded when they turned away but nodded. Daryl frowns turning his attention back to the water.

“Yknow. She’s been through a lot” Daryl starts as Y/N turns to him confused. “Lost her daughter. Lost two more she took in as her own. Lost a son. Hell, thinking back to my shit…if this was a contest, I wouldn’t want to go up against her. This new world took a lot from her and she didn’t know how to expel that maturely. It was all happening and it all sunk in.”

“…D, this is—-“

“Y/N. It’s not your fault”

“But—“

“It was never your fault” Daryl frowns turning to the kid seeing them get lost instantly. “Y/N…what happened was never your fault.”

Y/N brought their gaze back to their lap trying to contain themselves hearing him say that. They choked up on their words again trying so desperately to just repeat it again.

They wanted to inflict pain

Ruin people’s lives

The ones who crossed them

They wanted to take the most important thing to them

And rip it from their grasp

They took you for a reason.

To inflict pain.

On someone close to you.

“It was never your fault, kid” Daryl frowns wrapping his arm around their shoulders feeling Y/N instantly rest their head against his shoulder. “I can’t lose yea. You’re my family. And you don’t have to keep hurting in silence. I’m right here”

I’m right here

[acorrespondence]

@freekicks Oh man I have lots; so many that I’m making this a new post so I don’t clog up that poor person’s replies with 50 messages, haha! Basically, it’s an expansion on the idea that everyone has headcanons/canon details that are absolutely integral to their enjoyment of the story and any transformative works based on it (hard), and headcanons/canon details that they’re fond of but could still get pretty much unaltered enjoyment out of a fic that contradicts them (soft). Obviously all these are just opinions and what I get out of the story isn’t and shouldn’t have to be the same as what anyone else gets out of it.

One thing that sort of falls in the middle of the headcanon/canon divide is Raylan’s age when his mother died. The show contradicts itself on this point several times, and so it’s sort of fungible. I personally find the idea that Raylan’s mother died when he was very young, like younger than Loretta, while it may serve the parallels between them, to be much less compelling than the idea that she died later. It’s just so much more… boring for a character whose mother died when he was ten or so to have a gross misrepresentation of who she was as a person in his mental image of her. It’s much more compelling to me if he held onto that despite direct evidence to the contrary that he was old enough to understand. Of course he’d forget the hatchet story if it happened when he was eight. If it happened when he was eighteen, that opens up a much realer possibility that he just straight up repressed it, which is fascinating. Also, I don’t think it makes sense if he grew up with Helen in the house for the second half of his life there. To me that doesn’t really jive with their current relationship. (And on a less story-driven note, I am fascinated by the idea that, if Raylan’s mother died when he was thirty, he might not have attended her funeral. Because part of him knew it would challenge the version of her he had to remember in order to maintain his black and white perception of the world.)

Obviously, the mine and what it represents is a necessary component (though the time and place less so—my Old Guard au places them in the miners’ strikes of the 30s, and I’ve read a wonderful fic where the mine in question was on a different planet entirely. However, it does have to be placed in Harlan, or whatever approximation of Harlan fits the broader setting). The boys and their relationships with their daddies is another nonnegotiable for me. Specifically, the way they grew up; different times and causes of death for Bo and Arlo can work just as well. If Raylan and Boyd don’t meet until they’re established adults, that immediately kills my interest. Their rich history is so integral to why I’m drawn to the ship in the first place. It’s a hard sell for me to have Boyd leave or Raylan stay directly after the mine, but I’ve been known to make an exception if the story is compelling enough and doesn’t sacrifice characterization.

I think Boyd’s criminal history is important, though the nature of it less so. And even more important is the fact that Boyd never really makes it big as a criminal—making him some kind of fief lord of crime makes him much less interesting to me. His plans only succeed inasmuch as he always manages to survive their unraveling. I think it’s important that he’s spent time incarcerated. I’m not a huge fan of stories where they meet again outside of Harlan and never go back, it takes away the central tension between them and the place that made them that Raylan so struggles with and Boyd embraces so wholly, which for me is a really interesting part of their relationship, this dichotomy. I also don’t care for stories that give them a ton of good friends outside each other, or casual friends who actually know them and hang out with them—they’re too big of assholes for that. Of course, this doesn’t include the characters they’re close with in canon; I love Raylan and Rachel’s friendship, in particular, and their understanding of each other despite their vast superficial differences is fascinating. I guess I should say instead that I don’t buy either of them having typical friendships, period. They’re just too weird and fucked up for that. They trauma bonded at nineteen and it continues to be one of the most important relationships in either of their lives. Winona puts up with Raylan’s relational weirdness for love; no one is doing that for their drinking buddy. So they may have close friendships, but they don’t look the way you’d expect.

I’d never make their relationship uncomplicatedly sweet and unfraught, or sand down the kind of feral edges of it, and I don’t think they’d be much for traditional PDA—I just love the way in canon the physical (and otherwise) manifestations of their intimacy are so outside of what’s expected from buddies OR lovers. In the same vein, I don’t love it when Raylan goes crazy with the terms of endearment, because he doesn’t use them much with his love interests in canon. I have him use them with the girls in heavy heart more as verbal tics he picked up after spending too much time around Boyd, who LOVES to use them, plus I think he models at least some of his displays of parental affection after Helen, who canonically calls him “honey”. I’m fine with Boyd throwing endearments around liberally; I just don’t do it in my own fics because I love the way in canon he twists Raylan’s name itself into almost an endearment. He just can’t stop saying it every other sentence, so why would he give up the chance to say it by replacing it with another word? Plus, it fits in with how weird they are about each other in general.

More broadly, I have never really enjoyed full aus (based on any story) that don’t try to approximate at least the broader beats of place and history from canon, but I really really love stories that manage it. I respect authors who can sort of map canon onto a completely different stage, like the space au mentioned above, so much. I hope that I manage that at least somewhat with catching bullets.

That’s all the big ones I can think of at the moment, though I’m sure there’s more I’ve forgotten (most of the rest fall more under ic-ness vs ooc-ness, which is harder to articulate; “what makes them themselves?” is a much more difficult question). Ultimately, I think probably a lot of these come across through cross-referencing both of my WIPs—basically, if it shows up in both, there’s a very good chance it’s a nonnegotiable for me, and if it changes between the two, then I can obviously live without it.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

3 WIP Tag Game!

Rules: Create a new post and share snippets/screenshots/etc. from three of your WIPs!  Art or Fic! Tag as many people as you like! (created by @limetimo)

Thank you so much to @elusive-honeydew for the tag and sharing your WIPs. They were SO good!!!

Here are three of my most active WIPs at the moment:

Difference of Opinions Part 2 (Miguel O'Hara x Spider!reader)

Difference of Opinions Prequel (Miguel O'Hara x Spider!reader)

Jake's Destiny - New Client (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x stripper!Reader)

Difference of Opinions Part 2 (Miguel O'Hara x Spider!reader):

You heard someone enter the room and you cracked one eye to see Pavi standing at the foot of the bed holding a cup of water. But when he saw you looking back at him, he dropped the cup– spilling water across the floor –and run from the room hollering, “Guys! She finally woke up!” A minute later, he returned with Gwen, Margo, Peter B. Parker, and Mayday with him. As you struggled to sit up, Mayday shot a web above your head and swung over to land directly in your lap. Before Peter could snatch her away, you drew her close to you and snuggled your face into the top of her knit spider-hat. She hugged you back as you cooed, “Hey there, little one.” “Mayday…” her father muttered as he held out his arms, but you shook your head.“ It’s okay, Peter. I’m okay.” However, you noticed the nervous look that he exchanged with Gwen and you felt a deep pit open up in your stomach as you realized their concern. “Ah. You’re not worried about me. You’re worried about her with me.” Peter shifted uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s nothing against you, Gaze. It’s just we don’t really know where you stand.”

Difference of Opinions Prequel (Miguel O'Hara x Spider!reader):

Though you were currently laying on your back on your bed with your amulet firmly grasped in your hand, your eyes were rolled back into your head as you gazed at the tangled web of dimensions and pathways before you. As usual, you were focused on the specific orange-red dot that you had identified as Earth-2099. Though you had tried over the past year to reach out to other Earths, other universes, this was the only one you had received a reply from. However, that was fine with you. After all, this Earth was where Miguel was and being able to talk to him had become your favorite thing to do.  However, talking didn’t seem to be enough for you lately. You were tired of staring at this pulsing dot in front of you. You wanted more. Even a small glimpse of this other world you had come to know and the man who lived there.  So, as he finished explaining what he had been working on since the last time the two of you talked, you asked, “Miguel… what is your world like?” “What do you mean?” His voice was so clear he could have been laying on the bed next to you and yet… he wasn’t.  You sighed and ran your hand over your face. “I don’t know. We’ve talked so much about each other and our lives, but I don’t know anything about the physical aspects of your dimension. I’m just curious if you look like me. Or if our worlds are made from the same basic components.” “I’m still not following.” Rolling over onto your stomach, you said, “Well, if there are an infinite number of different worlds out there, there have to be some that are very similar to our own and some that are entirely foreign. Like maybe our worlds are exactly the same except my sky is blue and yours is green. Or maybe your version of what you call humans really do have eight legs and a bunch of eyes and look like what I know as spiders here.” Miguel chuckled. “Well, my sky is blue– or at least what we call blue. And I only have two legs, two arms, and two eyes.” You gasped. “You have two eyes! We only have one!” “Wait, really?” Miguel’s voice was suddenly much more tense than it had been seconds before. Laughing at his distress, you said, “Nah, we have two. I just wanted to hear your reaction.” “Oh.” He let out a relieved sigh. “You had me going there for a minute. Not that there would have been anything wrong with you only having one eye. I was just surprised. But I guess that’s not something that just randomly comes up in conversation.” “No, not usually.” You gently stroked the spider on your amulet. Pressing it to the bridge of your nose, you whispered, “I wish I could see your eyes. I wish I could see you.”

Jake's Destiny- New Client (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x stripper!reader):

You batted your long eyelashes at him as you bit your lip and cooed, “Hey there, baby. What brings you in to see me today?” Your voice was dripping with a saccharine charm that Jake was sure worked on some people, but to him just sounded condescending and belittling. Rolling his eyes, he drained his glass and reached for the bottle in front of him. “You can drop the act. I don’t want it.” You stared at him for a moment, your eyes wide and innocent. But then your entire demeanor shifted as you straightened up to your full height. No longer this meek, innocent girl looking to please her client, you met his gaze with a self-assured confidence and smirked at him. Now it was his turn to be surprised. It was like he was staring at a completely different woman.  Walking over to the couch where he was sitting with a flutter of your fur-trimmed robe, you took the freshly filled glass from his hand and raised it to your lips. “Thank god. I hate doing the innocent little girl thing.” You downed his whiskey in one shot and placed the glass down on the table. “They didn’t tell me what you wanted when they sent me in here and usually, men like you want one of two types of girls so I took a guess.”

No Pressure Tag: @green-socks, @colerambles, @wkndwlff, @blue-aconite, @wildbornsiren, @startrekfangirl2233, @sunlightmurdock, @topguncortez, @mayhemmanaged, @yanna-banana, and anyone else who wants to share!

[guqinstrings]

-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @ghcstchild inquired ; ❛  it's nothing.  ❜

   IT’S ALWAYS NOTHING with him when it comes to his own health. That was something learned throughout their shared history. It was always something that brought him irrevocable pain to still think about. Apparently, it never crossed his mind that all he continued to think about were those THIRTEEN YEARS he spent without the other because it was nothing. Still, even now it seemed, Wei Wuxian continued to fail to realize all he had to do was ask for help. 

   When the world stood against him, did he still not realize that Lan Wangji was determined to stay by his side? Regardless of what the Cultivation World threw at them, all he wanted was to protect the man who was currently telling him it was nothing. 

   There are many words that Lan Wangji can say, many that would fit and would even be heard. Despite how much he failed to listen to warnings, he listened at the very least to the words when Lan Wangji spoke. He might not heed the warning, but he listened. However, as many gathered in his throat just as many found themselves choked down. Having the words to say and being able to speak them didn’t always go in tandem with Lan Wangji. He could fill an entire memoir with the words he had for Wei Wuxian, but they would struggle to fall from his lips. 

   So instead of saying them he knelt in front of the other, undoubtedly getting grass stains on his white robes. He would drench them in much more and had for the Cultivator across from him. Reaching his hand out he gently took hold of the thin wrist that held onto the Dizi, tugging it over toward him and turning it so he could look at the cut across his arm. With his Cultivation not what it used to be, Wei Wuxian was much more susceptible to wounds and infections. He was by no means weak, he would never consider this man weak, but he didn’t recover as quickly as Lan Wangji did. 

   Still, to some extent, he was right. The wound wasn’t that bad and he had more than enough supplies on him to take care of the wound. A simple cleaning and bandage would patch the other right up. 

   Letting go of Wei Wuxian’s wrist he reached into his robes for his Qiankun pouch and opened it up. Fetching out the jar of cream and a roll of bandages, he sat both down beside him. Tucking the pouch back away he held his hand out for Wei Wuxian’s own again. He will not force him to let Lan Wangji patch him up, but his heart would be eased and honored if the other let him. 

   “Even nothings require some treatment, Wei Ying.”

[captainkurosolaire]

Budokai 3: Deep Down Under

(C.F) In Cinder, SInners -  ♫Dark Storms♫

The Second Layer of Hell dawned in Hell of Waters: Here drown deceivers, counterfeiters, mountebanks and false prophets. As pipe valves opened up in the pit letting trickles of rain droplets spill out. This match now held not only a time-limit, but a functional health standard. By the end of the Sixth Layer, participants must find some means to climb above and reach a finish line that crosses out. Where victory resides. But both opponents will still do everything in their means to prevent the other from making it an easy task. An almost last-man breathing setting now was in effect. With each additional wave of layers the water will rise in the pit with frequency of pour making this battle gradually become even more impossibly difficult. To swim with beaten and battered bodies all but impossible, there’s a reason this forbidden tribunal death-match was lost as nearly every bodied competitor died in the process.

Those who survived often were touted as the old pirate of reaching a pinnacle of a celestial and mystifying body forged by the hell’s and sins of their trials. Majority became lost and severely insane, stuck forevermore being a shell of their former or recovering as the price of being representations of pure evil. Little became champions of the disgraceful and opened the forbidden door of fiends and found their bodies and steps, able to forcefully enter a crack into and invade a heaven ever unintended to them. The seasoned pirate handled injuries far better and the pressure was daunting by his sheer experience as even with one hand unable to clench a fist entirely he still held a rumbling growl in his throat. With still some tack piercings in his flesh he discarded them and Sinbad violently stopped the recuperation of the Seeker quickly grabbing him by the back of his belt buckle and hair and rag doll tossing him onto the opposite side of the pit’s foundational wall. His muscular vascular soul-vessel flexing out with his unbridled strength. The Seeker clashed harshly again and attempted to lean and get himself standing back to his feet but already cornered another charging came. As a foot of the Highlander strangled against the throat in a pin briefly before clubbing the Miqo’te with a barrage of kidney punches and sharp forearms to the face and disorganized him. A uppercut hook dislodging some teeth before forcing them to be upchucked further from a devastating blow with a knee to the gut. A following chain with a doubling ax-handle sharply used to plummet the pirate into the remaining dry pavement. His wind knocked out his sight went like static. Every instinct was null and dull not even in control of his complete sense, his entire body reeked in anguish and agony. His skin held even more prude skin blisters and burns. Even though the Sun slightly clocked away from concentrating on the pit upon them the damage was done. The vicious brute now went to his own deplorable digging to bury instruments of musical pain. Uncovering a wonderful thick wooden club with dressed barbed wire furnished on top. He took some disgusting swings against the wind before returning to inflict carnage on his downed opponent who was struggling in recuperating to his feet and unable to even hear things from being hit so harshly in the noggin. He looked above and saw the mouths of his Crew looking disheartened and frightened and saw his Surgeon mouth off in a plea to ‘watch out’ and before it could even register his back felt the cool steel barb and the following viscous brunt of his back collapse into and violent retract to the soils he was getting very acquainted with. Flesh being torn asunder from a world quaking shot, heard as he recoiled with a loud grunt. A sadistic yet stern feature highlight encompassed the Highlander’s face already began feeling a relief accompany him. This brittle old man really wasn’t anything to fear. His crew showing sympathy and disgust, now that’s a sight he recalled as he in his short beginnings of being a pirate had earned himself a fancy title by being ruthless. He licked a bit of blood dripping from the Seeker from his wonderful weapon. Then drew a very fitting and nasty plot to humiliate and disgrace his former idol. Uncoiling the barbed wire from the blunt object. While the Seeker barely was showing consciousness his fingers were padding and tipping underneath the ground as his entire body was sunken on the soil. A mirage reminder of the port shores he often found himself on. Trauma resurfacing as he forgot how many times he had been washed to the foot of a shore always after a harrowing event. Pieces of him were scattered and castaway out there, how many already perceived him long but dead and they weren’t entirely wrong to count against him. His amber pupil glanced upward and saw his spiritual guide and butterfly once again on a pipe on the top where water was coming from and was still showing fight even though it got itself in this position by trying to fly down to him. Now it held an extra danger if that butterfly fell off that pipe and landed into the small pool below it’d drown… Another nagging message sent. He stammered and grit teeth metallic sanguine he was snacking on from an empty gum. As he began crawling pathetically like an insect worm. “Where are you goin?” He heard from a deep-low and murderous voice from behind that grabbed and yanked him by his faulty tail and approaching behind him with an arch and bend he took the barbed wire and draped it over his idol’s forehead and began giving him a bloody crown, how thoughtful. Zipping back and forth attempting to dissect right in-front of his entire Crew a massacre that’d be their only tattoo’s left of a leader too weak to make it. Sinbad leaned in and went to whisper, “You made me do this! Why ARE you such a disappoint-!” And as he did that and got uncomfortably close, with the back of his hand hidden in the sand, the Seeker countered with a breaking smash of a glass bottle of ale against the face. He retrieved it from his burial search. Sending him free and reeling back. The pirate tucked and rolled a few spaces before raising his legs high above the air and using all the momentum to spring himself into a dexterous standing. His head protruded with a wash of crimson but for him it brought him further as a reminder alive. “Will someone fetch that damn nuisance?” He pointed at the butterfly entirely with an unsettling nerve. He took his broken glass and mourned it with his facial features, “Shame.” Tucking his head before drinking the small contents left of fuel before it dried from the Thanalan’s unforgiving heat. Tossing it overhead once it was done he grabbed and picked up the barbed wire instrument that was used on him and now he returned the favor but this time he’d use them like a fishhook wire on the mouth of Sinbad and pulled back his knee digging into the sturdy back of the colossus but only briefly since two grips were difficult. His own agony screaming with his iris looking up. The Highlander searched to retreat but the pirate then wrapped and tangled a makeshift choker around his neck and his previous chokers as punishment for his apparel.   And then leapt on the back and quickly trampled over the choker to dig further into the flesh and smash the Highlander down into the soils for a turn of pace and rolled up his own coat over the Highlanders hand and shoulders getting him caught and disgracefully caught in his own wardrobe. A third bell started to chime which only meant the next Layer. The scarred Seeker spat out another tooth and gave a welcome to this chaos.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Dear Welcome to the Pack Steve,

Thank you for taking me in and protecting me when I had nowhere else go. You could've turned me away, but you didn't. You allowed me to run with you when I hadn't been allowed to for a some time. And you didn't blame me when trouble was brought to your doorstep.

After Alana, you had every reason not to open up again. Thankfully, you gave me a chance. Through every up and down, our bond grew stronger. You saw, loved and accepted me and my little wolf. Even when I had a hard time accepting myself.

I have a place with you and our pack. I have a home. And I'll always love you, alpha.

Love,

Navy

Thank you, Amber, for bringing our alpha to life and creating such a unique and incredible take on a/b/o. You and your series deserve all the praise. ❤️

To my Loveliest Navy,

My Forever Little Wolf, I saw you looking to cross into my borders, I heard your song calling for The Pack. When you bounded into my home, your wildness called to my wildness, the Alpha knew, he always knew you belonged to him even before I did.

When you need the gentlest touch, mine is yours to take. When you need fleeting daring speed, let me race at your side. When you need fang, fur, and blood, I can be your strength in delivery. When you need to let the pain go, I will hold you upright till you are steady once more.

Trusting wasn't easy, for either of us. Nothing in life worth having ever is. I don't regret Alanna, for she taught me how to treat my future mate- or how to not treat you.

Thank you for giving me home once more, for being my softness in this harsh world. Should there ever be a time we are separated Little One, know it's you, it will always be you who I belong to and the Alpha will sing his song for.

Forever Yours, Bonded and Unbonded,

The Alpha.

Navy, Thank you so much for the kindness in this love note. I remember when you first shared this with me and how significant it felt having been given a love letter to a character that means so much to me personally. It's such a beautiful gesture, one that I had held onto privately for a couple weeks or more because I wasn't entirely ready to share with everyone just yet.

But now I am. Thank you for loving the Alpha. Right now in his story he is struggling, so this... well it hit on another level because of that. Sending all the love back babes.

[ask-them-bois]

At The End of Everything, Part Three

<<<Prev . Next>>>

TW: blood, major character death, vomiting

TLDR: Musrio loses everything. The bane of worlds and the innocent constellation arrive.

-------------------------------------------

The wind screamed as it ripped books off their shelves and into shreds, knocked over anything that wasn't nailed down and tore the curtains off their rods.

The fire roared as it erupted in violent columns from what were once sconces and unlit candles, creating plumes of smoke, thick and poisonous, that were immediately swept up by the wind to add to the storm.

The lighting shrieked as it stabbed through the windows like the grasping hands of demons, shattering glass and splinters and raining them on the fleeing trolls.

The magic shook the Arcaneum apart, chasms and cracks splitting open to belch hellfire like monstrous mouths, swallowing whole bookshelves and tables within their depths.

Yet the cacophony was nothing compared to the soul sheering bellow from Musrio's lungs.

"Drayco!"

He pushed himself up on a broken arm, struggling to rise from where he'd been thrown by the magical blast from the ritual. He was bleeding, both blood and magic, his hair blasted back by the wind as he stared at what he'd created.

Suspended in the vortex of magic and glowing bloods, barely discernable through the smoke, was Drayco, their arms and legs spread wide and eyes glowing black. Above them hung Musrio's black pearl and ivory necklace, drenched in the entire hemospectrum and glowing white hot.

This was wrong, Musrio's mind screamed, this wasn't supposed to happen! He'd done everything right!

"Drayco, come back!" There was no transition from laying to standing as Musrio lunged for his matesprit in a panic. His fingertips were scorched by the wild magic, before a pair of arms seized the rustblood around the waist and hauled him back.

"Musrio, we have to run!" Makeno shouted in his ear, but the necromancer wasn't even aware of his presence. He struggled against what held him, still straining to reach his mate as the rest of the trolls fled.

"I have to save them!" He cried, his blistered fingers shaking, "I did it once, I'll do it again! Ribbit!" He kicked and struggled, trying to tear free of the seadweller's grasp. He couldn't stop looking, watching, as his matesprit's body began to fall apart, their limbs crumbling into smoke. "No! Drayco! Drayco!"

"They're gone, Musrio! They're dead! Stop it! Vornik!" Makeno yelled, fighting to hold onto him.

A pair of massive, clawed hands seized Musrio's shoulders, and he gasped as his body was forced to go limp by the limeblood's powers. The fear and panic and pain and magic raging through his thinkpan flatlined, his vision went white, but he could still feel himself screaming as the shifterbeast carried him out of the collapsing bookhive.

Vornik hounded through the falling debris, leaping chasms and carnage with ease before they burst out the front doors. He carried Musrio several yards from the building, Makeno hot on their heels and coughing hard from the smoke.

The rest of the group was waiting and Corden ran forward to catch his morail, but Musrio ignored them, forcing his magic to override Vornik's power. He snapped from his stupor and ripped himself out of his arms, hitting the grass hard and pushing himself up just in time to watch the Arcaneum explode.

The ground shook, the sound so loud that Musrio was deafened, unable to hear his own scream as he watched the vortex become a pillar of blinding, bright, orange light; the same color as Drayco's blood. The beam shot straight into the stormy night sky with a crack-boom noise like the sound barrier breaking a thousand times at once.

Musrio gagged and struggled to rise, choking on the thick magic in the air. A hand appeared before his face and he grabbed it, distantly aware that it was Decaying who helped him up. He clung to his ancestor, trembling as he watched the pillar ripple and hum through the red haze of tears in his eyes.

With a sound like a giant sucking in breath, the pillar collapsed into a miniature sun above the ruins of the bookhive and exploded a second time, turning the night into a momentary, blinding day. The shockwave of air was hot and reeked of sulfur, forcing the rest of the group to cover their faces and take a step back.

Only Musrio didn't do that; he started running. Before the light had even vanished, even as his companions shouted for him to come back, Musrio threw himself into the wreckage, shouting Drayco's name.

His hearing snapped back into place, his powers fixing it for him as he scrambled through the rubble.

"Drayco! Drayco!" He was sob-screaming, his undead blood-pumper hammering too fast in his chest. He made it to where they'd all been standing when the ritual went off and came to a halt, panting hard.

A figure slowly stood from the scorched ground and looked at him through the smoke. Musrio's breath hitched as he met golden-bronze eyes, but the wind swept the smog, and his hope, away.

It was not Drayco that stood before him, but... something else.

"Where's Drayco?" Musrio asked it, his voice and jaw quivering.

"Huh?" It made a confused noise.

"Where are they?!" Musrio shouted, making the thing take a step back, putting an arm behind it to hide whatever it was guarding. Musrio immediately tried to look, and found a second creature, cowering behind the taller one. "Where are they?! They have to be here, I-"

"They're gone, Musrio."

The rustblood whipped around as Oliver appeared from the rubble, looking a little worse for wear himself after escaping the explosion. She still smiled, though. "And that there is the chosen child." She added, before striding right past him. "Welcome, welcome, my dearest friend!" She cried jovially.

The taller figure said something that sounded angry, but Musrio didn't understand its language. Oliver responded, but Musrio couldn't hear her, either.

Gone. Drayco was gone. After everything, after everything Musrio had done and gone through to get them back-

They were gone.

He couldn't breathe, gasps punching out of his mouth as sweeps of stress, of grief, of exhaustion, finally caught up, overwhelmed, drowned to him.

"Musrio?"

Someone said his name, and that was the last thing he heard, unable to hear his own heartbroken wail as he collapsed to his knees and fell forward. His whole body heaved with sobs, so violent that he gagged, and puked there on the ash-dusted remains of his bookhive. He only cried harder, the sharp pain in his throat and arm and all across his body grounding him in a reality he didn't want to be in anymore.

"What's- him?"

"- shock-"

"Drayco's-"

"Hey, that- seen them before- humans!"

"- Speak-?"

"Yes."

Something soft and heavy landed on Musrio's shoulders, making him gasp, then there were hands on him. Instinctively, he lashed out, a fearful warble in his throat.

"Easy, little Almawt, easy. It's alright." The Warhound's voice came through, her face swimming into focus as she helped him sit up. The stony woman's face was more emotional than Musrio had ever seen it, and he vaguely realized it was her cloak that she'd wrapped around him. "Come on, son. We need to get away from here."

"Nn- Drayc- co- ribbit-"

The look she gave him- a mix of grief and understanding- made his sobs start all over again, his good hand clawing for his necklace that was no longer around his neck. She didn't try to stop him, she just helped him to his feet and kept an arm around him to keep him upright.

The group had returned to the blown out bookhive and were standing around, talking. Why were they talking, Musrio thought distantly; why weren't they looking for Drayco?

His eyes slowly scanned familiar faces and saw Deadscar arguing with Oliver, until his gaze stopped on the strangers. Incoding and Decaying were speaking to them, their words garbled in Musrio's ears, and it took him too long to realize they were speaking another language- one that the newcomers seemed to understand.

His jaw quivering, without even thinking about it, Musrio reached up and touched his left ear, then the right, magic burning on his blistered hand.

"My name is Bane." He heard the taller creature- human? He thought someone had called it a human- say, "And this is my little sister, Oria. Where the hell are we?"

"This. Alternia." Incoding said, his face screwed up in concentration, before he pointed at Musrio himself, "Musrio brought... here." He pointed at the humans, then back to him, "He explain."

Bane looked at him, and Musrio's breath hitched in surprise. Oria peered around her brother's legs at him, too, before she began to approach him.

"'Ria, come back." Bane said, but the little girl either didn't hear or ignored him.

Musrio looked down at her, belatedly realizing he was shaking. She looked up at him, her eyebrows pinched in thought. She was so small, she had to be a wriggler, he thought hazily.

Oria moved, putting her hand in her hoodie pocket, before she pulled something out and offered it to him. Dangling from her small fingers was Musrio's black pearl and ivory skull necklace, clean of the bloods he had drenched it in.

Why did she have it? It had been with Drayco...

A whimper in his throat, Musrio took it with his good hand and a nod of thanks, but he didn't have the strength to put it back on. He held it at his side, but that seemed acceptable to her, as she turned and hurried back to the safety of her brother's side.

Musrio watched her go, watching the way the firelight glinted through her silver hair like stars.

Stars...

"The bane of worlds and the innocent constellation shall be the salvation of us all..."

She was the chosen child, Musrio realized first.

This was far from over, he realized second.

"I can't... do this anymore." He whispered.

[short-hot-stories]

Reverend & Mrs. McGinnis: Part 2

Christine's parents learn to reconnect and explore.

By Liminally Spaced. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.This story is a derivative of Sex Ed. Lessons, a 21-part tale at Explicit Novels podcast.

Cathy could barely take the sensations coursing through her body. While she hadn't felt Sam's tongue on her cunt in over 15 years, she hadn't done this act with anyone in close to 20. Memories immediately rushed her mind, swirling in the endorphins, images and sensations of nights with her previous boyfriend. Orgasms. Pleasure. Fucking. Grinding.

Lost in the feeling, she fell back into sense memory. Her hand dropped down into Sam's hair and gripped it hard.

Sam groaned into her wet snatch. She felt it. His cock lurched.

Cathy held his head still. Bracing herself with one hand on the headboard, her thighs and hips began to flex.

Sam got the message. He held his tongue in position as his wife began to grind her throbbing cunt against it, fucking his face.

"Oh my God" she moaned out long and loud as she directed her pleasure points onto his wet, pulsating tongue.

It was like a bolt of lightning coiling up inside her body. She felt his hand grip her ass instinctively, just like she liked, just like the others had, and suddenly she began to shake and shudder, slipping over the edge into heat. Into pleasure. Into an explosive, body-wracking orgasm.

Sam held her tight as she wriggled and jerked, grinding into his tongue. He felt wetness pour from her being; his wife, cumming into his mouth. Cumming on his face.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" she chanted. She rarely used curse words like that in front of him, and he found it highly erotic. His mind raced: when did she learn she liked this? Who was the first one to do it to her? How many men had she done it with?

He had never been so hard in his entire life.

Slowly the world came back into view, and Cathy collapsed off her husband onto the bed next to him, both their breaths coming hard and ragged.

"Oh my Lord," he said between breaths, "that was so sexy."

Cathy felt a warm glow pass through her; she had been worried for nothing. She looked down at her husband's thick, straining cock, flush with desire, almost painful looking. He wasn't lying. She reached for it, touching it. Holding it. She had just had the best orgasm of her life, but she was still wet. Still horny. She turned her face toward his, and made a single, syrupy request, the same she made on their honeymoon:

"Fuck me, Sam."

He smiled and turned quickly to the bedside table, retrieving a condom. He was on her in an instant, kissing, groping, squeezing. He positioned himself between her legs, but her sweet center wouldn't come to him easily. He struggled, first with the condom wrapper, then with the condom itself, its slippery latex never quite gaining purchase around the head of his desperate cock.

"God, I really do hate these things," he said through clenched teeth.

Cathy lay there, desperate to feel her husband push himself inside her, equally frustrated with the fact that they were still using condoms after almost 20 years of marriage. Then a thought came to her. They had already cracked open the door of her past, what could it hurt to crack it open a bit more, especially if she knew it would bring them both a wealth of new sensation and pleasure?

"Sam, honey, I, I have an idea."

He looked down at her, beautiful and wanton below him, and waited with bated breath to hear it.

"What if you didn't use a condom, and pulled out just before you were going to cum?"

Sam felt a hard throb between his legs.

"But aren't you worried about; I mean what if you; "

"It,” she paused, once again hesitant to broach this area of her own experiences, but something about the way he looked at her told her to continue on. "It's never been a problem for me, in the past."

"You've, done that before?" Sam said almost breathlessly. He didn't even realize his hand started slowly pumping his cock.

"Yes."

"You've had a man inside you without a condom, and he pulled out before he finished?"

"Yes. My ex and I, he didn't like condoms either. it was our solution to the birth control problem."

"Then where did he finish?" She watched his hand stroke his cock long and hard. She felt her cunt throb.

"On me."

Sam gulped hard and felt himself start to sweat.

"Where?"

His wife looked him dead in the eye.

"Wherever he wanted."

That was all Sam could take. He hiked her legs up around his waist, and with gasping desperate breaths roaring out of them each like a blast furnace, he lined himself up at her wet, swollen entrance, and pushed. Moans erupted from the lovers as she took him full to the hilt.

Electricity burst through the closed circuit of their bodies as they felt each other unencumbered for the first time in over 15 years. Sam began to thrust himself into his wife, long, hard, and joyously. He gave her everything he had, and her tight, sopping-wet cunt gripped him deliciously and demanded more.

He and his wife were truly one once again, but as her slick, velvety walls stoked the fire building in his loins, all he could think about was the image of some other man pushing into his wife, fucking her, pleasing her the way he was right then and there. Her cunt squeezing her lover's cock the way she was squeezing his. Gripping her lover's waist with her legs and heels, egging him on, the same way she was gripping his. Taking everything her lover had, that way she was taking it from him, only for her lover to slip out of her at the height of his frenzied pleasure so her body could take two balls-full of hot cum the way she was about to take his.

Sam couldn't help but wonder where her lover, lovers, had cum. He pictured his wife, another man's seed splashing across her stomach, scattered lewdly across her back and ass, dripping from her perfect breasts, maybe even her beautiful face.

Had they cum on her face? Had these men fucked Sam's wife to the point of eruption, then pulled out and lurched their thick seed onto her face?

Did she like it?

Did she ask for it?

Cathy's body was a hot cluster of firing nerve endings. Sam was fucking her with a passion she couldn't ever remember experiencing from him, and she was unable to stifle her pleasure-filled yelps, moans, and cries as he drove his thick cock into her over and over.

It felt bigger. Thicker. She could feel her body stretch to accommodate it, rushing fresh rivers of her juices down to encourage him, to welcome his cock.

A slight shift in position suddenly adjusted his angle of approach, and Cathy was overcome by intense, rushing pleasure as the head of his cock began to hit her in the exact right spot. She was going to cum again.

"Oh yes, oh fuck, oh yes, baby, yes, baby; fuck me, fuck me!" She began to cry out almost involuntarily. Her body was strapped to a rocket that left the atmosphere in seconds, hung there in the transitional bliss of zero gravity for just a single sweet moment, and then exploded in a thick, strong orgasm.

Cathy's body contracted and jerked beneath her husband's, but he never let go, never stopped thrusting as she soared through her second orgasm. It was the most purely erotic thing he had ever experienced, and it was the final straw for his own gallant constitution.

Sam reared up off of her, his cock slipping out of her warm, tight center. Cathy gasped, looking at her husband towering over her like a Greek statue, flushed and in heat, his hard, proud cock reaching to the sky, slick with her juices. His hand grasped it, his eyes closed. She whispered a sultry "yes" and gasped as the first viscous rocket of his cum launched out of the tip and soared up her body. She felt the hot juice sear her collar bone, and it was only a fraction of a second before she felt the second spurt splash against her chin, stronger than the first.

Her breath came hard and fast as she took in the sight of her strong, statuesque husband ejaculating all across her heaving body. Her cunt throbbed. This was nothing like the times her previous boyfriend had done it. That, though still sexy, was more about efficiency. This, well this was the hottest thing she had ever experienced.

Sam looked down at the slithering body of his wife as he emptied his tight balls all over his bride. She looked like a dirty, sexy angel. An angel of love. An angel of sex. Thick white splatters of semen painted her from pubic bone to neck; this had to have been the biggest load he had ever shot.

He wondered if it was the biggest load she'd ever received.

The lovers looked at each other in silence for a moment, each breathing heavy, each taking in the experience they just had.

"Was that ok?" Sam finally said. Cathy smiled. He was so adorable; he just fucked the shit out of her and he was still concerned with her own wellbeing. She loved him so much. He was amazing.

"Yes, Sam," she said through a chuckle, "it was fucking amazing." Then the thought crossed her mind that she should check in with him as well. This was a new experience for both of them, but even more so for him, and if this new era of communication was going to continue, she needed to make sure it did. "Was it ok for you?"

"You nailed it, honey: it was fucking amazing."

They both burst out laughing at Sam's rare display of profanity.

Sam slipped away for a moment and came back with a warm, wet towel. It felt good on her body as he gently wiped his cum from her skin. Cathy closed her eyes and realized she was having a first of her own. In all the times she had been with other men before Sam, in all the nights that ended with cum splashed on her naked body, she couldn't remember a single time where the man she was with helped with the clean-up, and definitely not as lovingly as Sam did.

She had never in their relationship questioned her love and commitment to this man, and as they lie there in each other’s arms, drifting off to sleep, she knew there was nothing but excitement and pleasure ahead of them on this new erotic adventure.

She had told him what she wanted, she couldn't wait to find out what he wanted. And she had a pretty good idea of where to start.

"Oh, fuck, oh, Fuck, yes; fuck me, fuck me!"

Pastor Sam McGinnis had two hands full of his wife Cathy's pert ass, using it for leverage as he drove his rock hard cock into her tight, welcoming cunt from behind. For only the second time in over 15 years he was inside his wife bareback, and he didn't know how long he could last.

He had missed the feeling of her silky juices sliding over his skin, her slick, tight walls gripping and spreading over the sensitive flesh of his cock, electrifying his body. Not since shortly after their wedding had he felt this sensation, when he got to empty his balls, unencumbered, into his lovely new bride.

Cathy was allergic to birth control, so condoms were their only option, an option neither of them really liked, an option that was definitely a contributing factor to their decline in intimacy over the years.

A decline that had continued until last night, when Cathy suggested an alternative, one that made Sam's cock harder than it had been in years. His beautiful wife wanted him to fuck her bareback, and then pull out of her at the last moment and shoot his orgasm on her body.

It wasn't the activity itself that got Sam so excited, however, it was the fact that it was an activity she had done with at least one other man before she met Sam. He had been a virgin when they got together, but she had not been, and they never really talked about her sexual past. He had no idea how many men she had been with, or what they had done, or even really what she liked done to her.

Until last night.

Her suggestion; her request; had cracked open a door that Sam desperately wanted to open further. He had had a bit of a kink for hearing stories and experiences, ever since high school when his platonic female friends would spill all the lurid details of their horny experimentations to their non-threatening male friend.

Now, he couldn't stop thinking about other men spraying his wife's hot, young body with thick semen, all the places she may have taken it, wanted it. He needed to know more. He needed to know what else she had experienced. What else she wanted.

"Oh fuck, baby, that's it; I'm gonna cum, Sam; I'm gonna cum!"

Cathy couldn't believe how turned on she was. There was a lot of doubt in her mind last night about whether opening up her sexual past to her husband was a good idea. She had never wanted to rub it in, never wanted him to feel bad about being a virgin when they met. But now, as she lay perched on her hands and knees on their mattress, bracing herself with one hand against the headboard, the thrusting of her husband's cock driving her full speed toward another orgasm, she wondered why she ever waited so long.

She realized the peek into her past had revved Sam up greatly, and it was in that moment that she realized she had almost no idea what turned him on; really turned him on. His fantasies, his kinks, his fetishes, this new adventure they were on was meant to be all about communication, and communication was a two way street. Just the thought of learning new things about her husband, of helping him learn new things about himself, made her cunt gush. But what surprised her the most, what she hadn't expected, was how much re-living experiences from her own past turned her on.

Cathy had started having her partners pull out and cum on her body purely as a solution to the birth control problem, but what Sam didn't know, and what she wasn't sure she was ready to share just yet, was that it wasn't just a necessity, it was something she liked. Feeling the searing heat of their sticky loads slap her skin, watching their bodies contort in ecstasy, gave her an intense erotic boost. She thought back to Sam's spurting cock the night before. Then further back to Tom. Then further still to Chris. To Lenny.

Her body shuddered, her slick walls gripped and pulsed around her husband's thick, driving cock, and Cathy McGinnis, the pastor's wife, exploded in orgasm.

Sam felt his wife convulse and let out a long, strong moan. He sucked in breath through clenched teeth as he drove into her. He wanted to steer her all the way through her pleasure, but the sensations around his swollen cock and the erratic, wild moans from his wriggling wife, were all too much. He let out a loud, desperate grunt of his own as he lost control. He slipped his drenched cock out of Cathy's still-spasming center with abandon, gripped, stroked, and lassoed thick white ropes of cum across his wife's back and all over her heart-shaped cheeks.

Exhausted, the lovers both took a moment to catch their breath. Sam looked down on his work, at the white slippery streaks racing up his wife's back. He was impressed he could muster such volume after the previous night. She looked so sexy, splattered in his cream. It was something he never even thought to ask for, but was now quickly becoming something he was desperate to witness again.

Cathy looked back over her shoulder, shooting him the most devilish smile he'd ever seen.

"Umm; good morning, sweetie." she chuckled. His spent cock throbbed in his hand.

Cathy's eyes caught the clock on their bedside table and shot wide.

"Shit, we gotta get going!" Sam had completely lost track of time. It was Sunday morning, and he had a sermon to deliver. Church was the furthest thing from his mind, however. Cathy bounded up off the bed. Sam's eyes were glued to her as she padded off to the bathroom, a certain pep in her step, fresh semen cascading down her back.

He heard the shower turn on.

"What a woman," he thought.

Watching her husband from the pews, Cathy had a hard time focusing on the sermon he was giving. Her mind was on the activities of the previous evening, and the activities of the morning. She wondered if it was wrong, sitting there in church day dreaming about fucking her husband, being fucked by him, about his hot cum spurting out all over her, but every time she caught his eye and saw him try to suppress a smirk she knew he was thinking the same thing.

She was trying to keep her thoughts more Godly, but they just seemed to get dirtier. She thought about being up there with him tucked down behind the pulpit on her knees, taking him into her mouth while he evangelized, listening to his loud hallelujah when he finally filled her mouth with his cum.

She shook it off; thinking about doing naughty things to her husband was one thing, but feeling herself get moist under the eyes of the lord made her feel a little strange. It would just have to wait till later.

After the service, as the congregation mingled, Cathy made a B-line to Sandy. Sandy had been the one to give her the suggestion of opening up more with Sam, and she needed to tell her all about it.

"Sandy!" she almost yelled, touching her on the shoulder.

"Hey Cath, what's up?" Sandy was chatting with her husband Don and their best friend Kelly.

"I just wanted to um, thank you, for the advice you gave me yesterday. It was, very productive."

After a slight pause to try and remember what advice she gave, Sandy's eyes lit up, followed by a sly smile. "Oh! Of course; come with me, and tell me all about it!"

Sandy excused herself from her husband and friend with a wink, and slipped away with Cathy. Don and Kelly looked at each other and smirked knowingly at each other. What Cathy didn't know is that Sandy had told them both all about the conversation they had had at the pool party.

The three of them had met at Sandy and Don's for drinks that evening after the party. Their daughter Steph was out for the evening, as were Kelly's daughter Alex and her stepson Tim. They got to talking about the party, and about the new youth pastor Ginny. The girls agreed she was quite a hottie, and could tell by the way Don shifted around in his pants that he agreed as well.

This led Sandy to recount her talk with Cathy, and got the three of them speculating on the love life of their pastor and his wife. Don's pants began to grow tighter, and the girls began to tease him, making their idle speculations naughtier and naughtier, until the teasing stopped, and the two women gleefully found themselves on the floor, between Don's legs, taking turns sucking his cock.

This was not the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. Unbeknownst to anyone in their church, these three had been regularly enjoying each other physically for years. Their fellow parishioners would surely be shocked to find out what these three had done with each other, and others. Cathay would be shocked as well if she knew discussion of her conversation with Sandy led to Don taking turns fucking the two friends, to Don throwing his cock repeatedly into Kelly's cunt while she slurped his wife's cunt, and ultimately to the two women giggling and cheering as Don's cum exuberantly spurted out all over them both.

"So tell me all about it!" Sandy said, pulling Cathy into a secluded corner of the church.

"Well, I,” she paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. She and Sandy were friends, but they'd never shared intimate details before. In fact Cathy hadn't shared intimate details of her love life with Sam to anyone ever. Girl talk about her sex life was something that she used to enjoy, but it seemingly died with her marriage to Sam. It was fun telling her best friend about whose dick she sucked in which backseat when she was younger, but sharing secrets about her marriage seemed wrong.

But this wasn't just secrets and gossip, this was advice, wasn't it? Cathy remembered scrunching up her nose at Michelle Gillis when she explained the benefits of swallowing at the end of a blow job, and the satisfaction Cathy felt when she finally did it and realized Sherri was right. It had opened up a whole new door for her, one she soon discovered she really turned her on. It had actively made her love life better. She loved swallowing. She loved swallowing for Sam. She hadn't done it in years; she wanted to swallow for him right then and there.

"Well, I'm allergic to birth control," she began again, "and we both hate condoms. After the party last night we were getting frisky and,”

"Yes?" Sandy said, excited for what was to come next.

"And I thought back to what I used to do before I met Sam. With, previous boyfriends."

"Oh, really, what was it?"

"Once I was comfortable with him we'd stop using condoms and he,” Cathy paused again, presented with a threshold of detail she had to choose how to cross. She decided to just go for it. “ he'd pull out and finish himself on my body."

"Oh, nice!" Sandy exclaimed. "And that's something you used to like?"

"Sandy, I used to love it." Cathy said forcefully. "Something about the power, the angle, the feeling," she could feel herself getting turned on just thinking about it. "Is that bad?"

"Girl, trust me, I have had cum on every inch of my body, and loved it every time. No shame!"

They both laughed at Sandy's graphic confession. Cathy blushed slightly, not only at the intimate sharing, but at the sudden image that flashed through her mind. An image of Don fucking Sandy hard, pulling out, and stroking thick spurts of white jizz all over her body. He was hot, she was hot; it was quite the image.

"So that's what you did last night?" Sandy pushed on

"And this morning," Cathy said with another embarrassed smile.

"Hell yeah! And he liked it too?"

"If volume and enthusiasm is any indication, yes he loved it." She said, both of them laughing.

"That's excellent, Cathy, I'm so happy for you!" Sandy smiled and gave her a big hug. She couldn't wait to tell Don when they got home. The thought of their church leader spraying his lovely wife with his naughty nut was turning her on. She hoped Don would help her reenact it later that evening. "So how're you going to keep it going?"

"I don't know, I feel like there are so many options; so many things we've never done together, I had been so nervous to talk about my past with him, but he seemed to be totally into it. I'm not sure where to go next."

"Well that's easy," Sandy replied, "you ask him!"

"Ask him what?"

"Ask him what he likes! You told him what you like, time for him to do the same."

"But he doesn't have much of a past," Cathy opined, "he was a virgin on our wedding night."

"Sweetie," Sandy said, lowering her eyelids and cocking an eyebrow, "it doesn't matter what they say; everyone has a kink. Everyone has desires. Everyone has a past. It's just a matter of you coaxing it out of him."

Cathy smiled, thanked her again, gave her a big hug, and they parted ways.

Wandering idly through the foyer of the church, she thought about Sandy's words. It was true Sam was a virgin, but any discussion of sexual exploration ended with that. Surely he had some stories to tell, some secrets to reveal, just as she did. She felt a tingle in her belly at the possibility of discovering them.

Looking into the sanctuary she saw Sam chatting with the new youth pastor Ginny. It was her first day at the church, and even now, dressed much more modest than she was at the pool party the previous day, she exuded a certain glow. She sure was a pretty girl, Cathy though.

It was obvious Sam seemed to think so too. He was giggling like a teen boy with a crush. Cathy wasn't mad; she had no reason to ever think Sam would do anything inappropriate; but she was curious. Maybe this was something she would have to ask him about.

"Oh yes, oh yes, fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

Cathy was sweating. Her face was scrunched up in that lusty grimace that precedes ultimate pleasure, her body tense and wild as she rode Sam's face to orgasm.

It was Wednesday, and after their new, exciting experiences the previous weekend, there was no lax coasting through date night; on the contrary, neither of them could wait for the day to roll around. They were both antsy through Monday and Tuesday, and for the first time in years found themselves flirting with each other.

Quick comments, a pinch here or there, a grab when no one was looking, it was a shock they even made it to Wednesday, and they probably wouldn't have if their schedules had been lighter, or their daughter Christine had been less under foot.

But Wednesday rolled around soon enough, Christine was out for the evening at the weekly youth group meeting, and the two excited lovers tumbled into their bedroom in a tornado of arms, lips, and tongues.

"Oh my God" Cathy exclaimed in a long, warbling tone. She grabbed Sam's hair tight, felt her thighs flex around his head, and in an instant her body was awash with the explosive pleasure of orgasm. Her mouth hung open, body wracked with sensation, and the corner of her lips pulled into a wild smile. Being still lost in the heady space of cumming, Cathy couldn't see it, but beneath her dripping, still spasming cunt lips Sam was smiling too.

Sam loved pleasuring his wife, and was happy she had opened up with him in a way that would allow him to do it more effectively. It was also plain to see that it wasn't just efficiency that he liked, as evident by his hard, straining cock. But it wasn't just the act that turned him on, it was the history she had with it. A history he was interested to learn more about.

"Oh my God, that was amazing," Cathy cooed as she settled her head into the crook of Sam's neck, draping her arm across his chest, "you sir are very good at that." She kissed him. She could taste herself. She always liked the taste; it made her feel extra dirty. She couldn't remember the last time she had tasted herself on a man's lips.

"I'm a fast learner," he said with a chuckle. He ran his hand over Cathy's ass as she tucked herself tight against him.

"Apparently."

"And what about you?" He began nervously. He wasn't sure about what he was about to ask, but the surge of blood to his cock told him to press on, "were you a fast learner, the first time you did that?"

Cathy paused before she answered. This was going to be a full step over the threshold of their sexual pasts. Were they ready?

She looked down at his proud cock standing straight and hard, even with no stimulation. "Yes," she said in a syrupy tone. Sam's cock twitched. She smiled.

"When was it?" Sam continued, "the first time you did that?"

"College," she said, idly scratching his chest hair.

"Do you wanna tell me about it?" He was putting the ball in her court, or attempting to, but she wasn't going to let him off that easily.

"Do you want me to?" It was a question dripping with possibility.

"Yes," Sam said quietly.

"Ok," she said, equally soft. She looked down at his cock, straining and hard, and watched it twitch again. Her hand began to slowly drift down his torso. "Can I touch you while I do it?"

"Yes," Sam choked out.

"My senior year of college I was, seeing this guy. Tom."

"A boyfriend?"

"Not quite. It was, I realize now it was all the fun parts of a relationship, but none of the commitment. I didn't realize that at the time." her hand lazily circled his bellybutton as she reminisced. She was going to make him work for it.

"From school?"

"No, he was, older." She saw Sam's cock twitch again.

"How much older?"

"A lot."

Her hand inched lower, grazing through his pubic hair.

"I had the apartment to myself one night, and Tom came over and we started fooling around." Her fingers began to dance across the skin of Sam's cock. "He used to love licking me,” she paused as she decided once again how much truth to inject into the story. She chose all of it. “because his wife never let him do it to her."

"His wife?" Sam exclaimed, his rigid member bouncing right into the palm of Cathy's hand.

"Um hmm." she cooed as she slowly started to stroke. "He told me they were divorced, but, I found out later that wasn't exactly true."

Sam let out a long exhale through flared nostrils. He couldn't believe how hot this story was making him already. The thought of his good, Christian wife fucking an older married man, one who used to lick her cunt, caused his whole body to buzz.

Cathy stroked him slowly, then at once felt a slickness beneath her thumb; his tip was leaking a river of slippery precum. Sam was enjoying this. A lot. She smiled and continued her tale.

"So Tom had his head between my legs, eating my cunt," she chose the more vulgar word on purpose, and felt a receptive pulse in her palm.

"Was he good?" Sam gasped, cutting her off.

"He was amazing." she said with a smirk. Sam stifled a groan. She continued to touch him, to stroke him, as she talked. "He was eating my cunt, his hands running all over my body, really making me feel incredible, when all of a sudden he grabs my hips and rolls us both over so now I'm straddling him. I would have crushed his head if I hadn't sat up, so a push myself up, knees on either side of his head, and all at once there I am, riding his face."

Sam moaned again and she felt him throb. She decided to back off the stroking for a minute and began cupping and rolling his plump balls in her hand. Tom used to love it when she did that.

"At first he's licking me, torturing my clit, hitting it like a joy buzzer, and I'm just along for the ride, but then,” she paused as the memory came flooding back and she felt the slickness between her legs become more pronounced. “then he just kept his tongue still. I was confused for a second, but then I felt both his hands grip my ass and start pulling forward; he was telling me what he wanted. And so I started rocking my hips, grinding my clit against his still tongue; I was fucking his face." She decided to give him a little tease after this reveal, "Just like he had done to me many, many times."

"Ugh." Sam groaned loudly at this last confession. Images of this older man holding his wife's young face in his hands while he pushed himself in and out of her mouth started a roiling boil inside his loins. "Then what?"

"Well, I found myself a rhythm I liked, an angle I liked, and I just fucked him. I was in control for the first time ever, and it was exhilarating. I was gripping his hair, gripping at the headboard, anything I could find to grab onto, because it took me barely a minute to get right up to the edge." Cathy looked at Sam's dripping cock and smiled fondly as another memory came to the forefront of her mind. "But what put me over the edge, was when I looked behind me and saw that Tom's cock was rock-hard. And that's when my body exploded, and holding his head in place with each of my hands, I came all over Tom's mouth for the first time."

"Did you love it?" Sam barely managed to verbalize.

"It was like nothing I had ever experienced. I was glowing for days." Cathy cupped his balls while running her thumb up and down the underside of his cock, now slick with precum. She couldn't believe how much this was turning him on; how much it was turning her on. "You wanna know what happened next?"

"God, yes," He gasped.

"I was still in a daze from my orgasm. I barely even knew where I was. He rolled me off him, onto my back, still breathing heavily, spread my legs, hoisted me up onto his thighs and pushed his whole cock into me with one thrust." Sam's deep groan was all she needed as encouragement at this point. "And then he fucked me, long, deep, and good. The sensations were so overwhelming I was buzzing, and I started to cum again. And just when I was at the height of it, Tom slipped his cock out of me and burst his hot jizz all over my wriggling body. I could taste it on my lips."

The image of his wife, mid-orgasm, slathered with the juice of another man was all he could take. In a flash, Sam had rolled Cathy over onto her back, swung her legs open, and in almost an exact recreation of her story, pushed his desperate cock deep into her cunt.

He gripped her body tight and thrust hard, thrust wildly, sending his cock deep into her body over and over. Cries of encouragement echoed in his ears, the hot spring of pleasure coiling tight in his loins. Cathy was right there with him, speeding toward the cliff of release as her slick body gripped and grasped at her husband's driving cock.

Rhythmic chants of "Yes, yes!" lept from her throat, and just as she reached her climax and her body began to tumble and spasm, Sam joined her over the edge, pulling out, leaning in, and peppering her heaving breasts and gasping stomach with thick ropes of hot cum.

Sam looked down at his handiwork splattered across his wife's heaving diaphragm. Then they both collapsed to the bed in a heap of slick, gasping flesh.

"Good God," Sam choked out.

"You can say that again," Cathy concurred. They looked at each other and broke out laughing, then Sam leaned in and kissed her deep and hard. Their laughter never stopped.

To be continued in part 3.

By Liminally Spaced for Literotica.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpcember 13

All of this Whumpcember is a single, long fic, with the prompts used in specific scenes, in order. See the Masterlist and AO3 link here.

((content warnings: panic attack ))

promptspiration: @whumpcember Day 13: Restraints

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy Whumper: Harry Potter Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: fear / flashbacks fic type: post-Hogwarts AU

words: ~1300

-------------------

Draco was uncomfortable, because he was alone. Harry had said he had something to show him and stepped out while he rinsed the breakfast dishes, and now that he was finished Draco was tense, waiting for him to come back. 

Maybe he wouldn't? 

No, of course he would. He had to. He always did. Right?

His nervous hand sought out the deck of cards in his pocket and pulled one out at random, trying to give himself something to do. Four of Cups… The card of apathy and disconnection. The wizard on the card was staring at an empty cup while three others stacked beside him overflowed. Draco had the impression the wizard had poured out that empty cup himself. 

He wished he could be so stoic… He wished he didn't care. But no, he couldn't shut up these emotions. 

He pulled open drawers until he found the one with eating utensils in it and started organising them within, both to give himself something to focus on and to settle his mind. Stacking the various forks — not proper silver, just mismatched junk that would have made Walburga sniff so hard in disapproval she would have inverted her face — in order of descending size, separating the spoons… It felt better. 

The sound of Harry's footsteps coming down the hall grabbed his attention and he instantly abandoned the task to meet him. Harry hid his hands behind his back when he saw him but smiled. "All right, come on then." 

"Thank you." He didn't even have anything to thank him for, he was just grateful he came back. He discreetly held onto Harry's sleeve with two fingers for some sort of contact. 

Harry didn't notice, or if he did he didn't draw attention to it, but he grinned as he showed what was in his hands — a Slytherin necktie. "This is for you," he said, seeming very proud of himself.

Draco stared it it, making no move to take it from him, and he knew he did not entirely control his look of distaste. 

"Go ahead," Harry encouraged, holding it toward him.

"No, thank you." 

"'No'?" Harry touched his chin, with the tie draped over his fingers, to have him meet his eyes. His eyebrows were raised above his glasses.

"I don't really want that…" he said carefully. 

"Come on." Harry looped it behind Draco's neck and held both ends lightly. "You look sharp." 

"It's a bit perverse, isn't it? We're not kids." 

"I like it." Harry grinned and tugged him closer to kiss him. 

Draco accepted that but didn't reciprocate; he pulled on Harry's sleeve to pull his arm down and bring the tie sliding with it. "Let me correct myself… I really don't want that." He pushed it down and away. "I hated school."

"You loved school." Harry's hands settled on his hips.

"The last two years were literal torture. I was probably the worst person I've ever been in fifth. As for the rest…" He shrugged a little. "I don't imagine anyone's all that proud of who they were when they were eleven."

"Not the ones who've changed, anyway." Harry kissed him lightly again. 

"Mm. So I may have enjoyed being in school then, but I'm not eager to think back on it now."

"I guess I can see that." Harry's hands slid to hold his and pulled them together. "Well, we could take this and make some new memories…" He playfully looped the tie around Draco's wrists. 

When the material closed around his wrists, he instantly forgot about Harry. His world narrowed to that single sensation. A high sound escaped him and he staggered back, struggling against the binding. He couldn't even think thoughts, he was just trapped and that was utterly overwhelming, he couldn't think, he couldn't even breathe—

"Draco!" The tie disappeared and he collapsed against an upended side table, gasping for breath and half-sobbing, trying to hold it in. What was that? Why would he do that? 

Harry crouched down in front of him, reached for his hands, and Draco flinched away, slamming his head into the table.

Harry grabbed his head and held it, turning his face to him. "Hey. Hey! It's okay!" He held his head firmly and looked into his eyes. "You're okay."

His hands were shaking, but he pulled them over his face, struggling to catch his breath.

Harry gently pulled down his hands, and this time he was able to let him. Harry rubbed his hands and then stroked his hand down his hair. "You're okay. What was that?" He touched the spot Draco had hit his head, looked at a smear of blood on his fingers, and brought out his wand to heal it. 

"I don't… I don't know…" He clung to Harry's hands. "I'm sorry…" 

"Shh." Harry hugged him against his chest. "What caused it? Was it the tie? Was it this?" He held one of Draco's wrists, and Draco immediately jerked back, whimpering. "Okay, it's that. It's okay." He let go of his wrist and wrapped his arms around him instead, holding his head against his chest. "It's okay."

It wasn't okay… Why did that happen? Why did he have to be so weak right in front of him like that? It felt like something just snapped in his mind, like the fear that used to come from Harry holding him but somehow even worse, so much worse. How was that even possible? It was just terror out of nowhere.

Harry stood, helping him to his feet and keeping his arm around him. "Here." He pushed a bottle into his hands and helped him hold it. 

Calming Draught. He drank it gratefully and the fear, confusion, and embarrassment pulled away so that he could think. He nodded and held onto Harry's hand. "I don't know what happened." His voice managed to sound reasonable and in control.

"That's fucking weird innit." Harry put his wand away — he must have used it to Summon the bottle — and rubbed his back. They moved down the hall, into the inner sitting room, and Harry swiftly got the fire roaring. Draco hadn't even recognised that he wanted that, but he did. 

"Just sit down for a minute." Harry sat and Draco leaned comfortably against him; Harry's arm was around him, but the necktie was also running thoughtfully over Harry's fingers. 

"You ready to talk about that?" Harry asked in a bit. "Figure out why that happened?"

"No," he said simply.

That terror… He didn't even want to think about it, it still made his mouth dry. He'd never before considered the idea of a phobia of… what, bondage? Was that even possible? He'd suffered the indignity before, in the immediate aftermath of the war, while they were still trying to figure out what to do with Death Eater defectors, and he hadn't freaked out then. Now even the thought of the Wizengamot chair with its chains scared him enough he had to turn his mind away to control himself. What had changed?

He'd changed. Maybe now he was just afraid of everything. Maybe he could only function in a soft room with Harry holding his hand. 

Harry kissed his head. "We do need to figure it out." He shifted his hand to hold onto Draco's wrist, and Draco shut his eyes, holding his breath. "You've had a Calming Draught and I can still feel your heart racing," Harry murmured, kneading his wrist gently between his fingers. "There's something really wrong. You can't go on like this." 

Draco couldn't speak, but his hand trembled in Harry's. Let me go… please let me go…

Harry did let him go, tucking his hand back against his chest, and looped his arm warmly around him again. "I'll figure something out." 

He could just not do that again… Then it would never be a problem. Right?

"You'll be okay." Harry rubbed his chest and looked at the tie.