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#because it's late and I'm feeling syrupy
hwaitham · 2 months
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𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓽𝔃 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⋆ ࣪˖ 𓂃𓋜
al haitham x f!reader . sfw — fluff . established relationship ノ how to spend a sunday morning in love . . ♡ note : this is a sweet little ficlet based on a dream i had dreamt two nights ago :3 i apologize for any errors here — i wrote this in one sitting with love absolutely inundating me (∩´͈ `͈∩ ྀི) this is moreso catharsis for me than anything else !
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it will never be more homely in al haitham's house than it is late on sunday mornings.
because it really doesn't get much cosier than this: the sumeru sun peeking through the open window to tip its hat and wish upon you a ‘good day!’, the bird-chime breeze whisking the sweet fragrance of ripened zaytun peaches past the curtains, the cuckoo clock announcing that it's prime time for elevenses.
“biscuits with your tea, haitham?”
“yes, thank you.”
what a delightfully dreamy sunday morning it is! today especially of all sundays past, where mottles of gold dust flit and float through the spiced air of his kitchen and you stand before him dressed in a sugar-icing pink frock.
he holds you in his eyes and a mug of chai in his left hand, fondling your fingers with his right, mindlessly thumbing over your ring finger.
al haitham searches for something that isn’t yet there.
and of course, you understand your lover without words. meet his gaze with a demure smile. quiet, fawn-eyed, clever. and you dare him to speak his mind with a pout of your lips, an enticing tilt of your head, a charming giggle that’s puffed out onto the junction of his neck before you give it a kiss— tugging at the roots of his heart in ways you know best, “whatcha thinking about?”
his lips twitch up into a curve at your feigned innocence because, oh, you know exactly what he’s thinking.
it's in this pas de deux that he finds such great joy, these games of push-and-pull that you play. he recognizes that perhaps he's weak to it— your whimsy and wonder, that you're still as coy as when first you met, and he melts underneath it as if he were cream on a cone.
you twirl twine round and round and round his soul to bind it to yours without even realizing.
“i'm sure you already know, habibti,” al haitham tells you: once spoken, once again with a playful tug of your ring finger, once more with the sealing kiss of an unspoken promise to your lips. the syrupy sweetness of his breath and his words are laid thickly on you, and your smile wavers the teensiest of bits as he sets his mug aside and encases your hand within his, raising it to his chest.
“still...”
your head begins to spin and your little heart begins to pound a little louder.
“won't you say it? please?”
so too does his.
there is a lot more vehemence in al haitham than you'd have guessed, and a great deal more than he has any idea of himself— for he's spitting the words out before you can even close your mouth.
but it is just such a tender sunday morning here in his kitchen and the sun is kissing your cheek and casting dancing shadows in the dip of your clavicle and your glass of iced tea is starting to tear up and you smell of harra fruit and white shores and green fields and everything pure in this world and good grief, he is just so in love with you.
“marry me.”
al haitham does not ask it of you nor does he command it of you— it is merely a breath (one that is slightly more wobbly than his pride would have foretold) of a burning desire that he wishes to will into existence.
“let me be your husband.” a delicate kiss is laid upon your ring finger. “let me make you my wife.” another to the one on your opposite hand. “let me make you the happiest girl alive.”
his words slice through your cake of a heart and bleeds it of its custard memories, tart lemony feelings that push a crinkle up your throat and behind your eyes. before he's given the chance to speak such uncharacteristically sweet words any longer, you throw yourself into his arms and steal from him a searing hug.
and it's not the colour of his hair that fascinates you (you do well to remind yourself that it is silver, not grey), nor the peculiar little way he's got about him. it's the form his eyes and lips take when he smiles at you, the shape his voice fills when he talks to you— how carefully, tenderly he crafts himself when it comes to you. it is all for you, entirely yours and only yours to see, to keep, to admire.
“i get to love you until the end of forever... lucky me.” your voice is a garbled mess of sniffles and hiccups but really, you can't help it.
love is inundating you and you can't help but weep in the middle of his kitchen on this fine sunday morning, where the sun blesses you with its light and the birds and chimes sing and the flowers on the sill dance for you and your eternal honeymoon love.
al haitham takes your face within the cradles of his palms, kissing your dewy cheeks and shushing your sobs and caressing you into a peaceful silence. “so… what say you?”
the giggles and squeals of children playing as they run past his house sound through the window and it makes you cling to him tighter, fists furling and unfurling in the linen of his sleep shirt.
how long have you stood, swathed in his sweet embrace like this? his chai is no longer steaming and an ache begins to wrap itself around your head from all the tears you've shed. though, you suppose it matters not— a moment is forever if it is spent in his arms.
“i'm sure you already know, haitham.”
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astarien · 8 months
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You mentioned in a previous Astarion analysis post:
"But, I think, given his behavior, his casual flirtiness, his "You want to lose yourself in me," (another line I can squawk about endlessly in terms of character analysis)"
I am encouraging you to squawk. I think you've got a really good grasp of his character and I love your posts!
UPDATE***written during EA
@littlemisstrancy Sorry for the late reply! I fell down another rabbit hole of replaying haha.... Aww, thank you! I'm so glad, a good grade in Astarion is a Normal and Reasonable thing to want to achieve. But YES, I find his entire sex scene to be extremely interesting (going off of what Larian said that, paraphrased, nonsexual intimacy with some will mean more than sex with others, because of the nature of the relationship.)
What I find most interesting about Astarion's romance scenes is that the scene itself is remarkably much more syrupy than he, by nature, really is. We can point to, "darling," "my love," as evidence of his tendencies for the dramatics, yes, but given that these are petnames he'll throw out to a Tav he hates as much as a Tav he enjoys, the surface meaning and connotations of dramatic flirtations and even more dramatic pre-sex speeches.... shifts.
The way we filter these interactions shifts because we have to filter what is, at first glance, a typical romance scene, through the lens of the character giving the spiel. If Astarion associates dramatic seduction and slinky purring as simply the easiest way to get what he wants--or, perhaps, more than that, the expectation, the only way for this interaction to occur, because hollow dramatics/play-acting have been likely the only pseudo-""romance"" he's engaged in in the 200 years he's been with Cazador, that changes the meaning of everything, including the line: "You want to lose yourself in me." <- sure laddie, just keep objectifying and disconnecting yourself from the experience itself and repeat the habits of behavior that you've learned from 200 years of being someone else's toy and tool where you weren't even a willing participant in what was happening, merely a mandatory one. that'll be really great. no backfiring here whatsoever.
Okay, sorry, under the cut the rest of this goes because I went off on three different tangents to try and tie them all back together again. This is mostly my background reasoning for above. WHAT DOES THE REST HAVE TO DO WITH TAV. Honestly I'm not sure anymore I started talking and then I didn't stop talking.
It feels like so much of the overarching realities of their circumstances fall away for Tav, but it also haunts the entire interaction with Astarion. Shallow charm. Winning over people. A pretty face opening doors. I'd chalk it up to sexy-video-game-scene-writing if it were any other game, but the other romance scenes aren't nearly so grandstanding and are written I think intentionally to subvert that, so this is an Astarion Thing, and likely goes deeper than that first glance. As it stands, Astarion barely even knows who he is now that he's outside of Cazador's control. "Another thing that I've lost." -- His personhood has been nonexistent, and he's been a tool, and he's been, for lack of a better word, dehumanized to the fullest extent for an insurmountable amount of time. So of course the thing he learned best is that the easiest way to get what you want, or get what you need, is to be easily projected unto. He can't keep the facade up for very long, I don't think, but in that scene his "don't ask too many questions just look at how hot I am" mindset is fully on to me.
The thing is that his circumstances with Tav here are entirely different than the ones he's been in before, but just because the circumstances are different doesn't mean that the behavior will be different, or that habits formed out of severe distress/torture in his own words will be so easily let go of. My ULTIMATE POINT is that charm and flirtations are things Astarion clearly separates from himself and his actual beliefs, and he treats what we conceive as "charming" behavior fairly flippantly--once again, that "my love," means... not... a lot. we just met 2 weeks ago, pal. And I don't think he's interested in using it like that anymore, because he's not making a super great effort to be perceived as likeable. It comes out mostly in scenes where flirting and charisma are expected of the interaction and then they're pushed to their most exaggerated format, when he isn't actually typically like that in other conversations. Dramatic and foppish, yes, and enjoys ridiculousness in several formats, yes, but not nearly so egregiously saccharine, at all.
If he is starting to give a fuck about Tav, or even the group, that's something else to grapple with, and it's still at this point I think partly wrapped up in the idea that Tav makes for a "good ally." His scenes where he says: "we're more alike than I thought" "You're stronger than I gave you credit for," feel more genuine and honest to me in some ways than his sex scene speech. His fondness for Tav and his idea that strength/power/security can be found by sticking close to Tav can be true at the same time, in an interesting dance between his growing connection to them and his general ideas on people, power, and control.
So secondary: is Astarion a manipulator who's using this sex scene to control Tav emotionally and that's what he's got going on here? Eh... maybe yes and no? He wouldn't ask Tav if he wasn't interested--as seen by how he'll shut you down if he can't stand your guts. If he's using sex for that, it's up in the air, open to interpretation, depends on your HC, I can see both interpretations and I'm not going to claim one is more true than the other, since there's evidence for both "manipulating" and "not manipulating" and to me, the truth falls somewhere in the middle. I'm sure the thought has probably crossed his mind, but I don't actually think he's good enough at charm to follow through on that, which I will now elaborate on in INTRICATE detail....
Astarion isn't actually concerned about being likeable, or wanted within the group--or, rather, he may be concerned about it (because there's both safety and danger in a group setting), but he also isn't concerned about it enough to not advocate entirely for self-preservation and selfishness at generally every turn. He also isn't concerned about winning over the group enough to abdicate his firmest belief: that the tadpole is an advantage they should use, and a power he intends to keep.
And, if you relent to the group, he calls you spineless in the face of everyone else. So he's not afraid to insult you, Tav, either, certainly not to preserve some loose semblance image of ""charming,"" which he's already really bad at maintaining in general, because his brand of everything can just as easily piss people off as compel. Bad taste central.
Hell, his intro scene displays this best: He lures you in with a silly little lie that makes him sound weaker than he is ("You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others!") and then he strikes when your back is turned. Shallow charm is an accessible tool, he doesn't have the patience for long-lasting plots or extended slinky charm. Or if he does, and he's been manipulating all of us, he's not doing a great job, since half the party is making faces at him the whole time. Buuut....
During the mirror conversation, if you tell him vanity is a weakness:
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(Text - Astarion: It's an indulgence, I'll grant you, but a weakness? A well-presented face can open a lot of doors.)
There is an awareness of beauty and charm that Astarion references often. He isn't really afraid to objectify himself for his own means, or being perceived as weaker than he is (except in certain circumstances). He knows these things are quite relevant, socially. Beautiful people are treated better. Beautiful people typically can get away with more. Actually I could probably approach this from a Class and Wealth related lens too, because his history as a magistrate probably also influences this mindset a lot, but that is. a THIRD separate essay.
He seeks to be strong enough to beat Cazador, at least partly through the same means that Cazador himself uses. The tadpoles give us absolute authority, in the end, and Astarion has zero qualms inflicting onto others what was inflicted onto him when we use them. But prior to the tadpole, what tools did Astarion have at his disposal? Very few, and most of them revolved around empty charm, quick-thinking, and trying to predict unpredictable moods and then enduring whatever came of those moods. That hollow charm falls under these kinds of tools, which gave him very short-term influence over at least the people he would lure back to Cazador. Likely the only form of control or power he had within all of that, and where he himself was without control as his entire being was under someone else's thumb. And those habits will likely persist for awhile, until he relearns who and what he wants to do and be outside of Cazador's purview. Which could mean anything, this is not to make him sound softer than he is or sweeter than he is. His vainglorious bitch syndrome is 4D chess of truth and not truth, empty cloying, vicious lashing out, and 10 degrees of identity issues wrapped up in all of that, so it's difficult to pin down just one thing as Real or Not Real, and I don't think even he knows what's Real and Not Real right now.
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ladybugkisses · 10 months
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I know I'm late to the party w the Lackadaisy Rocky Asks but I think a first "date" would be cute to see! (Mainly because I think a pancake date feels on brand but also there's a 70 percent chance the place ends up on fire or covered in maple syrup (Or Both)) by the end of it! Also big big :eyes: at Comms
this is probably a good time for me to confess,
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...sO YEAH, On brand
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but have a little faith in him, as long as there's nothing flammable nearby everything should go fine, right :^)
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maybe a little too syrupy though
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threadbaresweater · 1 year
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a temporary reprieve
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You knew that a relationship with Aki Hayakawa was a risk. You vowed to take it as it comes, to take care when it came to your heart and your future, but when you fall pregnant with his child, you realize that the best laid plans often go awry...
The details: 6.9k words. Heavy angst, little to no comfort. Not a happy (but a quietly hopeful) ending. Major character death. Pregnancy and childbirth. Very brief consideration of abortion. Mentions of vomit and nausea. Canon divergence. Shower sex, vaginal fingering. Mentions of bruising and blood. LARGELY UNEDITED, probably rushed because it really got away from me fast and I was terrified if I didn't end it here I'd write forever. Please read at your own risk. (Repost)
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Aki is angry when you tell him.
You knew he wouldn't be happy; to be frank, you weren't exactly thrilled. You'd been together long enough that it had certainly come up in conversations about your future, but it was never a discussion. You both agreed that it wasn't what you wanted out of life. Aki had his own reasons, you had yours, and that was that. There was never any need to revisit the matter because you'd made your choice together. It should have been cut and dry.
The universe apparently has other plans, however, and the longer you stare at those two little pink lines, the more you realize you are only delaying the inevitable. You have to tell him.
"You okay in there?" His voice is muffled from the other side of the bathroom door, but it still makes your head spin with panic. You turn on the water and flush the toilet, hands trembling.
"Fine!" you lie. "Be out in a sec."
Not tonight, you think. You need time to process it yourself. Maybe there are other options you could consider. Maybe it's a false positive. Maybe this is a bad, bad dream and you'd wake up in a few hours and nothing would be any different than it was before you went to bed. Maybe…
"Hey, we're gonna be late. Not trying to be a dick, but–"
You open the door and smile brightly at him– too brightly, you fear– and your boyfriend raises a brow in a look you know so well, the one that tells you he knows you're hiding something from him and he thinks you're stubborn for even trying. "Ready!" You say, clapping your hands and brushing past him to grab your shawl off the back of the couch. "Sorry for taking so long. I just wanted to look nice tonight."
Aki softens and leans forward to kiss your temple as you bend to strap on your shoes. "You always look nice." He's so sincere that it makes you feel bad for lying to him. You keep your head lowered a few seconds longer than you need, makkng sure the buckle is secure.
"Let's go," you say, threading your arm through his. "I'm sure everyone's waiting for us."
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The restaurant is one of Makima's favorites: upscale, swanky, suit and tie required. Bone china, polished silver, crystal and linen as far as the eye can see. You feel Aki stiffen at your side when you enter and you squeeze his hand to quietly reassure him. His thin, strained smile says it all when he looks at you– let's make this quick. You nod in understanding just as Makima comes to greet you.
She's dressed to the nines in an outfit  that must be worth a year of your salary, hair in a perfectly coiffed updo that accentuates her long neck and diamond teardrop earrings. Her smile is syrupy and almost too sweet when she bids you good evening and offers her hand to Aki. He hesitates, then lifts her knuckles to kiss them lightly.
"Good boy," she says, looking directly at you; for some reason, it makes your face feel hot and you duck your head. "Our table is in the back. Come with me, won't you?"
The entirety of Division Four is present. You hear Denji and Power before you see them, half expecting them to be throwing food across the table at each other. You feel like a proud aunt when you see them sitting next to each other, chatting excitedly about their latest kill. When they see you, Aki, and Makima, they straighten up in their chairs and smile. You can't help but wave and smile back.
A waiter comes to ask what you'd like to drink. Aki orders himself a whisky, then nudges you gently when he sees your nose buried in the menu.
"Hm?"
"What do you want to drink?"
"Oh– oh! Um, water's fine."
You lift the menu back up to your face and pretend to be deeply engrossed in the selections.
"Babe? You're sure you don't want something else?" Aki asks quietly. It's not like you to endure these outings without an alcoholic beverage.
You nod. "Mm-hm! Water's fine, thanks," you confirm, hoping that no one is watching too closely. You have a terrible poker face.
At your side, Aki shrugs and lifts his eyes to Makima, who sits directly across from him. She's been watching the entire exchange with scrutinizing eyes, but decides that now isn't the time to bring up your strange behavior. First, she'd like to have a pleasant dinner.
Division Four is smaller these days; devil hunters with balls and brains are hard to come by, and Makima seems to keep those who have stayed with her even closer now. Tonight is a celebration of a month of work without casualties. It's a bittersweet get-together, and almost everyone ends up eating their fill and probably drinking more than they should. You're uncharacteristically quiet; so much so that Aki keeps a reassuring hand on your thigh and gives you a squeeze now and then. He's worried about you, but he engages in conversation with others just the same.
Makima says your name, and you look her directly in the eye, your lips quivering into an uncertain smile. "Are you feeling alright?" she asks. To the naked eye and unwavering ear, it’s an innocent question. But the way she studies you creates a bubbling sense of unease in the pit of your stomach. You take a long sip of your water while maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with her, then use the linen napkin from your lap to wipe your mouth.
“Just fine,” you lie. You know she sees right through it. Makima isn’t someone you normally want to be dishonest with, but this is not the time nor the place to reveal what’s really going on.You swallow again and rub your cheek, the intensity of her gaze making you the one who looks away first. “A little tired tonight, that’s all.”
She rests her chin in her hand and narrows her eyes a little, her painted lips turning down into a deep frown. “Mmm. Maybe you and Aki should call it a night. I’d hate for you to feel worse if you stayed out too late.”
Aki hears his name and is suddenly a part of your conversation with Makima. “What’s that? I didn’t catch it.”
“It’s nothing, Aki, I–”
“I was just telling her that maybe you ought to leave a little early if she isn’t feeling well. You should take her home, Aki. She looks a little pale.” She looks smug, and you reach under the table to squeeze Aki’s hand that’s still resting on your leg.
If the situation gets any more awkward, you’ll crack and just blurt it out. You have a brief, lucid daydream where you stand up and shout I’M PREGNANT WITH AKI’S CHILD! And everyone in the entire restaurant turns to stare at you and you give birth right there on the expensive, white tablecloth. You shake your head to shatter the image and find Aki’s face close to yours, a crooked finger lifting your chin so that he can get a better look at you.
“Makima’s right. You okay? We can go, if you want.”
You look around the table to find that it's fallen silent, and everyone watches you with bated breath. Power has even paused mid-bite with her jaw open, waiting on your answer. So you nod and push your chair out, standing a little too quickly. Your fork chatters to the floor and shatters the deafening silence. "You're probably right," you concede. "Thank you for dinner, Makima. It's been a pleasure."
The drive home is just as awkward. You insist on driving, as Aki took advantage of the free drinks, and you spend most of the drive biting your tongue and contemplating the best way to tell him the news.
Aki isn't an idiot. Your silence speaks volumes; he lights a cigarette and rolls his window halfway down to ease the tension. The smell– which normally doesn't bother you– makes your nose itch and your stomach lurch. You roll your own window down to let the cool night air refresh you.
"What's going on?" he asks, his eyes trained on you under the glow of a stoplight. Fat drops of rain start to fall on the windshield of your car, distorting your view. You watch them streak across the glass instead of looking at Aki. "Did I do something to make you mad?"
He's holding back his anger, his confusion, but it spills over in the tone of his voice. There's a quiet strain, as if there are more words caught in his tongue and he doesn't quite know how to form them in a way that won't upset you further, if indeed you are angry at him. He's painstakingly combing over details of the last few days in his mind, trying to pinpoint the moment when you might have been offended, but he genuinely can't recall anything.
The light turns green and you make a turn toward home. "You didn't do anything, Aki. I swear."
He's quiet for a few seconds, dragging on the last of his cigarette. "Then what is it? Did something upset your stomach at dinner? Are you in pain?"
His concern brings tears to your eyes and you shake your head, focusing on your grip on the steering wheel. You shift in your seat and fidget with your seat belt. "I'm a little sick, yeah. Started before dinner though."
"Why didn't you say something then? We could have stayed home if I'd known." He sounds annoyed. "This wasn't a required thing, you know? Makima would understand–"
"No, Aki, I don't think she would have," you retort, snapping at him far more angrily than you meant to. Both of you know you're right, and you let it sink in for a few seconds. You snap your lips shut and turn them into a deep frown, the shame washing over you in a cold, uncomfortable wave. "Sorry- I didn't mean to snap at you."
When you arrive home, he reaches over to grab your hand just as you unfasten your seat belt. His grip is strong, but not forceful. "Please," he says in the darkness. "Please tell me what it is."
"Upstairs," you say, pulling your hand away. "I'll tell you upstairs."
The walk to your shared apartment is too short. Aki walks behind you, step by step, and your keys jingle in your hand. Your heels feel too tight, the pins you put in your hair pressing too hard against your scalp. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and turn to face Aki, meeting his hardened gaze for the first time in at least a couple of hours.
"Promise me something."
He squints, his mouth open just enough that you see the lick of his tongue behind his teeth as he tilts his head. "Promise what, exactly?"
"Please don't be mad at me."
He huffs a short laugh, scratching the back of his head. "Depends on what you're going to tell me."
You start to protest, but decide that he's right. You have no business telling him how he's supposed to feel, so you open the door and immediately unbuckle your shoes upon entry. Aki sheds his jacket and follows you to the kitchen, where you brace yourself against the counter to gather courage. The clock above the sink ticks away the seconds, and Aki stands before you, an arm's length away, but doesn't touch you.
"It's not good news," you whisper.
Aki’s lip curls a little and he crosses his arms. "Yeah. I figured it wasn't."
"I, um." You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I was late. And I took a test, and…uh…" You look at him with a mixture of hope and fear. You don't want to have to say the word– somehow it feels less scary if you don't.
Aki's eyes haven't left your face, but as he mulls over your clumsy confession, his breathing grows more labored and his cheeks flush bright pink. He steps back and lifts a trembling finger. "No…no no no no." His voice raises in volume and intensity. "We said that wasn't going to happen. You were supposed to be on the pill. We've been careful. You– I…" He shakes his head in disbelief and backs up further as if it will soften the blow.
You reach for him, but your hand falls lifeless to your side when he takes another step back. "Can we talk about it?"
He laughs, incredulous, pushing his hand through his bangs. "Talk about what? What's there to talk about? You wanna talk about how fucked up this is? About how we agreed to fucking be careful and prevent something like this from happening in the first place?" He opens the sliding glass door to the balcony and steps outside. You follow, tentative and quiet, watching as he lights another cigarette. "What the fuck are we going to do? This- this isn't…"
Now Aki is the one who won't look at you.
It pains you to even consider, but you know there are options. You lean against the open door, pushing away tears with the heel of your hand. "I mean, I don't have to…" You trail off, looking down at your toes. "I haven't been to the doctor yet, so I don't even know how far along I am, but I could find out, and we can talk about what to do then."
He doesn't say a word. You can feel the ire boiling, rolling off the stiffness of his shoulders and the way he exhales the smoke with impatient force. You don't prod him for a response. With Aki, you've learned that he likes to choose his words carefully and not speak from a place of impulsive emotion. Instead, you step back inside with a deep, wavering sigh.
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By the time he comes back inside, you've changed into your pajamas, removed your makeup and jewelry, and crawled under the covers. You're lucid enough to sense when he comes into the bedroom and quietly shuts the door, but you don't make a sound. Instead, you lie still and pretend to be asleep as he goes to shower. When he finally climbs into bed with you, he lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.
When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.
You don’t panic at first, though morning sickness hits you like a freight train as soon as you sit up. The room spins and you break out in a cold sweat, the wave of nausea washing over you and making your skin crawl. Thankfully it’s only a few steps to the bathroom, where you fall on your knees in front of the toilet and heave until there's nothing left but bile. You stand and brush your teeth, but gag on the bristles of your toothbrush on your tongue and end up vomiting again. It takes you several minutes to feel capable of standing without feeling too wobbly, but once you're okay, you go to the kitchen to heat up the kettle.
You're used to occasional mornings alone when Aki works. You try to tell yourself that he got called out on a mission, but this feels different. Usually, there's an air of expectation when he's at work and you know he'll be home, almost always by the time it gets dark. This morning, there's a finality to his departure. You don't recall if he kissed you goodbye like he usually does, or if he told you he loves you in the dark stillness of the early morning. He hasn't taken any additional belongings that you can see, and you try to reassure yourself that he'll be back this evening, but your gut tells you otherwise. Most of the day is spent dozing on the couch, nibbling on saltines and sipping peppermint tea to keep your nausea at bay. It's mundane and routine, but it comforts you to do a load of laundry, to sweep the rug, to add a little birdseed to the feeder on the balcony. The life you've built with Aki–  despite the imminent danger he's in every time he goes to work– is, by contrast, quietly domestic. It's almost picturesque what you've built together.
Now, there's another life to consider.
Somehow you muster up the courage to call your doctor's office to schedule an appointment. They tell you at first that the only available time won't be for another three weeks, and you panic. If you're to consider termination, you need to find out exactly how far along you are now so that you can decide how to proceed. Without explicitly saying as much, you tell the receptionist that you've been having a terrible time with morning sickness (it's not a total bluff) and you'd like to have a sooner consultation. She sighs heavily and miraculously finds an appointment for you two days from now.
Two days. You hope Aki comes home to go with you. The thought of him leaving for good is one you just can't shake. It's so out of character for him, but considering the way he reacted when you told him the news last night, it’s not totally impossible to fathom.
It turns out your gut wasn’t wrong, after all. You don’t sleep a wink the first night.
You’re due at work the following morning, but you’re so nauseous and exhausted that you call in sick. Your boss is understanding and tells you to take it easy, but she doesn’t know the extent of what’s happening. Next, you try Aki’s cell. He usually only carries it for work, and since the charger is still plugged into the kitchen counter outlet, you don’t figure you’ll have any luck. When it goes straight to voicemail without even one ring, your fears are confirmed. Though Makima is the last person on earth you want to talk to right now, you know she’s also the first person who might be able to give you a clue as to Aki’s whereabouts.
“Public Safety, Makima speaking.” Her voice is crystal clear and cuts through your courage like a hot knife, splitting you in two. You stammer into the speaker, and her laugh lilts down the line. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up. I can’t understand you.”
You take a deep breath and tell her who’s calling. “Have you seen Aki?” you ask– hopeful, tearful, palm clasped over your mouth to quiet your sobs.
“He’s out on a mission right now. May I leave him a message for you?” She’s cold and detached, just as you knew she’d be. You’ve never been able to crack her, and you’re not sure you even want to. There’s something about her that leaves you feeling unsettled and exposed every time you’re around her, as if she knows all of your secrets but won’t tell you which ones she’s thinking about the most.
“Do you know when he’ll be back? Like, even an estimate? Or where he is?”
“I’m sorry, that information is classified. As soon as he’s back in the office, I’ll have him call you.”
“Wait, Makima, I–!”
She sighs softly. “What is it?”
You hesitate, lowering your head in defeat. “It’s nothing. Thanks anyway.”
“Give him time,” she says.
“I’m sorry?”
The line goes dead before she responds, and you’re left to wonder if she knows. And if she does…is it because Aki told her, or because she figured it out at dinner the other night? Or perhaps she has another way of knowing, and that’s why you felt so uncomfortable in her presence that night.
When Aki doesn’t return home for the second night in a row, you worry more about his safety than what lies between you. If he was injured or killed on the job, surely someone would have reached out to you by now. Although you’re not married, you’re the closest thing to family that he has. It’s tempting to call the Public Safety office again, but you know who will answer and what she’ll say. So you shower, you dress in Aki’s pajamas, and you crawl to his side of the bed where you try to catch a little bit of sleep.
You've been sleeping so lightly that any small sound is apt to rouse you, so it's no surprise that you'd be keenly aware of the front door opening. The clock at your bedside indicates that it's past three in the morning, and you sit up just as Aki's shadow appears in the doorway to your bedroom.
You hold your breath, waiting to hear him say something– anything. But he's quiet and still, hands pushed into the pockets of his pants, shoulder leaning into the doorframe. Moments pass between you, and he sighs.
"Hi," you whisper, tentative and unsure.
It's his signal to move. He sits down on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on your knee, studying your face. He looks like he's falling apart. Angry, purple crescents beneath his eyes tell you he hasn't slept. He's dirty– old blood streaked across his cheek, under his fingernails. Now that he's closer, you smell the booze, the stale smoke, the acrid coppery scent of blood and sweat and struggle. Your stomach lurches and try to breathe through your mouth instead of your nose. You won't let it ruin this reunion.
"I'm sorry," he offers. "I got a call, and I had to go. There wasn't time to–" He chokes, inhaling sharply and pressing his hand to his mouth to hold back his sobs.
"Oh, Aki…" You sit up fully and wrap him in your arms, tucking your head between his neck and shoulder. He stiffens at first, confused and overwhelmed with your affection, but soon you feel the tension in his body melt away and he allows himself to be held.
He does lift his arms to fold them around you, eventually. There are a million and one things you could both say, but the silence speaks volumes. The fact that he's here with you, that he came back, that he hasn't made the decision to run is relief enough. You know him well enough to know that he wouldn't have the heart to abandon you, but the overwhelming fear of not knowing his whereabouts for the last two days had you thinking all sorts of horrible things. You know his past, you're living in his present right alongside him. But you can't read his mind.
There's a ritual when he comes home from missions, and though he doesn't expect you to help him this time, you do so anyway. You peel his jacket from his shoulders, you take out the knot in his tie and undo the buttons on his shirt, all while the shower runs and steam begins to waft toward the ceiling, creating a warm haze in the confines of your small bathroom. You carefully pull the elastic from his hair and run your fingers through the soft, black strands while he slips his thumbs into the waistband of your pants (his pants, he notes, and his heart swells with guilt) and helps you step out of them.
The water washes away his tension, but the resulting fatigue overwhelms both of you. He's not wounded this time apart from a few small scratches on his face and a larger one on his left shoulder, but the bruises you find tell you that this mission was no small struggle. Aki follows the path of your fingers with tired eyes as you gently circle each blemish on his tender skin.
"What's it like?" he asks, barely above a whisper.
You furrow your brow, wrinkling your nose to keep the tears at bay. "What's what like?" You think you know, but you ask anyway.
Aki places a trembling hand on your abdomen and looks at you meaningfully. "This."
Despite your best efforts, the tears fall anyway and mingle with the water that's misted over your cheeks. You cover his hand with yours. "I don't really know yet. I don't feel any different except for being sick to my stomach all the time."
He frowns a little, then trains his eyes down to where your hands meet. "Do you think the…" He pauses and swallows thickly. "The baby…will have my eyes?"
You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, but the hope that blooms warm in your chest is hard to deny. "Maybe. There's only one way to find out." You look at him expectantly. "I have an appointment today... Do you–"
"I'll come with you," he says. It's resolute and determined, and you know in your heart that he's already decided what the outcome will be.
Before you can say another word, he's kissing you. It tastes of melancholy, of longing, of long nights of missing you and worrying that you've already made up your mind. You wind your arms around his neck and he turns, pressing you against the shower wall with his body hard and slick against your own. His kisses take a desperate turn, and his hands knead and grab your flesh as if it's the first and last time he'll be able to touch you like this. You kiss him back with equal intensity, the taste of him mingling with the saltiness of tears– yours or his, you're not sure.
His kisses fall to your jaw, to your neck, tongue tracing over your skin as one hand falls between your legs. You grip him tight around the shoulders with one arm and brace yourself against the wall with your other as he works his fingers just inside, flicking them softly over your clit until your quiet moans fall on his ear.
"I'm sorry I disappeared," he says again, lips grazing the shell of your ear. You feel his hardness pressing just under your belly button and you widen your stance, eyes shut tight against the deluge of water and the desperate need for him to be inside you. You can't bring yourself to care much beyond this moment– past or future, it doesn't matter. He's here now, and he's all you need.
"It's okay," you say, earnestly, your voice climbing a few notes when he grips the back of your thighs to lift you. Back against the wall, arms still wrapped snug around his shoulders, your body welcomes him with practiced ease. Aki takes a moment to steady himself, to feel the warmth of your sex envelop him, before he begins rolling his hips up against yours. You gently scratch your nails through his hair and across the back of his neck and lick your way into his mouth in a deep and dirty kiss. He groans low and gritty, his breath hot and heavy on your tongue.
It isn't long before the intensity builds for both of you. Within minutes, he's moving at a near frantic pace, fucking into you as hard as he can manage without slipping from his position on the slick tub floor. Your legs are wrapped tight around him as he moves, each thrust making your back slide along the wall to create an angry sounding squeak of skin against vinyl. Neither of you are in any state to care or even notice.  When Aki comes, he pushes hard up inside, staying there without moving to feel the way he pulses, the way your pussy flutters and spasms around him, accepting all that he's giving to you.
Panting, he helps you lower one leg as he slips out of you, then replaces his cock with gentle fingers. "Got carried away," he says with a quiet, breathless chuckle, kissing his way up from your collarbone to just under your jaw before capturing your mouth in a kiss again. He knows just where to touch and how to kiss you to bring you to the brink quickly, and you're soon falling apart around him, a quivering, wet mess at the hand of your very own devil hunter.
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According to blood work and an ultrasound exam, you're seven weeks along. The doctor's report is positive, and you're given medicine to help with morning sickness, which they say should be manageable by the end of your first trimester. Aki listens carefully from the chair beside the examination table where you sit, absorbing all the information until his head spins. It's overwhelming for both of you, but there's no denying the little, flickering flame of excitement when it comes to imagining the future.
The months fly by. Your morning sickness is replaced by a voracious appetite for noodles and dumplings and almond tofu. Quiet moments are spent with Aki's hand on your swollen abdomen, your feet in his lap, and a tiny human who seems to enjoy practicing somersaults against the warmth of her father's palm. The quiet domesticity you've built together over the last couple of years has a new intensity to it now, and it's increasingly difficult for you to face the reality of Aki’s devil contracts. You don't want to think about it, because ultimately you know that he isn't going to see your child grow up.
Two years, the Curse Devil had proclaimed after Himeno had passed. You'd met him a few months prior, and at the time you were blissfully unaware of his occupation. He didn't want to have feelings for you, but the more he tried to deny them, the stronger they became. He was honest with you only when he realized how serious you were about pursuing a relationship with him, and he fully expected you to run.
You loved him, though. And you told him as much one evening after you'd drug him to your favorite hangout, drunk on cheap spirits and his warm hands under the hem of your shirt. And for the first time, Aki thought that maybe there was something in this world worth living for beyond revenge.
It wasn't until you told him you were pregnant that he even considered retiring from Devil hunting, though. Working for public safety had been what he thought was meant for him. Nothing else made sense. Though it could prove fatal for him to even consider abandoning his contracts, he did consider going private.
Makima's cold, hard gaze makes him feel small and insignificant, and he shifts uncomfortably from where he stands in front of her desk, hands clasped behind his back. His courage wanes the longer she stares, and he knows exactly what she's going to say before the words even leave her mouth.
"You can resign from Public Safety, Aki Hayakawa. But the devils you employ have nothing to do with your paycheck or your conscience."
He bows his head. "Yes, Miss Makima. I understand."
"Hm. Do you also understand that the life you've created will not have any bearing on the length of said contracts? That devils do not care for such trivial human matters?"
Aki grits his teeth, fingernails digging into the fat of his thumbs. "I do."
"And that doesn't change your mind about staying with Public Safety? Public or private, Aki Hayakawa, you'll still be required to call on them from time to time in order to keep fighting."
"I understand, ma'am. Respectfully, I'd like to think that going private might buy me a little more time."
She sits back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head. "Is that so?"
He nods. "If I can choose when I fight, and how much, I can preserve what's left of the time I still have."
"What about money? You won't be paid regularly, or fairly for that matter. Don't you want to be able to take care of this child responsibly in what little time you have remaining?"
"I've been saving. And I have an insurance policy. Even years after I'm gone, she'll be comfortable." There's a solid lump in his throat, and he swallows around it before he continues. "Ma'am, I appreciate your concern, but I've made my decision. I'd like to ask that you respect it, and accept my resignation, effective today."
Makima stands and walks from behind her desk, smooth fingertips trailing over the mahogany surface. She steps, inches away from Aki’s face, and turns her lips into a derisive grin. "Have it your way, then. Though it's sad to see you give up so easily on the one thing that's given you purpose for all these years."
Aki holds her gaze, determined and steadfast. "I'm not giving up. If anything? For the first time, I give a shit about something other than vengeance. There's someone who needs me for who I am, not what I can do for them. And it's restored a faith in humanity that I once thought was hopelessly lost. And if you can't understand that, then I'm not sure we ever understood each other at all, ma'am."
He knows that when he turns and leaves her office, it won't be the last time he sees her.
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You go into labor on a late afternoon in March. The previous days you'd been filled with an inexplicable energy to organize the bedroom closet and get every bit of lint out of the dryer vent. Aki watched you with curious fascination, ready to chide you into resting when your breathing became labored and your face began to shine with sweat. The nurse at your doctor's office called it "nesting", and while the term seemed funny to you at first, you soon realized that it came with a primitive purpose.
You were preparing for the birth of your daughter.
Within hours upon your arrival at the hospital, your daughter makes her bloody, messy, screaming entrance into the world. Aki watches from your bedside–  fascinated, disgusted, terrified, enchanted, enthralled– as you give life to her with firm coaching from the swarm of nurses and the doctor who guides her out of your womb and into your aching arms.
There's a flurry of activity around your bed, but you only see her. Still covered in blood and fluid, little patches of vernix behind her ears and on her shoulders, you think she's the most amazing person you've ever laid eyes on. Ten tiny fingers and ten little toes– you count them one by one while she curls against your chest and Aki kneels at your side with a trembling hand laid atop your head. You coo at her when she looks at you and swipe your finger across her cheek to wipe away the tear that had fallen from your chin.
She has his eyes.
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"Mamma, mamma! Look at me!"
It's a sweltering summer afternoon in the middle of July. There's a playground near your house that's become one of your favorite spots. There's a slide that your daughter swears is as tall as the skyscrapers downtown, and she stands at the top now, waving her little arm in an attempt to garner your attention. You look up from your book and shield your eyes from the sun that burns hot over her shoulder and smile to acknowledge her bravery. No matter that she's done it twenty times this afternoon– each climb is worth celebrating to her.
"I see you, baby! Go ahead! Show me how fast you can go!"
Her giggle is infectious, and she sits down at the edge. "Three…two…one!" Her squeal on the way down makes you throw your head back and laugh, and she nails the landing with her arms thrown in the air.
"Ta-daa!"
You applaud her bravery and showmanship, and she runs over to reward you with a hug that knocks the wind out of you when she throws her tiny body against yours and climbs into your lap. You stroke her silky black hair and hold her tight, despite the oppressive heat of the humid summer air and try not to think about the fact that Aki’s been missing for the last three days. The last time you’d seen him, he kissed you and his daughter goodbye in the wee hours of the morning, and you felt the familiar– albeit bitter– sense of dread wash over you that you felt every time he left on a mission. He’d kept true to his promise and only went out on calls that were deemed low-risk, fighting only in the private sector.
Your daughter had just turned three years old that spring. You celebrated her birthday with a trip to the bowling alley and a cake far too big for the three of you, but it didn’t matter. It was cause for celebration for more than one reason, and you knew it as well as he.
There wasn’t much time left. But you hadn’t realized just how little until you see Denji approaching where you and your daughter embrace on the park bench. He lifts a hand in greeting, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes waver, unsure of where to focus, and he takes a deep breath in through his open mouth while slowing his step as he approaches.
“Been a long time,” he says, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk; your vision blurred with tears, you watch as it lands in a soft patch of grass.
You cover your daughter’s ear with your hand and keep her head pressed against your chest. “Is he dead?” you whisper, searching Denji’s face for the answers you so desperately need.
Denji looks at you, and your head spins, your heart lurches into a frantic rhythm. You kiss your daughter and send her off to play; she happily obliges, and Denji sits beside you, scratching at the back of his neck. “She looks a lot like him, doesn’t she?”
“Identical,” you agree.
“I’m real sorry.”
“I knew it was coming.” It doesn’t soften the blow, however. You’d known that his time was short since before your daughter was born. But no amount of prior knowledge could have prepared you for the way you felt in this moment. The day is too beautiful. The sun is too bright, your daughter is too bubbly. It was supposed to happen on a rainy afternoon when you had nowhere else to be but home, inside and warm and comforted by the quiet stillness of your living room. It wasn’t supposed to be Denji who had to deliver the news. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t–
“Miss Makima said to give you this,” Denji says. It quiets your thoughts when he speaks, and he lays a small yellow envelope in your hand. You know immediately what it is, and though in reality it weighs mere grams, it feels like the weight of the world in the palm of your hand. Suddenly, the world stops spinning, and you don’t hear anything beyond the thrum of your pulse inside your ears, steady and insistent and frustratingly loud; it demands to be heard, to serve as indisputable evidence that you’re alive and Aki is dead, that you’ve outlived him just as you and he both knew you would. You lift the flap of the envelope and dump the contents into your hand.
The ring has been cleaned and polished. A simple circle of plain gold; you’re immediately thrown back to the day you married him under the canopy of trees, just beyond the very playground where your daughter runs with her friends. He’d asked you not long after she was born, and you’d happily agreed. You didn’t want to think about how much time you had as Mrs. Hayakawa, you only wanted to enjoy knowing that you were his and he was yours. That was enough for you. Your vows were simple, your honeymoon modest. You hadn’t told anyone of your decision– you married quietly and happily, despite it all.
“Denji,” you say, tears streaking endlessly down your cheeks as you turn the ring over and over between your fingers. “Were you there?” Was he alone?
“I was called in at the last minute. I–” He hesitates, drumming his fingers on his knees. “He was gone before I got there. But I killed that devil! I tore his ass up, man! For you, for Aki, for your baby, for all of us!”
You smile through your grief, despite your pain. Denji’s energy is exuberant and exactly what you’d expect from him– it’s exactly what you need, and as you wipe your tears with the heel of your hands, you thank him. You thank him for being the one to deliver the news. You thank him for being Denji, for being such a frustratingly perfect coworker for Aki. You thank him and hug him until he’s tomato red and folded in your arms, unsure of whether or not he should touch you.
“Aw, man. I don’t even know what to say!” he says.
“Uncle Denji!” Your daughter runs over and you tuck the ring into your pocket and dry your tears. “Uncle Denji, did ya see me on the slide? Wanna watch?”
“Watch?!” he says, turning to give you a conspiratorial wink. “You’re looking at the slide master, little lady! Come with me!” He lifts her onto his shoulders and runs through the grass, her laughter ringing clear and pure.
You pull Aki’s ring from your pocket and fit it down over your thumb. It’s loose, but it’s warm and it’s comforting and it’s a piece of him that you can carry with you throughout the rest of your life.
You’ll break the news to your daughter tonight. You’ll figure out the rest later.
It’s all temporary, anyway.
315 notes · View notes
little-annie · 11 months
Text
Something More | Little_Annie
The smuty start to something more
TW homophobic language & threats
He's not gay. He's not.
But he'd be lying if he said his eyes didn't linger in the change rooms or on the court every once in a while.
But he'd be lying if he said there wasn't anything he found intriguing about other men. But it's just appreciation, that's all it is. He can appreciate Billy Hargrove's toned exterior, his tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. He can appreciate 'The Freak's,' slender frame, bouncy curls and deep chocolate gaze. Or Jake's biceps or Ethan's smile or Andrew's laugh. He can appreciate all of it, doesn't mean he's attracted to them. Doesn't mean he's gay. He can't be. He likes women.
He likes women so much he has a new one under his tongue weekly, sometimes even daily. He likes their soft skin, their gentle curves, their buttery moans. The way they wither and whine beneath him. The way they scream his name and claw his back.
But if he's being honest, it hasn't been enough lately. 
Who would've thought 'The King' would have issues getting off, let alone getting it up. He's found himself in that unfortunate scenario more often than he'd like to admit lately. Choosing to eat a girl out not only because he wants to but because he can't get hard enough to fuck her or lord forbid fake an orgasm because he can't get off and his mind is trying to wander to places he really doesn't want it to.
But those times when he does let his mind wander, well, then there's no problem at all. Smooth sailing. It's just that he's maybe imagining corded muscle and strong hands versus the delicate body and dainty touch he's experiencing.
He's not gay. He just needs more.
And well, maybe he has an idea on how to get more.
You see, he's heard rumours, saw the scribings on the bathroom stalls. He knows or at least he thinks he knows who he can go to for… more. Though his past assholery might make that a little difficult.
He wouldn't say he's proud of how he treats people; the geeks, the freaks, the band nerds. But it's not like he's the one doing it, he just doesn't say anything when it's Tommy or another jock being the asshole. As much as people make him out to be the bad guy, he just doesn't like conflict, doesn't want to get in the way, doesn't want to be the nuisance, doesn't want to step in front of it for the chance of a crushing blow to the side of his skull. Lord knows he gets enough of that at home.
So yeah, maybe when Tommy is sneering down at 'The Freak,' snarling slurs and ramming his head into the cold steel of the lockers, he doesn't say anything, only stands off to the side and avoids eye contact because he can't quite bring himself to intervene and can't quite bring himself to contribute to the abuse.
It's an unfortunate thing because he's pretty damn sure 'The Freak' is the only guy he can go to for 'more.' The guy the scribings in the bathroom stalls speak of, the guy the whispers in the halls talk about. The guy said to give the best head of your life if you go to the bleachers after school.
He's not gay. He just needs more.
And that desire for more leads him to the belly of the bleachers, waiting impatiently after the last bell rings to see a leather clad man with appreciable brown eyes and flowing hair. It's only a few minutes that Steve has to wait before he sees him, leather and black, thick silver rings and an air of attitude. The definition of more.
"The fuck are you doing here Rich Boy?"
He can't quite bring himself to respond to the man's teasing tone, doesn't think he's ever actually talked to 'The Freak.' His voice, syrupy and thick, forces a knot to twist behind Steve's navel. He winces at the sensation, watching the other man approach with a daunting stride of confidence. 
Why's his mouth so dry? 
"Hey Pretty Boy, I'm talking to you."
He's closer now and still, Steve can't bring himself to speak.
"Listen, I don't know what the fuck you think this is, but I really don't feel like getting my face beaten in today by some dumb jock. So if you're not here to buy drugs or participate in other nefarious activities that I shall not name in your company, you can kindly fuck off."
Steve swallows around the nerves bubbling in his throat, can't quite pinpoint why he's so nervous. It's just 'The Freak', 'The Drug Dealer' the supposed 'Best Blowjob Giver in All of Hawkins.' Well maybe it's the latter, maybe that point is a little daunting. Or maybe it's that fact that his skin crawls with something akin to need, something that flares hot and heavy in his core when said 'Freak' steps into his space to snarl, "What the fuck do you want?"
"More?" He whispers, it's a quiet shaky thing, nearing on a question he sounds so unsure of his single muttered word.
'The Freak's' brows pinch together, his mask of confidence and aggression slipping for a second before he moves, devilish smirk across his lips, a single ringed finger catching under Steve's chin to turn his gaze up as he whispers, "Don't tell me 'The King of Hawkins High' is a queer, coming to lil' ole me for something his pretty little women can't give him."
Well, that problem he seems to have in the bedroom, yeah, um, it's currently a problem for another reason right now. His jeans are painfully tight. It's damn embarrassing the way this fucking guy is affecting him. The smell of leather, weed and cheap cologne. The cold sting of metal pressed under his chin, holding his head high to meet hauntingly dark eyes. His attitude, the snarl and the grit in his voice.
He can't manage words, only gulps, Adam's Apple bobbing around a non existent sentence. But his face must give something away, if the way 'The Freak' draws an eyebrow up and darkly chuckles is anything to do by.
"No shit, hey? I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm not really. I see the way your eyes wander in the change room or linger just a little too long over Hargrove's ass. I'm not fucking blind Pretty Boy, just didn't think you'd have it in you is all."
"I do," Steve says out of absolutely nowhere. Where did that come from? That whiny, needy, nearly begging tone. 
He's not gay but 'The Freak' is kinda making him weak in the knees. 
God if the man's expression doesn't shift to something predatory at Steve's tone. It makes him needy, anxious, fucking desperate like he's never been before. 
The finger that was once resting under his chin, moves to the back of his head, a large hand skating through his hair until it grips tight and gives a sharp pull forcing a rather embarrassing gasp to slip past his lips.
Dark eyes sear into his own as the other man speaks, "You listen and you listen fucking good. If this is all a ploy for your jock buddies to catch me in the act and beat me half to death for being a 'fucking fag,' know that I won't hesitate to shove a knife into your pretty little side." Punctuating his words with another sharp tug, he continues, "Got it?"
Steve nods, because what else can he do, he's speechless, hot, desperate and painfully horny. This is the definition of more and he's fucking weak for it. The grip in his hair is the only thing keeping him grounded as much as it's the same thing threatening to send him into orbit.
Another sharp tug, "Words."
"Got it," Steve chokes out, words mostly all air and heat.
'The Freak's' eyes search Steve's for a moment, probably looking for sincerity or the hint of a lie, but he must find what he's looking for because no less than a few short seconds later, Steve feels the grip in his hair tighten and a hand tightly clasp his hip,"Good. Now how about you get on your knees Sweetheart."
It's not a question, it's a command and Steve's gut twists with nerves. He wasn't expecting this. Not for him to be on his knees. He opens his mouth to protest but he's cut off with another sharp tug to his hair, encouraging him towards the ground, "Oh Honey, you weren't thinking you'd get off today were you? You've been a right prick to me for the last three years. Gotta make up for that if you want anything from me."
He's not Gay but he's a weak man and he drops to his knees with crushing force, face turned up, waiting for his next command.
"Look at you, being such a Good Boy for me already. Who woulda thought. 'The King' on his knees for 'The Freak." The man combs ringed fingers gently through Steve's hair, "I hate to say it, but you're quite pretty on your knees for me Rich Boy."
Never in his life had Steve Harrington been on his knees for a man. But god dammit if it doesn't get him going. His normally too soft cock is straining against the denim of his jeans, rubbing painfully along the seam. He attempts to swallow the whimper that the sensation shakes out of him.
Needless to say, he's unsuccessful.
'The Freak' smirks, sharp teeth and a dangerous smile, "You've never sucked a dick before have you Pretty Boy?"
Steve shakes his head, fighting the need to bury his nose in the prominent bulge in front of his face. Nerves and need swarm in his core but all he can manage is a desperate stare, no words, just hazel eyes looking up to the man above him. Waiting for instruction.
He looks contemplative for a moment, brown eyes searching Steve's face once again before he says, "Keep your hands to yourself. Behind your back. And do as you're told or we're done. Understand?"
Steve obliges, nodding wordlessly, moving his hands to clasp behind his back. 
The other man leans down, a near terrifying glint in his eye while his grip in Steve's hair tightens, a sharp tug pulling him back to make eye contact while he growls, "I said: Understand?"
He doesn't know what comes over him, a needy whimper leaving his lips as absolutely mortifying words follow, "Yes Sir."
'The Freak' darkly chuckles against Steve's cheek, lightly biting the now rosy flesh before he whispers, "Good Boy."
Oh. 
Oh wow.
Yep. That does something to him.
He's not gay…But having 'The Freak' call him a Good Boy and in that fucking tone…Well…
Steve stifles another groan watching as the man stands upright, moving to unfasten his stupid handcuff belt buckle with practised ease. 
He speaks with a seriousness as he continues his motions, "As much as I fucking hate you, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, because frankly that's just disgusting." He stops his motions, belt undone, button unclasped and zipper down, his cock's nearly on display and Steve's mouth waters with the need to feel its weight on his tongue, "You know the Stoplight System?"
Steve whispers a quiet "No."
"Figured," 'The Freak' says with no malice to his tone, "There's Green, Yellow and Red. Just like a Stoplight you follow the same rules. Green means go, yellow means yield or slow down and red means stop. You can communicate colours anytime you need to. But when I ask you questions or for your colour, you respond accordingly. Got it?"
Steve nods
The other man asks, "Colour?"
"Green," Steve answers with a heat rising to his cheeks, his knees already beginning to burn from where they're resting in the rough soil.
And god dammit if that doesn't make 'The Freak' smile, "Good," he says, carding his fingers gently through Steve's hair, "and if your mouth's full Sweetheart. You tap out your colours. One for green, two for yellow and three for red. Okay?"
Steve nods again while the other man wordlessly moves the hand that was in Steve's hair down his cheek so it's resting on his jaw. Fingers holding light, his thumb brushes over Steve's bottom lip gently pressing it into the wet heat of his mouth. Steve hums around the intrusion, instinctively running his tongue over the tip and hollowing his cheeks. 
'The Freak' hums in approval, pressing down with the lightest pressure against Steve's tongue, "Colour?"
Slowly Steve moves his hand to the man's wrist, porcelain skin cool under his warm touch, he taps gently, once, 'Green.'
"Good, now you're ready." 
From there it's pretty straightforward, Steve knows how a blowjob goes, he's gotten many in his lifetime, but still, on the other end of this, it feels kinda foreign. At least with the instruction to keep his hands out of the mix he doesn't have to worry about what to do with those.
He watches as the other man pulls his hearty length from his boxers, thick and leaking and he can't help but feel a swell of pride in his chest knowing he did that. His mouth waters at the sight and wordlessly he drops his jaw and lays his tongue out flat.
"Eager are we?"
Steve hums an affirmative, inching closer on his knees.
He'd be lying if he said the sight before him wasn't doing anything to him. Christ, he hasn't been this hard in months, almost painfully throbbing in his jeans with need. He isn't gay but well… he's something.
The other man takes his own length in hand, ringed fingers wrapping around a thick base, tight curls pressed against the curl of his palm. It's warm and salty when the head of it slaps against Steve's tongue, a taste he'll savour like it's the nectar of the gods.
He's being impatient and he knows it, a needy whine escaping his throat he inches even closer. He doesn't know what's gotten into him but before he knows it he's choking, struggling to breathe as he pushes his head all the way forward, trying to bury his nose in dark curls. 
The man above him chuckles around a gasp, voice almost shakey. Hand clasped tight in Steve's hair he pulls him back, "Don't hurt yourself there Princess. Breathe through your nose and swallow when you feel like you're going to choke."
Steve nods, his motions pulling on the grip on his scalp and he tries again, a hot coil of need blooming in his core as the man above him lets out a sharp gasp. With the little instruction he's managed to take all of the man in, swallowing around the length, thick head pressing down his throat. His nose is buried in the thick thatch of hair and he can't help but nuzzle into it with a greedy inhale. Sweat and musk and something that makes his toes curl wafts through his senses.
Steve hums around 'The Freak's' length in his own appreciation, the vibration travelling through the other man's body in a wave of pleasure. The grip in his hair tightens and Steve can't help but whimper at the sensation and good god he nearly combusts when he opens his eyes to take in the man above him. 
Hair wild, dark and rolling in waves over his shoulders, gathering in the streams of sweat along his neck. Cheeks flushed in a rosy hue of need, a rather beautiful contrast to his pale porcelain skin. His brows are creased, lip bitten and eyes squeezed shut. 
It's obvious he's trying to stay quiet, though he's failing miserably. Steve continues to watch him from below, eyes open and watering as he chokes down every inch. He pulls back and off with a dramatic 'pop', diving right back in to nose his way under the man's cock and take what he can of his testicles in mouth.
It's a weird feeling being on this end of things, generally he has no idea what he's doing but he can't hold in the carnal need to make the man above him crumble. Steve feels nearly desperate, his cock painfully straining against the seam of his jeans for what feels like eternity. Fuck, if this goes on for much longer he might just come in his pants.
And wouldn't that be fucking embarrassing.
Steve continues his ministrations while trying to focus on anything other than the balls in his mouth or the cock hanging heavy above his face. He focuses on the grip in his hair, the bite of gravel against his knees, the throbbing pain between his legs. Nothing works, it's just too fucking good.
He takes the man back in his mouth after licking a thick stripe from root to tip and begins bobbing his head. A sinful wash of sounds pollutes the air, gasps and moans and shaky breaths. Wet squelches and muffled gags. Steve's sure he contributes his own noises as he rocks his hips against the seam in his jeans.
The taste of precome continues to flood over Steve's taste buds, salty and sweet and god dammit if he doesn't become addicted to it. Addicted to the taste of this man's essence on his tongue, the sounds that escape his lips, the way he looks as he approaches the edge.
Above Steve, 'The Freak's' babbling, gasping around moans and hardly formed words, "mmm fuck, ho- how are you so good at this?" He chuckles an unbelieving laugh that's drowned out by a choked back moan as Steve takes him down to the hilt. "Jesus H Christ." He gasps, grip tightening in Steve's hair. 
Every syllable sends Steve careening towards the edge along with the man. He's close, every roll of his own hips, every sharp tug against his scalp, every moan from the man above. 
But god dammit he still needs more.
Steve pulls off, a quick gasp of air and spit and precome hanging between them. 'The Freak' looks down at him with a brow raised and he's beautiful, looks absolutely wrecked, onyx eyes blown wide, face flushed red with his pending release and before he can say anything, Steve asks or more or less begs, "Fuck my face, please."
"Fuck," the man huffs before he checks, "You sure?"
Steve nods, "Please."
"Jesus Christ." He huffs once again before laying his cock over Steve's tongue once again, then he's snaking his other hand into Steve's hair, giving him an experimental pull forward.
Steve's eyes flutter in response, the man's thick length sliding slowly over his tongue and down his throat. He can't help the whine that rattles up his throat.
"You like that or something Sweetheart?"
Steve hums again, moving his hand to the man's wrist to tap once, 'Green' and he chances to leave it there. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to feel more of this man under his touch.
They continue from there, 'The Freak' pressing his length over Steve's tongue until they're both leaking and shaking with the need of release. 
Gravels digs into his knees and his scalp burns in such a beautiful way, Steve's hanging off the edge by his fingertips and he's only pushed that much further as the man above him gasps, "Wh-Where - fuck - mm- can I come in your mouth Baby?" 
Baby
Baby. Baby. Baby.
Steve fails to hold back a groan at not only the question but also the nickname, it vibrates down the other man's length while he tightens his grip on a pale wrist and taps once, 'Green.' 
For some reason in that moment Steve feels compelled to slide his hand into his own hair, lacing his fingers between thick rings and hard earned calluses, holding his hair tight, together. He's not shrugged off like he thought he would be and for some reason, that's the moment they both topple over the edge.
Salt and heat floods Steve's taste buds at the same time it does his underwear. Warm and slick, exiting his body with force. He groans something needy and desperate, bucking his hips forward as his mouth is pulled closer, nose pressed to pubes. The man above him gasps and bucks his hips forward with force, shuddering while squeezing Steve's fingers between his own.
Steve swallows, or at least tries to -god, now he kinda gets why girls hate that so much- he pulls off with a sharp inhale and presses his head the a denim clad thigh, spitting on the ground between them.
It's oddly tender for what it is, 'The Freak's' hands don't leave his hair, his grip only loosens and gently cards through mousy strands as they catch their breath together. 
Steve's exhausted but satisfied; probably for the first time in months and all he had to do was blow a guy. Nothing even happened to him other than some nicknames that made his stomach flutter and some not so awkward hand holding. 
They stay silent for a long while, Steve feels like he might fall asleep leaning against this man and it's an odd thing that he feels comfortable here, safe even. And that's a fucking wild thought, especially with a dick dripping come not more than a few inches from his face.
Steve can't help but chuckle at the thought.
"What?" The other man laughs quietly, tucking himself back in his jeans, standing upright, trying to help Steve do the same.
Steve shakes his head, burying it in the other man's shoulder. He can feel him tense beneath him and then seconds later slowly there's cautious arms wrapping around his shoulders, slow and soft while he continues to shake in silent laughter.
They stand there in what should be an awkward moment, but it's not and maybe that's the craziest part about this whole moment.
Steve Harrington knows this man from brash gestures and yelled opinions from atop lunch room tables. From the smell of leather and the clatter of chains. He's supposed to be weird and scary, he's supposed to be 'The Freak,' but for some reason Steve sees him as something else. 
He sees him as more.
They're quiet for a moment and in those few short seconds a wild thought passes through Steve's mind. He pulls back, ever so slightly, only enough to meet the other man's eyes. He takes in the man's gaze, dark and speckled with amber, the freckles that dust over his nose and cheeks, the faint scar across his bridge and then he allows his eyes to wander lower.
Pink and perfect and beautiful, lips he wants to kiss with every fibre in his being. Steve sucks in a subtle breath letting his eyes float back up to meet those of the man before and like a silent gesture, he glances at his lips again as he whispers, "Colour?"
He watches sharp teeth bite into a pink bottom lip as he feels the grip around him tighten and then there's a subtle, hardly audible whisper, "Green."
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monstergirlstink · 3 months
Text
So I don't normally do this because I like to stay on brand but even divorced from my usual kinks I really do love the general idea of olfactophilia, scents, the sense of smell, the erotic nature of smell itself. And I'm talking completely divorced from the idea of musk and stink and sweat and body odor, those sharp cloying sour smells.
I mean sweet.
I've got this sugary little pipe I've been hitting lately, it smells like strawberries and banana and ice cream. It makes me feel giggly and I love the sweet tasty trails the smoke leaves on the rim of my nostrils, that sugared rind of saccharine. Sweet smells can be so intoxicating. I always loved when a smell was so tantalizing it could hypnotize someone.
Just imagine me taking a long drag off this glittery little pink tube, watching my eyes swirl in kaleidoscope twirls faster and faster as my lungs fill with the haze. I start to giggle, desperate to keep it held in. I purse my lips, pinkish wisps dancing between them, and I slowly exhale it into your face.
A long, drawn out plume of opaque pink smog swirling into heart shapes all around you. The sweet miasma immediately overwhelms you. Fruit. Sugar. Strawberries. Sugar. Crackling crystals of syrupy sucrose. You're drowning at the bottom of a strawberry sundae. Vanilla cream clotting at the back of your throat. Everything melting. Your lungs are giggling.
It just smells sweeter than air.
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fandomfluffandfuck · 9 months
Note
If you’re running short on prompts 👀
https://www.tumblr.com/silentwalrus1/189200475683/a-raunchy-patreon-doodle-of-steve
I am not running out of prompts at all, lol, but I'm lucky that so many people want to read my writing!
[Link] to fanart of Steve, he's facing away from the camera with his legs spread, he's wearing bright red sweatpants. There's an equally red speech bubble reading, "it ain't gonna fuck itself"
Something about this art set off a little bomb in my head.
At first, I was just pondering, just trying to spit ball some ideas, but then... all of a sudden, I couldn't stop thinking about Steve embracing his inner cat in those sweatpants that, for this exercise in horny™️, I will be turning into tiny little booty shorts. Because, y'know, reasons.
It's a lazy day around the house.
Steve and Bucky wake up late with the sun stretching into their bedroom through the blinds, heating up their room to a cozy temperature, which makes it nearly impossible to get up and move. And that sunny warmth doesn't even mention the body heat that has been added to the equation with the way they were wrapped around each other in their sleep. Spooning. It should be sweaty, but it isn't. Just a deep, bone melting heat that forms them from two bodies into a single, indistinguishable puddle.
When they are finally able to break away from the loving embrace of their bed, Steve isn't the first of them out of bed. Usually, he is. Instead, Bucky slips out. Steve follows his lover in a while...
Except, Steve doesn't bother to get dressed. What's the point? It's just them. However, Bucky has the decency to put on some sweats--no underwear, just sweats.
When Steve actually makes it all the way across the house, to the kitchen, Bucky hands him a steaming cup of coffee. Natural light streams it from outside here, too. Turning around, Bucky pretends to shield his eyes. He's laughing as he tells Steve to "put all that skin away, Stevie!" He doesn't really want him to, though. If anything, Bucky'd like to count every freckle on his fair skin for the millionth time. Kissing them all, too. But, hey, a little teasing never hurt anybody.
Besides, it's not like it gets under Steve's skin at all, he just smiles lazily and plasters himself to Bucky, purring, "oh, shut up, you like it."
Bucky laughs some more, patting Steve's head where it's planted on his shoulder. He does. He does like it.
Eventually, after their slow, syrupy breakfast, Bucky decides to shower. Steve doesn't feel like it. He's happy to keep his messy bedhead and the heat from their sunny awakening deep in his bones; he doesn't need the water, not even warm water. So, instead, he floats to their couch, lazing about to the white noise of the running shower, scrolling on his phone, until...
While Bucky is still in the shower, Steve has an idea. To execute it, he hauls himself up and pads back into their bedroom, slipping into those little shorts that Nat gifted him the other week. He's been waiting to break them out, intentionally keeping the early birthday gift a secret. The shorts are bright red and a sort of thin, sweatpant-like material. Cozy yet clinging. The fabric barely covers his ass. And, best of all, the shorts read, "it ain't gonna fuck itself," in white lettering across the back.
He slips right into them, and he throws on a lazy smirk while he's at it, wondering how long it'll take Bucky to notice what they say across his ass... wondering what Bucky's gonna do about it. Steve stretches, big and proud, groaning audibly as his body trembles--he's as smug as a that's gotten the cream, and Bucky's not even reacted to him yet!
It takes longer than Steve imagined for Bucky to notice, although, to be fair, Steve is sitting on the couch when Bucky comes back. He had wandered back to the living room and had gotten bored of standing, "innocently" standing, and channel surfing. Bucky must be deep conditioning his hair or something. Taking so long in the shower. So. Steve sat down, curled up comfortably, watching the TV passively.
It's not until Steve is feeling casually playful, beginning to feel a little restless, that he shifts--he had been curled up against Bucky's side before. So, when his boyfriend goes to the kitchen to refill his water bottle, Steve moves.
He stretches himself across the couch, turning around to lean against the back with his arms across the top and his legs spread as wide as they can be, across the bottom, while remaining bent at the knees. Steve arches his back for good measure, too.
Bucky comes back, water bottle in hand, and hums, "what're'ya doing, Stevie?"
Steve blinks his eyes slowly at his boyfriend. He shrugs, "jus' watchin' you."
Bucky smiles, popping his dimples. It's killer. He charms Steve, "can't ever get enough a' me, can ya?" And unceremoniously plops down next to him, somehow without noticing what's written across his ass. Instead of reading, he touches.
Bucky filthily squeezes his ass first, it's possessive and heavy and makes a flame kick up inside him, then he pushes the knuckle of his index and middle fingers into the dimples at the base of Steve's spine. Bucky doesn't even have to look to know where they are--muscle memory. He knows Steve's body better than Steve does. Getting reactions out of Steve that Steve didn't know he had.
Steve shivers all over.
Bucky hums and does it some more. Pressing.
Oh, that's nice. Kind of like a massage.
Bucky pats his ass, "oof, your boney fuckin' knees, Rogers," he huffs good naturedly, his hand moving from his backside to poking at him where his knee digs into his side.
Steve snorts. He thinks about retorting with, "yeah? And your thick fuckin' skull, Barnes," because he still hasn't noticed his shorts. He's noticed his ass, yeah, but not his shorts.
But, he doesn't say anything.
So, they sit there for a few minutes, with Bucky just mindlessly resting his hand on his ass. His other hand is casually resting on his own thigh... Steve wants both of his hands on him. Preferably more than his hands, too. He needs more pushing, it seems.
Steve pushes.
He arches his back more. Bucky pinches him, obviously expecting that he's just stretching. He's not. He's gambling for attention. Needy. Sticking his ass out and now looking at Bucky with intensity.
His gaze has to be burning into him.
Bucky feels it, asking, "what's gotten into y--" there's a pause. Bucky cuts himself off with a hungry noise because his eyes have landed on the prize. "Oh, hey-"
Bucky's hand moves to grab him. Not just resting now. Grabbing. Fingers sinking into his ass with bite.
"What's this little number, baby?"
Steve could purr. He's warm. He feels good. He's got Bucky's attention. What more could he want?
Steve gets more than he knows to want when Bucky saddles up behind him, pressing his sweatpant-clothed cock to Steve's ass.
"Mmmm," Steve hums, pleased.
"It ain't gonna fuck itself, huh? Who're you expecting to fuck it then? Me? Were you gonna go strutin' down the street if I didn't notice soon enough, honey?" Bucky chuckles, "had to get someone to fuck it. You just need it so bad, don't'cha?"
Steve has gone limp against the couch--his forehead is resting on the back of the sofa, and he's already breathing hard--as Bucky ruts into him. Rolling and grinding his hips against him in the most obscene way. Reminding Steve just how good he can fuck it. Bucky's words fuck him, too, not just the sinful rhythm of his god forsaken hips. Entering his ears and corrupting his brain--melting his brain, making him unable to remember anything but all the times Bucky's been inside him and has fucked him until he couldn't remember his own name.
Steve pushes back into the hold, purring more. He's got all of his attention, and he's reveling in it. Backing into the touch. Practically nuzzling him.
"Cat got your tongue, baby? I asked you something." Bucky's hands had both been on his hips, caging him between his broad chest and the couch, but he spares one of them to wind into Steve's golden hair. Messing it up even further. Shaking his head, jostling him like Steve needs the reminder of what's happening and who he's talking to.
It's delicious.
"Mmm-hmm," Steve hums low in his throat, just responding, barely remembering what Bucky asked him.
"You little asshole," Bucky teases, serious but his tone tinted by his smirk, "you think you can get anyone to fuck you--"
Oh.
Oops.
Oh, shit, he's in for it now.
Right. Bucky did ask if he was going to go put like this to get fucked, desperate for attention, didn't he? And Steve responded with an affirmation. Yeah. He's going to.
"--And be anywhere near as satisfied as you are when I'm through with you?" He tugs hard at Steve's hair and grinds forward harder.
Steve can't rustle up any real regret, though.
This is going to be good.
"You can't. You could go through guy after guy, and you're not gonna get anyone who makes you scream like I do, sweetheart." Bucky's whispering in his ear down, dragging his teeth down the side of his throat, "you're mine. You might be able to act all high and mighty, like you don't need me, but need I remind you of what you were just doin'?"
Steve moans.
The hard, hot line of his cock feels massive against Steve's ass. There's just two measly layers of fabrics between them. So. close.
Steve shakes all over, shivering intensely, but it must look like a nod to Bucky because he responds--
"You were just shoving your pussy out at me, wearin' a fuckin' sign that screams fuck me! Fuck me! You're desperate for it, baby. Shameless. Should get you a little collar so you know who you belong to, 'property of Bucky Barnes'."
Steve can't fucking move. He's gone entirely boneless. He's at Bucky's mercy. This. This is why he's so desperate. When Bucky fucks him up like this, without even fucking him, how can Steve not be so needy? He swears that cock is magic.
I hope you enjoyed 😘
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trickstarbrave · 2 months
Text
"brave why are you writing fanfiction about a fanfiction again" shhhhhhhh stop asking questions
anyways. heres something i wrote for @wellthebardsdead's fic "fool's prayer"
i just. wanted to write nerevar giving in. and some smut that i know would follow it i dont actually know okay i'm making this up bc i think evil!voryn is hot
--
Nerevar knew he was in a dream again. He’d learned by now to pick up on the signs; the fuzzy feeling around the edges of his consciousness, and how the sensations of hot and cold seemed to come at random, sending shivers down his spine. 
He stood up, walking to the front of his desk, sighing. Political documents that were laid out were still legible. Had Voryn been able to use his dreams to spy on the political state of Morrowind? He wouldn’t be surprised if he could. 
As if on cue, he felt a presence behind him, a hand around his waist. 
“You’re getting better at knowing when I’ll come to you.” Voryn whispered softly in his ear. “Did you give any thought to my offer…?” His voice was still honey sweet; thick, syrupy, and oh so temptingly tender. It was a romantic tone of voice Nerevar was very familiar with. How many times has Voryn used that tone in the past to coax him to rest for the night when he was up late overworking himself? How many times did he use that tone when holding him close after making love to him? It couldn’t help but tug on his heartstrings. 
Nerevar was a strong person up until a point. He could be a ruthless warlord, a cold blooded killer, but in the end his heart always started to win. He could only keep up the act forever. Back in the days of Resdayn he had a clear goal: unite the houses and drive out the Nordic Empire. Now though? Everything in Morrowind only got more complicated. The Red Year caused untold devastation, displacing large swaths of the population. It also exacerbated the infighting between houses; House Hlaalu was no longer even a Great House, and that had waves that rippled through the political landscape. No matter how much Nerevar tried to help and make things better because he loved Morrowind, there kept being set backs and road blocks.
He was tired. He was tired, lonely, overworked, and exhausted. He had Vivec now, which brought some comfort, but it wasn’t really enough. Nerevar would never tell Vivec that--he knew it would only break Vivec’s heart--but Vivec was also tired and exhausted. He couldn’t do the work of multiple people. He couldn’t replace every relationship Nerevar had before. 
And he couldn’t replace Voryn. The man Nerevar loved for so many years. The man who had his heart, regardless of how terrible that fact was. He had already spent so long running from him, already filled with guilt about having to kill Dagoth Ur and never getting to see him again, and he was so… Tired of it. 
Was Voryn bad? Yes. Nerevar couldn’t excuse his actions. He just couldn’t. 
But the more he thought about it, the less that fact dissuaded him. 
Already the world was filled with horrible people who wanted to do others harm. Already Morrowind was crawling with corrupt politicians, big and small, who wanted to hurt others for their own benefit. Nerevar already had to make peace with coexisting with them and trying to compromise with them. Really, what was so different about Voryn?
Voryn was more powerful and thus potentially more dangerous, yes. Voryn had hurt the Good Three, also yes. But Voryn hadn’t hurt Nerevar, no matter how much Nerevar rejected him. Voryn had chained the Good Three to the heart because they hurt the people of Morrowind, the people they were sworn to protect. They did not intervene with Baar Dau to save innocents. They did not stop the Red Year. They did not give him strength or allow him to eradicate the people who were corrupt. 
Instead they had him betrayed and killed, before demanding he do their bidding once more upon reincarnation. They ordered Vivec to kill and betray him, and then condemned him for doing so. As much as Nerevar loved them and dedicated himself to them, perhaps… They weren’t what was best for Morrowind. They were petty, jealous, and didn’t care for mortal life. They would use people and toss them aside like they no doubt would with Nerevar as well when he was no longer useful. 
The Good Three also preached this was the way of the world; to be selfish, to betray, to climb over others for your own sake, to kill your enemies before they killed you. In that way, wasn’t this following their teachings…? They were no longer useful to the Dunmer as they were. Voryn could be of much more use, and guarantee Nerevar and Vivec’s safety. 
Or maybe he was just delusional. Nerevar didn’t care either way anymore. 
He turned to face Voryn, hand on Voryn’s chest as the other, taller mer caged him against his desk. His heart was already racing looking at the familiar, handsome face he’d come to love. 
“... I’ve considered what you said.” Nerevar admitted, eyes closed. Part of him still wanted to deny Voryn; a nagging part of him continued to gnaw on his psyche, making him feel guilty for even considering it, but he could no longer rationalize that feeling. 
“And your response…?” 
Nerevar hesitated again, eyes still closed, his breath accelerating. Gods did he want it. He wanted to be able to rest in his beloved’s arms once again. He wanted to feel loved and cherished once more. He wanted all of the things he had denied himself for years: comfort, security, love, and even a family. 
Instead, he grabbed Voryn by the collar of his robes, tugging him closer. Voryn’s lips were dangerously close to Nerevar’s, as his eyes peaked open. He stared back into blood red, almost challenging in his gaze. Voryn seemed pleased though, smirking softly. 
“Convince me.” Nerevar whispered, his breath brushing against Voryn’s lips.
Voryn didn’t need to be told twice; he knew immediately what Nerevar was asking for. His lips crashed into Nerevar’s, both warm and desperate at once. His tongue dove in next, gliding against Nerevar’s, and every swipe of his tongue and lips had his head spinning. 
“Mm…” Nerevar moaned softly into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Voryn. He knew it was wrong, but it felt right. It felt so very right, just being able to close his eyes and focus on feeling good. 
Voryn didn’t stop there though, instead running a hand up Nerevar’s shirt, sliding his palm up Nerevar’s torso until he could coax a shiver out of him.
“I’ll take such good care of you, Neht.” Voryn broke the kiss to whisper against his lips. “I’ll make love to you day and night, make sure you’re feeling nothing but bliss.” 
“Voryn~” Nerevar moaned again, a bit louder. He had to brace himself on the desk with his hands as Voryn lifted one of his legs to hook it around his waist, pressing himself even closer to Nerevar. Nerevar could already feel how hard he was, and his desire only seemed to grow. 
“Can you feel how badly I want you, Neht?” Voryn whispered into his ear now, the warm breath making it twitch. “I’ve been wanting to be inside you since I came back. I’ve missed being able to hold you in my arms and make love to you…” Oh gods did Nerevar miss that as well. His bed always felt a bit colder when he remembered Voryn and how often Voryn would climb into his bed, even if not for sex but instead just to hold him all night. 
“I missed you too…” Nerevar confessed, letting his head fall to the side and Voryn to kiss and nibble his way up and down Nerevar’s neck. “I’ve missed this…”
“I want to give you everything, Neht.” Voryn whispered again, his hands going to unlace Nerevar’s trousers. “Everything you could possibly desire. A wonderful country, a perfect family, and as much love as I could ever dream of giving you.”
“Mm… Wait,” Nerevar stopped him briefly, and Voryn pulled away to look at him, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Not here… I want…” Nerevar still held onto Voryn tightly. “I want it on my bed.” At that, Voryn’s smile spread wider, a dark, seductive look in his eyes.
The next moment, Nerevar found his back against the sheets. It wasn’t quite his bed in the temple, but more so based on his old bedroom in the palace. Luxurious sheets were under him, silk sliding against his skin and equally luxurious pillows around them. 
“You’re right,” Voryn replied, his eyes crinkling with delight, “I should take you on your bed properly.” With that, Voryn’s lips found his again, pulling him into another kiss that left him dizzy with desire as Voryn quickly stripped him. Given it was a dream, Voryn could have simply removed his clothes in an instant, but Nerevar was thankful he didn’t. He liked the build up of Voryn stripping him, caressing his body as he went. His hands slid down Nerevar’s thighs as he pulled his pants and underwear down, almost teasing strokes as he discarded the fabric. Nerevar’s shirt was already pulled up to expose his torso, but Voryn made quick work of pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor, even if it meant breaking the kiss momentarily. 
“Gods, you’re beautiful…” Voryn whispered, taking in the sight of Nerevar under him, and Nerevar couldn’t help but shiver. “The most handsome mer I have ever laid eyes on…” Voryn had barely touched him and Nerevar was already panting, shyly shifting on the silk sheets. “Even my memory failed to capture just how gorgeous you are, Neht.” He continued whispering, his hands now caressing at his chest. He traced at the scars first: one under each pectoral muscle, then up to the middle of his chest, tracing the jagged scar that remained from Vivec’s spear piercing him. 
“I’ll memorize you all over again.” Voryn whispered like it was a promise, moving down to kiss at the jagged scar first. “I’ll memorize every inch of your body, Neht…” His lips then trailed over to a nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud.
“H-hah…” Nerevar groaned, “Voryn~”
“Your chest is still sensitive I see.” Voryn smiled against his skin, before giving it a nip, watching Nerevar jolt and whine under him. “Your reactions are so cute… Endearing, even.”
“Voryn…” Only Voryn would dare to call him cute. He was hortator in two lifetimes now, slayer of gods, King of Morrowind, and Voryn still called him ‘cute’ and ‘beautiful’. 
“I always wanted you to be my consort, you know.” Voryn admitted. “I didn’t push for it; I knew in your heart you’d always wanted to be king so you could help our kin.” Nerevar groaned as Voryn continued toying with his chest, rubbing his thumbs against both nipples, occasionally pinching them to get a whine out of him. “You cared so deeply about everyone to the point I felt selfish for wanting you all to myself.”
“And yet…” Voryn continued, his eyes falling half shut. “Watching you run yourself ragged as king only made me regret that.” Voryn leaned in to kiss him quickly, not nearly enough for Nerevar who whined again in protest. “Especially now, watching all of them take your kindness and compassion for granted…”
“That’s--”
“Not the common folk.” Voryn cut him off. “They know you care deeply for them…” His hands slid down Nerevar’s stomach now, tracing down his muscular body, until his hands settled on Nerevar’s hips. “When the corrupt house leaders dare to let them know.” 
Nerevar knew it was true; for all the good he tried doing, they continued to block him. He couldn’t just kill them either--the Great Houses would kick up a fuss over it, demanding compensation or even accusing Nerevar of being their enemy. And then they would just put yet another corrupt bastard in that place, continuing to stop him from actually helping people. His attempts at charity were often blocked, and even if they were allowed, not nearly enough, but they refused to listen to his pleas that their people needed this. 
“I’ll make sure they know just how much you cherish them, Neht.” Voryn smiled. “No one will dare speak ill of you, or the love you have of this country. Not when I’m here.” Nerevar didn’t want to think about how he’d do that. Maybe Voryn would just use brute force. Maybe he had even more terrifying abilities to force them to bend to his will. Nerevar didn’t know, and he simply didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted was to close his eyes and let Voryn take care of it. 
“Ah…” Nerevar moaned softly as one of his hands moved downward, sliding up his inner thighs. 
“Oh,” Voryn sounded breathless as his fingers began to just ever so slightly tease at him, “So wet for me already, are you?”
“Voryn,” Nerevar gasped, spreading his legs a bit wider. 
“I thought Vivec was tending to you?” Voryn asked softly, two fingers slipping inside of Nerevar with ease. Nerevar groaned at the sensation, rocking his hips against Voryn’s hand. 
“H-he’s…”
“Ah, right, it’s not his duty to tend to your needs, as you’ve told him so many times.” Nerevar knew Vivec wanted it to be his duty; he felt obligated to do so, day in and day out, but Nerevar only felt guilty about it. He saved Vivec, and it felt like Vivec thought he owed Nerevar, using his body like it was the only thing he knew how to; as though his body was the only thing he was really good for. It made Nerevar feel awful and like he was taking advantage of Vivec, as much as he cared for him and wanted him in return. 
“... But someone should have been taking care of you in my absence, Neht.” Voryn worked his fingers a bit deeper, before curling them upwards to stroke at the bundle of nerves that left him gasping and moaning in pleasure. “Someone should have been tending to their loyal, devoted hortator and making sure he was well taken care of…” Nerevar’s leg twitched, his cunt tightening around the fingers inside him. “Making sure all of his needs were met…” 
“More~” Nerevar moaned deeply. “Please, faster, faster, Voryn~” Voryn’s fingers sped up just as Nerevar asked, thrusting in and out of him in the perfect way only Voryn could manage. 
“You’re so pent up right now.” Voryn was smirking now. “Did no one want to touch you like this? I hardly believe that, not when you’re this perfect…” Nerevar could feel his climax approaching now, his hands gripping the sheets under him tightly. “Or were you staying loyal to me?” 
Nerevar moaned louder at that, squirming more under Voryn’s gaze. “Voryn~!” There were people who wanted to, yes. Plenty of people wanted to crawl into his bed in an effort to use sex to control him, but Nerevar never wanted that. Nerevar only wanted this with people he knew he could trust. But part of him also just missed Voryn terribly, unable to find any pleasure if it wasn’t to the thought of his beloved. Not even masturbation was fulfilling--not when he was so painfully lonely and stressed out. 
“I could feel you tightening up from that.” Voryn was smirking again, and Nerevar didn’t have to look to know it. “At least your body is honest like this.” Nerevar resented how honest his body truly was; how every inch of him craved Voryn’s touch, screaming out for it. “You need me, don’t you?” Voryn asked, his voice so tempting once more. “Admit it, Neht.”
“I…” Nerevar began, panting. He was afraid if he didn’t, this pleasure would stop. “I need you~” Nerevar pleaded, “Please, please get inside me~” He was grinding his hips down at every thrust; it was good, but he wanted more.
“Shh…” Voryn soothed him, his other hand sliding down to rub and stroke at Nerevar’s cock, making him moan even louder, his eyes rolling back. “Not yet, Nerevar.”
“Please~!” Nerevar could have screamed. “Please, anything, I’ll do anything--”
“I know you will.” Voryn replied, cutting him off. “Which is why I’ll let you cum right now,” Another whine ripped from Nerevar’s throat, “But I don’t want to make love to you like this, Neht.” Nerevar could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. “As much as I would love to watch you fall to pieces under me right now…” Nerevar could see Voryn’s cock straining in his robes, his mouth watering at the sight. “I want to make love to you properly, in the flesh.” 
“Fuck~” Yes, Nerevar knew he was almost there. He just needed a little more; Voryn knew him too well for him to last like this. 
“I’ll make you feel even better, Neht.” Nerevar could feel pleasure shooting up and down his spine as though it was intensifying. In his hazy thoughts, he imagined it must have been Voryn doing this in his dream to make him feel even better. “Just come to me, and I’ll make you feel so good…” He moved down now, whispering in his ear. “When I cum inside you over and over, making sure you’re heavy with my heir~” 
Nerevar couldn’t help but climax at that. The pleasure was intense--all encompassing--as he came long and hard, moaning the whole while. His body trembled with every intense wave of ecstasy, completely lost in the fantasy.
Once the pleasure died down, after Voryn helped Nerevar ride the waves of his orgasm, he removed his fingers, now gently caressing his cheek with the back of one hand. 
“Was that convincing enough for you, Neht?” Voryn asked, Nerevar still panting. 
It was Nerevar’s last chance to refuse. He knew it. He could shove Voryn away and say this was all a mistake, but that would mean denying even further pleasure. It would mean never getting to enjoy that feeling again, and after so long his body needed that kind of pleasure and care. 
“... Yes.” Nerevar confessed, his voice barely a whisper. Silently, he apologized to Azura in his heart; the Lady of Twilight picked the wrong champion this time around, it seemed. Nerevar was far too weak to resist this temptation though--far too tired after being beaten down by the people he was trying to help time and time again. “Yes I…” He swallowed, licking his lips nervously. “I’ll come to you, Voryn.” 
Voryn’s smirk was absolutely devilish and dark hearing that, chuckling at the answer given. Nerevar shivered again, wondering if he made the right choice, before Voryn kissed him long and slow, making every worry vanish from Nerevar’s head so thoroughly he forgot he had them entirely. 
“Good boy.” Voryn praised him once he pulled away, his eyes warm with delight. “You gave me so much trouble but… I know you were just worried about everything.” Nerevar shut his eyes, enjoying the reassurance. “You always overthink everything, even to your detriment… But I love even that cautious side of you, you know.” Nerevar liked the way it eased his guilt, a balm on his heart for giving in to such a being. “I knew that it wasn’t your fault you doubted me. I knew in time you’d listen to me.” 
With one last, lingering kiss, the scene around them faded at the edges. “I’ll tell you where to find me soon, Neht.” Voryn whispered against his lips. “Just wait for me, my moon and star.” 
Nerevar’s eyes fluttered open once more, looking at his ceiling. Birds chirped outside, and Vivec was sound asleep beside him, curled up in the fetal position, deeply slumbering still. 
He closed his eyes again, giving a shaky sigh, covering his own face.
“Azura… Forgive me.” 
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sluttywoozi · 11 months
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happy 4k (again skdjf, i'm back as promised)!! lately i can't stop thinking about yonghee and begging... idk what he's begging for but i need to see the man beg
hi bestie! you always keep your promises ily 💖💖💖
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Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1k
Warnings: begging, mention of edging, grinding, clit stim, unprotected sex, yonghee cums inside
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“You could try asking nicely,” you remind him, your hands planted on his stomach and your cunt hot on his dick. 
“Please!” Yonghee strains, his back arching as he tries to control the bucking of his hips. “Please, just put it in! Just a little, you don’t even have to do the whole thing, ju-just the tip.”
Normally, he’s not one for stuttering, or begging, but you just do something to him. Whenever you take control like this, it lets him feel unhinged, uninhibited, unrestrained. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about anything because you’ll take care of him, and that allows him to ask for exactly what he wants. Or beg for it, he supposes. 
It’s been hours, he thinks. Then again, maybe it’s just been five minutes. Time doesn’t feel real, and neither does Yonghee, not after how long you’ve been edging him. It’s not even that you won’t let him cum, it’s that you won’t let him inside of you. You just keep saying, “Soon,” as if that helps anything, leaving him to writhe beneath you and, fuck, is he tearing up? 
He’s never been this far gone before, but you’ve never held out like this. All you’re doing is grinding on his cock, just shifting your wet cunt back and forth on top of him and gasping every time the head bumps your clit. He could do so much better, could fill you all the way up and get his fingers on you instead, but you’d told him to keep his hands to himself and Yonghee is nothing if not a good listener.
He’s the best listener, so when you tell him, “Beg some more, and maybe I’ll sit down on your cock like you want,” he listens. 
“Baby, please, I’ve been so good. I‘ve stayed so hard for you, haven’t I? And, and I’ve kept my hands to myself, just like you said. Just like you said. Please, just put me in already, I need to feel you.”
“And how, exactly, do I feel?”
“So fucking wet, and hot, like goddamn heaven. When I get to be inside you, I never wanna leave. I wish I could feel you on me all the time, wish I could wake up inside of you and go to sleep inside of you and live inside of you. Fuck baby, your cunt is my favorite place in the world, you know that,” he pants brokenly, his words slurring together just like his thoughts, everything feeling warm and thick and syrupy when you notch the head of his cock at your entrance. 
“Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyses, thank you, fuck, baby, thank you,” he cries, head spinning, as your cunt swallows his dick. You’re just like he described, soaked and searing, and already, he’s close. But, just as long as you’ve been teasing him, you’ve been teasing yourself, so he grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut against the intoxicating image of you as you ride him, holding off his orgasm as long as he can. 
He can’t hold off the moans that escape every time you bounce on his cock, though. They echo through the bedroom, his voice shot, and start to sound more and more like whimpers with each thrust. He doesn’t care, can’t care about anything but the feeling of you wrapped around him and hugging him so fucking tightly, and again, his mouth turns into a faucet that can’t be shut off. 
“Please, can I touch you? You’re so perfect, you take me so perfectly, I wanna make you cum, now,” he begs, his fingers twisted up in the sheets and his biceps flexing as he fights to keep his hands above his head. 
“I wanna feel you cum around me, I fucking love how you squeeze me and hold me and keep me, I want you to keep me, please let me-,”
“Yes, Yonghee, you can touch me, do whatever you want,” you cry, your voice breathy and your thighs trembling. Yonghee’s hands fly down to steady them, his fingers digging into the flesh greedily before gliding up to hold your hips in place above him. He fucks up into you, reveling in the sharp gasp torn from your throat, and thrusts one, two, three times, before he loses himself in you. You’re flaming hot around him and he can hear how wet you are with every buck of his hips, and each time he gets to feel you is better than the last. Somehow, he knows there won’t be a threshold. 
When you slide a hand down between your thighs, he pushes it away with one of his own, his thumb slipping into your folds to find your clit. Normally, he loves watching you but he’d said he wants to make you cum and if you help, it doesn’t count. He picks up speed, touching and fucking you harder until you start to pulse around him, and when he hooks his hips up on the next stroke and you keen, he knows he’s got you. He pounds into that spot, his lips twitching into a smirk as you fall apart above him, gushing and clenching around his dick. 
His smirk doesn’t last and neither does he, his head dropping into the sheets as he cums with a groan. He can feel you pulsing, feel your cunt sucking his cum deeper and deeper inside until it has nowhere left to go. Forcing his eyes open, he watches as it pools around your entrance, coating the base of his cock in a ring of white. 
You collapse into him, pressing kisses to his neck and murmuring words he can’t understand into his skin. He thinks he can make out, “Love you,” “You’re so hot,” and “Can I suck your dick tomorrow morning?” 
His responses are, “Love you more,” “You’re hotter,” and “Yes, please.”
Yonghee supposes asking nicely does work. 
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pudding-parade · 10 months
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15 questions for 15 mutuals
Seeing @zoeoe-sims post of this reminded me that several people had tagged me with this right around the time that my cat died a few weeks ago, too. I wasn't in a place to do this then, but…better late than never? I guess?
I babbled, as usual, so I cut for your protection.
Are you named after anyone? My paternal grandmother. Which is fortunate because she's the only one of my grandparents that I liked. Also, my mother because her maiden name is one of my middle names. (I have two. Fancy!) No comment on whether or not I like my mother. LOL
When was the last time you cried? I cried unhappily a lot when my cat died recently. I still get teary-eyed when I think of her or see something that reminds me of her. But, I also cry happy tears when babies are born on my little hobby farm, and since it's that time of the year, I've been crying a lot lately. :)
Basically, I'm a tear factory. A syrupy commercial will make me cry. You should've seen me when I was pregnant. Speaking of which…
Do you have kids? I birthed three, one conceived against my will when I was 17, but raised only two of them. I probably shouldn't have raised any, frankly. I'm not a good parent, and I don't like kids until they're about 8 or 10. But, when you're caught up in a Christian cult, there's intense pressure to procreate. I fear I really messed up my son, but at least I had my daughter when I was mostly out of the cult/god-belief in general, so I feel I did better by her.
Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh, absolutely not. (Yes, that was sarcasm.)
What sports do you play/have you played? Volleyball. Preferably 2-on-2 because it's more energetic and fun. (If you've ever watched beach volleyball on the Olympics, that's what I do. Or did, when I could.) I'm tall, so I'm pretty good at it. (Not good at basketball, though, because I can't for the life of me run and bounce a ball at the same time.) But mostly I prefer solo pursuits, usually of the "extreme" variety. Free climbing was a passion of my younger years, and I also did some BASE jumping back then. (I wish wing suits had been a thing when I did it. That looks amazing.) White-water kayaking. Skiing/snowboarding. Basically, I'm pretty active when I can be. Chronic health conditions limit me now.
What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Whatever I notice. I don't know. I talk to lots of people, and in the longer term I notice whether or not they can hold a coherent conversation, whether or not they have interests beyond professional sports, tv shows/celebrities, or shoes/fashion, and whether or not they are able to use their higher brain functions. When it comes to possible romantic relationships, I'm strongly attracted to intelligence, eloquence, and unabashed nerdiness, so the ability to use one's brain and have conversations is important to me.
That said, I have to admit that the very first thing I noticed about my husband (almost 10 years ago to this day, in fact) was how nice his ass looked in tight black leather pants, so there's that, too. I like a nice ass as much as the next person. And nice tits. (It's great being pansexual.) But, if all a person has is a great ass/pair of tits, then I lose interest very quickly. Looks fade and gravity does its thing and all that.
Scary movies or happy endings? I don't watch a lot of movies because I find just sitting and watching one to be pretty boring. (Which is odd because I spent much of my adult career as a studio musician working on movie soundtracks.) I'm much better off watching TV shows, which are shorter. But, if I'm going to watch a movie at all, it's either going to be sci-fi or a comedy. Sci-fi can be creepy/scary sometimes (i.e., Alien), and comedies usually have a happy ending, so…both? I guess?
Any special talents? I have perfect pitch and am musically gifted, though my instrumental skills are far superior to my singing skills. That's about it, unless you count the fact that I can wiggle my ears to a freakish degree and independently of each other, like a cat. In fact, I have a number of atavisms like that, probably because my family on both sides is pretty damn inbred.
Where were you born? In Amish country in Indiana, USA. I haven't been back there since I was 16, though. (And since I'm 59, that was a long time ago.)
Well, OK, technically I was born in New York City because my parents were visiting my mom's parents, and I wanted out earlier than expected. (Typical of me, really.) I didn't actually live in NYC until I went to music school, however, and I was raised on a dairy farm in Indiana that my parents owned and paid Amish folks to run for them. So, I grew up hanging out with cows and Amish kids, mostly. LOL
What are your hobbies? Aside from playing video games? Too many, because I don't have time to do them all as much as I would like. Belly dancing and pole dancing. (Both are great for your core.) Composing music. The above-mentioned sports, to the extent that I can do them now. Swing dance. Embroidery/cross-stitch/hand-sewing/lace-making. Horseback riding. Painting. (Only paint-by-numbers because I don't have the time/patience to learn otherwise.) Home improvement projects. (I love me a good tiling job. Currently, I'm working with my husband on our Burmese python's future room because he's quickly growing out of the enclosure we have him in.) Reading scientific papers and popular science articles, especially about dinosaurs. Amateur astronomy. I want to get into doing some woodworking, too, though I have to get over my fear of power saws first.
Basically, my problem is that I have too many interests and not enough time.
Do you have any pets? I have a (mostly) hobby farm, so…
Four horses that are used for just casual and trail riding, so they're basically lushes who laze in the sun and drink a lot of beer, so much that a local microbrewery has their hoppy stout named after my hoppy-stout-loving, beer-snob horse.
Small(ish) herds of both llamas and alpacas. We breed alpacas for their fiber, which we sell combed but otherwise raw to people/companies who spin it to make yarn and stuff. I have fun doing artificial selection with them, breeding for color and fiber texture and stuff. We breed llamas as guard animals, which are basically guard dogs for other livestock. They're more effective against large predators like mountain lions (their natural enemy) than dogs are while requiring much less in the way of training, food, water, etc. So, I have fun with artificial selection with them, too, breeding for (bad) temperament.
A flock of chickens, which is nice because, even though I'm vegan, I'll eat their eggs because I have tons and I know these hens live a life of decadent luxury, complete with a heated coop so they are comfortable year-round. All of them are doted-on, get daily attention (they love sitting in laps) and die of old age unless a predator gets them. Honestly, they're probably my favorite of the farm animals. LOL They are so sweet and so low-maintenance.
Two beehives, though I'm not sure they count as pets. They do require maintenance, though. Them's some hard-working ladies!
Indoors, I have four dogs, three cats, two snakes, and three tarantulas. And an aquarium set-up full of dragonfly nymphs.
(And, I have employees to do most of the farm work because I can't do most of it anymore, and my husband has a real job he loves, and my kids are moved out so no more free labor. Because otherwise my life would consist of nothing but farm chores/animal care.)
How tall are you? 6'0"/183cm. Very tall for a woman, and my build is quite man-like. Being a tall woman is sometimes good and sometimes bad. Like, I can reach whatever I want to reach and be good at volleyball, but finding clothes that fit right is a nightmare. Which is why I got decent at hand-sewing, because I have to alter pretty much everything I buy that's meant for women, even stuff in "tall" sizes, and I got tired of paying to have it done. I really should just make my own clothes from scratch, but there's that time issue again. So, I make do by buying mostly men's clothes. But sometimes you just wanna be pretty, y'know? (Plus, lately, if you go to use a women's restroom while not looking sufficiently female, you'll get very suspicious looks -- and sometimes worse -- from certain idiots waiting for their wife/girlfriend/daughter to come out of the restroom. 🙄)
Fave subject in school? Erm…I didn't actually go to school much. I was enrolled in a private school, but I was traveling and performing as a pianist starting when I was 7 but especially once I was 10. So, I was mostly educated by a private tutor who traveled with me, specifically by a Catholic nun who was in her mid-60s when I was a child. She looked scary, but she was the sweetest woman who ever lived while also being fucking brilliant so it's a damned shame she went into a nunnery. I bawled like a baby at her funeral many years ago.
But ANYWAY! Believe it or not, grammar was my favorite subject. Being educated by a nun, grammar was a Big Thing, but I enjoyed diagramming sentences, which is something that I don't think is taught in schools anymore. (But it should be!) I used to do it for fun. Beyond that, I love any history that isn't US history, and science. All of it. Except physics because calculus hates me. My love of dinosaurs came from my tutor, who was also very interested in them. Which is possibly weird, for a nun, but there it is.
Dream job? Being retired. Which I am. Yay!
Eye color? It says hazel on my driver's license, and I guess that's the closest description. They're basically a muddy green with some flecks of yellow.
I'm not going to tag anyone because it's been a while, and I don't know who's done this. But, if you'd like to do it, consider yourself tagged.
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bzedan · 10 months
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May! Officially springtime, I wanted my May playlist to key off of 'Les Fleurs' by Minnie Riperton, a song my bff shared in our family discord and has haunted me since (positive).
This playlist put itself together pretty quickly, and basically was in its final form by mid-month. And, since part of the whole point of me even starting doing monthly playlists was because I am prone listening to the same playlists over and over (and over), I had no problem spending two weeks of workdays listening to the same series of songs. It's comforting! My comfort playlist is six songs long and I used to play it on a loop through most of a workday at a Bad Place I Worked. Three hours of syrupy spring joy every day was a delight.
The vibe for May was, if I may quote what I sent my bestie in describing it: "Flowers and joy sweetness and fierceness is the vibes, Middle finger in a lace glove." I mean, I think I achieved that, anyway.
Several covers on this one, like the Cowboy Junkies covering Vic Chesnutt 'Flirted With You All My Life,' which is a hard one to cover for a lot of reasons but this is (to me) a successful attempt. The 'Goodbye Horses' cover by Dead On A Sunday is also a new favourite, it doesn't really change much about it, but it's just a good damn song. The Cardigans singing 'Sabbath Bloody Sabbath' hit me so unexpectedly, I was delighted.
Related media to some of the songs:
I enjoy the music video for Indigo De Souza's 'You Can Be Mean'. 
An Dro's arrangement of the Hieronymus Bosch butt music is probably my favourite version, and I'm grateful to this Tumblr post for introducing this artist to me.
There are two songs from Schmigadoon! season two in here, if you can find a way to watch it (Apple TV+) and are a musicals fan you're in for a treat. It's a damn tragedy how they've got so few clips for this show and were consistently late in sharing what little they had or in making songs available quickly on Spotify. It's a musical show! You're a giant network! Anyway, enjoy this Chicago-inspired piece that is not on this playlist but is a delight nonetheless.
Anyway here's a link to May's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut.
Also embedded if you like that:
'Les Fleurs' - Minnie Riperton  
'Like Her Before' - Em and Dzeej  
'You Can Be Mean' - Indigo De Souza  
'Feel The Way I Want' - Caroline Rose  
'Temba, Tumba Y Timba' - Los Van Van  
'Army Dreamers - 2018 Remaster' - Kate Bush  
'Hieronymus Bosch Butt Music' - An Dro  
'Friends' - Ween  
'Replacements (feat. La Roux)' - Chromeo  
'Scarborough Fair / Canticle' - Simon & Garfunkel  
'Athena' - Tristen  
'Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall' - Simon & Garfunkel  
'Wear Your Love Like Heaven' - Donovan  
'Petals' - Mariah Carey  
'Lady May' - Tyler Childers  
'Miracle' - Caravan Palace  
'Hothouse Flower' - Tristen  
'Lavender' - Oneida  
'Sussudio' - Phil Collins  
'For Real' - Mallrat  
'Invisible Light' - Scissor Sisters  
'This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)' - Talking Heads  
'Cut To The Feeling' - Carly Rae Jepsen  
'Sabbath Bloody Sabbath' - The Cardigans  
'Babalon' - Twin Temple  
'Bustin' Out' - Dove Cameron  
'Concerto In G' - Roger Neill  
'Goodbye Horses' - Dead On A Sunday  
'Faraway Look' - Yola  
'Paradise' - Sade  
'Electric Feel' - MGMT  
'Sugar on My Tongue - 2005 Remaster' - Talking Heads  
'Sweet About Me' - Gabriella Cilmi  
'Suspended In Gaffa - 2018 Remaster' - Kate Bush  
'So Sweet' - Nurses  
'The Windmills Of Your Mind - Mono Version' - Dusty Springfield  
'Bitter Sweet Symphony' - The Verve  
'The Orchids' - Psychic TV  
'Patchouli in the Morning / The Outlier' - An Dro  
'Sugar Daddy' - Thompson Twins  
'Kaput' - Dove Cameron  
'Sweet Turns Sour' - Macy Rodman  
'Savoir Faire' - Beth Ditto  
'Sweet Poison' - Naked Eyes  
'Violet' - Hole  
'Eat The Acid' - Kesha  
'Wave Catalyst (Low Tide)' - Pacific Coliseum  
'Flowers - Medieval Style Instrumental' - Stantough  
'Time Bandits' - Angel Olsen  
'Flirted With You All My Life' - Cowboy Junkies  
'Then Came the Last Days of May' - Blue Öyster Cult
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kitty-lilith · 3 months
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What's My Name?
Could you call my name again?
I need to hear it
Not in the lackadaisical way of the day to day.
With purpose, speak, "I love you"
Not that I take for granted the mundane or commonplace
But I need something special, I need medicine.
Your syrupy sweet voice that you save for me alone
That velvet I could wrap myself up in and get lost.
I want to feel it soft on my skin as you mutter into my neck
But electric, something to jumpstart my heart again
Because I've been dying lately, repeatedly.
So say my name so softly, gentle as a breeze through the oak trees
Give me my names
Like the world was made of glass, be extra careful of everything
Especially with the way you love me.
When you say my names so proudly
Show me that it won't get caught on your canines
Show me that I'm more than just a figure to identify
Give me my name.
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frannyzooey · 5 months
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"Something doesn't have to look a certain way to be happy" non here! I’m so glad you understood what I meant. I’m kind of obsessed in part because I think I have a weird perspective. I’ve had just two relationships in my life, and both were great guys - just one turned out to not be for me. Hubs and I have been together over 15 years and met when I was a college freshmen. There was a slight age gap (just 6 years but felt larger at 18) and we have remained happy and committed. I think we’re the weird ones 😆
Would you ever consider writing a “happily ever after” type one shot? Totally understand if that’s the most cringe awful monstrosity you could ever imagine. I kinda see it either being sweet or that 😂 I sort of feel bad asking because it could come across as such the antithesis to the intent and so disingenuous, but I know it’s a beloved fic and an AU could be fun if nothing else. By no means am I implying your ending wasn’t perfect — it was — I’m just curious and have also had some wine.
You aren't weird at all! That's exactly what happened with my husband and I at the exact same ages, and we are still going very strong ❤
Don't ever feel bad asking! I have played around with a number of things for them - in my drafts, I have: their first reunion night in England, a 🍑 drabble, a drabble about their time apart and how Ezra seeks solace in men - and I could see someday down the line adding one that gives a little more closure than the ending did? I don't know if I could ever write a truly syrupy sweet ending for them since I can't reconcile that with their paths in life in my head, but if I DID, it would look like a version of this:
Birdie comes back to NYC, she needs a place to stay so Ezra invites her to live there, Cee has long since made her peace with it since she has a new found sense of independence in the city and Ezra is beyond happy to have a little Birdie in his house every day.
Him, working in his work room and her, writing in the front room, and them, cooking dinner together every night.
Him, running his errands and her, coming back from the library and them, curled up on the couch together before they go to bed.
Him, looking over at her every so often with a small smile because she's really here, and her, looking over at him every so often because she's really here, and them, looking at each other in the dark bedroom as their bodies entwine.
Them, going to movies and parking in the back of the parking lot just so they can take in the late show and then make out in the car afterwards.
Them, merging their friend groups and finding new things to do together and them, delighting in the openness of their relationship. The affection they can show in public and at home, freely.
"I'm just curious and have also had some wine" is how I have made half my friends on here, so PLEASE, never feel bad asking me anything!
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lenixsocial · 5 months
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"Now and Then": an honest review.
From an honest source: me.
I've been a Beatles fan forever, practically. I have dissected their songs, read all the books, seen all the films. I feel qualified to deliver the following review.
If you haven't heard the newest Beatles track, stop now. Go do that. It's literally everywhere.
Music: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: The music is excellent. The song opens on a piano melody played by Paul. That they chose to wipe John's original piano may be suspect, but one only needs to listen to "Real Love" to fully grasp why you'd rather have a newly recorded piano. While on that track John's vocals sound creepy and thin due to magnetic tape degradation, the piano suffers even more and warbles along as another piano is laid on top to strengthen the sound. The choice to overdub strings is brilliant as well because Beatles ballads and string sections go together like cookies and milk. Ringo's drumming is as sure footed as ever, albeit a touch rattling as the largeness of the room he's in is conveyed by the presence of his kit from time to time. Paul's bass recalls figures from "You Never Give Me Your Money" in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment which honestly lends the song even more Beatles credibility. George Harrison plays rhythm guitar which is honestly a shame because that's just not using your talents to their maximum. But George disliked this song due to its 60 cycle hum and poor audio quality during the 1995 sessions, so all he did was play rhythm guitar. And honestly it's sort of buried in the mix. What we do get is Paul playing slide in George's style. Honestly it took me about four listens to appreciate it for what it is: Paul's apology to George. Nobody could play like him, he was an iconic slide player. Now all Paul can do is try and get his sound. There's no replacing George. Even if Paul contemplated it back in the late 60's. He truly misses him and of that I have no doubt. Again: the music is beautiful and it's the thing I have the least gripes with.
Lyrics: ⭐️⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: The lyrics are pretty damn tepid. Pretty safe. Pretty dull if I'm being honest. I think most people were hoping Paul would write something more profound seeing as how the title is reportedly the last lines John ever spoke to him. What we get is a syrupy take on old friends, long since departed. Perhaps keeping with the ethos of 'keep it simple, stupid' Paul went a decidedly basic route working off the lyrics that already were there. The song itself wasn't much to begin with lyrically and we must remember: these were John's DEMOS. The earliest buds of a song. Likely these would've been transformed into great works through multiple rewrites. Overall I'm giving the lyrics a solid 'good' rating. It does what it needs to despite being perhaps overly simple.
Vocals: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: I was going to give it only three but it's John's vocals that gave it another star. They are pristine. In a way that no Lennon vocal has ever been. And I think John would've absolutely HATED it. He loved effects on his voice and probably would've really dug the tape warble on the other two 90's era reunion tracks. Here, Peter Jackson used machine learning to take the original vocals, remove the hum and hiss, and train it on what John's voice sounded like. What we get are the cleanest, clearest, most unencumbered Lennon vocals, ever. They are mixed so high however that it occasionally interferes with some of the other instrumentation. Elsewhere Ringo and Paul sing together on backing vocals (an interesting choice which I feel is long overdue on a Beatles track), and vocals from older Beatles tunes are 'flown in' to the mix so that John Paul and George can harmonize together again (this sounded like it was going to be cheap as hell until you hear it and then you understand why it's absolute genius).
Artwork: ⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: It's bad. Look, I get what it's trying to do: it's supposed to be the outlines of the balconies as seen on the Red and Blue albums, but with the Beatles replaced by words. The font is a poor choice, it's dull. The colors are dull. The back cover should've been the front cover, and there's nary a Beatles logo on it. It's a fail in the artwork department (despite the artist being responsible for McCartney III, a truly inventive cover).
Promotion: ⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: This was the single most disorganized campaign ever concocted by Apple Corps. We started out with rumor. Fine. Then Paul's old clip saying he was going to complete "Now and Then". Alright. Cool. Then Paul announces that AI helped make it smack dab in the middle of the summer news cycle where Actors in SAG were fearful of having AI copy their voices. Was this even the real John Lennon? What was going on? Paul was silent. Ringo too. Then Paul had to walk it back and explain. Then we had absolutely no time to prepare for its release. It was PLONK it's getting put out on this day. Deal with it. It was all very slapdash last second feeling and it isn't like Apple Corps to not really handle releases well with months of build up and promos. This was well...fairly ham fisted if I'm being honest. Paul's AI comment by the way really confused the older demographic who still contend that it's a computer singing John's part, not John. Also, it didn't help that the AI Beatles YouTube page went up shortly after Paul's AI announcement further muddying the waters.
Music Video: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: Here's where Peter Jackson shined on this project. It took me five rewatches to appreciate the video. Seeing them all together on stage performing again was tear-inducing for sure. The music works well as a companion in the video for sure. John directing the orchestra with his silly affectations, and just the way in which they were all so neatly removed from old footage to appear alongside current Paul and Ringo was beautiful. And let's not forget that end: The Beatles take a bow and they disappear as the band's name goes opaque on the blocks behind them. Their career is officially over. All the songs have been sung. They might disappear, but the memories and their music will last forever. Genius ending.
Value for Money: ⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: If this would've come out on Volume 3 of a newly minted and remastered Anthology, I don't think the public would have had an issue. But it didn't. It came out as a horribly expensive single, and will be included on the remastered Blue Album. Oddly the same album doesn't include Free as a Bird or Real Love, which further angers fans. It is a disaster in the same way the promotion for the record was a disaster.
B-Side: ⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: They could have put nearly ANYTHING on the flip and chose their first single. Which OK. I get it. Bookends. Now and Then. Cute. But it's absolutely JARRING to go from modern recording techniques to 1962 recording techniques. It's a decent mix I suppose, but it just doesn't make sense and if you're wanting to make new Beatles fans, at least put something more contemporary like "Here Comes The Sun" on the obverse. Kids love that song. Look on Spotify. The sound of that song is early 60's. I don't see a lot of Gen Z'ers calling it a bop.
Verdict: ⭐️⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️: A good song, with a terrible promotion and single release coupled with a tearjerker of a video and a chance to hear our heroes one last time. Its positives outweigh its negatives for me, and after a few listens it's as much a Beatles tune as any other. Definitely worth listening to, and cherishing for years to come.
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beedreamscape · 1 year
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Loquaerryn fluff because I can and there's isn't enough of it. Syrupy sweet, clown behaviour with the tiniest pinch of spice. 1.7k words.
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Laerryn has never been in love before.
She had once, in her more than a century-long life, felt satisfied in someone's company, the companionship, and it could've been something --- he was handsome, reasonable, driven. But it wasn't enough to keep her around once their interests began to diverge. He would eventually make his way across Domunas, pursue a war artificer career, and she'd make her way across Exandria, conquering the skies and beyond.
So when it happens, it comes knocking as a battering ram.
A thrill ride, the unexplored territory of being irrevocably smitten, equal parts exhilarating and mortifying. It's a neverending hunger, an ever-burning flame of thought.
She's a grown woman in all her freedom and rights, yet she becomes a thing that loves in Loquatius' presence.
She's aware of the ways of fey --- through a torrent of questions she hopes Patia took as mere curiosity and nothing more. She knows of their contracts, their hierarchy, their peculiar shade of magic, uncanny and mesmerizing at the same time. Also knows of their charm, their beauty and allure, their alien strangeness.
That all felt more true to nymphs and pixies and fairies, the legendary Archfeys and rags. Loquatius, even with his fantastical metamorphic powers, comes out as an ordinary man with a peculiar personality. He has a job and acts accordingly in social events, his rental is reasonably organized and he speaks eloquently enough to sell even the cheapest ideas.
But then the chrysalis will crack and reveal the magnificent vibrant creature lying within.
She will hear him laugh and charm a crowd with ease no ordinary person ever could and wonder how could she have ever doubted it.
She will wake in the night and watch him sleep and have confirmed every rumour and every myth --- No mortal man could be this beautiful, this ethereal.
Or maybe it's in the way he holds her and, in every inch of connection, she can feel an otherworldly possessiveness awaking in her an instinct to give in.
How many times had she made fun of Evandrin for the same sort of behaviour? For his foolishness and his soppiness, for his eagerness and surrender. Falling in love was always for other people who were reasonable and likeable and gentle, who didn't have their minds wrapped in ambition and had time for idleness.
It'd make her laugh were it not so terrifying.
Evandrin never told her about that part...
Despite her lack in deceptiveness, she finds success in keeping her affections under covers. While the sexual tension is more than palpable and their endeavours aren't a secret to their friends, she doesn't bring him up in conversation very often and acts mostly sane in Quay's company, hiding every shade of romance that could color her words.
But while she stands there, serious-faced and unperturbed, her own body makes sure to remind her that something as honeyed as it is fiery coats her soul, each and every time, at the faintest sign of his presence.
.
But then in private, just the two of them, it's arduous to contain the ever-growing fervour of feelings. He becomes a quiet and tender thing and she turns into a giddy and frisky mess.
She sits sideways on his lap, resting in a slow late afternoon, a position she hadn't thought she'd allow herself to be in a year before, the soft cotton of her skirt leaving her perceptive to the corduroy fabric of his trousers, always expensive and perfectly cut for him. It's a comfortable place to be.
He means to brush a strand behind her ear but instead twirls the curl around his finger. “You haven't been as vocal as usual, darling girl.”
She sighs resting her temple on his shoulder. “I'm circling through some thoughts.”
“Would you care to share them?”
She smiles for a moment. “Always the exemplar reporter.”
He chuckles. “I can't help it.”
He allows her a silent moment to ponder but tilts his head sideways to look at her watching the muscles of his neck shift.
Her lips open with a fleeting sound, but spotting his loving eyes fixed on her, instead, she reaches her hand towards his face, stroking his cheek, his cloud-soft skin underlined by a marble-like weave of veins, then traces lips, nose ridge, the thin dark skin around his eyes, the feathery fan of white eyelashes, the barely there peak of his ear. Others wouldn't believe how dainty a thing his face can be from its drastic shifts and all those grand expressions.
The corners of his lips curve into a smile. “Are you trying to distract me?”
She sighs. “Trying to make sense of something.”
“I promise this is my real face.”
Lastly, she traces the dip beneath his lips down to his chin before pulling away. “I know that. You're... “
“What?” He whispers. 
“I can't word it…”
And truly, words escape her along with a growing weight the longer she observes him. She straightens, on his lap still.
“You're making me worried, Lae.”
“Well, I'm about to make it worse.” 
He stiffens beneath her, leaning forward to get a better look at her face. Laerryn is rarely ever a hard person to read, never had someone he met been this unmasked. He rests a gentle hand on her elbow. 
Her eyes flutter and there's a tightness just below her lungs. It's a sudden wave of boldness which, this time, she chooses to ride.
“I'm in love with you, Quay.” She looks him in the eyes. “I love you.”
And the words feel just as true out of her mouth as they have felt in the past month or so, as much as she tried pulling them away.
There's only a deep exhale in response from Loquatius and Laerryn's stomach grows icy cold with regret. She never longed for anyone's attention or appreciation, but any indifference from Quay would be too much even for her. To have the breaking of her soul be seen as anything but monumental and deep would be the death of the most wonderful thing she has shared with someone and she isn't sure there'll ever come someone capable of putting her back together.
But, slowly, Quay's face grows silvery bright along with the most tender of smiles. He's flushed.
His hand ascends from her elbow to the back of her head, holding her still as their lips meet. It's all the answer Laerryn needs, even more than she could've hoped for. If words escaped her, her body is always ready to reveal its truths.
And the answers it doesn't possess, she is more than pleased to seek in Quay's mouth. It's hidden in the way he pulls her close, disguised in the way she cradles his face in her hands, obscured by the way they want more, closer, intenser.
“Nothing else could've made me happier,” he says between kisses without ever pulling more than two inches away from her face. “No time I've called you my darling has meant anything less. My. Darling.”
She adjusts her legs beside his hips and kisses him again, to steal the words from his mouth, to taste the honey that coats his tongue. He's engulfed in her hold, contained within a cloud of noisy desire, the rocking of her hips trying to wake the primal fey essence of his soul and body, the part that wants her in the most physical of forms. And he wants her, for all the gods, he wants her.
The pull of clothes is desperate between laborious breaths and the magnetism of lips tongues teeth, warm skin, wet mouths.
Laerryn is loud, louder than she'd ever been before. There's nothing left to hide, the cut has already been made, and no other option is left but to tear herself open from tip to tip, to finally share with Quay the true extent of her desire.
But Loquatius has all the sensibilities to recognise that Laerryn's mind and organism are both running a thousand miles an hour, knows she's trying to burn through the feeling and the exposition of confession instead of sitting with the weight of the moment.
“Darling, darling,” he grips her hips until she stops and she whines against his cheek, “don't exhaust yourself, I'll give you what you want.”
“I want you,” she says with a growl yet coated in warm honey.
“And you'll have me.” He holds her face in front of his. “Let's go to my bed, let's take our time. Our time.”
And then it's too much and the tears start pouring and, in a reluctant fashion, she tries to wipe them away against the continuous pour, cursing under her breath. She's not sad, she's not frustrated, she's simply overflowing with feelings she's yet to name.
“Oh, love, don't…” He kisses her cheekbones. “It's okay though. It's all very overwhelming, is it not?”
“Overwhelming doesn’t cover half of it. I've never felt this way... I feel like I'm dying and nothing can save me.”
Quay knits his would-be eyebrows pinch together at the sight, it was his first time seeing her cry and it was tragically beautiful how the tears make the gold in her eyes glitter.
“You don't need saving. If you're falling, you're falling into the safety of my love where my heart is tender and ready for you. I love you since I first saw you, Laerryn.”
Every word is made even more beautiful with her lipstick smeared across his lips against the pale grey skin, she wipes it out with her thumb either way.
And a smile grows through the tears. “You didn't know me.”
“Doesn't mean I didn't want you. You've given me a gift with the truth of your feelings and I wanna repay you with my loyalty. Give this whatever name you prefer, I'll be yours for as long as you'll have me and even then I’ll still be yours.”
“Loquatius Seelie, you are lightning in a bottle. Where else can I find someone like you?” His face can barely contain his smile which in turn makes Laerryn sigh in admiration. “Yes, I’ll have you. I just hope you’re mindful of the bargain you just struck with me.”
And it’s with vibrant laughter that he takes her, this most beautiful woman that loves him, in his arms to his bedroom.
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rrxnjun · 1 year
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content creator year in review.
thank you so much to toffee @neo-shitty for tagging me in this, i always enjoy talking about my work hhh also thank you for blessing my dash with your works and other posts throughout 2022 🤍
tagging. @shinachiro @kiachiako @cherryeoniis @crispy-chan @daegall @decembermoonskz 🫶
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first creation and most recent creation of 2022. my first fic that i posted this year was not a single dandelion (johnny), which i worked on from the end of the year 2021 if i remember correctly. the most recent one is not posted yet -- two people (mark), but the one i did post already was a very spontaneous work called when nobody's watching (renjun).
one of your favorite creations of 2022. i really love my yangyang fics, if i'm being honest, but if i had to choose one, my most favorite would probably be i'm not angry anymore (well, sometimes i am) (yangyang), because it's an idea i've had in my head for months and i think i executed it quite well. also, i really relate to the way i portrayed yangyang in this fic, so it's a personal thing for me haha.
one creation you're really proud of. however weird this is, i'm really proud of just saying (yangyang), even though the plot is silly HAHAHA a few people told me they think the fic is quite funny and i really strived for that, so i am glad i succeeded hihi
a creation that took you forever. just saying (yangyang) took me around 3 months to write, and will we talk? (donghyuck) took me... 6 months?? i started it in january and then got into a very depressive episode where i thought i'll never write again (and i also had finals and stuff LMAO) and then i picked it up in june and finally posted it mid-july,, although the plan for the fic was done last june. so technically, over a year- practically, maybe like 2-3 months of writing HAHA
a creation from 2022 that received the most notes. surprisingly, it was annoying (derogatory) (donghyuck) LMAOO its a halloween fic that I DIDN'T EVEN POST ON HALLOWEEN i posted it like 3 days late TT will we talk? (donghyuck) is a close second though, so i guess hyuck fics just do it for y'all
a creation from 2022 you think deserved more notes. honestly, i think your city gave me asthma (mark) and since i saw vienna (jaemin) deserve a lot more than they got hh, but as angst fics, i'm not really that surprised, since i didn't expect more.
a new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it. none! im a loyal czennie LMAO no fr i did join a few i think but i stick to writing for nct, because its the only fandom i still engage in :)
a creation you made that breaks your heart. your city gave me asthma (mark) is a very personal fic that i wrote after i moved for uni. it's filled with all my homesickness, loneliness and feelings of not fitting in that i still kind of resonate with until now. when nobody's watching (renjun) also breaks my heart because of the concept of renjun's character and how he constantly changes himself up just to fit in, yet, still failing. also, i'm not angry anymore (well, sometimes i am) (yangyang) breaks my heart on another level because of my mentioned relation to yangyang's character, and about how my primary emotion has always been anger.
a 'simple' creation you really love. i'm not bitter anymore (i'm syrupy sweet) (jeno) is a very simple fic with literally 0 plot, but i really do love it with my whole heart. it's just a fluffy redemption arc i wrote for jeno, just glued pieces of ideas i had in my notes that i couldnt fit into a long fic haha
a creation that was inspired by another one. a lot of my fics were inspired by songs, if that counts. but i think sugar and salt: the game of trust (mark) was inspired by multiple dystopian books i've read but i think mainly by squid game and the hungar games i suppose?
a favorite creation made by someone else. over on my fic recs blog @03230 there's an 'absolute favorite' tag you could check out for my favorites, but to mention some -> baby face (donghyuck) by @smileysuh friendly favour (donghyuck) by @hencity romancing (donghyuck) by @jenoloqy and they were roommates (donghyuck) by @tyonfs the lonely hearts club (seungmin) by @neo-shitty
some of your favorite content creators from this year. i honestly haven't read much this year, but here are some people whose works i really enjoyed 🫶 @shinachiro my talented best friend, @neo-shitty @cherryeoniis @daegall @sunpopz @tyonfs @luvdsc (always)
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