STILL SCREAMING - Tumblr Posts
IT FINALLY GOT ANIMATED!!!!!!
— At the time, not knowing anything, I thought, “I hope we can have such a fun Christmas party next year, too” from the bottom of my heart.
Your Majesty // P.SH
The cessation of war in your kingdom relies on you. What everyone failed to tell you: it is at the cost of your freedom.
pairing. king!park seonghwa x fem!princess!reader
genre. royal fantasy? pls don't read this if you're looking for historical accuracy :/ mature themes ahead, minors do not interact.
content warnings. non-idol!au. mean dom!seonghwa. sub!reader. maybe a little bit of dubcon if you squint. oral (m. receiving). no penetration. shoe humping. degradation. use of the terms 'my pet', 'good girl', 'my property', mentions of being a slave, 'your majesty', uhhh? spitting, very briefly. sadism for sure. he's a mean ass so ? i think that's about it. use of restraints but not in the sexy way ;(. i wrote this in proper caps this time but usually i use intentional lowercase :p
a/n. can you imagine seonghwa as a cruel king it gets my jimmies in a twist .... sorry to keep pushing the mean hwa agenda..... this is an old drabble that i had sitting, so i hope you enjoy! also ty to my liege @hhoneylix for proof reading for me (so if anything is awry blame them fr /j) ♡ if you enjoyed, please like, comment and reblog!
smut beneath the drop down!
Park Seonghwa — a noble captain in battle, but a tyrant King. Stingy, was he, arms outstretched in demand for his filthy palms to be filled with what he desired. His gluttony was utterly insatiable, and notoriously so. Though his greed was enough to cause the purest of souls to turn a cold shoulder, it was difficult to say no to someone with devilishly handsome looks and equipped with a silver tongue that'd put Lucifer himself to shame.
War raged in his kingdom, enemy nations bombarding Seonghwa's empire in aims and high hopes to retrieve stolen loot and goods from his avaricious grasp. It was undeniable that such conflict took a tremendous toll, economically. After a long debate amongst those of the Higher Tables, they came to a unanimous decision: a barter, of course. One couldn't expect the King to cease his feast upon divinity. The King would return whatever loot that his soldiers obtained while ransacking villages and pillaging towns in exchange for one thing: the opposing realm's Princess. This trade would be a simple one and the poor soul would remain in a royal bloodline; the deal was flawless and Seonghwa's foes accepted the plea with no beat of hesitation. Three days is the window of time it took for rival troops to retreat from his territory, leaving behind their wake of destruction just as Park's militia did to them; though, providing relief and aid to the inhabitants of his kingdom were the last of his worries.
Now, he occupied his throne, his dark gaze focusing lazily on the marble floor that stretched out before him. Mirroring his eyes and their lethargy and intolerance, his shoulders slouched as his tall frame spilled across the chair, knees splayed as his chin rest in his left hand. Jack Frost was great friends with the King based on the ice that he harbored within his honeyed stare. Regardless, he sat like a pouting child awaiting the arrival of his... servant.
The princess discussed in the meeting that disbanded the hellacious battles on his turf and leveled the playing field? Y/N. You looked like a deer, willowy and shy. Your head was hung to look at the floor beneath you, hiding the turmoil in your gaze. You were a pretty thing; long, healthy hair tumbled down your back. Kind eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes. A natural beauty that caused a surge of heat to rush through the King's core. Slowly, the ice inside of him began to melt away. Everyone failed to mention that you had an attitude that could give Seonghwa a run for his money. He remained silent as his eyes drank you in... The first time you'd ever laid eyes on one other.
The rattle of chains caught Seonghwa's attention. In his seat, he corrected his posture, immediately looking more presentable and respectable in the presence of company. Amongst the small fleet of handlers, you stood in the middle, wrists bound in iron with your ankles encircled in matching restraints. Seonghwa dare not move, even as your handlers pushed you forward and stood at attention before their king. Clearly, you put up a fight. the tattered dress that hung haphazardly from your frame reeked of foul play. This deal between kingdoms was clearly one-sided. Luckily, there wasn't a bruise to mar your flawless complexion — wise on his staff's behalf.
"She is no slave. Remove those chains at once." Spoke Seonghwa, once he had his fill of scrutinizing you, noting how you looked equally pissed off and frightened. The guards responded, and with the clatter of iron striking the hard flooring, you now stood free, just before the King himself.
Another demand, "Leave us."
Seonghwa fell silent once more as he awaited the room to clear, and the burly mahogany doors leading into the throne hall to shut, thus leaving them in seclusion. Lithe fingers journeyed across his chin in thought as he crossed an ankle over his bent knee.
"Kneel."
Your mouth responded by hanging open. Your eyebrows knitted together in protest. An inhale to digest such an incredulous demand, then, "Pardon me?"
"I didn't stumble over my words, girl." Retorted Hwa as he rose from his chair, approaching you at an agonizing pace. Stalking you like prey. Seonghwa circled you once, your cautious eyes remaining on the King as he did such. "I told you to kneel."
The steely tone in the King's voice indicated to you that it was no blague. You finally gave in and sank to your knees, a quiver in your actions from weariness. Seonghwa smirked as he watched you comply, petting the top of your head. Whether it was in encouragement or to assert his dominance over you, you couldn't tell. It was apparent that you weren't used to being forced into submission like this... And by God, Seonghwa was going to use that fact and run it straight into the ground.
"As I said, you're no slave. Such a shame that you aren't." Grumbled the King, squatting down so that your faces were even, calloused fingertips lingering upon your dainty jaw.
"I'd rather die than serve you."
An exasperated sigh tumbled from Seonghwa's plush lips, and a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, he chuckled.
"So be it."
Rising from his position in front of you, he placed his hands on his hips as his eyes oscillated around the deliciously decorated throne room. He did this to create time and revise his next course of actions. Then, a firm foot planted itself into your chest, sending you reeling backward until your back was flush to the expensive marble. The King wasted no time as he straddled your torso, pressing your arms apart and pinning them to the floor using his knees. Seonghwa's hair fell into his face from such sudden actions and obscured his view, but posed no threat to the Crown's navigation as fingers enveloped your neck.
"You can wish me dead and hate your life, expecting me to do something about it. The simple fact is, my pet, you are my property. I own you. Every organic thought that riddles that head of yours is because I will it to be so." Seonghwa spits in your face. Usually, he wasn't the one to show all of his cards, but he refused to be disrespected inside his own castle. "You can spend your days in a cell, if you'd rather."
You flinched as saliva landed on your face, hatred, and disgust filling your stare, but no words of defense on your own behalf rolled off your sharp tongue — despite the turmoil raging within you being incredibly apparent (or, maybe, you were pathetically transparent). Recalling the chilly iron that bound your limbs earlier, a shiver crept up your spine. You had no quarrel with the bottom of the King's boot. Your wide eyes watched every move that the King made.
Despite the hatred that burned for the sadistic ruler, from below him, Seonghwa could see how your nipples had hardened — even through the tattered apparel you wore. And, fuck, did this inflate the King's ego. A wicked grin spread across the bottom half of Seonghwa's visage as a fire bloomed from his otherwise icy gaze. Once you realized that Seonghwa took notice of your blooming arousal, a deep blush seeped into your face and radiated to the tips of your ears. You parted your lips, and attempted to flounder for some sort of explanation, but instead, lie beneath Hwa with your mouth opening and closing as if you were a fish out of water.
"Do you genuinely think you are worthy of me, girl?" Asked Seonghwa through a smirk as his eyes scanned your blush riddled visage. His booming voice filled the room, instilling humiliation into your bones. This only added fuel to the heat that pooled between your legs. Could the entire palace hear of your sexual appetite?
"I–..."
"You what? Spit it out, now." The sinister expression on his face deepened further when you answered with silence, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. Coltish, curious, afraid. "That's what I thought. Next time, I'll have to cut that pathetic tongue out of your mouth."
The King removed himself from the rumple the two of you were in and returned to his throne to sit. Again, his knees parted as his feet were planted on the floor before him. He pointed to this space, waiting for you to comply with the unspoken orders given. Knock-kneed and cautious, you peeled yourself off the floor and closed the space between yourself and Seonghwa. Placing your hands on his thighs in order to brace yourself, you sank to the ground just as the King expected of you. Suddenly, and humorously to the King, submission began to settle into your bones as need clawed at your groin. It was evident in your eyes.
With his right hand, Seonghwa reached forward and slipped a few fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back and forcing eye contact. "What is your purpose?"
Your eyebrows came together at the obscurity of the inquiry, but you still stammered out a response, "To become Queen...?" And there was honesty in your meek answer. All of your God given life consisted of how to be a good ruler, and what it meant to be a Queen. So, your answer was genuine, though confusion lilted your words. A smirk toyed at Seonghwa's lips, and he nodded as your response processed in his mind.
The King leaned forward until his lips were flush with your ear; hot breath fanned your face. His serpent tongue slithered from between his lips to lick the shell of your ear before he brought himself to speak.
A husky whisper, "When I'm through with you... I will be your purpose."
The fire of acrid hate dwindled to simmering coals within you. Instead of fueling your abhorrence, the warmth fed into the pool of feverishness that gathered in the pit of your stomach. The overwhelming feeling of ignominy and hedonism caused tears to well in your eyes, though you were quick to blink them away. Never had you been subjected to something like this — and never did you think that you would yearn for a man in such ways like you did now. This was especially conflicting to you because you didn't even know what Seonghwa looked like until you entered the same room as him.
Admittedly, you were floored when you first took in Seonghwa's appearance. From the talk amongst soldiers and townspeople when he frequented the market just outside of the castle, or stalked the long corridors that lie within the royal walls, their conversations of the King hovering over him lead him to believe that — perhaps — this King was a sea hag, or worse... Tales of his iron fist and cold eyes frightened you, thus leading you to never pursue any additional information regarding King Park Seonghwa and his tyrannical reign. Now that you taking in the King with your own eyes, he was, in fact, not the sea hag you had once imagined.
Instead, you were met with a man with a strong physique, obviously a warrior, and scars riddling his skin as proof. His raven locks hung in messy waves, framing his face beautifully. He had an angular face with dragon-like eyes that could pierce right through you. There was no denying that he was a stunning man. And his lips — . . .
Now, you sat positioned between the thighs of this devilishly handsome King, face burning with the heat of desire and embarrassment. Your eyes fell to the King's lap, your tongue growing thick in your mouth as you ached to reach out and remove the article of clothing, to reveal what lie beneath. From what you could gather in the few fleeting moments that his eyes were focused, the King was eager to give in to your carnality before a demanding grip drew your eyes back up to meet Seonghwa's.
Why do I feel this way? You questioned yourself, as you instinctively nuzzle your chin into Seonghwa's grasp. Deciding not to question it any longer and cave into your lewd cravings, you let out a soft whine to voice the need that was already addressed silently; after all, this is why Seonghwa wore that cocky smirk that drove you headfirst into compliance.
Of course the King noticed the lingering eyes on his crotch as he sat back from his position at your ear. The want that reflected in your stare made the King want to press his thighs together, but he couldn't do that since you sat between them. Instead, he released your jaw and shifted in his seat in order to fulfill your wish for your mouth to be invaded. His jewel-adorned hand rested lightly against the armrest as he gathered his thoughts.
"It seems we both have needs that demand they be sated." The King began, licking his lips to moisten them. Excitement gnawed at you and this eagerness was mirrored in your glassy eyes — the kind of look that Seonghwa wished to ruin. His smirk transitioned into a salacious grin, "You look ravishing this way, pet. What is your purpose?" He questioned again, an eyebrow raising expectantly.
"You."
Seonghwa drew his hand from its perch on the armrest so he could pull back and land a sharp, open-palmed slap across your face. The same decorated fingers leveled your head before pulling away and returning to the position he was in prior. "Who am I?"
Silence. Then, realization. "My King."
"Good girl," was the response. "what is your purpose?"
"You are."
"Worship me as so."
You took this as a clearance to act upon your cravings, and you sprung into action. Cold fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric that caged the King's demanding sex. You tugged the front down to release his hardened erection, wanting to keep the King's modesty as he sat upon his royal chair... despite the want to be splayed out by him right on the floor. You halted as Seonghwa's cock was presented to you, your warm breath ghosting against the King's sensitive skin.
Just as Seonghwa was about to intervene, you dipped your head as you took the tip of Hwa's length into your mouth. Your mouth was warm, and tantalizingly wet as his hardened cock disappeared between plump lips. Electricity traveled across the King's skin, down his muscled thighs, and into his stomach. This time, an ornate hand carded its way into your hair. He pushed your head down to swallow more of his cock, impatience getting the best of him. You didn't mind though, and only braced yourself for more.
You knew what you were doing. You played him like a fiddle as your head bobbed along the King's cock, tongue flattened and molded to the underside of Seonghwa's excited shaft.
Hwa's head fell to the side, clear ecstasy written across his features. That didn't prevent the King from keeping his eyes on you, to watch your performance. The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head. His hips lifted from the throne on their own accord, assaulting the back of your throat with sloppy thrusts.
"You make your King feel so good, pet," muttered Seonghwa just before his teeth sank into his lower lip. "look at me as you please me."
You drew back to give attention to the head of his cock, tongue running along Seonghwa's slit and lapping up the pre-cum that dribbled out. At the King's demand, your eyes raised and leveled with Seonghwa's. Before he could realize, Hwa was teetering on the edge of his climax — so, he breathed out a warning, "Shit, I'm gonna —. . ."
You doubled down, arms slithering up into Seonghwa's lap until nimble fingers gripped at the King's waist, nose nestled into the cloth of Seonghwa's trousers as you took all the King's cock into your mouth. A rumbling moan emanated from Hwa as he released, your mouth milking him for what he was worth.
You pulled yourself off of the King with a delicious and all-too-intentional 'pop' and wiped your pleased smirk on your sleeve. Expectant eyes met Seonghwa's darkened ones, his eyebrows lowering as he read your expression.
"I suppose you're expecting me to do something to provide you relief?" Asked the King, his head falling back to rest on the back of the chair for a few moments. He readjusted his trousers as he came down from his climax.
"Yes, please, Your Majesty." You replied. Excitement lit up your gaze, and you shifted in place.
Seonghwa shot up in his seat, shoulders squared and clearly defensive. Such a change in demeanor would surely give someone whiplash. Now, you understood what everyone meant.
"Why should I give you anything? You're property. You think your Godly tongue will buy you anything, mewling quim?" The tip of Seonghwa's boot trailed up the inside of your thigh and dug the toe of his shoe into your clothed crotch. Not expecting such friction, especially because of the outburst that exploded from Seonghwa a moment ago, a whimpering moan bellowed from you, hips immediately jerking forward to seek out the contact. "As I said: you are undeserving of me."
You nodded in agreement whilst grating your hips aggressively against the tip of the King's shoe — anything to flood your body with the ecstasy that you were experiencing now. It was almost embarrassing at how fast you fell apart, writhing in the floor and uttering gentle curses as you were edged towards your own orgasm. Your fingers latched onto Seonghwa's pant leg as the radiating heat seeped down your thighs and caused your toes to curl.
Your body pulsated as you came, muscles clenching and eyes screwing shut. Seonghwa placed a majority of his weight on your clothed cunt now, wanting to enhance your orgasm as you came. Removing his foot from your clothed pussy, the dark place on the fabric displayed your pleasure. The hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Seonghwa's lips, but he stood and pulled you to your feet — earning a soft cry in protest from you.
"Go have the maids clean you up. I expect to see you at dinner." He pulled you to his chest, his hand pressing into the small of your back. "Whatever happens remains in this room, understood?"
"Mm." You hum in agreement, clinging to the King as your knees were too unreliable due to your orgasm.
"Good, now leave my presence."
Stumbling over your feet, you made your way to the heavy doors that previously closed the two of you off to the rest of the castle. Your sex-pinked skin revealed the activities that took place behind the closed doors. If not your complexion, the stain on your tattered clothes, or the languid grin and half-lidded gaze would be telling enough.
Pausing with a hand on the door, you threw a shy glance at Seonghwa from over your shoulder, just before slipping through. "Your Majesty."
Your Majesty // P.SH
The cessation of war in your kingdom relies on you. What everyone failed to tell you: it is at the cost of your freedom.
pairing. king!park seonghwa x fem!princess!reader
genre. royal fantasy? pls don't read this if you're looking for historical accuracy :/ mature themes ahead, minors do not interact.
content warnings. non-idol!au. mean dom!seonghwa. sub!reader. maybe a little bit of dubcon if you squint. oral (m. receiving). no penetration. shoe humping. degradation. use of the terms 'my pet', 'good girl', 'my property', mentions of being a slave, 'your majesty', uhhh? spitting, very briefly. sadism for sure. he's a mean ass so ? i think that's about it. use of restraints but not in the sexy way ;(. i wrote this in proper caps this time but usually i use intentional lowercase :p
a/n. can you imagine seonghwa as a cruel king it gets my jimmies in a twist .... sorry to keep pushing the mean hwa agenda..... this is an old drabble that i had sitting, so i hope you enjoy! also ty to my liege @hhoneylix for proof reading for me (so if anything is awry blame them fr /j) ♡ if you enjoyed, please like, comment and reblog!
smut beneath the drop down!
Park Seonghwa — a noble captain in battle, but a tyrant King. Stingy, was he, arms outstretched in demand for his filthy palms to be filled with what he desired. His gluttony was utterly insatiable, and notoriously so. Though his greed was enough to cause the purest of souls to turn a cold shoulder, it was difficult to say no to someone with devilishly handsome looks and equipped with a silver tongue that'd put Lucifer himself to shame.
War raged in his kingdom, enemy nations bombarding Seonghwa's empire in aims and high hopes to retrieve stolen loot and goods from his avaricious grasp. It was undeniable that such conflict took a tremendous toll, economically. After a long debate amongst those of the Higher Tables, they came to a unanimous decision: a barter, of course. One couldn't expect the King to cease his feast upon divinity. The King would return whatever loot that his soldiers obtained while ransacking villages and pillaging towns in exchange for one thing: the opposing realm's Princess. This trade would be a simple one and the poor soul would remain in a royal bloodline; the deal was flawless and Seonghwa's foes accepted the plea with no beat of hesitation. Three days is the window of time it took for rival troops to retreat from his territory, leaving behind their wake of destruction just as Park's militia did to them; though, providing relief and aid to the inhabitants of his kingdom were the last of his worries.
Now, he occupied his throne, his dark gaze focusing lazily on the marble floor that stretched out before him. Mirroring his eyes and their lethargy and intolerance, his shoulders slouched as his tall frame spilled across the chair, knees splayed as his chin rest in his left hand. Jack Frost was great friends with the King based on the ice that he harbored within his honeyed stare. Regardless, he sat like a pouting child awaiting the arrival of his... servant.
The princess discussed in the meeting that disbanded the hellacious battles on his turf and leveled the playing field? Y/N. You looked like a deer, willowy and shy. Your head was hung to look at the floor beneath you, hiding the turmoil in your gaze. You were a pretty thing; long, healthy hair tumbled down your back. Kind eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes. A natural beauty that caused a surge of heat to rush through the King's core. Slowly, the ice inside of him began to melt away. Everyone failed to mention that you had an attitude that could give Seonghwa a run for his money. He remained silent as his eyes drank you in... The first time you'd ever laid eyes on one other.
The rattle of chains caught Seonghwa's attention. In his seat, he corrected his posture, immediately looking more presentable and respectable in the presence of company. Amongst the small fleet of handlers, you stood in the middle, wrists bound in iron with your ankles encircled in matching restraints. Seonghwa dare not move, even as your handlers pushed you forward and stood at attention before their king. Clearly, you put up a fight. the tattered dress that hung haphazardly from your frame reeked of foul play. This deal between kingdoms was clearly one-sided. Luckily, there wasn't a bruise to mar your flawless complexion — wise on his staff's behalf.
"She is no slave. Remove those chains at once." Spoke Seonghwa, once he had his fill of scrutinizing you, noting how you looked equally pissed off and frightened. The guards responded, and with the clatter of iron striking the hard flooring, you now stood free, just before the King himself.
Another demand, "Leave us."
Seonghwa fell silent once more as he awaited the room to clear, and the burly mahogany doors leading into the throne hall to shut, thus leaving them in seclusion. Lithe fingers journeyed across his chin in thought as he crossed an ankle over his bent knee.
"Kneel."
Your mouth responded by hanging open. Your eyebrows knitted together in protest. An inhale to digest such an incredulous demand, then, "Pardon me?"
"I didn't stumble over my words, girl." Retorted Hwa as he rose from his chair, approaching you at an agonizing pace. Stalking you like prey. Seonghwa circled you once, your cautious eyes remaining on the King as he did such. "I told you to kneel."
The steely tone in the King's voice indicated to you that it was no blague. You finally gave in and sank to your knees, a quiver in your actions from weariness. Seonghwa smirked as he watched you comply, petting the top of your head. Whether it was in encouragement or to assert his dominance over you, you couldn't tell. It was apparent that you weren't used to being forced into submission like this... And by God, Seonghwa was going to use that fact and run it straight into the ground.
"As I said, you're no slave. Such a shame that you aren't." Grumbled the King, squatting down so that your faces were even, calloused fingertips lingering upon your dainty jaw.
"I'd rather die than serve you."
An exasperated sigh tumbled from Seonghwa's plush lips, and a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, he chuckled.
"So be it."
Rising from his position in front of you, he placed his hands on his hips as his eyes oscillated around the deliciously decorated throne room. He did this to create time and revise his next course of actions. Then, a firm foot planted itself into your chest, sending you reeling backward until your back was flush to the expensive marble. The King wasted no time as he straddled your torso, pressing your arms apart and pinning them to the floor using his knees. Seonghwa's hair fell into his face from such sudden actions and obscured his view, but posed no threat to the Crown's navigation as fingers enveloped your neck.
"You can wish me dead and hate your life, expecting me to do something about it. The simple fact is, my pet, you are my property. I own you. Every organic thought that riddles that head of yours is because I will it to be so." Seonghwa spits in your face. Usually, he wasn't the one to show all of his cards, but he refused to be disrespected inside his own castle. "You can spend your days in a cell, if you'd rather."
You flinched as saliva landed on your face, hatred, and disgust filling your stare, but no words of defense on your own behalf rolled off your sharp tongue — despite the turmoil raging within you being incredibly apparent (or, maybe, you were pathetically transparent). Recalling the chilly iron that bound your limbs earlier, a shiver crept up your spine. You had no quarrel with the bottom of the King's boot. Your wide eyes watched every move that the King made.
Despite the hatred that burned for the sadistic ruler, from below him, Seonghwa could see how your nipples had hardened — even through the tattered apparel you wore. And, fuck, did this inflate the King's ego. A wicked grin spread across the bottom half of Seonghwa's visage as a fire bloomed from his otherwise icy gaze. Once you realized that Seonghwa took notice of your blooming arousal, a deep blush seeped into your face and radiated to the tips of your ears. You parted your lips, and attempted to flounder for some sort of explanation, but instead, lie beneath Hwa with your mouth opening and closing as if you were a fish out of water.
"Do you genuinely think you are worthy of me, girl?" Asked Seonghwa through a smirk as his eyes scanned your blush riddled visage. His booming voice filled the room, instilling humiliation into your bones. This only added fuel to the heat that pooled between your legs. Could the entire palace hear of your sexual appetite?
"I–..."
"You what? Spit it out, now." The sinister expression on his face deepened further when you answered with silence, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. Coltish, curious, afraid. "That's what I thought. Next time, I'll have to cut that pathetic tongue out of your mouth."
The King removed himself from the rumple the two of you were in and returned to his throne to sit. Again, his knees parted as his feet were planted on the floor before him. He pointed to this space, waiting for you to comply with the unspoken orders given. Knock-kneed and cautious, you peeled yourself off the floor and closed the space between yourself and Seonghwa. Placing your hands on his thighs in order to brace yourself, you sank to the ground just as the King expected of you. Suddenly, and humorously to the King, submission began to settle into your bones as need clawed at your groin. It was evident in your eyes.
With his right hand, Seonghwa reached forward and slipped a few fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back and forcing eye contact. "What is your purpose?"
Your eyebrows came together at the obscurity of the inquiry, but you still stammered out a response, "To become Queen...?" And there was honesty in your meek answer. All of your God given life consisted of how to be a good ruler, and what it meant to be a Queen. So, your answer was genuine, though confusion lilted your words. A smirk toyed at Seonghwa's lips, and he nodded as your response processed in his mind.
The King leaned forward until his lips were flush with your ear; hot breath fanned your face. His serpent tongue slithered from between his lips to lick the shell of your ear before he brought himself to speak.
A husky whisper, "When I'm through with you... I will be your purpose."
The fire of acrid hate dwindled to simmering coals within you. Instead of fueling your abhorrence, the warmth fed into the pool of feverishness that gathered in the pit of your stomach. The overwhelming feeling of ignominy and hedonism caused tears to well in your eyes, though you were quick to blink them away. Never had you been subjected to something like this — and never did you think that you would yearn for a man in such ways like you did now. This was especially conflicting to you because you didn't even know what Seonghwa looked like until you entered the same room as him.
Admittedly, you were floored when you first took in Seonghwa's appearance. From the talk amongst soldiers and townspeople when he frequented the market just outside of the castle, or stalked the long corridors that lie within the royal walls, their conversations of the King hovering over him lead him to believe that — perhaps — this King was a sea hag, or worse... Tales of his iron fist and cold eyes frightened you, thus leading you to never pursue any additional information regarding King Park Seonghwa and his tyrannical reign. Now that you taking in the King with your own eyes, he was, in fact, not the sea hag you had once imagined.
Instead, you were met with a man with a strong physique, obviously a warrior, and scars riddling his skin as proof. His raven locks hung in messy waves, framing his face beautifully. He had an angular face with dragon-like eyes that could pierce right through you. There was no denying that he was a stunning man. And his lips — . . .
Now, you sat positioned between the thighs of this devilishly handsome King, face burning with the heat of desire and embarrassment. Your eyes fell to the King's lap, your tongue growing thick in your mouth as you ached to reach out and remove the article of clothing, to reveal what lie beneath. From what you could gather in the few fleeting moments that his eyes were focused, the King was eager to give in to your carnality before a demanding grip drew your eyes back up to meet Seonghwa's.
Why do I feel this way? You questioned yourself, as you instinctively nuzzle your chin into Seonghwa's grasp. Deciding not to question it any longer and cave into your lewd cravings, you let out a soft whine to voice the need that was already addressed silently; after all, this is why Seonghwa wore that cocky smirk that drove you headfirst into compliance.
Of course the King noticed the lingering eyes on his crotch as he sat back from his position at your ear. The want that reflected in your stare made the King want to press his thighs together, but he couldn't do that since you sat between them. Instead, he released your jaw and shifted in his seat in order to fulfill your wish for your mouth to be invaded. His jewel-adorned hand rested lightly against the armrest as he gathered his thoughts.
"It seems we both have needs that demand they be sated." The King began, licking his lips to moisten them. Excitement gnawed at you and this eagerness was mirrored in your glassy eyes — the kind of look that Seonghwa wished to ruin. His smirk transitioned into a salacious grin, "You look ravishing this way, pet. What is your purpose?" He questioned again, an eyebrow raising expectantly.
"You."
Seonghwa drew his hand from its perch on the armrest so he could pull back and land a sharp, open-palmed slap across your face. The same decorated fingers leveled your head before pulling away and returning to the position he was in prior. "Who am I?"
Silence. Then, realization. "My King."
"Good girl," was the response. "what is your purpose?"
"You are."
"Worship me as so."
You took this as a clearance to act upon your cravings, and you sprung into action. Cold fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric that caged the King's demanding sex. You tugged the front down to release his hardened erection, wanting to keep the King's modesty as he sat upon his royal chair... despite the want to be splayed out by him right on the floor. You halted as Seonghwa's cock was presented to you, your warm breath ghosting against the King's sensitive skin.
Just as Seonghwa was about to intervene, you dipped your head as you took the tip of Hwa's length into your mouth. Your mouth was warm, and tantalizingly wet as his hardened cock disappeared between plump lips. Electricity traveled across the King's skin, down his muscled thighs, and into his stomach. This time, an ornate hand carded its way into your hair. He pushed your head down to swallow more of his cock, impatience getting the best of him. You didn't mind though, and only braced yourself for more.
You knew what you were doing. You played him like a fiddle as your head bobbed along the King's cock, tongue flattened and molded to the underside of Seonghwa's excited shaft.
Hwa's head fell to the side, clear ecstasy written across his features. That didn't prevent the King from keeping his eyes on you, to watch your performance. The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head. His hips lifted from the throne on their own accord, assaulting the back of your throat with sloppy thrusts.
"You make your King feel so good, pet," muttered Seonghwa just before his teeth sank into his lower lip. "look at me as you please me."
You drew back to give attention to the head of his cock, tongue running along Seonghwa's slit and lapping up the pre-cum that dribbled out. At the King's demand, your eyes raised and leveled with Seonghwa's. Before he could realize, Hwa was teetering on the edge of his climax — so, he breathed out a warning, "Shit, I'm gonna —. . ."
You doubled down, arms slithering up into Seonghwa's lap until nimble fingers gripped at the King's waist, nose nestled into the cloth of Seonghwa's trousers as you took all the King's cock into your mouth. A rumbling moan emanated from Hwa as he released, your mouth milking him for what he was worth.
You pulled yourself off of the King with a delicious and all-too-intentional 'pop' and wiped your pleased smirk on your sleeve. Expectant eyes met Seonghwa's darkened ones, his eyebrows lowering as he read your expression.
"I suppose you're expecting me to do something to provide you relief?" Asked the King, his head falling back to rest on the back of the chair for a few moments. He readjusted his trousers as he came down from his climax.
"Yes, please, Your Majesty." You replied. Excitement lit up your gaze, and you shifted in place.
Seonghwa shot up in his seat, shoulders squared and clearly defensive. Such a change in demeanor would surely give someone whiplash. Now, you understood what everyone meant.
"Why should I give you anything? You're property. You think your Godly tongue will buy you anything, mewling quim?" The tip of Seonghwa's boot trailed up the inside of your thigh and dug the toe of his shoe into your clothed crotch. Not expecting such friction, especially because of the outburst that exploded from Seonghwa a moment ago, a whimpering moan bellowed from you, hips immediately jerking forward to seek out the contact. "As I said: you are undeserving of me."
You nodded in agreement whilst grating your hips aggressively against the tip of the King's shoe — anything to flood your body with the ecstasy that you were experiencing now. It was almost embarrassing at how fast you fell apart, writhing in the floor and uttering gentle curses as you were edged towards your own orgasm. Your fingers latched onto Seonghwa's pant leg as the radiating heat seeped down your thighs and caused your toes to curl.
Your body pulsated as you came, muscles clenching and eyes screwing shut. Seonghwa placed a majority of his weight on your clothed cunt now, wanting to enhance your orgasm as you came. Removing his foot from your clothed pussy, the dark place on the fabric displayed your pleasure. The hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Seonghwa's lips, but he stood and pulled you to your feet — earning a soft cry in protest from you.
"Go have the maids clean you up. I expect to see you at dinner." He pulled you to his chest, his hand pressing into the small of your back. "Whatever happens remains in this room, understood?"
"Mm." You hum in agreement, clinging to the King as your knees were too unreliable due to your orgasm.
"Good, now leave my presence."
Stumbling over your feet, you made your way to the heavy doors that previously closed the two of you off to the rest of the castle. Your sex-pinked skin revealed the activities that took place behind the closed doors. If not your complexion, the stain on your tattered clothes, or the languid grin and half-lidded gaze would be telling enough.
Pausing with a hand on the door, you threw a shy glance at Seonghwa from over your shoulder, just before slipping through. "Your Majesty."
Your Majesty // P.SH
The cessation of war in your kingdom relies on you. What everyone failed to tell you: it is at the cost of your freedom.
pairing. king!park seonghwa x fem!princess!reader
genre. royal fantasy? pls don't read this if you're looking for historical accuracy :/ mature themes ahead, minors do not interact.
content warnings. non-idol!au. mean dom!seonghwa. sub!reader. maybe a little bit of dubcon if you squint. oral (m. receiving). no penetration. shoe humping. degradation. use of the terms 'my pet', 'good girl', 'my property', mentions of being a slave, 'your majesty', uhhh? spitting, very briefly. sadism for sure. he's a mean ass so ? i think that's about it. use of restraints but not in the sexy way ;(. i wrote this in proper caps this time but usually i use intentional lowercase :p
a/n. can you imagine seonghwa as a cruel king it gets my jimmies in a twist .... sorry to keep pushing the mean hwa agenda..... this is an old drabble that i had sitting, so i hope you enjoy! also ty to my liege @hhoneylix for proof reading for me (so if anything is awry blame them fr /j) ♡ if you enjoyed, please like, comment and reblog!
smut beneath the drop down!
Park Seonghwa — a noble captain in battle, but a tyrant King. Stingy, was he, arms outstretched in demand for his filthy palms to be filled with what he desired. His gluttony was utterly insatiable, and notoriously so. Though his greed was enough to cause the purest of souls to turn a cold shoulder, it was difficult to say no to someone with devilishly handsome looks and equipped with a silver tongue that'd put Lucifer himself to shame.
War raged in his kingdom, enemy nations bombarding Seonghwa's empire in aims and high hopes to retrieve stolen loot and goods from his avaricious grasp. It was undeniable that such conflict took a tremendous toll, economically. After a long debate amongst those of the Higher Tables, they came to a unanimous decision: a barter, of course. One couldn't expect the King to cease his feast upon divinity. The King would return whatever loot that his soldiers obtained while ransacking villages and pillaging towns in exchange for one thing: the opposing realm's Princess. This trade would be a simple one and the poor soul would remain in a royal bloodline; the deal was flawless and Seonghwa's foes accepted the plea with no beat of hesitation. Three days is the window of time it took for rival troops to retreat from his territory, leaving behind their wake of destruction just as Park's militia did to them; though, providing relief and aid to the inhabitants of his kingdom were the last of his worries.
Now, he occupied his throne, his dark gaze focusing lazily on the marble floor that stretched out before him. Mirroring his eyes and their lethargy and intolerance, his shoulders slouched as his tall frame spilled across the chair, knees splayed as his chin rest in his left hand. Jack Frost was great friends with the King based on the ice that he harbored within his honeyed stare. Regardless, he sat like a pouting child awaiting the arrival of his... servant.
The princess discussed in the meeting that disbanded the hellacious battles on his turf and leveled the playing field? Y/N. You looked like a deer, willowy and shy. Your head was hung to look at the floor beneath you, hiding the turmoil in your gaze. You were a pretty thing; long, healthy hair tumbled down your back. Kind eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes. A natural beauty that caused a surge of heat to rush through the King's core. Slowly, the ice inside of him began to melt away. Everyone failed to mention that you had an attitude that could give Seonghwa a run for his money. He remained silent as his eyes drank you in... The first time you'd ever laid eyes on one other.
The rattle of chains caught Seonghwa's attention. In his seat, he corrected his posture, immediately looking more presentable and respectable in the presence of company. Amongst the small fleet of handlers, you stood in the middle, wrists bound in iron with your ankles encircled in matching restraints. Seonghwa dare not move, even as your handlers pushed you forward and stood at attention before their king. Clearly, you put up a fight. the tattered dress that hung haphazardly from your frame reeked of foul play. This deal between kingdoms was clearly one-sided. Luckily, there wasn't a bruise to mar your flawless complexion — wise on his staff's behalf.
"She is no slave. Remove those chains at once." Spoke Seonghwa, once he had his fill of scrutinizing you, noting how you looked equally pissed off and frightened. The guards responded, and with the clatter of iron striking the hard flooring, you now stood free, just before the King himself.
Another demand, "Leave us."
Seonghwa fell silent once more as he awaited the room to clear, and the burly mahogany doors leading into the throne hall to shut, thus leaving them in seclusion. Lithe fingers journeyed across his chin in thought as he crossed an ankle over his bent knee.
"Kneel."
Your mouth responded by hanging open. Your eyebrows knitted together in protest. An inhale to digest such an incredulous demand, then, "Pardon me?"
"I didn't stumble over my words, girl." Retorted Hwa as he rose from his chair, approaching you at an agonizing pace. Stalking you like prey. Seonghwa circled you once, your cautious eyes remaining on the King as he did such. "I told you to kneel."
The steely tone in the King's voice indicated to you that it was no blague. You finally gave in and sank to your knees, a quiver in your actions from weariness. Seonghwa smirked as he watched you comply, petting the top of your head. Whether it was in encouragement or to assert his dominance over you, you couldn't tell. It was apparent that you weren't used to being forced into submission like this... And by God, Seonghwa was going to use that fact and run it straight into the ground.
"As I said, you're no slave. Such a shame that you aren't." Grumbled the King, squatting down so that your faces were even, calloused fingertips lingering upon your dainty jaw.
"I'd rather die than serve you."
An exasperated sigh tumbled from Seonghwa's plush lips, and a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, he chuckled.
"So be it."
Rising from his position in front of you, he placed his hands on his hips as his eyes oscillated around the deliciously decorated throne room. He did this to create time and revise his next course of actions. Then, a firm foot planted itself into your chest, sending you reeling backward until your back was flush to the expensive marble. The King wasted no time as he straddled your torso, pressing your arms apart and pinning them to the floor using his knees. Seonghwa's hair fell into his face from such sudden actions and obscured his view, but posed no threat to the Crown's navigation as fingers enveloped your neck.
"You can wish me dead and hate your life, expecting me to do something about it. The simple fact is, my pet, you are my property. I own you. Every organic thought that riddles that head of yours is because I will it to be so." Seonghwa spits in your face. Usually, he wasn't the one to show all of his cards, but he refused to be disrespected inside his own castle. "You can spend your days in a cell, if you'd rather."
You flinched as saliva landed on your face, hatred, and disgust filling your stare, but no words of defense on your own behalf rolled off your sharp tongue — despite the turmoil raging within you being incredibly apparent (or, maybe, you were pathetically transparent). Recalling the chilly iron that bound your limbs earlier, a shiver crept up your spine. You had no quarrel with the bottom of the King's boot. Your wide eyes watched every move that the King made.
Despite the hatred that burned for the sadistic ruler, from below him, Seonghwa could see how your nipples had hardened — even through the tattered apparel you wore. And, fuck, did this inflate the King's ego. A wicked grin spread across the bottom half of Seonghwa's visage as a fire bloomed from his otherwise icy gaze. Once you realized that Seonghwa took notice of your blooming arousal, a deep blush seeped into your face and radiated to the tips of your ears. You parted your lips, and attempted to flounder for some sort of explanation, but instead, lie beneath Hwa with your mouth opening and closing as if you were a fish out of water.
"Do you genuinely think you are worthy of me, girl?" Asked Seonghwa through a smirk as his eyes scanned your blush riddled visage. His booming voice filled the room, instilling humiliation into your bones. This only added fuel to the heat that pooled between your legs. Could the entire palace hear of your sexual appetite?
"I–..."
"You what? Spit it out, now." The sinister expression on his face deepened further when you answered with silence, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. Coltish, curious, afraid. "That's what I thought. Next time, I'll have to cut that pathetic tongue out of your mouth."
The King removed himself from the rumple the two of you were in and returned to his throne to sit. Again, his knees parted as his feet were planted on the floor before him. He pointed to this space, waiting for you to comply with the unspoken orders given. Knock-kneed and cautious, you peeled yourself off the floor and closed the space between yourself and Seonghwa. Placing your hands on his thighs in order to brace yourself, you sank to the ground just as the King expected of you. Suddenly, and humorously to the King, submission began to settle into your bones as need clawed at your groin. It was evident in your eyes.
With his right hand, Seonghwa reached forward and slipped a few fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back and forcing eye contact. "What is your purpose?"
Your eyebrows came together at the obscurity of the inquiry, but you still stammered out a response, "To become Queen...?" And there was honesty in your meek answer. All of your God given life consisted of how to be a good ruler, and what it meant to be a Queen. So, your answer was genuine, though confusion lilted your words. A smirk toyed at Seonghwa's lips, and he nodded as your response processed in his mind.
The King leaned forward until his lips were flush with your ear; hot breath fanned your face. His serpent tongue slithered from between his lips to lick the shell of your ear before he brought himself to speak.
A husky whisper, "When I'm through with you... I will be your purpose."
The fire of acrid hate dwindled to simmering coals within you. Instead of fueling your abhorrence, the warmth fed into the pool of feverishness that gathered in the pit of your stomach. The overwhelming feeling of ignominy and hedonism caused tears to well in your eyes, though you were quick to blink them away. Never had you been subjected to something like this — and never did you think that you would yearn for a man in such ways like you did now. This was especially conflicting to you because you didn't even know what Seonghwa looked like until you entered the same room as him.
Admittedly, you were floored when you first took in Seonghwa's appearance. From the talk amongst soldiers and townspeople when he frequented the market just outside of the castle, or stalked the long corridors that lie within the royal walls, their conversations of the King hovering over him lead him to believe that — perhaps — this King was a sea hag, or worse... Tales of his iron fist and cold eyes frightened you, thus leading you to never pursue any additional information regarding King Park Seonghwa and his tyrannical reign. Now that you taking in the King with your own eyes, he was, in fact, not the sea hag you had once imagined.
Instead, you were met with a man with a strong physique, obviously a warrior, and scars riddling his skin as proof. His raven locks hung in messy waves, framing his face beautifully. He had an angular face with dragon-like eyes that could pierce right through you. There was no denying that he was a stunning man. And his lips — . . .
Now, you sat positioned between the thighs of this devilishly handsome King, face burning with the heat of desire and embarrassment. Your eyes fell to the King's lap, your tongue growing thick in your mouth as you ached to reach out and remove the article of clothing, to reveal what lie beneath. From what you could gather in the few fleeting moments that his eyes were focused, the King was eager to give in to your carnality before a demanding grip drew your eyes back up to meet Seonghwa's.
Why do I feel this way? You questioned yourself, as you instinctively nuzzle your chin into Seonghwa's grasp. Deciding not to question it any longer and cave into your lewd cravings, you let out a soft whine to voice the need that was already addressed silently; after all, this is why Seonghwa wore that cocky smirk that drove you headfirst into compliance.
Of course the King noticed the lingering eyes on his crotch as he sat back from his position at your ear. The want that reflected in your stare made the King want to press his thighs together, but he couldn't do that since you sat between them. Instead, he released your jaw and shifted in his seat in order to fulfill your wish for your mouth to be invaded. His jewel-adorned hand rested lightly against the armrest as he gathered his thoughts.
"It seems we both have needs that demand they be sated." The King began, licking his lips to moisten them. Excitement gnawed at you and this eagerness was mirrored in your glassy eyes — the kind of look that Seonghwa wished to ruin. His smirk transitioned into a salacious grin, "You look ravishing this way, pet. What is your purpose?" He questioned again, an eyebrow raising expectantly.
"You."
Seonghwa drew his hand from its perch on the armrest so he could pull back and land a sharp, open-palmed slap across your face. The same decorated fingers leveled your head before pulling away and returning to the position he was in prior. "Who am I?"
Silence. Then, realization. "My King."
"Good girl," was the response. "what is your purpose?"
"You are."
"Worship me as so."
You took this as a clearance to act upon your cravings, and you sprung into action. Cold fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric that caged the King's demanding sex. You tugged the front down to release his hardened erection, wanting to keep the King's modesty as he sat upon his royal chair... despite the want to be splayed out by him right on the floor. You halted as Seonghwa's cock was presented to you, your warm breath ghosting against the King's sensitive skin.
Just as Seonghwa was about to intervene, you dipped your head as you took the tip of Hwa's length into your mouth. Your mouth was warm, and tantalizingly wet as his hardened cock disappeared between plump lips. Electricity traveled across the King's skin, down his muscled thighs, and into his stomach. This time, an ornate hand carded its way into your hair. He pushed your head down to swallow more of his cock, impatience getting the best of him. You didn't mind though, and only braced yourself for more.
You knew what you were doing. You played him like a fiddle as your head bobbed along the King's cock, tongue flattened and molded to the underside of Seonghwa's excited shaft.
Hwa's head fell to the side, clear ecstasy written across his features. That didn't prevent the King from keeping his eyes on you, to watch your performance. The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head. His hips lifted from the throne on their own accord, assaulting the back of your throat with sloppy thrusts.
"You make your King feel so good, pet," muttered Seonghwa just before his teeth sank into his lower lip. "look at me as you please me."
You drew back to give attention to the head of his cock, tongue running along Seonghwa's slit and lapping up the pre-cum that dribbled out. At the King's demand, your eyes raised and leveled with Seonghwa's. Before he could realize, Hwa was teetering on the edge of his climax — so, he breathed out a warning, "Shit, I'm gonna —. . ."
You doubled down, arms slithering up into Seonghwa's lap until nimble fingers gripped at the King's waist, nose nestled into the cloth of Seonghwa's trousers as you took all the King's cock into your mouth. A rumbling moan emanated from Hwa as he released, your mouth milking him for what he was worth.
You pulled yourself off of the King with a delicious and all-too-intentional 'pop' and wiped your pleased smirk on your sleeve. Expectant eyes met Seonghwa's darkened ones, his eyebrows lowering as he read your expression.
"I suppose you're expecting me to do something to provide you relief?" Asked the King, his head falling back to rest on the back of the chair for a few moments. He readjusted his trousers as he came down from his climax.
"Yes, please, Your Majesty." You replied. Excitement lit up your gaze, and you shifted in place.
Seonghwa shot up in his seat, shoulders squared and clearly defensive. Such a change in demeanor would surely give someone whiplash. Now, you understood what everyone meant.
"Why should I give you anything? You're property. You think your Godly tongue will buy you anything, mewling quim?" The tip of Seonghwa's boot trailed up the inside of your thigh and dug the toe of his shoe into your clothed crotch. Not expecting such friction, especially because of the outburst that exploded from Seonghwa a moment ago, a whimpering moan bellowed from you, hips immediately jerking forward to seek out the contact. "As I said: you are undeserving of me."
You nodded in agreement whilst grating your hips aggressively against the tip of the King's shoe — anything to flood your body with the ecstasy that you were experiencing now. It was almost embarrassing at how fast you fell apart, writhing in the floor and uttering gentle curses as you were edged towards your own orgasm. Your fingers latched onto Seonghwa's pant leg as the radiating heat seeped down your thighs and caused your toes to curl.
Your body pulsated as you came, muscles clenching and eyes screwing shut. Seonghwa placed a majority of his weight on your clothed cunt now, wanting to enhance your orgasm as you came. Removing his foot from your clothed pussy, the dark place on the fabric displayed your pleasure. The hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Seonghwa's lips, but he stood and pulled you to your feet — earning a soft cry in protest from you.
"Go have the maids clean you up. I expect to see you at dinner." He pulled you to his chest, his hand pressing into the small of your back. "Whatever happens remains in this room, understood?"
"Mm." You hum in agreement, clinging to the King as your knees were too unreliable due to your orgasm.
"Good, now leave my presence."
Stumbling over your feet, you made your way to the heavy doors that previously closed the two of you off to the rest of the castle. Your sex-pinked skin revealed the activities that took place behind the closed doors. If not your complexion, the stain on your tattered clothes, or the languid grin and half-lidded gaze would be telling enough.
Pausing with a hand on the door, you threw a shy glance at Seonghwa from over your shoulder, just before slipping through. "Your Majesty."
HELLO JELLY UR MIND????!!!!????!!!
marry me, honey
Synopsis: early morning passion leads Peter B. to ask you a very important question. Word count 1.1k
Warnings: MINORS DNI smut(p in v), oral, xAFAB!reader, fluff
"Fuck.....fuck....Peter, baby....."
You call out softly into the five AM calm of Peter B.'s bedroom.
The air is heavy with sex and drowsy lust, remnants of the cooling heat from the passion the night before strewn about his floor, hinting that he took you in other places besides the bed you now laid in together.
The tall man is underneath you, messy brown locks charged with static from the pillows, peppered stubble adorning his chin in a dim outline only adding to his desirable ruggedness that was brought out of him by late night and early morning lovemaking, lowly groaning as you ride his cock in the dark.
"Sweetheart..."
His hands find purchase on your waist, guiding your movements, fingers digging into your soft flesh, your toes curling as he slides you up the thick length of his cock, letting you sink back down sharply and bottoming out with a wet plap.
"Mmmm...." you bite your lip as your hands slink up the soft curve of your body, wandering to your breasts, groping them with a sigh as you gently roll your head to the side, and back.
"Baby, Jesus Christ..."
His warm eyes are glazed over with something beginning to be so overwhelming. He clenches his teeth as he fights so hard not to cum, not when you're putting on such a beautiful show for him and you're cooing so sweetly.
"Pete...?"
"Yeah, honey...?" Peter responds with a soft exhale that's dripping, clinging onto the edge right before the inevitable fall.
Your body like waves against a cliff, coaxing and eroding and beating all restaint out of him, pulling him under so all he'll know is the depth of oceans he knew better than to swim, but what better way to drown than in you.
"You feel so good..." The last word rolls haphazardly off your tongue, caught between a breath and a whine that only makes it more difficult for him to hold on.
"Fuck....fuck...honey, please, you're gonna kill me..." Peter raises his hips higher, burying his cock inside you as deep as it can possibly go, gifting you with a pained sensation that quickly dissolves into something sinful and delectable, the stretch of him in your pussy to accumulate this new angle causes you to lean forward, hands landing on either side of his head.
You lock eyes, and in that moment something new and so intimate is born between you. Eyes meeting whose carriers are engulfed into the deepest parts of one another.
A temporary clash of universes inadvertently creating something so permanent in that sacred fragment of time.
"Marry me...." He breathes out.
Your eyes shift, hearing what he said but slightly uncertain you were meant to truly comprehend it. "What, Peter....?"
"Marry me...." He whispers, bringing both hands to your face, before they slide down your body trailing shivers in their wake, finding residence on your soft hips before he slowly starts moving inside of you again.
"Fuck....marry me, honey, I swear to God...."
"Peter, you're.... mmhhhhnn fuck.....is this..." You bite your lip, "...another one of your dad jokes...?" You chuckle, puffing out a short breath against his lips as he sat up, maintaining the closeness of your faces as he pressed his forehead against yours.
The wrinkles around his eyes soften, his thumb brushing your bottom lip as both your movements come to a brief pause, the fog of sleep less dense, but the weight of words he spoke just moments earlier didn't phase him one bit.
A feeling of adrenalized elation in a mixture of bravery and vulnerability in his whole body as he affirms. "No, it's not, honey...."
He groans when you clench around his cock, the tight warmth goading him to start fucking you again.
You kiss him, your lips together creating the most gentle noise as they drag and roll against each other, only barely overshadowed by the lewd litany of your bodies clapping together, coated in a new wetness of arousal brought out of you by this romantic, yet profound question he asked you.
"You're.... asking me..... to marry you, right nnggghhh.....now...when we're....when we're like this?" Your mouth falls open , eyebrows knitting in an expression that sends excitement through his spine.
"God....what better time than when we're like this, honey....?" His tone sincere, carrying promise. "Right now, just made me realize you're all I've ever wanted...all I ever need...is this right here."
He pants as he leans back, the slight hover of your body in his lap drawing out his wet cock just a bit, before he presses it deeply inside you again, stealing a kiss from you as he nestles fully inside you once again.
"I already have the ring." He murmurs. "Please...just let me give it to you."
"Oh, Peter..." Your tone is watery, the kind shortly before those salty tears leak out of the corner of your eyes and paint your face.
Peter smiles, kissing your nose before he disconnects with you only briefly, crossing over to his small closet, beaming while he looks at you and takes a small black velvet box from the very back corner of his top shelf.
He kneels on the bed, crawling towards you on his fists before laying on his stomach, silken honey brown of those beautiful eyes gazing up at you. Your hands tangle in his hair, sniffling as your emotions run down your face.
"Honey..." He whispers tenderly. "You make me so happy..." He shows you the open box, a soft gold band with a simple solitaire diamond in the middle, once belonging to his mother.
"Will you marry me?"
At that point, his eyes contain stars. Every happy emotion you could conceive is stirring deeply within you, the feeling cementing itself and burning the way he looks right now into undying memory.
You realize you wish you could have met him so long ago so you didn't have to go so long as you did without him.
"Yes, Peter..." You punctuate each confirmation with a slow kiss. "Yes....yes.....a million times...yes..."
You sigh as he slips the ring on your finger and wastes no time burying his face in your neck, his stubble scratching against your skin in that endearing way that was so distinctive of him.
He leans over you laid back on his pillows, roaming his warm palms over the soft, sensitive expanse of your inner thighs, groaning when your fingers entangle themselves in his tousled locks, a tingly feeling at the sight of your newly glittering wedding band peeking between them.
Then, you surrender to the euphoric feeling of your new husband-to-be getting lost in the building sea of your aching sex, arching your back as he slowly eats your pussy, gradually and carefully breaking you apart and settling you to back sleep in the rapturous afterglow, while the radiant morning sun's littered rays of light only barely started to infiltrate the hushed darkened azure of the quiet apartment.
---
@1-900-venusluvs @thatone-writer @gltzpzy
@pxtched @mon-of-the-dead
“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.”
He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands.
“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again.
“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.”
.
.
.
“You’re mine, too.”
snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader
summary: you and stanley go fishing
warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence
tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection
notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know
Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe
word count: 6.5k
| masterlist |
January, 1987
She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college.
Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did.
Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with.
Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room.
He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure.
She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind.
That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home.
She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway.
He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort.
The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer.
But he didn’t want to wait.
Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals.
She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do.
He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand.
It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones.
So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him.
He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy.
He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms.
It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique.
He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning.
She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan.
“We missed the entrance to the dock.”
“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.”
She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window.
It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January.
He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed.
She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies.
He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in.
They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice.
Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work.
“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes.
He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.”
He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth.
“Close your eyes, hun.”
She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now.
“Open ‘em.”
She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped.
“Ta-Da!”
“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her.
“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them.
“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her.
She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles.
He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important.
The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold.
They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute.
“Then he asked me if they were extinct!”
“What you tell him?”
“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind.
“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage.
“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.”
She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other.
There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly.
“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear.
But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front.
“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear.
“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole.
It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward.
Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands.
The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder.
Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact.
“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still.
He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp.
She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her.
It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still.
They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole.
“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark.
She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does.
She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths.
A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole.
Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.
It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature.
It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it.
She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs.
She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband.
He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast.
The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck.
It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water.
Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes.
A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel.
He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up.
She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later.
A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again.
She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways.
He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all.
It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while.
She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat.
“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning.
“What?”
“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker.
“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys.
“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway.
She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled?
He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss.
She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in.
She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears.
She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side.
She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins.
He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath.
She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature.
She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him.
“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once.
He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body.
She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.
He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water.
“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up.
She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.”
“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room?
She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath.
She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door.
She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone.
Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose.
She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table.
She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line.
She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation.
Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion.
The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him.
He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water.
She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her.
Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his.
“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands.
He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken.
“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.”
He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands.
“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again.
“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.”
Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables.
“You’re mine, too.”
His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten.
She forgot about the pots and burners.
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