#so that has certainly developed into desperation
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Lautity shippers I’m working on something for you!!
Not done yet but I wanted to share this snippet of what I have so far <3
(Also content warning: it’s pretty brief but it does deal with homophobia/internalized homophobia)
Summary: When Solomon decides raising her grades isn’t enough to get her phone back and demands Stephanie round out her extracurriculars, she maliciously complies by joining Grace in her anti-homecoming campaign. After all, yelling at her classmates about spunk and trying to get their dance canceled won’t be very good for his precious public image. Grace is glad to have the extra help, but gets more than she bargained for when she starts to develop feelings for Stephanie.
Stephanie’s hands are twitching. Somewhere out there, somebody is certainly posting the worst, most horrendous take known to man on Twitter at this very moment and here she is without her phone, powerless to do anything about it. It’s such bullshit. Her dad said that if she raised her grades to a C average, she could have it back, but at the last minute he decided that wasn’t enough and demanded she start rounding out her currently lackluster list of extracurriculars. In her opinion, spitting cold hard facts and spicy hot takes online totally counts (it’s basically journalism if you think about it), but he emphatically disagreed. She has to do something she can actually put on a college application, which means smoke club is off the table. To make matters worse, she made the mistake of complaining to Stacy and Brenda about her predicament and they’ve decided she just has to join cheer.
“Seriously, just try the new cheer with us and see how you like it! I mean you’re pretty, you’re popular, why aren’t you a cheerleader already?” says Brenda.
“Uh, doesn’t it also require, like, dance skills and athleticism and enthusiasm?” Steph says with a skeptical look.
“Oh, you can learn all that stuff,” Stacy says cheerfully.
“Yeah, that’s great and all, but isn’t it too late to join?” Stephanie replies, increasingly desperate for some way to end this conversation.
“Technically, yeah, but I’m captain! I’m sure I can talk coach into making an exception for you,” Brenda says “seriously, just give it a try and tell us you don’t absolutely love it!”
“Do I really need to try it to tell you I don’t absolutely love it? I’ve never tried, like, squeezing lemon juice into an open wound, either, but I’m pretty confident I don’t like that.”
They both purse their lips in confusion, pausing just long enough for her salvation to arrive - fittingly enough, in the form of Grace. Honestly, the least she can do is help Stephanie out of this jam. Her inability to butt out and let people cheat on tests in peace is the reason Stephanie’s even in this situation in the first place. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she almost made them all complicit in manslaughter with that stupid prank. If Pete dove to catch Max even a fraction of a second later, she doesn’t want to think about what would’ve happened. Then again, Max’s brush with death seems to have humbled him and he’s at least been trying to be less of an asshole, so she supposes she has to give Grace credit for making Hatchetfield High a more tolerable place to be. Besides that, whether she likes it or not, they’re running in the same circles now. Steph’s been spending more time with Pete and Pete hangs out with Ruth and Richie, who hang out with Grace, so they’re stuck together, at least at lunch. To make things even weirder, Max has been joining them and those four have been letting him.
“Hey! Grace!” Stephanie calls with uncharacteristic enthusiasm as Grace rounds the corner, her “Homec*mming: don’t dance with temptation!” sign held high.
“Hi, Stephanie,” she says, eyeing her suspiciously “I assume you haven’t changed your mind about allowing that excuse for sin and debauchery to happen?”
“I, uh, you know what? Yes I have,” says Stephanie. Surprise flashes across Grace’s face before she hands over the pink glitter gel pen attached to her clipboard so Stephanie can sign. There’s something so strangely charming about the fact that she uses a freaking glitter gel pen of all things for this.
“Actually,” Stephanie says as she puts down her signature with a flourish “I was wondering if you needed any help with your campaign.”
It’s brilliant. She can fulfill her father’s extracurricular requirement and simultaneously make him regret ever asking her to do it. He’s constantly hounding her about not doing anything to smear his public image and hurt his chances of reelection. Joining Grace in going around school harassing all of her peers and telling them they’re going to hell for supporting homecoming is going to reflect very, very poorly on him. Not to mention how pissed off everyone will be if they actually succeed in canceling the dance. They won’t, but a girl can dream. What’s more, the Chasitys are fairly powerful members of the community and crossing them by suddenly ditching their daughter when she promised to help her is also going to make him look bad. It’s a lose-lose situation for her father and, therefore, win-win for her. See, she is pretty damn smart, no matter what he says.
Grace eyes her suspiciously. “You want to help? You? Why the sudden change of heart?”
Shit, how is she going to explain it? There’s no way Grace is going to believe she suddenly saw the light and became a prude overnight.
“I, just, uh, realized I wasn’t being very open-minded to your worldview. Think of it as a gesture of goodwill. Besides, we’re friends, right? Comrades. Classmates. Nighthawks. And Nighthawks gotta stick together, so if canceling the dance is really all that important to you, then what the hell- heck! I mean heck! I’ll help you out.”
“Well, it has been pretty lonely trying to do it all by myself,” Grace admits, “alright, I guess you can join.”
Stacy and Brenda have been watching this play out, periodically turning to each other to exchange bewildered looks. They only become more confused when Stephanie asks them to sign the petition, too. Brenda shrugs and accepts the pen, writing down her name in perfectly neat cursive. She’s stoked for the homecoming game and pep rally, but she couldn’t care less about the dance right now. It’s been two weeks since Max almost died or whatever and promised to stop bossing everybody around, meaning there’s nothing stopping Kyle from asking her out. So why hasn’t he? She’s been watching grand, romantic hoco proposals at lunch every single day and slowly losing hope that he has one planned for her. Stacy immediately follows suit. Steph and Brenda signed, so she’s obviously going to. She doesn’t want to be the odd one out.
“Wow, three signatures! That’s more than I’ve gotten the entire time I’ve been doing this! Steph, you’re incredible!” The way Grace’s face lights up is almost endearing and Stephanie has to admit that it’s nice to get some praise and recognition for once.
“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Steph replies with a faint, mischievous smirk.
Before they part ways to head to their next class, Stephanie finds herself agreeing to go to Grace’s after school. Apparently, if she’s serious about this, she needs her own sign to carry around.
“It’ll be fun, Steph,” Grace insists “think of it like arts and crafts!”
“My favorite,” Stephanie says flatly as they load Grace’s pink Schwinn into the backseat of her car.
It turns out that the Chasity household is all the way across town. Grace must be surprisingly athletic if she makes that commute on her bike twice a day. It sits in a cul de sac lined with near-identical two-story houses, complete with perfectly maintained green lawns and white picket fences. It’s exactly how Stephanie would have pictured it. At least it is until they go upstairs to Grace’s bedroom and she sees that the door’s been removed from his hinges.
“I know open floor plans are trendy right now, but this seems like overkill,” she says “why do you just, like, straight up not have a bedroom door?”
“Oh, I’m not allowed to,” Grace says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world “my parents are worried I might get up to some inappropriate activities unsupervised.”
“Inappropriate? You?” Steph says “what, are they afraid you’re gonna stay up until eight forty-five instead of eight thirty doing bible study?”
The joke is lost on Grace.
“No, Steph, really bad stuff! Like…” she pauses and looks around as if to make sure they’re alone, then lowers her voice to a whisper “…reading lewd magazines or touching myself.”
This explains a lot about Grace. Despite herself, Stephanie can’t help but feel bad for her. Along with that comes a slight, unexpected sense of kinship. She knows a thing or two about overly controlling parents. Sure, Solomon ignores her ninety percent of the time, but the ten percent he doesn’t, he’s always on her ass about something she should be doing or shouldn’t be doing or needs to be doing differently.
Grace’s small bedroom is immaculately clean and organized. It consists of a twin-sized bed in the corner with a pastel pink and blue quilt, a small desk and a largely empty bookshelf lined with only a small handful of church-approved reading material. Stephanie’s eyes are drawn to the figure of Jesus on the crucifix hanging on the door.
“What’s with the sweater?” she asks “is that some kind of obscure biblical reference I don’t get?”
“Oh, no,” Grace replies “I just knitted that for him ‘cause I think he needs to cover up. I get that he died for our sins, but he doesn’t need to have his nips out to do it.”
Stephanie stifles a laugh as they settle down on the floor with their posterboard and Grace’s impressive collection of colorful markers and get to work on her sign. To make things more interesting, she challenges herself to come up with the worst possible slogan and get Grace to approve it.
“Oh, I’ve got it,” she says, snapping her fingers “how about ‘homecoming? More like hell going.’”
“I like that,” says Grace “it really gets the point across. You’re pretty smart, Steph.” If her eyes water at that, it’s just allergies. Despite the cleanliness of the room, Grace must have forgotten to dust it recently. Yeah. That’s it.
Stephanie doesn’t get much sleep that night. With no Twitter fights to distract her, she simply stares at the ceiling until two in the morning thinking about the surprising amount of fun she had hanging out with Grace today and the glance she got into Grace’s home life that awakened a new sense of sympathy for the school snitch. Given how ludicrously strict the Chasitys seem to be, her existence is probably totally devoid of typical teenage mischief. She probably hasn’t so much as snuck out for a late-night convenience store run. It’ll take some convincing, but maybe Steph can change that.
God, who is she? Why is she lying here actually thinking about willingly spending time with Grace? The lack of screen time must be messing with her head. She always thought getting off of that cesspool of an app would improve her brain function, but apparently not. She needs her phone back, pronto. She just has to survive the next couple weeks first.
The second she wakes up, Stephanie realizes she’s going to fall asleep in class without the help of caffeine. She stops off at that singing coffee shop and gets her usual, a black americano with seven shots. She’s not sure they’re even legally allowed to serve that much caffeine in one drink, but they always indulge her. Being the mayor’s daughter does have its perks. On a whim, she decides to get an herbal peach tea for Grace. She double checks that it’s caffeine free and watches the barista vigilantly to make sure she doesn’t spit in it as it’s rumored they sometimes do here. It’s not like she wants to, but they agreed to touch base before class and it would be rude not to bring her anything. Solomon may be a shitty dad, but he raised her to have manners, damnit.
Grace is waiting for her on the steps in front of the school and accepts the tea almost cautiously, tentatively taking a sip once Stephanie reassures her that it doesn’t contain what she refers to as a gateway drug. Stephanie actually googled it once to try and prove her wrong and learned that caffeine is, in fact, technically a drug, even if she still doesn’t believe it’s a slippery slope to smoking “the devil’s lettuce” like Grace insists it is. No wonder she gets headaches when she doesn’t drink her seven shot americano. Huh, Grace might almost have a point.
“Oh, that’s really good,” she says brightly “I usually just drink plain hot water, but this is way better. I think it might be my new favorite. Thanks, Steph!”
Stephanie decides not to wonder why she’s so pleased that Grace liked it or why her heart flutters a little at the thought that it’s Grace’s new favorite. Maybe it’ll become her go-to order and she’ll think of Stephanie every time she drinks it.
“Alright, we’ve got like ten minutes before classes start, let’s get this show on the road,” Steph says. She sets her sights on a couple nerds climbing up the steps, engaged in a conversation about some TV show about a time traveling doctor.
“Hey,” she says “Rita! TJ!”
“It’s, uh, it’s Reese and PJ,” the one with the pigtails and the glasses says nervously. They both look a little terrified of her, which makes sense. She does run with the jocks and cheerleaders who were probably picking on them until recently.
“Right,” she says, trying to emulate her father’s constituent charming smile “say, you don’t want your tax dollars funding a school-sanctioned fuckfest, do you?”
“Steph! Language,” Grace scolds her.
“Uh,” Reese replies, clearly distressed and confused.
“We’re high schoolers,” says PJ, equally uncertain “I mean, I have, like, a part-time job at the bookstore, so I guess I’m technically a taxpayer? Look, is this some new type of bullying? Because it’s making me really uncomfortable, I’d honestly rather you just gave me a swirly and got it over with.”
“PJ!” Reese says “speak for yourself! I don’t want a swirly. I’ll take the weird experimental bullying.”
“Oh, perish the thought! It’s not bullying. We’re out here trying to save souls,” Stephanie says dramatically “as a wise woman once said, homecoming is just an excuse to dry hump in the gym. We can’t allow that such depravity and debauchery to take place. Not at our school. Sign this petition to keep the hallways free of sin and the gym floor free of spunk.” She’s actually having a blast hamming it up like this. Maybe she should look into drama club. She turns to look at Grace, who’s positively beaming and giving her two thumbs up.
“If we, uh, if we sign your petition, will you leave us alone?” PJ asks, shrinking back from Stephanie and hiding behind Reese.
“Deal,” Steph says, already handing her the glitter gel pen. She and Reese hastily sign and book it to get away from her.
It gets better from there. She catches Brad Callahan in the hallway and harasses him to sign, too. When he refuses on the grounds that Sarah Peterson agreed to go with him and they’re “totally going to get to third base”, she gets to channel her inner Grace and tell him he’s going to burn in hell. If there is an afterlife similar to what’s posited in the bible, she honestly does believe he will, but for entirely different reasons.
“Have fun letting the devil lick your skin clean off with his sandpaper tongue,” she calls after him. God, that was cathartic.
By the end of the week, half the school is thoroughly annoyed by her and Grace’s proselytizing and the other half have, by some miracle, actually agreed to sign that damn petition. Every day, she comes up with another excuse (reason. They’re valid reasons) to hang out with Grace after school. They have to make new flyers to hand out. They have to make pamphlets to educate people on the safety hazard of bodily fluids on the gym floor. Now that they’re getting serious traction, they have to discuss how to bring the petition to the principal and then, potentially, the school board.
It was only a matter of time before Solomon caught wind of all this and confronted her. She gets home from drafting their proposal for principal Blim to find him waiting up for her in the living room, a scowl on his face. It gives her slight deja vu for the day her precious smartphone was taken from her.
“Well, if it isn’t my October surprise.”
“Oh, hi, Dad. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she says mockingly.
“Don’t get cute with me,” he says “care to explain why I’m getting phone calls from your school about you trying to cancel the homecoming dance and yelling at your classmates about ‘spunk’?”
“You were the one who told me to round out my extracurriculars,” she replies with a smug grin “I’m helping Grace Chasity with her campaign. Haven’t you heard? Homecoming is just a disgusting excuse to dry hump in the gym.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Stephanie, I meant a real extracurricular. Volleyball! German club! Yearbook! Anything but whatever the hell this is!”
“What’s the big deal?” she says “you were so worried what people would think of my nocturnal activities when that rumor started going around and now it’s not an issue anymore. Everyone knows I’m strictly anti-sex.”
“Well, you’re going to knock it off this instant if you don’t want me to smash your phone with a hammer for real.”
“Okay. Done,” she says, pausing for effect before grinning evilly and adding, “oh, you know what. I just thought of something. The Chasitys are a pretty big deal in the community, huh? Pretty important in the church. They’re not going to be too happy with me if I ditch their daughter and leave her out to dry when I promised I’d help her, are they?”
Solomon throws his hands up and lets out an exasperated groan.
“You’re killing me, Stephanie!” he says “you’re killing me with what you’re doing!”
“If only, Dad. If only,” she says quietly, still smirking as he retreats to his study.
Grace climbs out of bed and stretches, feeling slightly groggy from sleeping in an extra half hour. Steph’s giving her a ride today, meaning she didn’t have to get up quite so early to give herself time to bike to school. She usually doesn’t mind it - she likes getting the fresh air and the way it quiets her usually racing mind - but it’s pouring rain today and she’d much rather be inside a warm, dry car. Steph’s company doesn’t hurt, either. She knows their relationship is strictly business, but she’s been having fun with Steph and she’s starting to think of her as an actual friend. She wonders if Steph feels the same way. She’s never had many friends before, so it’s hard to tell. She gets dressed, brushes her teeth, washes her face and even puts on some of that moisturizer Steph gave her to try when she complained about her dry skin. She goes downstairs and toasts up two blueberry bagels, spreading cream cheese onto them and placing one neatly into a Tupperware container for Steph. She always oversleeps and misses breakfast, so Grace has been trying to bring her something reasonably nutritious every day. It’s the least she can do with how much Steph has helped her recently.
Stephanie pulls up in front of her house and she climbs into the car, immediately relaxed by the feeling of the heat blasting and the sound of soft jazz playing on the stereo.
“I like the music,” Grace comments.
“Yeah, I thought it’d fit the cozy rainy day vibes,” says Steph.
“It is cozy,” Grace agrees.
“So, two hundred signatures, huh?” Steph says “did you ever think you’d get that far?”
“No,” says Grace “not in my wildest dreams. I never could have done it on my own. I’m nowhere near as convincing as you. If you can believe it, a lot of people say I come on a little strong.”
“What? No way!” Stephanie says in a lighthearted, teasing manner. “Maybe you do, but that’s not always a bad thing,” she adds after a moment with a rare fond, sincere smile.
The heat must be turned up a little too high, because Grace can feel her face flushing. They arrive at school and as Stephanie reaches into the backseat to grab her bag, Grace wonders what it would be like to lean in and kiss her. How soft her lips would be and whether she’d taste bitter from all that coffee she slams. Oh, heck. Oh, no.
She shoves that thought deep down into the recesses of her mind where it belongs. She tells Steph they should divide and conquer instead of sticking together today, claiming it’s because they’re running out of time and they need to cover as much ground as possible. She isn’t sure, but she could swear Steph looks a little sad. Despite her efforts, her mind keeps wandering back to that moment in the car as she traverses the hallway trying to collect more signatures at lunch. She’d give anything for some kind of distraction right now. Well, ask and you shall receive, as they say. Max approaches and, as usual, he brightens up when he sees her.
“Hey, Grace,” he says cheerfully, absolutely enraptured by her “what are you doin’?”
“Hi, Max,” she says absently, too wrapped up in her current crisis to scold him for leering at her like that “getting the dance canceled, same as usual.”
“Where are you headed? Maybe I could, uh, carry your books for you? If you want. No pressure. Or we could just walk together,” he says with a bright, hopeful smile.
“Max, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, we’re way too young for that! Besides, if you don’t change your ways, you’re already hellbound. You don’t need to make things worse for yourself by associating with a sinner like me.”
Max furrows his brow in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re, like, the biggest prude in school.”
She feels tears pricking at her eyes. “That’s really sweet of you to say, Max, but you don’t understand. I think I like someone. Like, like-like them.”
“Is it me?” he asks, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. She gives him an incredulous look.
“No,” she says. His face falls slightly, but there’s no time to dwell on his disappointment now. Who the hell is this guy, anyway? He’s going to kick his ass- wait, no. No, he’s not. Grace is her own person and she’s allowed to go out with whoever she wants. It’s not this mystery dude’s fault if she likes him and not Max.
“That’s the thing,” she continues, “that someone’s a girl, too!”
The tears flow freely now and she begins to sob quietly. Max’s eyes go wide and he freezes up like a deer in headlights. He has no idea how to handle this. Until recently, he made people cry on a near daily basis, usually deliberately. Getting them to stop crying, on the other hand, is uncharted territory.
“Aw, Grace, c’mon, don’t cry,” he starts. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much. “I’ll sign your petition! I’ll make everybody sign your petition! How’s that sound? No homecoming! No spunk on the gym floor!” When she doesn’t even respond to that, he knows it’s serious. “Lots of people like girls. I like girls! Who doesn’t? They’re great.”
She sniffles. “Yeah, b-but you’re a boy. You’re supposed to!”
He pauses. “Well, I don’t bring it up a lot, but I like guys, too. See, you’re not alone. We’re, like, uh, what’s the phrase? Like two peas in a pod,” he says, trying to sound gentle and reassuring, which is also uncharted territory for him. She pauses and looks at him for a second.
“Oh, gosh,” she says and starts bawling even harder. He winces and realizes he’s in way over his head. It’s time to message Ruth and Richie for backup.
Grace is crying, plz help
He receives a string of incredibly graphic threats and knife emojis from both of them in response and adds, I swear I didn’t do it!! At least not on purpose!!
Yeah well there’s a difference between intent and impact bitch. Smh have you already forgotten the anti bullying assembly??? Richie replies but yeah meet us in the AV classroom, it’s empty rn
He leads Grace there and Ruth and Richie await them. She sniffles and takes a seat. Ruth hands her a water bottle and Richie gives her a small pack of tissues. He always carries some around to dab the sweat from his forehead. It’s not like they’re very useful for him, anyway. They usually end up disintegrating from becoming so soaked.
“You wanna tell us what’s wrong, Grace?” Richie asks.
She tugs at the sleeve of Max’s letterman, looking at him with red, puffy eyes. His chest tightens. It’s hard to see her like this, so sad and scared and drained. His face forms a puzzled expression as he tries to figure out what she’s trying to communicate until he finally realizes.
“Oh,” he says “you want me to tell ‘em?” She nods, still dabbing at her eyes with the tissues. “She’s sad ‘cause she likes a girl. But there’s nothing wrong with that, right? Who doesn’t like girls?”
“Uh, me,” says Richie.
“Oh, right, sorry, Richie,” Max corrects himself, looking a little sheepish.
“Preach!” says Ruth, raising her hand to high five Max. He enthusiastically returns it. “If girls loving girls is wrong, then I don’t want to be right! See, Grace, you’re not alone. You’re just like me. Two peas in a pod!”
Grace buries her face in her hands and starts bawling again.
He looks at Ruth and Richie with slight indignation.
“See,” he says “it’s not so easy, is it?” His point made, he turns to watch Grace helplessly. Grace, who was the mastermind behind the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him, even if he did later find out that it was an admittedly well deserved revenge prank. Grace, who didn’t have to be his friend and probably shouldn’t even be giving him the time of day after the way he treated her, but still does anyway. Grace, who’s usually so opinionated and snarky and passionate, always fired up about something and never shy about it, regardless of what other people think.
He’s been learning to accept that he can’t control every little thing. That trying to have power over everything and everybody was deeply unhealthy and all it really accomplished apart from a fleeting power trip was making everybody miserable and secretly resentful of him. It’s hard letting go, but it’s also been liberating. The powerlessness he feels right now is crushing, though. There’s nothing freeing about it. He can’t stand sitting here watching his friend break down because she thinks that some fundamental part of herself is wrong. He wants to fight the people who made her feel this way, but he suspects that particular list is too extensive for him to work his way through. What good would it do now, anyway? Maybe it’s finally time to take the advice of the exhausted, overworked second grade teacher who was definitely not paid enough to put up with all of his shit and use his words instead of hitting. Better late than never, as they say.
“Grace,” he says gently, not even sure where he’s going with this, but unable to stand the silence anymore “we’re, uh, we’re here for you, alright? It’s gonna be okay.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about! No it’s not,” she cries in a strained, hoarse voice “even if it’s true that there’s nothing wrong with liking girls, my parents sure don’t think so! What’s gonna happen to me if they find out? They’ll probably make me go live at abstinence camp with the Jerries for the rest of my life!”
“Well, we’re eighteen, right?” says Ruth “they can’t make you.”
“And if they try, you’ll just come live with me instead,” says Richie “uncle Paul would be more than cool with it. He loves you. He says you’re a good influence because you don’t let me blow off my homework to watch anime and you make me go to bed before three in the morning.”
“Well, you need your eight hours,” she says with a soft and sincere, but tired smile “thanks, guys. That does make me feel a little better.” She tentatively pulls Richie into a hug, not caring about the stench or how damp he is. Ruth, of course, eagerly joins in, not about to miss the opportunity for human contact. Max stays put and looks at them with hesitation, not sure if they want him to join.
“What are you doing, Max?” says Grace “get in here.” Well, that answers his question. He still holds back, watching Ruth and Richie for their reactions.
“It’s only fair,” says Richie with a smirk “you did make her cry.” He scowls, but there’s no real malice behind it. He comes over and wraps his arms around them tight.
With Grace sufficiently cheered up, there’s still one question on everyone’s minds.
“So, who’s the lucky lady?” says Ruth “wait, it’s not me, is it?”
“What? No,” she says, her signature snark finally making a comeback.
“It’s okay, Ruth. I got shot down, too,” says Max “two peas in a pod!” They high five again.
“It’s Steph,” she finally admits.
“Makes sense,” says Richie “she is waifu material.” Ruth nods in agreement.
“Waifu material?” Max asks, furrowing his brow in confusion again. Richie places a hand on each of his shoulders and looks at him with an intense, solemn expression.
“I have much to teach you,” he says “come over after football practice, we’re watching all the classics. We’ll start you off with Ouran, I feel like it’s pretty approachable for a beginner.”
Ruth grabs his arm. “What? No fair, I still haven’t gotten to show him Star Wars. Come over to mine, Max, we’re watching the prequels.”
“The prequels, Ruth? Seriously? As if subjecting him to the trilogy isn’t bad enough.”
“Well, what do you know, you won’t even sit through one episode of Clone Wars with me!”
As they continue to bicker, a warmth blooms in his chest. They actually want to spend time with him to the point of arguing over who gets to. They want to be around him when they don’t have to. They like him. They’re not just sticking around out of fear. They trust him enough to invite him into their homes. To ask him to share in the nerdy interests he used to make fun of them for. He smiles softly and pulls them into another hug.
“We can do both,” he says.
“Ugh, fine,” Richie huffs, but a reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“Hey, Grace, you want to join us?” Max asks “oh, we should invite Steph and Pete, too!”
“Oh, I appreciate the invite, but I have my bible study group tonight.” That much is true. She is supposed to meet up with Mary, Gabe and Noah later to study scripture. She’s not sure she can face them after her realization today, but if she skips, her parents are sure to hear about it. Besides that, the alternative of joining them for their movie night and facing Peter is only slightly less daunting. It’s obvious that he like-likes Steph, too. She’s worried it’s going to make things awkward between them. What if Steph likes her and not Peter and he ends up getting hurt? What if Steph likes Peter and not Grace and she has to watch them hold hands and make eyes at each other and stuff down her heartbreak and pretend she never wanted any of those things?
#npmd#nerdy prudes must die#grace chasity#stephanie lauter#lautity#stephgrace#hatchetfield fanfic#max jagerman#cw homophobia#Ruth and Richie make an appearance but not enough to tag them#Pete is mentioned
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The thing about strange someone frisk that's so funny to me is They Want The Soul and Kris Does Not. I'm just imagining frisk about to take the Soul and is being all smug about it and Kris is just like THANK GOD
the thing is, (i think) the SOUL is like. it’s own soul. I’ve been thinking lately that it WAS chara’s that we the player have hijacked since they’re like. dead and not using it. and maybe that’s why we give chara their name in the beginning of ut? but so frisk has their Own SOUL again (which i like to think is cyan, bc of the mad mew mew fight :] since she splits it into a red and blue half) and kris’ SOUL is just. overtaken by ours? i don’t think they just have both. they seem to kinda uh Limp Around without ours. so frisk wouldn’t be able to take the SOUL without potentially killing them. WHICH would be funny since just about every monster in ut had the intention of killing frisk /taking their SOUL
#which frisk is. not well.#GENERALLY frisk is very anti-murder. not a fan of it. NDNDNDJCNNRJDNSNS#they. could. be down to kill kris at this point (as were the secret bosses) (I’m worried about villainizing them any More than the secret b#bosses are already. i want them to be just as off their rocker. out of their gourd. if you will)#they want to go Home but they’re worried that w/o the SOUL they’re not the frisk everyone wants them to be#and since they can’t just go home the next best thing is finding the SOUL#it’s a co-dependency if that makes sense. they feel like they need the SOUL to go back to their life#so that has certainly developed into desperation#strange someone frisk
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What physical part(s) of Arsay does her partners find the most attractive! Is it the same for all partners or does it differ between them?
(also optional bonus ask of what part(s) of/about Arsay generally do they love the most, physical or not!)
Meanwhile, if you were to ask the same of Arsay:
#ffxiv#wolship#g'raha tia#y'shtola rhul#wolgraha#wolshtola#y'shtola x wol#arsay nun#graharshtola#y'shtola calling arsay a pain in her side is very much an affectionate thing btw#and i couldnt pass up the joke of g'raha giving the sweet gentlemanly response only for yshtola to be like 'tits tbh'#her defaulting to an answer that would probably stop the conversation before she has to talk to much about her deeper feelings imo#i have. a lot of feelings about yshtola and arsay's friendship#someone who is constantly trying to build walls between herself and others vs someone who desperately wants to form real connections#its not a 'wearing that person down' type situation either#just one lonely person seeing another lonely person and hoping that they could be less lonely together#or that she could at least bring some cheer to#and idk yshtola strikes me as the type to have been like 'if they want to be my friend they have to work for it'#which arsay certainly did#i could ramble on and on how their friendship lines up so well with yshtolas character development but theres a limit to these tags#so just look at how cute shtola is with the slightest blush on her cheeks#graha is a much more complicated topic since he went from Extreme adoration to I want to be her friend but I dont think im good enough#to 100% Hero worship again to Shes my hero and I love her to Shes a person and I love her#to I love Arsay. Even the parts she can't love in herself. I will love all of her till my dying breath.#he thinks shes the most beautiful person in the world and the most important thing in his life#but he now knows how insane she's been about being everyone's hero and he really doesnt want to feed that beast#so hes trying to build her up in other ways#focusing more on the adventuring side than the saving the world side#and then there is arsay who loves so much about her partners and is in capable of narrowing it down to any one thing so its#'here let me list everything that comes to mind right now' with 0 shame or filter
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LIQUID STARS | jjk
pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)
genre: angst, smut
word count: 11.8k
summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.
playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine
warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting
note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ
side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!
Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.
It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.
Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.
While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?
You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?
He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.
How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—
Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.
You couldn’t.
Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.
His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.
“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”
You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.
“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”
Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.
You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.
“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”
For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.
He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—
“Let me kiss you, please.”
You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.
Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”
You exhaled, he inhaled.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.
He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.
“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”
Your body panics, but you will it to relax.
“Does that come with the premium subscription?”
Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.
“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”
Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.
“I get to take Bam?”
Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”
Probably not. Definitely not.
“But what about Bam?”
He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.
“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”
You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.
Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.
It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—
“Deal.”
Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.
“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.
He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.
You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.
Jungkook groans.
It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.
You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.
He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.
You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.
You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.
And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.
You want him.
It began with a ring and ended right here.
And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.
The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.
Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.
And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.
Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.
“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.
Jungkook grips your waist hard.
“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.
“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.
“Kiss me, then.”
You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—
When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.
The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.
You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.
“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”
He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.
“Bam, house.”
The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.
“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.
He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”
You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.
“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.
He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”
A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”
He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.
You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.
His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.
You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”
A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”
Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.
“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”
You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.
“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”
You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.
“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”
A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”
He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”
You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.
The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.
You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.
No attachment, no liking.
Just sex.
There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.
“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”
You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.
You broke him.
And now you have to face the repercussions.
Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.
You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.
There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”
You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.
Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.
Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.
The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.
He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.
No strings, no pain.
But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.
“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.
You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.
He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.
A lump forms in your throat.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.
You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.
You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.
Flowery or deceitful?
A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.
“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”
Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—
“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”
He blames himself, not you.
You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.
“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”
He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”
His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.
Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.
He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.
The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.
“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.
The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.
You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.
“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.
“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”
He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.
“Of course I trust you.”
“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”
Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.
“Are you scared?”
You’re an empty canvas.
“Not anymore.”
Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”
“Okay.”
He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”
The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”
You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.
Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.
The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.
Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.
“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”
Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.
Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”
Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”
You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.
Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.
Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.
Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.
Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.
You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.
“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”
Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”
“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”
You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.
“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.
You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.
“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”
Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.
He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.
There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.
He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”
A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.
Jungkook sees you.
“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.
“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.
“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.
When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—
“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.
“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.
He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.
And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.
He stills the buck of your hips.
You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.
“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”
You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.
“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”
He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.
Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.
Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.
“Feels good, baby?”
His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.
“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”
It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.
You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.
Jungkook stops your movements fully.
“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”
His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.
Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.
“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”
“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”
You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.
Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”
Obeying his desperate order, you do.
A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.
“Did so well for me.”
The whisper takes you back and you awake.
You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.
He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.
You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.
Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.
You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.
“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”
You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.
“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”
For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.
Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.
And then he sinks them into your mouth.
His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.
Happy to be wanted.
Good, because he said you were.
As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.
He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.
Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”
You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.
Musk, vanilla, wood.
The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.
“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.
Overjoyed. Overstimulated.
Heavenly.
“Good.”
A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”
You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.
You open your mouth, but no words come out.
Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.
“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.
You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.
It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.
He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”
You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”
“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”
You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.
He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”
You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”
Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.
He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.
He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”
You nod. “So bad.”
Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.
“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”
You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.
“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”
Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”
Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.
“I watch a lot of porn.”
Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.
You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.
“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.
He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.
Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.
The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.
He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.
Neither, evidently, can he.
“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.
So vulnerable.
You ache.
You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.
When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.
You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.
But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.
He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—
Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.
“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”
Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.
He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.
Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.
And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.
“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”
With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.
Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.
“Talk to me.”
You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.
He stares you down.
No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.
“I won’t play with you, then.”
Panic. “No.”
He cocks a brow at you. “No?”
Silence.
He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.
“Jungkook.”
Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.
“Beg.”
All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.
Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
You groan in frustration.
“Be nice or—”
“Please, lick me.”
That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.
“Where?”
A challenge. Your throat dries up.
“There.”
He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.
“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”
The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.
And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.
“Lick my clit, please.”
A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.
“Like this?”
You choke out a moan.
“Yes, please.”
“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”
He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—
“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”
Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.
“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”
Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.
Your Daddy.
You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.
“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”
The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.
And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.
You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.
Daddy and little girl.
Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.
Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.
And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.
You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.
“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”
He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.
“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”
Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.
“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.
He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.
Your frown deepens.
“But what if it doesn’t fit?”
You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.
“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”
It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.
Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.
He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.
There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.
Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.
“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”
You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.
“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”
You nod, trusting him.
He pecks you. Smiles.
“How many orgasms are we at?”
You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”
Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.
A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”
“You obliterated my expectations.”
“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”
You blush, eyes twinkling.
“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”
Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.
“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.
But Jungkook grows solemn.
“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.
Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.
“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”
Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.
“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.
“I don’t stop coming.”
Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.
“And you finger yourself?”
You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.
“How many fingers?”
You scoff. “Just one.”
“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”
You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.
He didn’t break his promise.
Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.
And there you feel it.
The sensation unlike any other.
He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”
Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.
You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.
“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”
“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”
He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—
Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.
You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.
“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”
“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.
“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.
Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.
“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”
Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.
“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”
“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.
“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”
White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.
“Please, come for me.”
Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”
The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.
“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”
And it’s the truth.
Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.
Jungkook grunts.
“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”
He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.
And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.
And you swallow it all.
Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.
He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.
“Good girl. Good little princess.”
That you are. A changed person for all eternity.
“Is your tummy full?”
You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.
The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.
And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.
“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”
What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.
© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.
BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three
#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#bts smut#bts imagine#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook#bts scenarios#jungkook scenarios#jungkook fluff#btscreatorscorner#kpop smut#jungkook one shot
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CASH- app or zelle?
Sugar mommy/daddy AU
...wanderer...Xiao...tighnari...albedo...
Wanderer
Scaramouche never really needed a sugar mommy nor a daddy since he was a harbinger. He was rich...but now that he's wanderer...things have changed.
Ever since Nahida enrolled him in the Akademia he's had to find out how damn expensive some of the books he needs for his essays are
What the fuck! Why should he spend a million mora on a damn book he'll only use once!
While he was complaining about this to the traveler she jokingly suggested that he become a sugar baby.. " hah- do you think I would lower myself to such a degree-" once piamon mentions how he could basically get all the books he needed for his essays for free..he was sold.
One thing Wanderer didn't quite get the grasp of is what he needed to do for you in return...
His sharp breathing filled the room as your hips snapped in and out at a rough pace- he didn't know this was a part of the deal!!
Though he couldn't find it in himself to complain, as he gripped onto the bedsheets till his knuckles grew white "Hahh..fuuuck"
"you have to repay me for those books after all, don't you, so be a good little darling and hold fucking still." he wants to say he tried but it was nearly impossible! That fake dick slammed into him so hard! He couldn't! How could you except him to hold still
"i- hah.. I'm trying yo- mmh!" he was glad that he was facing away from you he most certainly didn't want to see that amused smirk on your face.
Xiao
Xiao didn't realize how it even happened, he just thought you brought him gifts and such out of kindness
Right, it had to be kindness. What else could it be?
In time, he began expecting your gifts and trinkets patiently he would sit on the railings waiting for your arrival, and when you finally arrive he greets you still sitting on the railing
Xiao didn't even realize how this relationship developed. Due to his duty to guard liyue he never went anywhere too far from it, so whenever you would come back from your trips and expeditions you would give him gifts and trinkets.
And in turn, he would give you himself for the night.
He lets out breaths in a set rhythm "hah..hahh" his breaths come out as pants and his body jerks up and down at every touch
He's so damn sensitive, twitching at every minor touch, you can milk his cock all night and he'll try his hardest to be your good boy. To follow your commands without a word,
He'll grab into you so tightly so desperately trying to hide his embarrassment in the crevis of your neck
Albedo
Albedo gets paid well by the knight of Favonius but lately, with some of his rather grand projects, he hasn't enough funds for them.
He thinks of ways to get more money, maybe he could work overtime. No, he already does and it's still not enough. He's in a stump. That's when he learns the term sugar baby from a drunk venti and kaeya
They both were drunk only jokingly suggesting that the man become a sugar baby if he was that desperate
What they didn't know was, yes. He is that desperate. He absolutely needs more funds, so this is the best and easiest option.
All he needs to do is lay himself on his table on Dragon spine, and the rest is up to you, you can do whatever you please with his fair skin, leave as many marks as you wish,
He thought it was easy enough. All he has to do is lay pretty and let you ravage him. He is a homunculus after all, he was confident he could take it,
"oh f-fuck mhm..." it seems he had overestimated how much his delicate body could take
Though he didn't mind, he enjoyed the feeling of being pushed to his utmost limit. His nails dig into your skin leaving red scratches all over, he can't help it you drive him insane.
Tighnari
Much like Albedo the Fox Boy needs funds for his experiments and expenditures, the scholars at the Akademiya after hearing his reluctance to join them being petty decided to cut his funds in half!
He's annoyed but he's even more petty than those stuck-up scholars, so even with his funds cut he decides to come up with another way to secure them
It wasn't his idea to become a sugar baby, but it came up when he was talking to his friends during a game of TCG, Kaveh had the same problem being in debt and not having enough funds to cover them.
He told Tighnari about how he planned to sign up to become a sugar baby, and so Tighnari albeit reluctantly decided to try it out. He means, what's the worst that could happen?
This is the worst. Though, he's lying.
His breathy pants fill the room his scratching and digging into your back, creating deep red marks on your skin,
"ah- ah..mhm, Hah-" he forces his head up to look at you, flushed cheeks tinted a harder red the more you stared back. "Y-you'll buy me t-the- mhm!" you couldn't help but chuckle.
His tail desperately wraps around you as he lets out a whine, he pouts a little at your teasing, "Don't worry darlin', I'll get whatever you want, so don't worry your pretty little head over it."
#genshin x reader#genshin impact#genshin imagines#sub genshin#genshin hcs#genshin xiao#sub genshin men#xiao x reader#sub xiao#bottom xiao#albedo imagines#albedo x reader#albedo#sub albedo#wanderer thirst#wanderer x reader#wanderer smut#sub wanderer#wanderer#xiao smut#albedo smut#genshin smut#tighnari smut#sub tighnari#tighnari
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Hey there!! So I have a cute request I wanted to submit if that’s okay with you?😊 It’s an Angel Dust x reader oneshot where Angel sees reader passed out on the hotel couch from helping Charlie all day with promoting the hotel. Reader and Angel aren’t together yet, but Angel has definitely developed strong feelings so far, so he can’t help but have the softest, love-dovey look on his face while staring at them😍 He’s soo tempted to just lay there and cuddle with reader, but doesn’t want to overstep (mans is learning boundaries🥰) so he decides to just get them a little more comfy (yk finding a blanket, tucking them in and all that lol). Before he leaves though, Angel can’t help but give reader a goodnight kiss on the cheek and Alastor just so happens to stroll on by while this happens😈, teasing him for being so open and vulnerable despite his reputation. Angel is embarrassed and flustered for being caught and called out, trying to deny it, but secretly knows he’s down bad💕💕
Thank you sm!!🫶🏼
Angel Dust ♡ Finding you passed out after a long day of work
- ♡ You and Angel have been friends way before you even joined the hotel
- ♡ You only became closer once you did, though
- ♡ It had been a long, hard day..
- ♡ You'd been helping Charlie the whole day, making posters for the hotel, hanging them up and just going around asking demons
- ♡ Angel came home from work, groaning and rubbing his eyes in exhaustion
- ♡ He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed you
- ♡ Passed out on the couch, managing to look cute even in your messy state
- ♡ Angel couldn't help but smile
- ♡ Taking in all your flawed glory, his face had contorted into a soft mess of love
- ♡ He felt the need to just sit down next to you, caress your head gently and cuddle with you
- ♡ He began stepping closer, but he stopped himself quickly
- ♡ He realized that your relationship was too precious to step over any of your boundaries
- ♡ Hell, Angel certainly knew more than anyone else what it felt like
- ♡ So, instead, he came up with a different idea, still ensuring that you feel comfortable
- ♡ He walked to his room, stopping for a quick moment to greet and pet Fat Nuggets
- ♡ He went back to you, pausing for a bit to take in your features
- ♡ Then he put the blanket over you, gently tucking it in, but making sure you don't wake up
- ♡ Even then, you were so deeply unconcious he wasn't sure the hotel crashing down could wake you
- ♡ Angel was just about to get back to his own room, but he couldn't help himself
- ♡ He slowly leaned close to your face, placing the softest kiss on your cheek
"Night, cutie.."
- ♡ Unbeknownst to him, a certain someone was watching the whole thing
- ♡ From the shadows, a tall figure spawned, grin as wide as ever
"My, my, Angel! Isn't that such a charming display of affection for the one you love? I would never have taught someone with a reputation such as yours could be so vulnerable.."
- ♡ Angel was caught very off-guard at Alastor's sudden appearance
- ♡ He was a blushing mess, stammering out random bullshit which Alastor clearly wasn't buying
"The one I love? Haha, please! Why would you think that?" Angel asked, trying desperately to hide his red face. Before Alastor could reply, he continued on, "What? Have you never given your best friend a kiss?"
"No, never."
- ♡ Angel left before he could say any more, dashing over to his room
- ♡ He lay down in his bed, burying his face in his pillow like a flustered mess
- ♡ He tried to deny it to everyone, but deep down he knew.
- ♡ You were the only one for him, the one he cared about most.
A/N; Hi anon! This was such a cute ask, thank you so much for requesting! It was really fun to write!
#hazbin hotel#hazbin#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin x reader#angel dust hazbin hotel#angel dust x reader#x reader
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Inazuma men when you walk in on them in an intimate position with your sister/best friend.
YES, some angsty shit again! Uhhh, I like it when it hurts xD
Characters Included: Ayato; Heizou; Kazuha; Gorou
Content: gender neutral reader; she/her pronouns for your friend/sister; cheating; hurt/no comfort; angst and drama; you walk in on them; suggestive on some parts; Gorou being manipulated; non-consent on Kazuha's part, but not explicit!!
Word count: 2,4k words
Thank you so much for giving me an angsty request. Have fun reading!
Ayato
He would think so high and mighty of himself
Like, he was sure that he was hiding it pretty damn well and that you would never find out about his little secret
you have been engaged to Ayato for some time now, the wedding due to happen soon
it has been a marriage of convinience, both for him as well as your family, yet you were relieved when you found out you were going to marry Ayato, having had a crush on him for a little over a year now
you thought that over the time he got to know you, he also developed feelings for you, he certainly did tell you so
for a long time, you were blinded by the illusion you so desperately wanted to believe, ignorant to the sad and sympathatic looks Ayato's staff would give you
You excused his long and late hours away from you, telling yourself that he was just catching up on work and that he was alright
You only started to get somewhat suspicious when you noticed one of your friends visiting the Kamisato estate rather frequently, but only ever staying for a short period of time, while she never even talked to you when here
still, you gave them both the benefit of the doubt, thinking that they might just be working on something together
Thoma, however, knew what was going on behind your back. He wanted to tell you on so many different occaisions, yet he had to think of his own job as well and how his actions could put himself at risk, as well. So, he never said a single word to you, keeping you oblivious
until one day, it was late at night again and Ayato told you he would be working late again
you nodded and let him get back to his work, but later decided to surprise him with some snacks and refreshments you wanted to bring him
you were feeling kind of giddy when you approached his office door with the tray in your hands, as you noticed weird sounds coming from behind the doors
you didn't want to believe your ears, this couldn't be happening.. not your Ayato..
so you pushed open the door slightly, enough for you to peek into the room, only to have your world crushed in front of your eyes, along with all your hopes and dreams for the future
your ears did not decieve you, Ayato was, in fact, cheating on you this very moment with the person you thought to be one of your best friends
what's even worse was that he noticed you, standing by the door, having caught them in the act
and all he did, was smirk at you as he leaned down and bit into the other womans neck to which she let out a loud moan
shocked, the tray slipped out of your hands as you turned on your heels and started running down the halls, tears streaming down your face
you passed Thoma on the way to your room who shot you another sympathetic look.
He knew it... he was in on it..
now it finally dawned on you, and it all made sense.. why everyone was always looking at you like this.. they were all in on it.. you were the only one who wasn't aware..
still crying, you grabbed a bag and took some of your most important belongings as well as some clothes, before you left this estate you once hoped you could call your home
seems like some things just weren't meant to work out in life...
Heizou
he wouldn't want to do it, but he would if he could get some kind of benefit from it
Heizou has always been a very flirty personality, even while in a relationship with you. It caused arguments on more than one occaision
he would always tell you that he would stop doing it.. that promise would sometimes last for a week, often times shorter than that, before he got right back to his usual behaviour
the worst part was, that he saw nothing wrong with this type of behaviour
as long as it got him the results he desired, he didn't care for the method he had to use
it was cruel in a way, but he didn't want to acknowledge that he could do wrong as well
when this particular incident occured was when he finally realized how wrong his attitude had been
he had been stumped on a particular case for a few days now, no new leads showing up and the trail was starting to get cold
it frustrated him beyond anything else and to top it off, he was currently engaged in yet another heated argument with you
you were ticked off by the way he was shamelessly flirting with a shopkeeper, right in front of you while on a date
he tried to explain that he just tried to get some clues out of her, but you didn't seem to want to hear it
after some more yelling, you left the house to catch some fresh air and cool off, while Heizou stayed back
he sat in front of his files again, trying to make sense of all the clues when someone knocked on the front door
he recognised your sister there and while he planned on sending her away at first, she made him an offer he just couldn't turn down so easily
spending one night with her in exchange for the missing clues he needed to solve this case
he didn't think long before agreeing to this deal
she entered the house and it didn't take long before things got heated and they both landed on the bed he normally shared with you
it didn't really feel right to do this, but he was doing it for the greater good. He's sure you would understand that
while they were in the middle of things, with her being on top, riding him, he suddenly heard the front door open and a sharp inhale being taken
he whipped his head around, seeing you standing there, looking shocked and hurt
immediately after that, you turned and ran out the door again, he saw tears beginning to form in your eyes. He wanted to get up and run after you, but.... he couldn't. He had to keep up his part of the deal. He could always talk to you the next day
when he sought you out the next day, you were refusing to speak to him.. and the day after... as well as the day after that
he was getting frustrated, missing holding you in his arms. He grew irritated without you around..
the next day, he saw you in the streets of Inazuma City, so he walked up to you
However, once he reached you, he was met with a slap in the face. It stung, and he looked at you in surprise
tears welled up in your eyes again as you turned and tried to leave again, but he quickly snatched your wrist, trying to explain his reasons to you
you stayed and listened, but your expression was hard and ice cold the entire time
"I hope it was worth it in the end, because you lost me for good now"
that was the last thing you ever said to him again before you left his life for good
and finally, Heizou understood what he had been doing wrong this entire time... and he regretted his decisions like nothing else in his life...
Kazuha
now for Kazuha... he is a very honest and loyal soul
you never would have thought that you had to worry about anything like that with him, already having bad experiences from a previous relationship
Kazuha always made time for you, made you feel loved and appreciated, always told you how much he loved and adored you, whishing you would stay with him forever
you honestly felt the same way about him, already imagining a future together with him
but... we all know how easily Kazuha can get drunk.. and just how drunk he gets from so few drinks..
you were going out with some of your friends to party a bit, and you decided to invite your boyfriend along
he didn't mind it, deciding not to drink anything so he could keep an eye on you and make sure you're safe throughout the entire night
it went well in the beginning. You were moderately drinking with your friends while he was sipping on whatever non-alcoholic beverage he ordered for himself
he always kept an eye on you, but at some point of the night, he lost sight of you
while walking around the vicinity, looking around trying to find you, he ran into one of your friends, who was obviously pretty drunk at this point
she clung onto Kazuha, staying close to him, slowing him down immensely
at some point, she offered him a drink. He refused at first, but she kept insisting, promising that it would be non-alcoholic
being the sweetheart that Kazuha is, he gave in after some time, only to realize too late that she had been lying, it was very much an alcoholic drink
but it was too late already, she forced him to down the glass and then another one right after, getting him drunk
in this state, he didn't have control over his mind or his actions, he just went along with whatever she said to him
so what if she suggested to go into an isolated corner so that they could have some "fun"
in his inebriated state, he didn't realize that the person he was doing it with, wasn't you
only when he heard a gasp and saw you standing there a few feet away from him did he regain some of his consciousness back
he saw the tears forming in your eyes and he tried to run after you, but even in your own drunken state, you were faster than him, he couldn't catch up to you
the next day, he woke up again with a severe headache but still perfect memory from the events of that night
he immediately set out to look for you, finding you rather quickly
you had dark circles under your eyes and they were red and swollen from all the crying
he apologized to you over and over, telling you what had happened. He hated himself for letting this happen to him, yet he was still more worried over you
it is up to you if you want to forgive him or not, he will accept whatever decision you make. Just know that he is so, so sorry and if you choose to give him a second chance, he will make sure that nothing like that will ever happen again..
Gorou
oh, poor little Gorou..
he is soo easy to manipulate.. people can tell him everything they want, and he is prone to believe them until proven wrong
he loves you dearly, with all his heart, but he often doubts himself, fearing that he's not good enough for you
so, when someone else comes along, planting even the faintest bit of doubt in his mind about your relationship, he grows restless and insecure
you, having already a strained relationship with your family, especially with your younger sister, spent most of your free time with Gorou, so normally, there wouldn't be anything for him to worry about, right?
Well, the thing is.. your sister has always had a thing for Gorou, even before you two got together. She neve told you about it, but ever since you made the relationship official, she hated you for it
she wanted Gorou all to herself, yet you were standing in the way of that goal. She had to get rid of you somehow..
the first few months of the relationship went by great, you were both so in love with each other
yet, after that, your sister started to visit Gorou whenever you weren't around him. You could be at work or out doing something.. she would be there visiting him, leaving again before you returned again
at first, it was just normal visits. She would simply talk to Gorou, asking him how his day went, getting to know him better. Though she asked to keep this meet-ups a secret from you, since she claimed she wanted to reconnect with you on your terms alone
Gorou, being non the wiser, agreed to that
this went on for a while until she started to plant seeds of doubt in his mind. Spreading rumors to him how you were meeting up with some other guy, how the meet-ups became more frequent, that you were probably cheating on him, and so on
Gorou didn't want to believe her, choosing to trust you. But, being so gullible, he started to see things that weren't actually there. He imagined you coming home later than usual, thinking you were avoiding his gaze
he didn't want to admit it, but with every further visit from your sister, he believed her more and more, now doubting everything about your relationship with him. Did you ever even love him?
the final part of her plan came, when she convinced him to sleep with her to "get you back for cheating on him first"
it felt wrong to him, but he still went along with the idea. At some point, he did get into it, not noticing how you came back earlier than usual, flowers in your hand..
those flowers immediately dropped to the ground as you realized what you just walked in on..
and in that moment did he remember.. today was your anniversary.. 6 months togehter...
he immediately ripped himself off your sister, calling out your name, but you were already out the door. He quickly threw some clothes over himself to run after you, but your sister caught his wrist, begging him to stay
he paid her no mind and ran after you, yet he wasn't able to find you, no matter where or how hard he looked..
defeated, he returned to his place, curling in on himself.. tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he's gonna find you and talk to you..
however, the next day, he found out that you had left Watatsumi Island.. you went and found Kazuha, leaving Inazuma with him on the Alchor..
you were out of his reach, forever now, and it was all his fault.. he had no one else to blame but himself for his stupid actions.. he lost the best thing that ever came into his life, and he would never get you back...
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact headcanons#genshin headcanons#genshin angst#genshin impact angst#ayato x reader#ayato x you#ayato angst#ayato x reader angst#heizou x reader#heizou x you#heizou angst#heizou x reader angst#kazuha x reader#kazuha x you#kazuha angst#kazuha x reader angst#gorou x reader#gorou x you#gorou angst#gorou x reader angst
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Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s national security adviser indicated that Israel could accept a U.S. plan for a revamped Palestinian Authority to govern the Gaza Strip after the war, a sign that the Israeli leader is easing his opposition to the idea.
Israel is aware of the desire of the international community and the countries of the region to integrate the Palestinian Authority the day after Hamas, and we make it clear that the matter will require a fundamental reform of the Palestinian Authority,” Tzachi Hanegbi, who heads Israel’s National Security Council, wrote in an opinion piece published Thursday on the Arabic-language news site Elaph.
"I'll agree to stop commiting genocide but only if you guys agree to my very specific conditions for the next leadership" is practically in the CIA handbook.
'destabilize a region then exploit the power vaccum and desperation it creates' is a play we've seen over and over again.
The question is why is Israel doing it?
Because it is a puppet state. It's serves the purpose of providing the USA someone to hide behind while they destabilize the region.
A puppet state, puppet régime, puppet government or dummy government is a state that is de jure independent but de facto completely dependent upon an outside power and subject to its orders.
Puppet states have nominal sovereignty, except that a foreign power effectively exercises control through economic or military support.
By leaving a local government in existence the outside power evades all responsibility, while at the same time successfully paralyzing the local government they tolerate.
"Why would the usa be using Israel to destabilize the middle east tho?"
An excellent question!
Short answer: using their own armies to carry out the plans is a surefire way to land themselves in a world war and so using Israel is an easy cop out.
The longer answer is very long.
So what "plans" are they trying to carry out, exactly, right?
Saving the Suez from "Islamist threats" "to secure freedom of navigation." You know, just like our Secretary of Defense said.
You know who else said that though? The plans outlined in Project 2025 by the Heritage Foundation. "The one that's gonna put queer people in detention centers?" Yeah that one. In fact our official are using a lot of the Same Exact Language and working found in Project2025.
Isn't that interesting?
Let's look at page 285, together.
Well, we've certainly seen headlines of this right? "Israel has a right to defend itself" and to take what it deems appropriate measures is how the USA has been avoiding calling Netanyahu a war criminal isn't it? A Google search will show Biden also has tried to block/stop Iran's nuclear development.
Very reassuring that they see the need for that for precaution, isn't it?
And sure maybe you could say this is a conspiracy theory, except US representatives are using the same EXACT language and Islamophobia to justify what's happening. Exhibit #1 the link to secretary of state, but don't worry. We're just warming up and he's not the only one.
Let's continue, we're almost to the part where it all comes together.
Translation: the Suez Canal brings Egypt billions of dollars a year and several parties (the countries listed) would prefer that money be funneled to them instead. The problem is that the aforementioned parties have been destabilizing the region for so long that establishing an alternate trade route through those territories would be seen as an act of aggression if not war.
The heritage foundation has always intended to call anyone who resists that plan a terrorist. Its their way of manufacturing consent to kill people.
And we can see Netanyahu and Biden both following that lead. "The terrorists are just such a giant threat, how could I possibly stop supporting Israel's fight against them?"
From Dec 10, 2023
So isn't it just so crazy that the countries and regions outlined there (US, Israel, India, Egypt, and Gulf States) are ALSO the countries who presented the IMEC at the G20 summit in September, just a month before Israel started it's genocide?
Oh, you don't know what the IMEC is or why it matters?
Well remember the Suez and how much income it brings in? Yeah well it's also regulated by the state, which means it can't be bought or bribed the same way that a canal owned privately could.
Which means that Egypt is the sole benefactor and controls who else gets to benefit. This often does not include the USA.
The USA does not like that.
Enter: the IMEC.
The India-Middle East-Europe Economic Corridor (IMEC) is a rail and shipping corridor that aims to boost regional development and economic interconnectivity between India, the USA, the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel and the European Union. The project consists of two corridors: the eastern corridor will connect India to the Arabian Gulf, and the northern corridor will connect the Gulf to Europe.
[..]Hence, there are technical limitations that the IMEC may face, not least in the Middle East due to its vast desert regions. The construction of railway lines and subsequent transportation of goods would be a difficult task requiring everything from the standardisation of the railway track gauges to the engine configurations. What’s more, one of the main link ports of the IMEC, Haifa, is in Israel, a country which is unstable at the moment due to the Palestinian freedom struggle.
It's how they intend to circumvent the Suez Canal entirely.
Unfortunately for them, Palestine exists. And as such, this creates a huge problem for them in building the IMEC through Palestine to Haifa. Especially since the resistance fighters through the entire middle east violently oppose the west's imperialism.
So something must be done. Again, we refer back to calling Anyone who questions Israel as an antisemitic terrorist as justification for killing Palestinians en masse. And for the ones they can't justify killing? Moving them.
Meaning that yeah. They planned for that, too.
And not even in secret.
Dated October 13, 2023
From November 7, 2023
What this suggests, as more of Project2025 comes true is that not only is the USA aiding and abetting this war to happen.
But that they are intentionally instigating and provoking action in the middle east.
They WANT headlines like this ⬇️ Because it sets up further justification and manufactured consent to continue their genocide in the name of money.
project2025 ALSO outlines every single group the USA sees as terrorists in the USA and also outlines how each country who provides them shelter should be stripped of aid.
They have already found and written excuses for the USA to get away with collective punishment across the whole middle east.
And finally.
The condition that I fully expect to be announced
For it to be defunded. And for more of an idea we can look to this Netanyahu quote from TheGuardian
Netanyahu also made clear he wanted Israel to retain overall security control after any conflict “with the ability to go in whenever we want in order to kill terrorists”.
“There will be no Hamas. There will be no civilian authority that educates their children to hate Israel, to kill Israelis, to destroy the state of Israel. There can’t be an authority there that pays the families of murderers. There needs to be something else there,” he said.
Another puppet government that'll agree to do whatever Israel (and the USA) says, perhaps?
#how much have you been paying attention#palestine#gaza#free Gaza#free Palestine#Israel#india#project 2025#reblog#boost
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[𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮]
𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘗𝘛: 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦?
g/n reader
: jing yuan and reader are not in an established relationship, jing yuan is pining (ineffectively) at the reader
: 446 words
Qingzu did her best to not designate her attention to the elephant in the room today in the Divine Foresight but duty calls. It started when the general asks for a mirror, blathering about the apparent magnification in the front camera of phones. Even the most developed technologies have their flaws, as does all of nature, his laugh resounds across the hall with his talk.
She didn't understand his intentions with the mirror initially, but now that she does: "Jing Yuan, just in case you have forgotten, the documents piled up in front of you require your attention as well," when the man mentioned doesn't react, "And as for the concave of your facial features, please leave that interest at home."
Surprisingly, the man finally snaps out of his diligent distraction with a view that the Counselor has never seen before: red ears. However, the general's recovery is quick, much to Qingzu's amusement. But to her chagrin, it did not stop the General's shameless inquiry, "Am I handsome, Qingzu?"
"...Please understand that I am not a present figure in the fashion industry nor do I have any intention on recommending the General of Luofu Xianzhou to Xianzhou magazines any time soon."
The guards guarding at the gates of the Divine Foresight bite their tongues; it wasn't like they weren't used to the General's occasional remarkable behaviours, but vanity is certainly a new look. After all, the general doesn't even bother to brush his hair in the morning, letting birds build a temporary residency in his hair whenever he falls asleep. It's a miracle that there isn't an ecosystem building up in the general's hair, to say the least.
So, what's with the sudden change? Everyone in the Divine Foresight is in common agreement that the General is... in love.
And it makes sense: he has been caught outside the Divine Foresight more. Well, he's rarely in the Divine Foresight, really- but his frequent "breathers" are often at his own garden, where weeds pile up due to the General's negligence and how demanding his work can be (the general also claims to not need cleaners at home, that his title doesn't need to worry the lives of others). However, just recently, the General often strolls about at the market places and well known tourist sights of the Xianzhou Luofu, sometimes returning with an uncharacteristically large smile.
"...Is that a yes or a no, Qingzu?"
Qingzu ignores his further probing, "That reminds me (it really didn't, it's just a desperate attempt at deterring the general's awkward intentions), our friends from the Astral Express seems to be running a store- 'Express Eatery', was it?" She watches as the general's gaze light up, "promising foods from all around the universe, foreign to the native xianzhou's gaze. Cosmic Fried Rice is particularly famous for it's savoury mix of vegetables and-"
"- Where is it?" The general stands up abruptly, eyes shining more than ever.
"At the gate of the Central Starskiff Haven- you can't miss it," Qingzu answers with a steadfast response, just glad to have conducted Jing Yuan's attention away from her.
The general leaves almost immediately, taking his pouch of Strale with him. But it seems to Qingzu's celebration is short lived, because the general whom is about to leave turns to ask another difficult question, "Do I look satisfactory? How is my hair? It isn't too unruly, I hope?"
Qingzu clenches her fists behind her back, "Why don't you ask [name] that yourself once you reach the eatery?"
The ears of the general turns vibrant red again.
#jing yuan#honkai star rail#jing yuan hsr#jing yuan x reader#hsr#jingyuan x reader#jingyuan#jing yuan has a crush on reader#jing yuan headcanons#jing yuan scenarios#honkai jing yuan#honkai star rail x reader#jing yuan imagines#sharkie works ; jing yuan#sharkie works ; all honkai
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Dream has been hearing rumors (those biddies love to gossip about Dream's family) that Orpheus has gotten into an inappropriate relationship. Something, something "sugar baby", something, something f*cking an older man.
Dream doesn't want to interfere in Orpheus's life, but the Endless family, and Dream himself, have money, not as much as in their storied past, but enough that Orpheus doesn't have to whore out his young ass for money.
Dream isn't even judging, he just want his son not to make mistakes similar to the ones that Dream made in his youth. Dream knows how seductive those older men can be....hell Dream is still young himself (not a twink anymore certainly, but Dream had Orpheus young, so he doesn't look like the father of a college student.).
Suffice to say, Dream learns the name of the man supposedly paying for Orpheus's ass and goes to see him, maybe he can warn him off Orpheus. R. Gadling has something like 10 or 15 years on Dream, hopefully Dream can get him to see reason.
💶 💶 💶 💶 💶
Hob would have liked it to be known, if he was interested in talking to those judgmental society b*tches, that he does not need to pay a young man for sex. Thank you very much. He might like to take care of his lovers, but so far he draws the line at 30-year age differences. He is not that much of a creeper.
Orpheus is a fantastic young man, a musical prodigy, and Hob knows some people in the industry. All he did was offer introductions, that Orpheus, with his gift, would have most likely developed on his own, in time. He is not sleeping with a boy young enough to be his son,,,his son Robin introduced them for goodness sake!
When Orpheus's father comes to Hob is high dungeon, judgingly talking about inappropriate relationships and all but screaming at Hob, in his beautiful deep voice, for Hob to stop sleeping with his son -- Hob might have fallen in love on the spot. Blush high on his cheeks, hair a mess, looking like he just woke up from a good f*ck, Hob wanted to bite.
And mess with him a little,,,,,Hob offered (jokingly he thought) to stop sleeping with Orpheus if his father took his place in Hob's bed. He was expecting more yelling, not Morpheus Endless to say yes on the spot.
Oh Dream...... you poor little horny idiot. Trying so hard to be the best dad, but Orpheus is cringing SO hard.
Hob really was joking about exchanging Orpheus for Morpheus, and then Dream goes ahead and looks so sincere and so sexy... but Hob isn't a bad person (not anymore) so he sighs and explains that it was a joke. He's not fucking anyone right now, especially not Dream’s kid. He is in fact in the middle of a very long dry spell, and yes he might be going into too much detail now but at least Morpheus looks like he believes him. He sighs and smoothes down his hair and Hob is almost disappointed to see that anger fade away. Morpheus does at least blush prettily and say "call me Dream", so that's. A nice development.
And then Dream asks if Hob was joking about wanting to sleep with him, and if he thinks that Dream is too old to be a sugarbaby? Because he'd actually be willing to give it a try... And he says it in this teasing, flirty way that goes right to Hob’s dick. He's desperately hoping that his dryspell might finally be over. But he's going to have to pull out all the stops and really woo this delicious man.
Before Dream knows it, he's being whisked off to Hob’s box at the opera for a night of champagne and beautiful music. Hob explains that he doesn't take just anyone up to his box - only pretty boys that he really wants to spoil. Dream nearly melts into a puddle over being called a "boy". And yes, he's still relieved when Hob confirms that he never took Orpheus for a night at the opera.
Apparently Dream’s penchant for older guys really hasn't faded away, because he's getting butterflies whenever Hob puts a hand on his back to guide him, or orders their drinks with polite authority. If Orpheus was fucking Hob, then Dream would absolutely be fighting his own son tooth and nail over this man. Dream is embarrassed by his own horniness but not enough to stop - maybe he's doesn't actually need a sugar daddy, but he sure as hell WANTS this one <3
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Ask, and You Shall Receive
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader
Warnings: Mentions of female masturbation, slight coercion and degradation, smut.
Word count: ~2k
Summary: Daemon's maidservant has been quietly lusting after him for three months, waiting for him to make the first move. Based on this request.
Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications for updates of when I post fics. Community labels are for cops. Thank you to my boobear @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for giving this her stamp of approving, and beta'ing what my antibiotic addled mind was unable to.
When she’d first been assigned the duty of serving as Prince Daemon Targaryen’s maidservant, a rush of excitement had run hotly through her veins.
There were many names that the King’s younger brother went by, but the one that intrigued her most was Lord Flea Bottom, a moniker earned for how often he was seen in that particular part of the capital. It was no secret that the Rogue Prince enjoyed the company of whores; he frequented all of the pleasure houses within the Street of Silk, despite his marriage to Lady Rhea Royce, and no matter how much nobles and smallfolk alike enjoyed gossiping about his exploits, he was undeterred from this salacious behaviour. Daemon was not a man who concerned himself with the opinions or approval of others.
She had lusted after the Prince from afar for as long as she’d worked at the Keep, and ordinarily she’d never dream that someone of such high standing would give her the slightest bit of attention - she was a lowborn servant, a nobody - yet learning he frequented brothels gave her a glimmer of hope that he might deign to give her the attention she so desperately craved from him. A maidservant was certainly a step up from a common whore, and at the very least he would not have to part with coin in exchange for her company.
Much to her disappointment, it has been three months since she began attending to Daemon and he has not so much as spared a glance her way. He returns each evening from his duties as Commander of the City Watch, and she draws him a bath before helping him from his gold cloak and armour.
She allows herself the briefest gaze of admiration before averting her eyes, feeling her skin grow heated whenever he stands bare before her, tall, broad and godlike. He is the very image of power itself, surely hand-carved by the Seven.
When he reclines in the tub full of steamy water, her eyes roam appreciatively over the breadth of his chest and shoulders as she drags the dampened wash cloth across them, down the length of his arms and the span of his large hands.
The silken strands of his silver hair are impossibly soft against her fingers as she runs them through it, washing away the dirt of the city. The rumble of contentment that vibrates in his throat as her fingertips work against his scalp has desire pooling between her legs. She wonders what else she could do to elicit those sounds from him. Alas, no matter how deftly she washes his body and attends to his needs, he has never touched her. Though he is utterly relaxed in her presence, it seems to be in spite of it rather than because of it.
This frustrates her. She goes to bed each night pent up, her hand slipping between her legs and bringing herself to release, imagining what it would feel like to have his dampened body move against her own.
There is fire in his eyes when he returns to his quarters that evening, his brow furrowed in long spent anger, his jaw set in a way that indicates he is in no mood to talk. The darkened maroon splatters on his breastplate are doubtless dried blood, and not his own.
She longs to ask what has happened, but knows better. It is not her place to question a Prince. She has heard talk of Daemon putting tougher measures in place to deal with the rapists of King’s Landing, a recent development. She suspects that this is likely the cause of his bloodied ire tonight. Her heart swells at the thought of his chivalrous bravery. Longing to reward him for his service to the people of the city, and perhaps a last ditch attempt at gaining his attention, she decides to put extra care into his evening bath.
She ensures the water is slightly hotter than usual, scented with rose and lavender, and sets oils beside the tub, almond to use on his hair, and lemon for his body. Her final action is to strip down to just her shift, stepping out of the dress she wears that identifies her as serving staff of the Red Keep and shedding her smallclothes. She wants him to see her. If he takes offence or queries it, she reasons that she will simply apologise and say that the warmth of his bath was making her too hot. However, somehow she doubts he will be offended.
As she steps towards him to begin helping with the removal of his armour, she notices his eyes drift over her body. Covered only by a thin layer of cotton, her silhouette is illuminated through the material by the soft light of the candles that burn throughout the chamber. He says nothing, standing in silence and allowing her to disrobe him. She places each heavy piece carefully to one side, as always, though this time her hands shake with the effort.
Sweat prickles the back of her neck as he is revealed to her, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, thick thighs slightly parted as he stands with his feet planted. She catches his eye as she glances upwards and her breath sticks in her throat. He is watching her ogle him. The faintest twitch of his brow is his only reaction. She cannot tell if it is amusement or annoyance.
He lets out a low hum of appreciation as he steps into the tub, clearly noticing the difference in both scent and temperature. A small smile of pride tugs at her lips as she steps behind him, preparing to begin their nightly routine.
Carefully she wets his hair, cupping water into her hands and spreading it from root to tip, before coating her palms and fingertips in almond oil and working it through his pale tresses. She takes her time, rubbing tight, slightly pressured circles against his scalp, noticing the way his eyelids drift closed, leaning into her touch. She forgoes the use of the washcloth this evening, pouring lemon essence directly into her hands and massaging it into his chest and shoulders. The tightness in his muscles melts like butter beneath her touch as she works her way down the length of his arms, watching the way the tension he has been clinging onto dissipates with every sweep of her hands across his body.
As she moves lower, about to dip her hand beneath the surface of the bathwater, she lets out a small gasp, caught off guard by the suddenness with which Daemon grasps her wrist - not applying enough pressure to hurt her, but enough for her to know she can no longer move her arm of her own volition. Her wide eyes stare at him imploringly, though his expression is impassive as he regards her carefully.
“Do you wish to fuck me, little maid?” he asks, voice low, the slightest of smirks upon his face.
She feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as her lips part in shock. She knows that Daemon speaks plainly, but she had never expected him to be so lewd, so direct. It has warmth blooming in her lower belly. A dull, throbbing ache settles between her legs.
She lets out a squeal when, clearly dissatisfied with her silence, he hauls her into the tub with him. She sits astride him, shift soaking wet and clinging to the contours of her body as she attempts to control her breathing. His hands grip her waist, holding her in place to ensure she doesn’t try to climb back out. The hardness of his body against hers, the warmth of the water lapping against her skin, the heady aroma of rose and lavender, it is all too much. Her head swims with the effort to keep her composure.
This is all she has ever wanted. Yet, she knows one wrong move could spoil it all.
Daemon reaches up, tweaking the hardened peak of her nipple that pebbles through the wet fabric, making her whine and clench around nothing. “You didn’t answer me - but I think I already know the answer. I see the way you look at me, the way you prance about my chamber like a bitch in heat.”
She squirms, mewling desperately when he hands push her soaked cotton of her shift above her hips, his thumb dipping between her legs to lightly circle her pearl. She clings tightly to his shoulders for support, wanting to say something, anything, but the words will not come. Mercifully, he is eager to speak for both of them.
“The thing is, little maid, wanton sluts don’t get what they want unless they ask nicely. Did you really think the power of your feminine charm alone would be enough to entice me? I am a Prince. People beg for my attention, not the other way around.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly with effort it takes her to remember to breathe. Her thighs shake either side of Daemon’s hips as he continues to rub against her sensitive bud. Her brows are knitted together, an expression of both unbridled pleasure and humiliation.
He chuckles quietly. “So, are you ready to ask for what it is you want?”
Resolve crumbling, she nods fervently, hoping he will take mercy on her, but it is not enough.
“Say it,” he commands forcefully, removing his hand from between her legs.
When she eventually finds her voice, it sounds foreign to her, broken and pitiful, not her own. “P-please…Your Grace…I-I want you to fuck me.”
“Good girl,” he whispers.
She barely has time to register the weightiness of his thick cock as it rests against his palm before he is pressing it inside of her, its girth pushing apart her fleshy inner walls with its brutal intrusion. Though she is adequately aroused, it is a stretch to accommodate him. She muffles a squeak into the crook of his neck as he sheathes himself fully within her.
His fingers curl themselves into the hair at the back of her head, gently tugging her back, an air of smugness etched across his handsome features as he looks up at her. “You will not hide from me,” he says huskily. “You wanted me to fuck you, so you will let me watch you as I do it.”
The slight threat that simmers beneath his words sends a shiver of excitement through her. The bath water begins to sway with the undulation of his hips as they thrust languidly up into hers. His pace is lazy, unhurried, yet every stroke is achingly deep as the head of him brushes against the rough patch inside of her that causes her toes to curl involuntarily. He is like a cat playing with a mouse, his eyes never leaving her face, studying every slackening of her jaw and slight scrunch of her nose as he fucks himself into her.
As he coaxes her towards her peak, she feels a familiar pressure building inside of her. It crashes over her in white hot waves, causing her to slump against Daemon’s chest with a cry of ecstasy. She feels boneless, weightless, but he is far from done with her.
Seizing her incapacitation as an opportunity, he grasps her hips, quickening his pace and pulling her downwards to meet each snap of his pelvis, the force of his movements causing the water to cascade over the sides of the wooden tub and onto the flagstone floor as he chases his own end. He grunts in satisfaction as he spends inside of her, and in the back of her pleasure-addled mind comes the hazy thought that she will need to drink moon tea in the morning.
They lay as they are for a few moments longer, as Daemon catches his breath, what remains of the bathwater rapidly cooling around them. When she finally has the strength to lift herself from his chest, she sees fire in his eyes once more, though it is not derived from fury. There is warmth behind his gaze, a fondness that she has not seen before.
He strokes her back absentmindedly, his fingers plucking at the wet shift that sticks to it. “Take this off,” he whispers, “and go to my bedchambers. We shall see if you are as good at warming my bed as you are at making my bath go cold.”
#daemon targaryen#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon smut#daemon x you#daemon targaryen x you#daemon x y/n#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon imagine#daemon targaryen imagine#prince daemon targaryen#pro daemon targaryen#the rogue prince#daemon#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd daemon targaryen#hotd daemon#daemon targaryen fan fiction#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen fan fic#hotd smut#hotd fan fic#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction
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“Elriel is too predictable! It’s boring & lazy writing!”
… 🧍♂️
My brother in Christ. You call SJM the fated mates author. Through 15+ books and 3 series she hasn’t diverged from that trope. Elain has a “mate”.
If an Elriel outcome is predictable, it’s because the author willed it so and therefore ✨wrote scenes✨ to ✨develop their relationship✨.
and by that i mean…
(long post ahead…. bear with me)
SJM wrote Mr. “I don’t need to resort to poetry” going all Azriel Allan Poe, flustered as he tells Elain “we are born hearing the song of the wind”. She wrote him uncharacteristically open & talkative, while when he 1st met Feyre he deferred all her questions to others.
SJM wrote that despite how different they may look, Elain does not balk from Az. She never has: from their 1st meeting she finds comfort in him, and he in turn notices her—she’s never been afraid of him, he has always seen her.
SJM wrote the 1st coherent thing to come out of Elain’s mouth in WaR to be “beautiful” as she beholds Azriel’s scarred hands. In turn, she wrote our gardener not minding imperfections on hers, for despite her lady-like conditioning, she prefers to get her hands dirty.
SJM wrote Az spending time with her in the sunshine: no forced conversation, no one hEaLinG anyone, just them both doing their own thing as a relaxed Az suns his wings. Just two pals comfortable with one another… which SJM foreshadowed in MaF through Feyre’s “Elain would likely cling to Az for some peace and quiet”.
SJM wrote Az and Cass both stilling at the sight of El & Nes, she wrote Az cutting in to set Elain up in her garden even as Feyre was about to do it, she wrote the mention that Elain was safe after the twin raven’s attack bc Az had stayed with her at the townhouse.
SJM wrote Azriel’s eyes churning as he looks at Elain and her too-thin body, before abruptly winnowing away, and we’re left with Mor looking at the spot where he left. Wonder what that was about (it certainly did not remind me of Rhys in TaR).
You know, Elriels are not just making stuff up and theorizing about the E/ucien bond cause we’re desperately pulling at straws…
SJM had Madja say “a mate would know if something is amiss”, then wrote a scene juxtaposing both Lucien’s and Azriel’s reactions/assessments of what was going on with Elain… and she had Azriel be the one to know nothing was “wrong” with her—no, she just had rare powers and needed to be heard, to be taken seriously. He didn't let her be misunderstood, for he was the ONLY one that listened to her, that took her visions/ramblings seriously right from the get go. And so he gave Elain the understanding she needed to free herself from the dream-like murky realm she was trapped in. Through it all, SJM emphasizes that Azriel also understands what it is like to struggle with rare, strange, prized powers in silence; what it’s like to be othered by them. I’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: she sees everything and he hears everything.
SJM wrote that “Elain had hoped that love would trump even a mating bond” and had her characters question the Cauldron in relation to Elucien *twice* (years apart!).
…
SJM wrote Az being the only one—in a room full of Made beings speaking of being Made—to notice that Elain was missing. A reassuring but empty statement by Cass that they’d get her back….but then it was Azriel that stated, eyes glowing golden, that HE would be getting her back, despite the girl’s own sister discouraging him & telling him he’d die. Hell, Feyre had this whole deliberation on whether she’d join him only after he’d say he’d go. His initiative.
The Hybern scene is too long to add, but this post and this theory break it all down brilliantly.
Yes, Az has sacrificial tendencies. Yes, he’d risk his life for loved ones in general. But we have never seen him this affected, and it is because SJM purposely used language to emphasize Elain and Azriel’s meaningful reactions to the other… despite it being wholly “unnecessary”
It is all intentional… lazy’s antonym.
SJM wrote the Truthteller scene. She emphasized the exchange, which left Cassian gasping and Rhys flabbergasted; it also left Feyre with a significant painting in her mind. It lead to Elain, aka “my God has answered me,” stepping out of a shadow to save her sister. Azriel, aka “God is my help”, indeed helped armed Elain so she could answer her sisters prayers.
SJM ended WaR with Elain’s smile literally lighting up Az’s shadows.
SJM had Elain’s thoughtful gift to him make his eyes the brightest we’ve seen—and by doing so gave us the most beautiful description of his earthy eyes, “the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald.” We have never seen Az so joyful & carefree throughout the entire series.
SJM wrote that Azriel beat Feyre to Elain’s side as she was looking out into the night. She wrote Elain stilling at the sight of a dashing Azriel—her throat bobbing—while Az “just moved towards her”.
SJM wrote the potato scene—“sit i’ll take care of it”—Azriel again being the one to respect Elain’s presence & contribution as he makes a room full of his “superiors” wait until Elain finishes tidying herself up (cause girlie wanted to look put together for a certain shadowsinger). Mor gapes, Amren smirks, Rhys talks of Az’s mom… all because of that surprising, singular behaviour from him.
SJM wrote Az making a joke at Amren’s expense upon noticing Elain’s discomfort; our girl’s shoulders indeed relax in relief. THE LIGHT RETURNS IN HER EYES.
SJM has Azriel staying up past 3am with Elain, listening to her speak of something she is passionate of.
SJM wrote Azriel spending an entire convo with his brothers looking out into the garden from the window (SJM mentioned it 4 times yet some still missed it).
SJM wrote Rhys goading Az for a reaction as he quizzes him on Lucien and Grayson; wrote Rhys realizing that Azriel did not want to know what Elain did with Lucien (in the case she did anything). She wrote Azriel nervously stuttering as he asks risks if they need to get the sisters a present… I wonder why.
And Rosehall… SJM wrote ROSEhall: cracktheory this cracktheory that, to the gwonriels I’d say we both know you wouldn’t say it’s irrelevant had SJM chosen to call his estate Tealhall.
~~~~
Keep in mind: SJM could have written those significant scenes and ultimately kept it PG: she could have chosen language that built up a profound platonic relationship.
Yet… in MaF she has Feyre comment that they would be good together—as in make a good *couple*. WaR roles in and they’re both dealing with the very public rejections they went through—but SJM had them build a quiet companionship in the background, while giving them a wealth of scenes of great significance for both their characters, and while using language like “she DEVOURED the sight of him” “he CRADLED her to his chest”. In FaS they are slowly but surely getting over their last loves, and SJM continues developing their connection.
And in ACOSF, in the book that supposedly “ended” Elriel…
SJM wrote Az following the sound of her laugh (😭). “ It’s just lust” PLEASE BFFR.
SJM chose to remind us—THREE times—of the Hybern rescue scene... then had Az tell Cass that he’d know, in his chest, if something happened to Nesta.
SJM had Az longingly stare at the gift Elain gave him every night for a YEAR—mind plagued by thoughts of her—made him so affected by her that he had reactions to every mention of her name in SF, so affected that it took Nes one look at them to notice his feelings, to reach out in comfort upon noticing the pain that keeping himself apart from to her caused him. As SJM said she would, Nes saw through his secret in ACOSF, still it is “his secret to tell, never hers”. After Solstice we are met with a grumpy Azriel, who lost the snowball fight for the 1st time in centuries (i wonder why…).
SJM chose to link his every secret back to his feelings for Elain, as per the bonus . Why does he stay up so late and wake up so early? He longs for Elain so much he can’t sleep. Why is he staying in the HoW? It is too hard to be close to Elain given their circumstances; he must physically distance himself from her. Why has he moved on from Mor after centuries? Elain. Why is he grumpy post Solstice? The argument with Rhys concerning Elain.
~~~~
Ultimately, SJM wrote for Elriel:
- Complementary imagery (flowers and death? light and dark blending together to form something new… DUSK, anyone?)
- AND plot altering scenes
- AND chose to liken them to one another multiple times
- AND genuine moments of companionship that slowly bloomed into something more…
… Is it so insane to believe that maybe SJM spent so much page time and effort building connections & common ground between them because she intends for elain & az to find peace and quiet within one another?
Or idk, maybe it was all for shits and giggles… and if it was i salute her commitment to the shits and the giggles🫡
Either way, it is the opposite of lazy writing…
It’s SJM’s world & words, and we are just reading them.
P.S: This was all just typed on my cell phone from the top of my head… yes remembering all this is probs concerning, yes I am obsessed. Please correct me if I got anything wrong.
#elain archeron#azriel#elriel#pro elriel#azriel shadowsinger#pro elain#pro azriel#acomaf#acowar#acosf#elain x azriel#elucien-bond#antigwynriel#not even anti; just pro common sense
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A quick meal
cw: shameless smut, no use of y/n, female anatomy for reader, desk sex, dirty talk, slightly rough(-ish)? perhaps??
word count: 1,5k
eng is not my first language, please inform me if you spot any mistakes!
Viktor always knew it’s what inside that counts. And so he counted. Every rich moan escaping your mouth, every squelch of the fondly fingered pussy — it’s every prominence, fold and flexure, and, of course — exactly how much pressure you prefer on your clit. Well, at least that explanation was the only reasonably-appearing one to you, because how the hell did he know how to make you cream his fingers in coats of delicious stickiness in exactly few minutes, the stretch of them so qualitative your throbbing walls could easily accept his cock with little to no effort put into penetration. He must have used an ungodly amount of diligence to develop this specific technique just for you — his precious, lecherous sweetheart. Your whimpers are a devil on his shoulder, distracting him from being a stern, dispassionate about anything except for his research man. That little temptation invited him into the warmth of your precious core instead. It kept luring in, filling his genius mind with dreamy filth. Besides: it’s so much better to be buried within the tightness of your cunt than within the loneliness of his lab, untouched and craving you in his arms so desperately. No, he most certainly would prefer the first option.
“Relax,” sultry whisper teases your ear, while the free from fucking into you hand crawled up, preliminarily teasing the swell of each breast on its way to your throat — to be wrapped around it like a pretty collar, securely tight, not firm enough to actually hurt, but to rather keep you in place, adding to the thrill, to the longing.
He rarely fucks you like this. Viktor’s never been a huge fan of quickies — he’s a taster at heart, thorough and passionate — a sloppy kiss here, a teasing lick there — working you up even when it’s not needed anymore, for the sake of pure entertainment — more his than yours, to be completely honest, but he would never willingly admit to that.
He likes to savour you, like a fresh fruit one’s supposed to eat slowly — painfully so, even, memorising the flavour in explicit detail, letting it engrave into the taste receptors.
But there’s cyanide even in the finest peaches. Eat too many — and you’re incapable of consuming anything anymore, death plastered across your gourmand-face. It takes around fifteen peach pits to kill a curious starved soul, after all.
So tonight Viktor stays away from the cyanide. He’s had enough ravishing for now, turning a solid number of your previous intercourses into love-making. He’s eager, and he’s treating you like a quick meal — totally different from his usual ‘eat-you up-like-you’re-the main course’ demeanour. Not that you mind, of course. Dining hastily has its charms too.
“Keep your legs spread for me,” the gentle demand continues to sting your ear, and as much as you’d love to comply — you simply can’t, trembling knees doing you no favours, allowing no small mercies.
“Darling?” he repeats, the sharpness of his ‘r’ a scrumptious scratch to your brain, turning you into a mess — nearly irreparable, matching the one you’ve turned his desk into once he bent you over it, capturing tightly between his erection and the hard wooden edge, kindly depriving you off the worries about your clothes getting in the way. So thoughtful of him.
Rolled up skirt rests on your lower back, exposing the plumpness of soft hips — so grabable, they’re practically begging for his attention, but he’s reluctant to pull the long fingers out of you just yet. You’re clenching around them so perfectly, blessing him with the privilege of feeling your every twitch.
The presence of your underwear doesn’t concern you anymore — it’s wrapped around your ankles, pretty lace occasionally tickling the skin, reminding of the abrupt harshness Viktor’s sinewy hands had ripped them off you with. So brusque when it comes to fucking you from behind that a mere touch feels rougher than the deepest of thrusts. Your pussy might be able to take him without turning into a mess, but your sanity? You wish he’d left you some, just the tiniest bit to at least obey him easily.
But not all wishes were meant to be fulfilled.
You mewl something hopelessly illegible as your words drown in your own moan, lewd sounds of his fingers parting the swollen folds of an already spent cunt louder than your actual voice. And suddenly body language is not a figurative concept anymore.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the kind threat encourages hoarsely. “Or should I spread them for you?”
You can only squeeze out a nod. Viktor releases your neck with a sympathetic chuckle, and a deft hand grabs at your left calf, helping a trembling leg to step out of the damp lingerie, leaving it completely forgotten and lonely on the floor. You’ll collect it later: if only the dirty-minded inventor lets you, of course. Which was highly doubtful, since tucking your undergarments into a pocket of his dresspants started to really grow on him lately. The possibility of obstaclessly fucking you over another surface once you’re in private again is too tempting to be pushed away so fast.
You fall on his desk, cold wood a tough pillow to your flushed cheek. However the loving hand stroking at your flesh doesn’t move to proceed with complaisant ministrations on your right limb. The buckle of his belt jingles, unfastening, negligently joining your underwear on the floor. You quirk an inquisitive eyebrow, putting a rather pathetic effort into propping yourself up, searching for an explanation to his movements. But a rough palm falls on your lower back with a thump, firmly pacifying, practically smacking.
“Don’t move, dear,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you right before you got the chance to cum all over them. Scarily rigorous again. And vicious. But you don’t say that. It’s not like you’re able to talk coherently anyway.
Something — which you suspect to be his foot — persistently forces your legs out of the way, sprawling you more for his hungry gaze. The toe of his shoe roughly kisses each one of your heels, spreading you open, just as he’d promised.
“How rude!” you exclaim, voice dripping with fake resentment.
“Rude?” he laughs, and the next thing you feel is a caring peck on a shoulder, the sweet heat of his breath back where it belongs — teasing the shell of your ear. “Well, please excuse me this one whim, but can you really blame me? Besides, I suppose my… barbarism happened to be quite efficient.”
His tip is pressed against your entrance, slowly working its way inside, brushing a puffy labia on its way. You’re sure it’s leaking with precum for you already — it might be impossible to feel through the lavish wetness seeping out of you, but you know Viktor good enough to be certain of pearly bitterish liquid breaking out of his slit.
You don’t lack his fingers anymore — not when you’re about to be so much more palpably filled, the thickness of his cock irreplaceable with any amount of his phalanxes. An unsolved mystery for both of you. The one leading you to an embarrassingly primitive statement — whatever it is so special about him keeps you coming back for more.
“There was no need to be so ill-mannered. I could have spread my legs just perfectly fine,” you mutter a shameless lie, already expecting a protest.
“And from my expertise you weren’t exactly competent,” Viktor mocks with a tortuously handsome smirk, and you make a fatal mistake of looking over your shoulder right when his narrow hips thrust into yours, his length splitting you with a delicious burn. It takes away the remnants of your stamina. “Because trust me, I can tell when one’s incapable of standing on their own feet — let alone moving properly. Coming from an adept, figuratively speaking.”
He bends lower, warm dry lips pressed to the glistening sweat on your temple. He doesn’t rush to have his way with you anymore, hand found peace on your chin, tilting up, gently forcing a thumb into the open mouth. You greet it with a needy bite, a wordless plea to convince him to finally start pounding into you, to satisfy the body lusting for his steady thrusts.
“You’re quivering,” Viktor notes with a pensive hum. “Shall I proceed? You look like you’re in more need of a cane than I am, my darling. So wobbly.”
The plea-bite on his thumb quickly turns into a menacing one. Canine pierces the skin, earning a muffled against the mess of your hair ‘ouch’, demanding the heartily craved resumption.
“Am I pinned like this forever or are you done with the fucking drollery?”
A sultry laugh caresses your ear, and the throbbing cock inside you slips almost all the way out, leaving you clenching purely around the bulging tip.
“Save the swearing,” utters the pretty tempter.
A rough roll of his hips into yours. Ass bounces off his pelvis, the slap of skin against skin loud and resonant, mingling with your desperate gasp just perfectly. Has you seeing numerous sparks, mouth drops open in a breathless ‘yes’.
“That vocabulary is only appropriate for an orgasm.”
#viktor x reader#viktor arcane#viktor fanfic#viktor smut#viktor x f!reader#viktor x reader smut#viktor arcane x reader#viktor arcane smut
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I think a prerequisite to understanding Durge and Gortash is understanding the movie Midsommar and its ending. Or rather, how people get lured into cults. It's probably weird to some, but people do incredibly fucked up shit as long as they're lonely enough. As long as they are starved of enough affection.
These guys were completely isolated. One murdered everyone they ever knew without meaning to, only to be snatched up by the person that would manipulate them, and the other one was rejected and discarded by everyone they loved before his brain could even develop properly. They were alone. The entire fucking world rejected them. Nobody batted an eye when they were suffering far beyond what anyone should have to go through. Everyone that mattered to them disappeared in the blink of an eye. At least Gortash certainly spent years like that, for Durge it's implied but tbf the initial event alone would've been traumatic enough.
And then, eventually, when they were at complete rock bottom, after suffering so much, so long, someone came along and offered them acceptance. Offered them affection, offered them the chance to belong somewhere. To have a place to be, a role to play. To be someone. To find people with the same mindset. To find people to admire and to be admired by. They were offered an escape from the overwhelming loneliness and grief. They were offered to be accepted for once.
People will ruin themselves to fit in or to gain the love of another. And they did just that. They blindly ran into the knife because they were promised to belong for once. Because of the simple promise they wouldn't be rejected.
It doesn't rectify what they did, but gods is it understandable that they did what they did. People have done worse for less. They are vile. They're monsters. They're horrible beings. But they were conditioned into it. They were manipulated to such a frightening degree that they willingly chose to follow masters who would torment them even after death, knowing what they were getting into, but still choosing it just to escape the fucking loneliness. They gave themselves up just to belong. They certainly are to blame, but so are the people who's sins they've inherited.
And just to be clear, that's also the major difference between Karlach and Gortash. Karlach initially grew up being somewhere, being accepted, being loved. Yes, she, too, was betrayed and sold, but she was an adult when it happened. She knew love. She knew what it was like. She could rely on that glimmer of a hope that the world didn't outright despise her. Gortash didn't. He was sold as a fucking child. He never knew. He didn't have the resources. He was just fucking desperate and already broken and crushed in ways you could never break Karlach. She had loving parents. Gortash's mother wished she would've killed him before he was even born. Karlach was loved once, Gortash has ever since been told the world would've been a better place if he simply didn't exist.
Also, congratulations, this makes durgetash so much more painful to think about. Cuz they were willing to reject whatever helped them survive for the affection of one another.
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𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞
꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Working in a morgue, you're used to being surrounded by death. But one night you come face to face with an undead that isn't the norm for your line of work.
꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, modern au, vampires, blood, violence, corpses
꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.6k words. Thank you @chibi-absol for helping me develop this idea and motivating me to write something for myself ♡
✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter Two
This isn’t the job you dreamt of having, but it wasn’t bad either. Being a mortuary technician wasn’t on your to-do list, but you were desperate and needed money. Your family owned a funeral home growing up so you weren’t deterred by the idea of working with dead bodies every day.
And hey it had some perks! Sure it was the night shift but at least you got to work alone. Never having to worry about a manager breathing down your neck or co-workers interfering with your work. It was more pleasant than the average person would expect.
You worked for the city, not a private funeral home so most of the time you were preparing bodies for cremation or doing autopsies on suspicious deaths. Most of the bodies that come in are either homeless people or people who have no family members to claim the body. These cases were suspiciously high in your city. But again, it didn’t bother you because this is how you pay your bills.
Today was like any other day, clocking in at 10 pm as usual. Examining your paperwork to see how many bodies you’ll be working with today.
The file at the top of your stack is for a man estimated to be in his mid-twenties. And… that’s it? Usually, your files have more information on them, like the location or date the body was found. But this one has nothing.
“How strange…” you mumble to yourself as you put on your gloves and prepare for an initial examination.
You waste no time getting to work, loading the young man’s body onto the transport cart, wheeling him over to the examination table and gently setting his body atop the cold surface.
The first thing you observe is how his body moves as you transport him, he must have been dead for a while since it appears that rigor mortis has come and gone. Yet his body doesn’t smell? Everything about this case has been peculiar. But it doesn’t stop you from proceeding as usual.
With a deep breath, you carefully unzip the body bag and remove it completely. Putting this young man’s corpse on full display. Right away there are some things you notice. You quickly turn on your recorder, grab his file, and begin filling it out as you examine his bare body.
“The deceased appears to have spots located all throughout his body,” you look closer at the black splotches that are scattered across his skin. “They don’t appear to be wounds, but irregular shaped birthmarks.”
You clear your throat and continue writing and talking, “He has them on his right cheek, bridge of his nose, both sides of the chin, right clavicle, left breast, left and right upper arms, right hip, and on the genitalia. Further investigation may be required to determine if the deceased was born with these marks or if they were caused by illness.”
You usually don’t get very emotional when looking at corpses, but you can’t help but feel sadness when you look at him. He looks to be around your age, it’s sad to think that he died all alone, with no one stepping forward to claim his body. You can’t help but wonder what his story is and how he came to his end.
You make a few more notes about his body, regarding his lithe frame, he was likely malnourished making you think that he was possibly homeless. He also has bags around his eyes, nothing too uncommon or alarming though.
But it is quite strange, his body is as pale as a ghost yet the texture and appearance of his skin seems youthful and alive. Though he is most certainly dead.
You’re about to wrap up your investigation when you notice something peculiar.
“The deceased appears to have… a bite? On his neck?” you say in confusion, leaning forward to get a closer look. You’ve never seen anything like this before.
“He has two prominent indentations on his neck, maybe bitten by an animal. But… the other teeth marks appear human…”
You narrow your eyes and lean in closer.
Suddenly the man’s eyes shoot open and he gasps for air, his chest rising as his lungs are filled with air for the first time in too long. You stumble backward, utterly horrified that your “patient” has just woken up.
Before you can even open your mouth to speak to him, he’s lunging forward and slamming you against the cold concrete floor. His blunt nails turned claws, swipe at you as he hisses and snarls. Baring large fangs as he snaps at you, trying to get closer to you, but you barely manage to hold him back.
Red eyes glare hungrily at you. You don’t know what’s going on but you do know that this is no human, this man is some kind of monster.
“S-Sir! Please calm down!” You beg, but to no avail. The man doesn’t seem to have any thought in his head besides his intent on hurting you.
You feel his strength suddenly increase, black veins visibly popping out on his face and body. He pushes down harder on you, his deadly teeth inching closer to your face. You panic and hold up your forearm to stop him from ripping your face apart.
You may have saved your face, but you sacrificed your arm as his jaws immediately wrap around your flesh and close down with extreme force. But he doesn’t just bite and hold on no, he bites, and bites, and bites again. Until your arm is a bloody mess, skin and muscle hanging from his abuse.
His eyes glow in excitement as your blood touches his tongue.
If you stay here like this it won't take long for him to completely gnaw through your arm. Your body moves on its own, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you muster all of your strength to push him off of you. His body falling backwards causing the back of his head to slam against the bottom of the metal examination table. Momentarily stunning him for a few seconds.
You use that time to quickly grab a bottle of formaldehyde and run to the walk-in freezer.
He grunts and blinks a few times as he regains his composure. After a few seconds, the smell of blood hits his nose and he is ravenously drawn towards it. Blindly running into the freezer, the scent of your fresh wound draws him.
Your back is against the wall beside the entrance, hidden from his immediate view as he enters the walk-in freezer. As soon as he’s inside you smash the bottle of formaldehyde on his face. Holding your breath and squinting your eyes, trying not to allow the toxic fumes to enter your body.
He howls in pain, so animalistically that it almost makes you pity the creature. Immediately he falls to the ground, claws at his burning eyes, and coughs as he breathes in the toxic substance.
While he’s incapacitated you hurriedly slam the door behind him, locking him inside of the freezer.
Your vision is blurry as tears fill your eyes, mostly from the pain in your arm but also from the fumes of the formaldehyde. Your legs feel like jelly as you collapse against the door, breathing heavily, panicking. With shaky movements you examine your body, making sure you didn’t get any of the toxin in your wound. But it appears to have only gotten on your hand and splashed a bit on your shirt.
With wobbly legs you are barely able to force yourself up, quickly running over to the sink to wash your hands. The sounds of the man’s cries echo throughout the morgue. Then everything suddenly goes quiet. So quiet that you can hear your heart pounding.
“I-Is it d-dead…?” You stare wide eyed at the door as the anticipation seems to freeze time.
…
A loud bang echoes through the morgue, shaking the door's hinges, as a large distortion forms on the freezer door. Bang, bang, bang. The creature slams its body against the inside of the door, trying desperately to escape. His strength is shown by how the thick metal door distorts from his efforts. You don’t want to wait around and see if he’s able to escape so you quickly grab your purse and run out of the morgue.
✣ .. ༺♰༻ .. ✣
As soon as you left last night you went to the hospital. You had to get stitches but thankfully you ended up being okay. Though you were so shaken up that you were barely able to tell the nurses about what happened. Of course they’d never believe you, so you just told them that you had been attacked by a large dog.
Physically you weren’t doing too bad, but mentally you were a wreck. A part of you had tried to convince yourself that you had just imagined the whole thing, but you knew deep down that it really happened. No matter how much the thought terrified you, especially when you had to return to the morgue the next night.
At the end of the day you still needed to pay your bills. And you would never forgive yourself if you left this monster for someone else to find and possibly get killed by.
Hesitantly stepping into the morgue once again, it’s eerily quiet.
“I-Is it still here?” You whisper to yourself.
You swallow dryly, walking with trembling feet toward the walk-in freezer. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your chest and the sound of your footsteps.
Slowly, very slowly, you turn the handle of the freezer door. Opening it ever so cautiously.
And there he is. Lying in the fetal position in the corner of the room. His body completely still, pale, and covered in frost.
“Did I… Did I kill it?”
You step closer and he doesn’t move. You even touch his skin, feeling that it’s freezing cold. Maybe you really did freeze him to death.
Looking back at the door you see where he desperately tried to escape. Throwing his body against the door, even clawing at it with his claws. Even though he's a monster you still feel bad for him.
But you know time is not on your side. And this creature has come back from the dead one time, so you know he could do it again. And you can’t leave him in the freezer forever.
So you struggle to grab hold of him and drag him out of the freezer. His body still remains lifeless as he is dragged across the concrete floors and into the examination room.
Now that he’s out of the freezer, what do you do with him? You have no idea if this creature is even killable, and to be frank you want answers. All you can think to do is restrain him to the examination table with leather straps you sometimes use to position corpses. You tie them tightly around his wrists and ankles.
“Ok, that should be good right?” you pant, “Er, maybe not… what if he wakes up and tries to attack me again?”
Really the only logical thought here. He will attack you again.
Last time he seemed to be drawn to your flesh, so maybe you can use that to your advantage. You shouldn’t be doing this but you don’t have any other ideas. So you siphon the blood out of one of the corpses lined up for examination. Siphoning it into a large metal bucket. The blood isn’t fresh but you hope it will be enough to distract him if need be.
Then you place a blanket on his body to cover him up. Partly because he has no clothes on, but also because a part of you feels compassion for him. Something about a cold body begs you to cover it with a blanket. Whether it be man or monster, you can’t ignore your caring nature.
Now all you do is wait. Despite having plenty of work to do, this is more important. And quite frankly you can’t focus on getting any work done with a bloodthirsty monster in your vicinity.
You sit and wait in front of the examination table, watching as his skin dethaws as the minutes pass. Anxiously holding a scalpel in your hand, as if it would be a valid defense against him.
After less than an hour he begins to wake up. His eyes slowly open, looking around the room curiously. Red irises locking on as soon as they land on your form. He glares at you like a predator stares down its prey before it strikes.
He tries to get up, but is stopped by the restraints. You grin, thinking you’ve succeeded. But no, with an effortless tug the leather straps snap and he lunges towards you. Though slowed from being frozen for 24 hours, he’s still surprisingly fast.
“Don’t hurt me! Please!” You plead, holding out the bucket of blood. Hoping that it will be enough to deter him from taking your flesh into his maw.
The scent of exposed blood is too much for him to bear. He’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Aggressively snatching it from your hands and greedily drinking it. The way in which he gulps down the thick liquid is frenzied and desperate. Like his life depends on it.
The sounds alone are enough to disturb you greatly. You feel stunned as you stand there, watching this savage creature feast in front of you.
In under a minute, the bucket is empty and he’s licking his fingers. Thick maroon dripping down his chin and onto his bare chest. You’ve never seen something so primal before. But it’s oddly beautiful at the same time.
“You…” he croaks, panting as he tries to catch his breath. His voice is deep and carries an inhuman rasp, “Do you… wish to die?”
His face contorts into a scowl as he brings his bloodied hand up to your neck and squeezes tightly. Digging his claws into the flesh of your soft skin.
“P-Please! Don’t ngh- hurt me!” You cry, grabbing his wrist in a pathetic attempt to pry his grip off of your neck.
His red eyes speak of his murderous intent as he seemingly looks into your soul. Eyes redder than blood, pooling with primal hunger.
“Stupid girl,” he growls, opening his mouth. His sharp fangs glistening red from his meal.
“I-I can help you!” you beg desperately. When he seems unfazed by your words you continue, “I can give you blood! Wh-whenever you want! I have tons of it!”
He narrows his eyes at you, and quirks his brow curiously before looking around the room. “You… you work here?” he asks, sounding almost like a normal person.
You nod frantically as his grip around your neck tightens, restricting you from speaking further.
“Fine,” he growls, releasing you from his grasp and throwing you to the floor, “Give me blood whenever I ask and I’ll allow you to live.”
You hunch over on your hands and knees, coughing as you catch your breath. “Y-yes,” you pant, “I can do that, no problem! And I-I won’t tell anyone about you.”
“I know you won’t. You aren’t that stupid,” he snarls, looking down at you with an expression of uncertainty.
You sit there instilled with fear, looking up at this undead creature. Unknowingly making an eternal pact with an unholy force.
Finally, he averts his predatory gaze away from you. Grabbing the blanket you put on him previously and tying it around his waist. And without another word he opens the window and climbs out, disappearing into the night.
And just like that the morgue is silent, almost as if nothing happened. You feel a strange combination of dread and relief wash over you. But you know this isn’t the end.
You get a feeling you’ll be having a visit from the vampire again very soon.
#gyutaro#gyuutarou#gyutaro x reader#gyuutarou x reader#gyutaro x y/n#demon slayer x reader#kny x reader#vampire x reader#vampire au#gyutaro shabana
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EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Part 2
Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.
Part one: X
AO3 Link: X
Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, abduction, bondage, blood and injury.
Word Count: 7.2k
Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys
NSFW under the cut
It probably didn’t mean anything, right?
How common is your name, really? He probably was just thinking about his girlfriend or wife at home who just happens to share the same name as you, the same wife he didn’t happen to mention during your introductions - even if it would have been a really good icebreaker.
Yeah, that’s it.
It couldn’t have been about you.
Could it?
Your thoughts are spiraling now, not giving yourself the room to dissect one detail before your brain throws another at you. You still haven’t moved, wide eyes watching warm light reflect on his skin as he basks in post-orgasm bliss.
He’s still for a while, and you’re wondering if the finish had tired him out enough to lull him into a nap.
After a few minutes of watching the rise and fall of his chest, you decide the show was over and closed out of the software. There was some part of you, some part you’d hoped wouldn’t ever come to light, that decided to keep his feed connected.
You’ve crossed so many lines already. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
You feel like you’ve ruined whatever chance you’ve had with him, violating his privacy like this. This was a man that wasn’t even comfortable showing his face, how did you think he was going to feel knowing a stranger has not only seen him fully naked but watched him jerk his cock to completion?
He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. It’ll be our little secret and we’ll just pretend it never happened.
Yeah, you acted real casual today when you hadn’t done a horrible, awful, perverted thing. I’m sure you’ll act real casual the next time you have to look him in the eyes.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
You rest your head on your keyboard not-so-gently, accidentally booting up an ancient mail software that was sure to kick your laptop’s fans into overdrive. An audible groan leaves your mouth.
Who knew non-consensual voyeurism would leave such a horrific feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach?
That and the arousal that sits right underneath. Your underwear now had a wet stain from watching the show, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you had.
There was no way you were going to be able to focus on work now. You had been planning on staying late, but there’s no way you can analyze today’s data. Review his feed. Replay your conversations. Hear his breathing…
No, you just can’t do it right now. It’s too much.
You do a quick round of the lab, performing a sloppy iteration of your closing procedures, pack up your things, and head out for the day.
Before you do, you decide you might as well round out the horrific deed by doing one last terrible thing.
You pair your personal cell phone to the software and send yourself the erotic recording of Konig.
You’ll start fresh tomorrow, you decide.
————————————————————-
You most certainly did not start fresh tomorrow.
The next few days are a vicious cycle.
Go to work. Review Konig’s simulation footage. Fantasize. Feel guilty. Review raw data. Think about Konig touching himself. Feel aroused. Feel guilty. Rewrite codes. Go home. Watch erotic recording. Feel aroused. Get off.
Feel guilty.
Feel guilty.
Feel guilty.
You can’t help it. You’re out of control, an addict desperate to get their fix, ashamed of their actions but lacking the willpower to quit.
How are you supposed to stop thinking about him when all day at work you’re watching him fight his way through the shoot house, strong hands gripping his gun, and hearing to that laugh?
How can you go home and ignore the recording of him finishing while moaning your name?
You must have replayed it a thousand times. He moaned it like he was begging you, pleading with you. Such a powerful man choking on your name. Even after a full week had passed, it still had the power to excite you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.
Your next meeting with Konig was scheduled for today and if you had to judge solely by the feeling in your gut, you would’ve guessed you had eaten rocks for breakfast. Your brain tells you to flee and fast but your body is promised to these four walls. Your leg bounces as you pick at the fingers that beg for something to do besides type code.
You wanted to call it off. Tell Konig you weren’t feeling well and you’d try again next week. Or maybe hit the bricks entirely. Just walk out of the building and never look back. Forget about everything.
You’re reconsidering your career choices as a steady knock on the lab’s swinging door rips you from your thoughts.
Your wince before you look up, quickly plastering what you hope is a convincing smile on your face.
He catches your eyes through the glass and you notice them crinkle, unable to place an emotion to it. You’d been dreading this moment all week. Even going so far as to avoid looking at his live feed after the incident, just in case you weren’t able to feign the natural responses of hearing his recounts for the ‘first’ time. That in addition to the intrapersonal understanding that you couldn’t handle carrying anymore guilt-rocks in your stomach.
Looking him in the eyes was as hard as you imagined it to be. He pushes open the door and steps in, standing hesitantly near the entrance like he did last week. You notice he has a notepad in one hand, and it looks so comically small compared to his size. Like a giant holding a sticky note. In the other he holds your earpiece in an open palm, as if hesitant to wrap his fingers around it.
It doesn’t help that the first word that left his mouth as he entered the lab was your name. Flashbacks to his sweaty body, shuddering in pleasure as he came all over his rippling muscles grab your attention.
He had followed it up with something, but you had been too distracted to catch it. You close your eyes, touching your hand to your forehead.
You were not doing a very good job hiding your fluster.
“I’m so sorry- what’d you say?” You give a small laugh, partly to ease the tension in your chest and partly at the situation itself. It’s not funny, you know that. It’s terrible. So terribly ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh at yourself for getting yourself into this mess. Your hand follows through the rest of your hair in an effort to soothe yourself before falling back down at your side.
“Good to see you.” He repeats, tilting his head, taking just a few careful steps closer to you. His eyes dart to the side briefly before returning to you, “Is everything okay?”
You give another weak laugh, “Yeah, sorry. Just still in the zone.” You gesture vaguely at scattered papers and devices on the table. You don’t give him a chance to pry further, “How was it?”
He takes a moment to eye you carefully, and you are sure he’s about to call your bluff before he responds, “Remarkable.”
You swallow, breaking eye contact with him again. It’s always been hard for you to accept a compliment. You're hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your cheeks, but you know you have absolutely no right to such a request after what you’ve done.
He clears his throat before he continues, “I promised you I would have feedback. It wasn’t easy.” He holds his notepad up briefly as he steps up to the table to carefully set it down along with your earpiece. You can see from across the table he’s got a few scribbled sentences spaced out on the notepad. You take note of his sloppy handwriting from across the table, before realizing he didn’t write in English.
He looks down at his notes and you’re thankful you have something to stare at that’s not Konig’s eyes or intimidating frame. You’re trying hard not to think about the body filling out his gear. You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him naked that it’s almost strange to see him with his uniform on.
You can tell he takes a deep breath before continuing and you wonder briefly if he’s nervous about sharing his feedback, worried he will hurt your feelings. “You mentioned before that it scans objects?” The end of his sentence lifts, almost like he’s asking you a question, “I think it would be good to make sure that the user is always made aware of landmines. I’m positive it will save lives.”
“Yes, absolutely. That’s a great idea.” You nod as you jot his ideas down on your laptop, a reminder to update your code.
You’re happy to be talking shop. Even happier to be talking about defensive designs instead of offensive ones.
The way he rubs his bicep with his opposing hand triggers a realization. You finally look at his eyes, his still staring down at his notes, and watch him for a moment.
The idea didn’t come from thin air.
You wonder what he saw, what traumatic memories are being replayed behind the downcast eyes to inspire such an idea.
You feel an ache in your chest for him, the desire to alienate his discomfort but unequipped to do so. Instead you look at him, your eyes swollen with sympathy and the corner of your mouth pinched in a frown.
He takes a moment before looking back up at you. He notices your warped expression but misinterprets it, “Am I overstepping?”
Your voice is low and you press a hand to your heart, “No, Konig, not at all. This is very helpful.” You’re not sure what else to say to him. What do you say to a man haunted by the violence he’s witnessed?
The only thing you can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.
You’re not working for the government anymore, you decided. You’re going to work for Konig. To tailor your device with the purpose to save and protect him.
So you stick to the topic at hand. “Any other ideas?” You ask, voice still soft with empathy as you glance down at the notes written in German.
“Uh,” He clears his throat again and touches the back of his neck over his hood, the fabric pulling a bit on the front, “Sometimes when we’re in the heat of things, I can’t always get to my remote.” He gestured to the band on his wrist. “Do you think it would be possible to have voice command?”
Your brain’s mulling over the possibility. You’re surprised you haven’t thought of it yet. You could eliminate the remote entirely, you’re sure your supervisor will be elated with the big savings on material costs. The earpiece already has a microphone for the comm, it wouldn’t be hard for you to configure it to an additional feature.
“Absolutely, voice control. That’s clever.” Your brain is already running with alternatives to the wrist remote as you type his ideas, “Do you go on a lot of missions that require stealth?” It’s easier to make eye contact with him when you’re discussing work. He nods, and you continue, “In addition to voice command, I could also add hand controls, able to identify and respond to the signal you give it - totally silent.” You tap your fingers on the table twice, “The only draw I can think of is having to memorize control signals.”
He thinks it over for a moment and shifts in his spot, “That’s even better.”
“I think it’ll be best to have both.” Your keyboard clicks under your fingers as you enter the ideas coming to you faster than you can get them down.
This is great. I’m not even thinking about-
Stop it.
“These are great, Konig, really. Anything else?”
Your encouragement makes him look away. You follow his stare as it darts to the side and then down to his notes. He places one hand on the table next to the notepad as he leans his weight onto it.
You briefly picture yourself between him and the table, his arm pinning you in as he towers over you, hunched to watch you like you’re his prey, chests so close they’re almost touching.
You quickly push the thought to the side, moving your attention back to your laptop. The only way to survive this meeting is to repress.
Repress your memories of what he looks like with his cock in his hand, arching his hips into the thrusts. Repress the sound of his moans and your name echoing clearly in your brain. Repress the guilt from the breach of privacy to the highest degree.
Please, just until we get through this.
You close your eyes and take a breath to collect yourself while he’s not looking.
He’s got other things written on the notepad, you’re sure. Unless the two ideas he’d already pitched managed to take up the whole page. “No.”
Your brows furrow, the question leaving your mouth without thought, “You’re sure?”
He pauses. You can tell he’s sitting on a thought, but you don’t know what.
“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s just a prototype. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
He straightens his posture before he speaks, “No. That was all I could think of.” He swallows, “If you feel I didn’t make good on my promise, I can fix it.”
“No, no!” You say with urgency, a hand shaking in his direction, “Those ideas you gave me were perfect. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t holding back on me.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I can’t stress how helpful this has been. I’m glad we’re doing this.”
Konig looks at you, those intimidating eyes staring at you from across the table. You wish you could see his face, hoping it would give some insight on what was going through his head. Even if you could you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact.
He knows.
No, he doesn’t, shut up.
“I’ll keep thinking.” He says definitively, like he’s trying to right a wrong.
“You’ve only had it for a week,” you reassure, “Besides, you’ve given me plenty to work with.” You force a smile at him, not even caring how it’s coming off because you’re just hoping not to choke on the tension suffocating the room. You wonder if he feels it too, or if it’s all in your head.
He nods, and you look to your laptop in a futile attempt to thwart the dread suddenly pooling in your stomach. You’re reminded of what you’ve done when he crosses his arms, and your eyes are drawn to the same bicep on the arm that he used to pleasure himself. You’re picturing how it looks under his uniform, comparing it to your filthy reference. Your heart quickens and you can’t help but take in his build, even from across the long lab table. You feel extra small sitting on your stool while he stands, arms still crossed, staring.
The air between you two is definitely weird. Him getting off to probably-not-you and you watching but him not knowing that you know will certainly fill the room with a tension unlike any other.
These drawn-out silences are smothering you, not knowing what goes on being his hood.
He looks disappointed in you.
He knows.
“How can I help you in the meantime?”
You can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. You were planning on taking him back out to shoot house, running a few more simulations, and having him give feedback on a few more overlays.
You scrap that plan, looking forward to expanding on his ideas while your synapses are still firing.
“Well, here’s my thoughts so far. Landmine identification, the coding for that will be easy. The device already has the scanning capability for obscured objects. All I have to do is enable the specific object for full-time recognition. The hard part will be testing. I’ll have to meet with weapons development to develop prop landmines for simulation.”
You glance at the notes on your laptop, “Voice control - easy. Mic’s already installed and all I would have to do is add speech-to-text recognition, repurpose the wrist control coding, and then…testing.” Your hand finds the side of your face as you think it over, “Well, I may need to sample voice lines from you and a couple of your friends…” You loosely gesture with the same hand as you continue, “But there may be workarounds to that. Put a pin in that.” You’re on a roll now, “Now the hand controls - that might be more complicated. I’m thinking I’ll have to start fresh with the hardware.” You look up, “Then again… it already has the scanning capacity. I could probably just teach the current model with software alone. But the coding will take some time to figure out.”
Your eyes find him again. He’s staring and as per usual you can’t decipher it.
“Y’know,” you continue with a smile, “You could help me come up with hand signals?”
He nods.
He doesn’t give you much to work with, does he?
“I’ll need references of your hands. To teach the AI, is that okay?”
He looks down in a way that makes you feel so, so ashamed. If he is hesitant about recordings of just his gloved hands, how would he feel if he found out about what you did? About the video living on your phone?
After a moment he looks back up at you, “I’ll do it.” His voice is stern as usual, always treating everything with importance, with determination.
You give him another shaky smile, “Might be awhile. Wanna sit?”
He pulls up a stool to his end of the table and you instruct him to put his earpiece on as you return to your software on the laptop, trying not to trigger the memory of the last time you watched his feed. You pretend to resync your devices, glad he can’t see your screen. A wave of shame washes over you.
You’re both collaborating for some time, you offering a prompt and him stiffly coming up with a corresponding hand command. You supervise his feed, having him tilt his hands so the AI has references from multiple angles.
The rest of the meeting is professional and you manage to steady your obsessive thoughts as best you can. It’s hard to observe his hands and not think about the video, about what you watched those same hands do.
About how those hands would feel mapping all of the curves of your body.
How they would feel gripping onto your hips as you rode him.
How they would feel sneaking up your thighs, teasing you.
Somehow, you make it.
Once you decide you’ve covered enough references, Konig heads out, and you hope to continue staving off your thoughts by wasting no time on incorporating his ideas into your design. You’re hoping to have a least one rough draft done before next week’s meeting, so you plan on hunkering down and forfeit your Friday night to work overtime.
—————————————————————-
It’s late in the evening, you can tell by how your eyes are burning, strained from staring at your bright screen. You don’t bother to check the actual time. It would just bum you out. Spending your Friday night working. Not that you would have been doing anything partially exciting if you hadn’t. You probably would have just spent your evening analyzing footage anyway, just of a more perverted genre.
When you finally call it quits, the base is barren. Everyone’s gone home or retired to their quarters by now. It’s quiet after the base door shuts behind you, automatic locks clicking into place.
You’re feeling better after today’s meeting with Konig. Somewhere in the previous week you’d convinced yourself that he knew, that at any moment he was going to report you, and at any moment security would bust in the lab to escort you out.
Seeing him again, even though you couldn’t always figure out what he was thinking, reassured you that he hadn’t somehow telepathically figured out your terrible deed. You don’t think he would have bothered to keep helping you, or even be able to look at you without disgust if he did know.
The meeting also re-sparked your feelings of arousal and excitement. The knot in your lower abdomen made its presence known again. So much more desirable than the spiraling guilt. You’ve come to lean into the highs, enjoying it while you can, knowing soon you’ll be feeling nauseous at the thought of yourself.
You don’t know how much longer you can take the rollercoaster. This week has been exhausting. You can’t believe you’ve allowed this man to root himself into your life, seeping into every facet.
Career, personal, sexual, and - well, you’re still in denial about the romantic feelings - but it’s incredibly impressive how this man was capable of fucking your entire life up for the small price of a couple of hours and a few exchanged words.
When you finally get to the privacy of your home, you let out an audible groan. Loud enough to carry but quiet enough to not disturb the neighbors. You just needed to let something out, it was getting frustrating.
You didn’t want to think anymore, you didn’t want to think!
“Long day at work?”
You freeze, and the sound of heavy footsteps fill your ears. Two armed soldiers with fully equipped gear stride from the depth of your home, meeting you at the entrance.
The sight of them alone is enough to intimidate you. You instinctively back against the locked door, your trunk obscuring a hand moving towards the doorknob.
“Tsk, tsk. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”The taller of the two soldiers wears a black balaclava with a skull stitched in, his unimpressed stare drilling into you. You hear a click, and your wide eyes lock on to the gun in his hands, pointing right at your core.
You slowly release the doorknob, raising your shaking hands so they could see your palms.
“That’s good babe,” The other soldier speaks, but you’re too busy staring down the barrel of the gun to worry about it.
“I have to admit I’m a little upset with you,” Skull-face, as you appropriately nicknamed him, speaks as his eyes bore into you, “You kept us waiting a long time.”
He’s got some sort of thick accent laced into his grave voice, they both do, actually, but you’re too busy trying not to piss your pants to be able to place the region of origin.
A lump forms in your throat and you don’t think you‘ve taken a breath since you heard the unfamiliar voice in your home.
It’s violating. Them being here. Where you go after a long day of work to relax. Where you eat, sleep, shower, and just be.
How dare they defile and taint your safe place, where you hide away and pretend the exhausting world around you doesn’t exist?
You’re stuck, unsure of your next move and paralyzed with fear.
“We think you have something we want.”
You’re not sure what they mean, but you nod in compliance anyway. Not much you can say no to against two heavily armed men. You finally break your gaze away from the gun and take turns making frightful eye contact with them. You speak after a failed attempt of swallowing your fear, voice soft and broken, “Take it.”
They exchange a knowing glance with each other, the man with his face exposed bears an irritatingly smug grin.
Skull-face approaches you threateningly, sending fear down your spine and making your skin crawl as you push yourself further into the door. He leaves no room for pleas as he flips his gun around, the stock coming down on your forehead with enough force to knock you out cold.
————————————————————-
Your splitting headache was the first thing you registered when you came to. You can’t seem to concentrate, the fog in your brain so extreme your thoughts are incoherent. You let out a meek whimper as you attempt to open your eyes, the lights in the room stunning you and intensifying the throbbing pain in your skull. You wince, closing your eyes again to block it out.
A few moments pass - and the next thing you notice is the dryness in your mouth, unable to manage a swallow from the dehydration.
Water.
The only intelligible thought you’ve had after registering your discomfort, the instinctual desire stronger than the dizzy haze clouding your brain.
You lift your head, trying to move but your weakened muscles fail you.
Your muscles are weak, yes, but what’s really keeping you in place are the restraints.
You wince again, eyes scrunched to block out the brutal light as you tug to confirm you’re secured. Your wrists were bound behind you, your shoulders overextending around the back of the chair you were planted on. Your ankles bound to either leg of the chair. There’s another restraint wrapping under your arms and around the back of the chair, keeping your upper half upright. There’s a rashy burn underneath the coarse ropes that dug into your skin as your unconscious body leaned into it.
You let out another whimper from the back of your coarse throat. While you weren’t alert, every instinct within you notified you of the danger you were in.
Gotta move.
You try to squint one eye, but it still doesn’t save you from the flash intensity of your headache. Your eyes are stinging on top of it and you realize you’re partially blinded, vision blurred and doubled, stained red with your own blood.
You grit your teach, determined to figure out where you are. You try to concentrate your vision but to no avail.
Even so, you can tell you’re not at home, and you’re not on base.
Once you make your discovery, one that expended what little willpower you had, your eyes clench back shut, desperate to alleviate the migraine.
A secondary location, you thought to yourself through the pain, I’m fucked.
You can’t hear anything, the ringing in your ears deafening you.
You let out one more defeated whine before resting your chin on your chest, pinching your eyes closed.
You have no idea how long you drift in and out of consciousness for. During the brief moments you come to, you’re so disoriented you can’t make sense of your thoughts, and that coupled with the debilitating pain in your head is unnerving enough to make you cry tears of pure confusion.
It’s your neck snapping back to follow the hair yanking on your scalp that jolts you awake, and try to open your eyes to find the threat but they’re still not working as they should. Underneath the debilitating ringing, you can hear the sound of muffled male voices, unable to make out what they’re saying.
You gave up.
You were wounded & trapped, and in nature that meant a death sentence. You were in no shape to properly defend yourself. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
You were as done as the toast made from your own designs.
After wincing, your eyes screwed shut, you go limp and give in to the man physically controlling you like a sadistic puppeteer.
The muffled voices are louder, you still can’t make out their words but you can tell they’re having some sort of argument. They’re yelling at each other, and your scalp becomes collateral as the one tightens his grip on your hair to match his escalated volume
He’s right in your ear now and it’s not helping with the headache.
Just hurry it up, You manage through the haze, just hurry it up and put me out of my misery.
He throws your head forward to the position it was in before, slumped over as much as the ropes would allow with your chin pointed to the ground. The force rattles your skull in a way that makes you see a searing white behind your eyelids. What little water you had left in you was escaping through your swollen eyes lids and down tear-stained cheeks.
Just kill me, please.
——————————————————-
When you come to again, you’re no longer sitting. You’re flat on your back. Your neck secured so your head is in line with your spine. Your headache takes the front stage but the pain has noticeably subsided. You try to open your eyes again, but the lights above you are still excruciating.
You let out a low moan and shut your eyes again.
Your ears still ring, but a good portion of your hearing has returned to you. You hear your name, followed by, “are you awake?”
You grunt in response, unable to form sentences.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
You wince, trying to shake your head but unable. Instead, you grunt again before parting your lips. You tried to say, “Lights,” but your voice is so hoarse it comes out broken and cracked.
“What is it?”
You try and clear your throat, putting all your power into your strained voice, “Lights.”
They understand, and while you still can’t hear the flick of the switch, you can tell from behind your eyelids they’ve been shut off.
You try to mutter a “Thank you,” but give up a quarter of the way through.
You slowly open your eyes, still burning but blood wiped away from them. Your vision is still blurry, but no longer doubled.
“Do you remember what happened?”
You try to shake your head, but can’t. So you force a weak, “No.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“No.”
“Do you know what today’s date is?”
You just grunt, closing your eyes again. You didn’t know the answer but you were too fed up with the questions to respond.
“Can you see?”
You grunt again.
“Okay, how ‘bout this? Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”
You try to lift your arm in the direction of the voice but your action is cut short, your arm jerked still by a restraint on your wrist. You open and close your fingers slowly at the maximum range the restraint will allow.
“How ‘bout your toes?”
Your toes move slightly, your calves aching at even such a mild movement.
“Good, thank you. How’s the hearing?”
Kill me or leave me alone, you think.
You eventually freeze the owner of voice out, finally leaving you alone to rest.
The next few days are a miserable, confusing blur. Somewhere along the way you’re informed you’re in medical, being treated for your extreme concussion. No skull fracture, thankfully, but they suspect the bruising is severe if it was enough to knock you unconscious.
The concussion had scrambled you good, and you were not nearly as sharp as you usually are.
It took you a whole five days, not that you could keep track of the passing time, before you realized that you were not at medical on your base.
You were in medical, restrained to a hospital bed-
in enemy care.
————————————————————
There was nothing you could do. Restrained to your bed, sedated with painkillers when they thought you were becoming too active.
“To help you rest.” They told you, but you couldn't trust a word that came out of their mouths.
Medics are supposed to be neutral, bound to an ethical code to heal the injured, enemy or not. That didn’t stop some medics from harboring grudges after years of patching up their own soldier’s brutal wounds of war.
The next time the medicine wears off for a long amount of time, with no medics in sight, you conveniently get visitors, the soldiers that had visited you in your home.
The events had been beaten out of you, but the traumatic event had seeped somewhere deeper into your psyche, and you knew deep down you were in trouble at the mere sight of them.
Skull-face especially, you don’t know how or why, but your intuition tells you he’s responsible for this. “Ready to answer some questions? Or do you need me to put you back to sleep?”
You can tell by the sharp edge in his voice he doesn’t mean the painkillers.
“Maybe I’d be able to answer your questions if you hadn’t given me brain damage.” Your patience is running thin, and an ember ignites a flame inside you, “Who knows what information you knocked out of me.” You stare directly into his eyes, brows furrowed, the tone of your voice inviting trouble in.
He already took everything away from you. At this point you don’t care if he puts you under. You’re begging him too. Every time you wake up you just want to go back to sleep. You don’t want to deal with it, any of it.
Skull-face makes a move to advance but the maskless soldier stops him by putting an arm out, laying it firmly across his to hold him back.
You don’t flinch, eyes now staring down the soldier with a stubbled jaw and a mohawk that ended in a widow's peak. It’s a haircut you find highly unusual for a soldier.
Your face doesn’t crack, but you squint at the pair, “What do you even want to know? I don’t even work on the field, I have no information.”
Skull-face looks down at you, “Oh, we know.” That stupid accent and that stupid mask. If you weren’t restrained you think you would have launched at him, risking it all to get a few good scratches in with your fingernails. He reaches into his pocket and your eyes widen and your brows retract at what he pulls out.
Not a weapon, no.
It’s your design, the AI-powered earpiece, and your wrist remote.
Skull-face notices the realization that sets across your face, “Awh, looks like your memory is working fine after all.”
The flame inside you laps at your skin, your features flushing with anger. A lot at Skull-face, for being such a cocky prick, but mostly at yourself.
You did this yourself. You figured your day of reckoning would come eventually. That karma would bite you in the ass, and those who are affected by your designs will stand by and laugh at your demise.
You should have just stuck with redesigning kitchen appliances.
“Why don’t you show us what you’ve been cooking up, huh? We know you’ve been busy.”
The pair share another knowing glance, Mohawk snickering at your expense.
“How did you get that?” You ask through gritted teeth, knowing there’s no way they could have gotten into the highly secured base.
“What is it?” Skull-face asks.
“It’s an intercom.” You grit, the ache in your head pulsing. You miss the painkillers.
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
Mohawk steps in, “It’s okay, we all get embarrassed about our porn.”
You furrow your brows at him.
What the hell was he talking about?
Skull-face elbows him in the side, but it doesn’t keep his partner from smiling, “What is it?” He asks again.
“It’s an intercom.”
He’s getting sick of this game and he goes to step to you again but Mohawk cuts him short. “Ghost!” He says firmly.
Ghost, that was Skull-faces name. Or call sign, at least. You hated him, but you’d wished the other soldier would just let him at you. You didn’t care anymore.
Mohawk looks at you, “Look, there’s only so much I can do,” gesturing to Ghost, “Can’t we all just get along for a little bit, yeah?”
“How about you get along with deez nuts.” You laugh at your dumb joke, a laugh influenced by the daze of concussion and painkillers. You’re in hysteria, the laugh spills out and doesn’t let up. A release of built-up stress and frustration and anger that seeped out uncontrollably. Cackling at yourself for ending up in this situation. Only you would be capable of such hijinks. The laugh leaves you out of breath and with eyes full of tears. You don’t even care how it exacerbates the headache, or how you’re coming off as insane. It feels too good to let out the pent-up emotions, one way or another.
Your elation is cut short with a squeak as a gloved hand cuts harshly into your trachea. Ghost squeezes, roughly lifting you by the neck before shoving you back down on the hospital bed, his grip tighter than before. His voice is low and filled with caution, “I am getting sick of you.”
If you could breathe enough to talk, you’d tell him the feeling’s mutual. Instead you gag and sputter, which he takes as a sign that you are still getting air, and forces more of his weight onto your neck.
Your hands fail to defend yourself, the restraints holding you from fighting back. You’re getting close to blacking out, your laugh having already knock most of the wind out of you, but Mohawk pulls Ghost off of you, his hands firm on Ghost’s shoulders, “Stop! Stop.”
You involuntarily gasp, desperate for air, trying not to choke on your own spit. For a moment all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, flowing desperately to replace what Ghost restricted.
“Come on, last try.” He warns, and you can tell in your voice he means it.
You eye him carefully, still heaving for air. When you collect yourself, you speak, “I’ll show you.” You say, voice weak and breathy. You try to hold out your hand, but get stopped by the restraints.
Mohawk glances at Ghost, but Ghost keeps his stern eyes trained on you. He stays still for a moment, studying you with his arms crossed.
You roll your eyes, your chest still huffing as you reclaim your air, “Don’t trust me? Fine. I’ll walk you through it. Put the fucking bracelet on.”
He stares for another moment before taking the device from Mohawk. Must of handed it off so he could strangle you better.
He puts it on his wrist.
“Now tap the top.”
He follows your instructions, the wrist remote’s projection displaying above his wrist.
“Go ahead and open your settings.” You guide him through it, activating a few select overlays. “You got it. Now put the earpiece on.”
Ghost hesitates, looking over to his companion before he slowly reaches up underneath his balaclava, attaching the earpiece.
“Yep, and while you’re in there, go ahead and hit the button on the base.”
You watch as your design activates, displaying the transparent overlay over his eyes. He’s taken aback, unnerved by the unidentified design being so close to his vulnerable eyes.
“Ta-da!” You say sarcastically, showing off the full range of the restraints as you offer weak jazz hands. “So I’ve given you some information. Maybe you can give me a little information, yeah?”
He doesn’t say anything as he removes his hand from his mask.
“Where am I?” You ask.
“You know where you are.”
“How’d you find me?”
“We tracked your cell phone.”
You squint, “Why were you tracking my phone?” It doesn’t make any sense, there’s no way they would have been able to pin your cell phone information back to base. You don’t use it for work and there’s no way you had connected to the private Wi-Fi. It’s apples and oranges, you think.
Mohawk steps in front of Ghost and holds out his phone in your direction. It takes a moment for the image to come into view, your vision still impaired. When your eyes adjust, the screen shows you something that makes your blood turn cold.
It’s the video of Konig jerking off.
“Okay! Okay.” You wave your hands, “Just put that away, I get it.”
When you connected your phone to your software to transfer the recording of Konig, it briefly connected to your laptop.
Base internet has state-of-the-art firewalls and encryptions to prevent surveillance, hack-in, key logs.
Cell phones do not.
So they’ve been tracking you all week, and who knows what kind of information they were able to pull from your software? From your laptop, containing dozens of government secrets?
No, you think, they wouldn’t be going through the trouble of keeping me alive if they had the information on my laptop.
“What’s the matter? Embarrassed that gettin’ your rocks off caused a security breach in confidential information regarding warfare development?” Mohawk mocks.
Well, yes you were, now that he mentions it. You’re actually very worried your perverted little stunt will somehow end up forever immortalized in history books.
In the moment, though, your main concern was making sure that Konig wouldn’t find out, as you had started transmitting the device’s feed to him as soon as Ghost turned the earpiece on.
Part Three
#könig cod#könig mw2#konig x you#konig x reader#call of duty#fic#smut#konig fic#modern warefare ii#konig#konig call of duty#könig call of duty#könig#konig modern warfare#konig mw2#experimental#x reader#uhohwriting
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