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metallicaislife · 6 months

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A Steamy Halloween

A/N: I am so bad at flirting irl and that translates into my writing I'm so sorry hahahahah I think what happens after makes up for it thoughhhh 😏

Requested by : Anon

Genre: 18+ Smut, minors dni

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, m x f pairing

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride there?” Kirk asked for the third time over the phone.

“Yes, I’m running behind a little bit so I’ll just see you when I get there, okay? Plus, it’s not that far from my house. A short walk won’t kill me.” I said holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I applied the deep red lipstick.

“Fine, I’ll see you there.” He finally relented.

“See ya.” I said quickly and hung up the phone.

I took my time with finishing touches of my costume.

I entered the party, greeting a few people. I was on a mission to find my best friend though. When my eyes landed on him, I was surprised to see he was already looking at me. I made my way over to him.

“If you spotted me why didn’t you say anything?” I asked folding me arms. He finally snapped out of whatever spell he was under.

“I.. uh sorry. Um, nice costume.” He said swallowing hard. Internally I smirked, I was in a short leather dress that accentuated my body perfectly, and a pair of platform heels.

“Thanks.” I smiled showing off my fangs, tried and true sexy vampire for the win. “Are you a ghoul?” I asked. His eyes were surrounded by black paint and contoured his face to give it that hollow look.

“Bingo.” He replied with finger guns. What a dork. My favorite dork though.

“Anything fun going on here?” I asked, finally taking the seat next to him.

“Not really. But it’s still early.” He shrugged.

“You’re forgetting who’s throwing the party, my guy. If it was me there’d be games but it looks like all this is, is a costume mingle.” I huffed.

“Wanna give it a while longer then get outta here?” He asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

We got up and talked with some of the other party goers. I was right though, all these people were interested in talking, no drinking games, kissing games, you know a normal party.

About a half an hour later, my eyes met Kirk’s and I gave him the signal we concocted to give the other when we wanted to leave a situation. Kirk nodded and we met at the front door.

We walked to his car in silence. He opened the door for me.

“Thanks.” I said sliding in and buckling up. He walked around getting in.

“Where to?” He asked, starting his car.

“I’m hungry, are you?” I asked as I fidgeted with my hair.

“Yeah, the diner okay?” He offered our usual spot to eat.

“Always.” I replied.

The diner was on the other side of town. Music played softly over the radio. Kirk has been my best friend since grade school, but sometimes it felt like he was my boyfriend except without the perks of kissing among other things. Things that I thought of more often than I would ever admit. Sometimes I flirt with him just to see his reaction. He does the same though. It’s like we’re stuck in this vicious cycle of seeing how far we can push that boundary. Feeling confident in my costume and the reaction he gave from seeing me in it I decided tonight would be a good night to push that boundary button.

“You know, if the party turned into a make out party I’d have let you kiss me.” I said. I was serious, but I kept my tone light. I looked at him, his nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything so I kept going. “I would have even let you touch me.” I said dropping my voice to sound sexy.

“You talk an awful lot for someone who won’t actually do anything.” Kirk snapped as he clenched the steering wheel. My mood soured and I quickly snapped back.

“You’re one to talk.”

I jolted in my seat, the seat belt tightened, not letting me go far.

“What the hell, Kirk!” I exclaimed.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled the car over and parked where there weren’t many cars or foot traffic.

“Get in the back seat.” He said in a dark tone.

“What?” I asked, looking at him. His eyes met mine, there was a fire I’d never seen before.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He warned. My eyes widened as warmth pooled low in my belly. I fumbled a bit as I unbuckled and got out of the car sliding into the back seat. My heart thrummed in anticipation. Moments later Kirk followed suit and got out of the driver's seat and entered the back. He locked us in. His demeanor broke a little and he said, “if you don’t want to do this, tell me to stop.”

He scooted closer and I moved so I could crawl onto his lap straddling him.

“I want you to fuck me.” I said. The fire returned in his eyes and our lips met in a deep kiss that I felt in my toes.

Years of imagining this moment, and it was something so much more than I could have ever wished for. His hands gripped me tightly as I tangled my fingers in his hair.

I grinded down on him feeling him begin to harden. He pulled away and started sloppily kissing my neck as I continued grinding against him. My dress was riding up and his warm palms ran up and down my thighs as he found my sweet spot and bit down. I moaned as my hands explored the planes of his chest through his shirt. I found the hem and began lifting it up and he pulled back enough to let me help him take it off. I immediately dove in kissing and nipping at his chest. His hands kneaded my ass then he began to lift me. It was a bit cramped but he managed to maneuver us so I was laying across the back seat, my feet planted on the seat knees up. My dress was bunched up to my stomach. Kirk knelt as he rubbed his hands over my legs. His pupils were blown, lips swollen. He looked hot as fuck. His hands traveled further until he was at the top of my panties. He began pulling them down and I shifted my hips up so he could take them off. He shoved them into his back pocket. He ran his fingers through my folds eliciting a moan from my throat. He slipped a finger in, then another, using his thumb to rub my clit.

“Oh fuck… don’t stop.” I moaned. He smirked.

“Does it feel good?” He asked.

“S’good.” I moaned louder as I got closer to my release. I squirmed as I came, a slew of curse words leaving my lips.

“So fucking sexy.” Kirk commented. He pulled his dick out of his pants rubbing my release over it. My hooded eyes met his eyes as he moved closer. He rubbed the tip over my clit, I whined.

“Want you in me.” I breathed out. He aligned himself with me and thrust in. He let out a groan.

“Thought about this for so long. Gonna fuck you so good you won’t get off to anyone’s cock but mine.” He said, and I believed him. The windows were fogging as he began pistoning his hips, our breathing heavy. He paused for a moment to lift my hips and resumed, I screamed as he hit my g-spot. The car shook with each thrust. I came again, my eyes rolling back. He continued dragging out my pleasure before pulling out, he fisted his dick and came on my stomach. He lowered my hips and rested his forehead on my knee. After a while in silence regaining our breath he sat up tucking himself back into his pants.

“Stay there.” He said and got out going to the passenger door. I heard him rummage about the glovebox before coming back around to kneel between my legs. He had napkins and tenderly cleaned my stomach.

“Thank you.” I croaked, my throat hoarse from screaming.

He smiled and helped me sit up bringing my dress back down to cover me. I got out of the backseat and he rushed around to open the passenger door. He stopped me before I got in and kissed me, I immediately kissed him back. He pulled away, a goofy grin on his face.

I got in and we resumed our voyage to the diner.

When we got there, Kirk opened the diner door for me, following behind and softly resting his hand on the small of my back.

We were led to a booth and sat across from each other. I ordered fries and soda, while Kirk got a salad.

“Do you want to go back to my place after and watch Halloween?” Kirk asked. I munched on a fry and nodded.

“Can we watch Creature from the Black Lagoon after that?” I asked.

“Of course.” He replied with a smile.

We fell into comfortable conversation. Part of me wondered how the dork in front of me was the same one from 20 minutes ago that absolutely rocked my world.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

#metallica x reader #metallica #metallica imagines #metallica scenarios #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett #metallica smut #kirk hammett smut

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 11 months

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Pregnancy

Summary: The reader finds herself pregnant and fear rises as she realizes she has to tell her partner, Matthew.

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler x Female Reader

Content: No swearing; mention of periods, morning sickness, pregnancy & describing pregnancy; fear of rejection and abandonment; soft Matthew & good ending! If there are any other warnings you'd prefer I add please mention them in the notes!

Wordcount: 1k>

Enjoy!

Matthew was great with children. He absolutely adored kids and couldn't wait to have his own someday. So when you realized you may be with child, you couldn't wait to take a test and announce the possible news. But at the same time, even with Matthew's positive attitude towards being a father, you were still terrified to tell him. You knew you had to tell him soon. He was very attentive to your cycle. He always gave you extra cuddles and made no excuses for late-night convenience store trips to settle your cravings, so when you went too long without complaining about your period, he would know something was different.

So when your period didn't come on its usual date and you had random flashes of nausea in the mornings, you decided to buy a few at-home pregnancy tests. You did all three and let them sit for the needed amount of time for the result to show. The dreaded five minutes felt like a lifetime. It took every ounce of restraint in your body to not check them before the timer went off. All three were positive. You were overjoyed that you were pregnant, but the fear of rejection and abandonment soon crept up.

Shaking as you sat on the toilet, all three positive tests in your hands, you went over your options in your head. Terminating the pregnancy was an option, but you had both been wanting to start a family for years, and you didn't want to waste this opportunity.

After almost half an hour and many warm tears down your cheeks, you decided to break the news to Matthew once he arrived home from set today. You look down at your watch, the miniature clock reading four o’clock. He should be home anytime soon.

You begin to tidy up the house a bit and made something to eat for when Matthew arrives home. You caught yourself holding your stomach, imagining it round with your child. You reminisce about the memories and love that went into creating such a beautiful thing. You imagine Matthew pressing his lips against your swollen stomach, whispering heartfelt words to your unborn child and murmuring against your lips how much of a wonderful mother you are going to be once your little bundle of joy is ready to come out.

You hear the door swing open and Matthew's loud voice reverberates throughout the house. “Guess who!” You straighten yourself out, take a deep breath in and slowly let it out before greeting him at the entrance. “It’s me, Gube,” he jokes, taking you by the waist and kissing you. “Hey, babe,” he smiles.

You notice his arm hidden behind his back and he whips a bouquet of flowers from behind himself. “What are these for?” you ask with a smile. “I saw them on my way home and they reminded me of you,” he explains. “My pretty girl deserves some pretty flowers.” This small gesture helps put you at ease and calms your nerves. “I love them,” you smile as you take them to the kitchen to put them in a vase. Once you place the flowers in a nice spot in the sun, you ask Matthew to sit down.

“Oh, sure. What’s up?” he asks. Now he was the nervous one. You sit down on the vintage upholstered loveseat in the living room. You try to muster up the courage and the words to explain the situation, but all that comes out are unconfident words and tears. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, baby? You know you can trust me,” Matthew whispers as he wraps an arm around you. You wipe away the small tears and take another affirming breath.

“You, um- You know how you love kids, and say that you always wanted to be a father?” Matthew knew exactly what you meant. “Are you… Wait are you pregnant?” you nod at his question and watch as the biggest smile appears on his face.

“Oh, baby,” he kisses you like he hadn't seen you in years, like a lover away at war. “Baby, we’re- Oh. we’re having a baby, a- a baby!” You had never seen him this happy before. “We’re having a baby,” you confirm, and he kisses you again, and again, and again. Youre surprised his lips werent chapped from how many times he kissed you.

“When did you find out?” Matthew asks as his hand instinctively lands on your stomach, gently rubbing the bump-less flesh. “Today, just before you got home. I was scared, but I couldn't wait to tell you,” you explain. He kisses your cheeks, then your forehead. “Oh, love. There was no reason to be scared. I Love you and I will love you until I’m dead and when this earth ceases to exist. And I love our baby, even if they aren't here yet. If they're even an ounce similar to you, I will love them forever.”

You knew Matthew was the romantic type, but you had never seen him like this. You knew he was going to be a great father, and you couldn’t wait a minute more.

#fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg x reader #mgg imagine #mgg x y/n #matthew gray gubler x reader

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unholycringebirther · 1 year

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john doe with a gn partner with bad period pains?

JOHN DOE X GN!READER [PERIOD HC’S/SCENARIO]

SUMMARY: You’ve got some mighty bad period pain, but both luckily and unfortunely, John’s right there to help!

WARNINGS: PERIOD PAINS, MINORS DNI

WORDS: 1,266

A/N: Friendly reminder from a real-life enby, periods aren’t just for women! I get a period, and I am a very proud Bigender individual, Trans-men get periods, and those are %100 without a singe doubt, real men, if you still think otherwise, get the fuck off my blog. :)

HC’S:

-Oh, he’d be so very worried about you! Especially if you, rightfully of course, are loud about your displeasure, he’d be hovering anxiously over you for hours.

-He’ll get anything you want him too, although he really has no idea what he’s doing, and will likely get most orders wrong, you’ll be seeing a example of that soon.

-Doesn’t like leaving you alone, his separation anxiety is already horrible on a good day, but when you’re in pain? In discomfort? He’ll cling to you like the world is ending, and honestly, if you’re in pain it does feel like his world is ending.

-He’ll give you lots of snuggles and whatnot, he’s usually quite touchy but he’ll only worsen during this week, especially if you’re cramping, but since he smells wet and raw you’re enjoyment could vary.

-You’ll notice his hair will move to try and smother you while he cuddles you, almost like it’s alive..

-Since he can’t cook, you could convince him to let you go for just a few minutes to go grab some takeout, he’ll be reluctant to leave but if you’re starving, well that comes first, but expect him to bring home something extremely strange.

-He talks a lot, but with while he frets and panics over you, it’ll become almost babbling, sometimes completely incoherent as he violently worries about you.

-His body is weirdly warm and cold at the same time, so if you’re looking to warm up or cool off, he might be able to help.

-If you’re like me and sweat a lot during cramps, don’t expect the sheets to be changed, he absolutely loves how your natural odour smells, though he’ll (very begrudgingly) change and wash them for you if you have a leak-through.

SCENARIO:

You moaned, clutching the heat pack to your uterus as the warmth of it starts to dwindle.

Its a tight pain, your uterus tensing achingly as you hunch more into yourself, sweat and tears of excretion building on your skin and in your eyes as a sharp stab shoots throughout your stomach.

Sounds of pain escape your mouth despite yourself, and you try to keep it quiet since your boyfriend was asleep in the other room.

It was a rare occurrence, you figured out as much when you awoke every morning to his comically large eyes staring down at you, small hearts in those even smaller pupils.

It was the only time you got some relief from his presence, not that you didn’t love your eldritch lover, but with his constant clinging and presence pressed against you, stemmed from his separation anxiety, it could get a little suffocating at times, something John didn’t seem to really understand.

He only went to sleep after you assured him you weren’t going anywhere, and that everything was fine, and his grip was tight when you tried to shimmy out of it.

It was true— everything started out fine, your stomach felt a little off but you figured it was because you hadn’t eaten yet, but shortly after you felt the tell-tale feeling of a wetness between your legs.

It lead you to laying in your bed, clutching your now empty stomach as you’d already thrown up the contents, your warm bed helped soothe your tensed muscles where the heat pack couldn’t, and your arm thrown over your eyes protected them from the light streaming through the window.

It was time to roll over onto your back, your right side getting sore where you rested all your weight on it, its been a cycle of side to back to other side for about half an hour now.

With a grunt of effort, you adjusted onto your back, the light trying to burn your retinas now removed, you remove your arm from your eyes.

You jerked violently when you met familiar wide eyes, staring down at you in concern, and if the unblinking gaze wasn’t enough to convince you of his worry, in your peripheral vision his shirt had shifted to a frowning face, how’d he even get in without you noticing?!

It was hard to see the frowning shirt as he was leaned in so close, his face only inches from yours, and because of that, you’re glad when he kept his voice down when he spoke, as a shout might’ve burst you eardrums.

“Dearest, you look so sad! Did somebody upset you?! Tell me who, tell me tell me tell me tellmetellmetellmtell—“

He was gripping your shoulders, panic and upset at your clear discomfort, the frown on his shirt melting downwards in the midst of his stress.

“John, calm down.” Your voice was a little gravelly even to your own ears, rumbling out more than you’re use too, and its only once you move to grip his shoulders does he stop babbling, “Its just period cramps, don’t—!“

You inhaled through your nose, you curl into yourself slightly when your stomach almost lurches at the stab in your uterus, and a small wail leaves your mouth.

You can feel John scramble, clutching desperately at you as his anxiety spiked, he didn’t like seeing you in any pain, and was always quick to remove anything or anyone causing you any sort of sting.

“Love!“ his voice grew in volume, and the air around you shifted, dropping in temperature with his worry, you tried to pull yourself together the best you could, the heat pack you’re clutching now ice-cold like the room around you.

“Fuuu.. I’m alright, ergh,” your noises didnt convince him, and his four fingers are still holding onto your shoulders tightly, he’s even more tense than you are, “Can you just, ugh, heat up my pack? It’ll help.”

He snatches up the rice-filled bag you hand to him, eager to help, though you can see how reluctant he was to leave you, rushing off to the kitchen.

You relaxed back into the bed, you and the sheets surrounding you probably stunk of sweat, but fear not, you knew for a fact you’d find John burying his nose in them later, proclaiming how good you smelt, you didn’t know which was more embarrassing.

John might be clingy, reliant and a little odd, but he truly did care, always trying his hardest to please you and make you happy despite not understanding that most people don’t want to be gifted organs, he tried.

You loved him, and he made it quite obvious how much he loved you back, his sharp yellow teeth always bared in a grin whenever his large eyes were on you, and they were always on you, whether you realise it or not.

And you kept that swirling in the back of your mind when the sound of the fire alarms blare, your stomach cramps painfully when you jump up from bed.

Running through the door, you hunched over and kept your arm around your uterus as you made way to the kitchen, desperately searching for your boyfriend.

And there he was, unharmed thankfully, leaned over a sizzling frying pan, your heat pack catching fire where it rested against the smouldering metal, the smoke wafting straight into the alarm on the roof.

“Dearest!” He cried while he turned to you, ignoring the newly-fiery heat pack cooking like an egg, “What’re you doing up?—“

He cut himself off with a loud, feral hiss when water shot down from the roof, he launched for any sort of cover from the offensive roof rain while making deranged cat noises.

Maybe next time, you should just suck it up and get it yourself, less you want your house burnt down.

#john doe x reader #john doe x you #john doe game #john doe horror game #john doe

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dystopicjumpsuit · 6 months

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No Sleep Till Coruscant

A/N: Written for the lovely @kimiheartblade. You know what you did 💙💙💙

Pairing: Captain Rex x Fem!Reader (reader has insomnia and hair that is long enough to pin up)

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3k (Look, this was supposed to be 500 words. I had to stop somewhere. If people enjoy it, I’ll write another chapter.)

Warnings and tags: fluff; a little awkwardness/secondhand embarrassment; bumps up against consent issues due to power dynamics (Rex is the ranking officer, but the reader makes the first move and definitely wants this); SMUT with feelings; hair touching; talk of masturbation; heavy petting; suggestive dialogue; Rex touches the reader’s neck and throat, but there is no choking

Summary: You can’t sleep. You ask Rex to help you relax.

Suggested listening:

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“Can’t sleep?” The deep, familiar voice rumbled close to your ear, and you knew without looking who it belonged to. He may have shared a voice with millions of other clones, but his was the only one that made your skin prickle with awareness.

You tore your eyes away from the Venator viewport as your captain stepped up next to you. You hadn’t even heard his approach, and his ability to move in total stealth while wearing half his body weight in armor and kama never failed to amaze you. His dark eyes traced your features a little too observantly, and you shook your head without speaking, turning back to the viewport and hoping he hadn’t been able to read your expression too closely.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“No more than usual,” you replied with a shrug. “I’ve never been very good at sleeping.��

“I guess we all have our faults,” he smiled. “I was wondering what yours was.”

“I suppose there are worse fatal flaws than insomnia.”

His lips quirked in a tiny smile, and he turned toward the viewport to gaze with you at the hypnotic blue swirl of hyperspace. After a few moments, he spoke again, quietly.

“Probably easier to fall asleep if you’re actually in your bunk instead of standing on the bridge hours after your shift ends.”

“Probably,” you acknowledged.

“Do I have to make it an order?”

You smiled. “I wish it were that easy. You could just comm me before bed every night and order me to go to sleep, and I’d have no choice but to comply. Insomnia cured by the power of the legendary Captain Rex.”

He turned his head minutely, and even without seeing it, you could feel his scrutiny. “Worth a try. Come on. I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

It wasn’t a request, so you fell into step next to him as the two of you proceeded down the silent halls of the Venator. You didn’t speak at first, content to walk with him in companionable silence. The majority of the ship was on sleep cycle, and the few troopers you passed merely nodded and continued about their business.

“What’s your excuse—”

“Got plans for shore—”

You and Rex spoke at the same moment, then stopped abruptly with quiet laughs.

“After you, Captain,” you said.

“Just wondering if you had plans when we get back to Coruscant for shore leave,” he said.

“Probably going to lie awake and wish I could sleep for most of it,” you admitted. “You?”

“I don’t think you quite grasp the ‘rest’ half of R & R,” he observed.

“Right, because you’re one to talk, Captain ‘Duty Never Sleeps,’” you teased.

“I never said that,” Rex objected.

“But you’re probably saving it to drop on the next batch of shinies they bring us, aren’t you?”

His chuckle was so quiet you barely heard it. “What were you going to ask?”

“I was just curious what your excuse was for being awake in the middle of the sleep cycle,” you said.

“Duty never sleeps,” he said solemnly.

“I walked right into that, didn't I?” you laughed, allowing yourself the tiny indulgence of nudging him with your shoulder. Not that it did you any good; you couldn't even feel him beneath the cold plastoid armor, and all you got for your effort was a sore shoulder.

Far too quickly, you reached your quarters, pausing outside the door. You didn't want to go inside, if you were honest with yourself. There was nothing in that room except an empty bed and four empty, gray walls that stared back at you through every endless, agonizing hour that you lay awake. Rex, too, seemed unsure of what to do now that you'd reached your destination. He fidgeted subtly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked on impulse. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you hastened to add, “For safety, you know. If you order me to go to sleep, and it actually works, it would probably be best if I'm close to the bunk. That way I don't fall and hit my head or something…”

You trailed off, realizing you were rambling.

“Good point,” he said, his eyes flicking almost imperceptibly down to your lips. “Wouldn't want to have a medical emergency.”

“Kix would never forgive us for the extra paperwork,” you agreed, keying in your door code and motioning him into the room.

As the door slid shut behind you, Rex asked, “Speaking of Kix, have you talked to him about your trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah. He gave me some pills that made me wake up in the morning with no memory of walking to the mess hall and making a grilled cheese sandwich while the cooking droid yelled at me for entering a restricted zone. I never bothered to try them again.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Rex said dryly. “How was the sandwich?”

“Apparently I threw it in the trash without tasting it. Damned waste of cheese, if you ask me.”

“If it was GAR cheese, you did the galaxy a service,” he said.

“When can I expect my commendation?” you asked.

“Best I can do is a heartfelt thank you.”

Your eyes crinkled with amusement, and Rex smiled, looking rather adorably pleased with himself at having made you laugh. You scrambled for a clever reply, but nothing came to mind, and the silence stretched out until it became awkward.

At last, you managed, “I'd offer you a seat, but the only option is the bunk.”

Rex looked away. “I should probably go, anyway. Will you be able to sleep?”

Suddenly possessed by unprecedented audacity, you murmured, “If I say no, will you sing me a lullaby?”

Rex drew in a quiet breath and stepped closer to you. “How often is it like this for you? How often do you lie awake, tossing and turning?”

“Every night,” you confessed.

“And what do you usually do when you can't sleep?” Something shifted in his tone, his words coming out low and husky.

Your tongue darted out to moisten your dry lips, and this time, there was no mistaking the way his eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I—I'm not sure I should say,” you rasped.

He dragged his gaze away from your lips at last, looking up into your eyes. “You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“Then… Will you tell me?” he asked.

“Sometimes, I take matters into my own hands.”

His eyes locked with yours, his gaze sharp and intense. “You…”

You nodded. “Sometimes it works.”

“When was the last time it worked?” His words were quiet and rough, his eyes dark as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“Last night,” you admitted breathlessly. “Probably why there's no way I'll be able to sleep tonight.”

“What did you do?” he whispered.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, you began, “If I describe it to you, will you—”

His eyes widened as you paused, tongue-tied. “Do you want me to… Touch you? The way you tell me?”

You nodded, your entire body feeling like it was aflame. Hearing him put it so bluntly, you understood the magnitude of your suggestion. This was such a mistake. What was I thinking?! Asking a superior officer to—to—Asking Rex—Rex! Of all people—to touch me like that! I must finally be losing my mind.

Before you could backpedal, though, he slowly pulled off his gloves and dropped them on your nightstand. Your breath shuddered to a halt as you realized you'd never seen his hands without gloves before. In fact, this was the most exposed you'd ever seen the captain: helmet and gloves removed, yet still covered in armor. You felt like a swooning maiden in some overwrought period holodrama, having a fit of the vapours at the tiniest sliver of skin.

“How did you start?” he asked, stepping forward into your space.

Force, has he always been this big? You felt acutely conscious of the bulk of his armor, his pauldrons so broad that it seemed like all you could see was white and blue plastoid. When you met his eyes, though, you saw something else: a searing heat that burned away all your doubts—a hunger that made your blood race in your veins.

“I started with my hair,” you replied, your voice noticeably hoarse.

He moved slowly and very deliberately, raising his hand to the back of your head. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he carefully and meticulously removed every single pin holding your hair in its tidy, regulation bun. You felt your hair loosen as he pulled them out one at a time, making sure not to drop any, and when he finished, he set them in a neat pile next to his gloves on your nightstand.

He threaded his fingers into your hair, combing out the remnants of your bun, until your hair tumbled freely down around your face. He touched the locks gently, not tugging on them in the slightest: simply feeling the texture and brushing them softly out of your eyes.

“What did you do next?” he asked in a low voice.

“I touched my face. My cheeks,” you whispered, “and my lips.”

He tucked your hair back carefully before his fingers grazed your skin. The first brush of skin on skin was electric, and you stifled a gasp. His thumb traced the line of your cheekbone as his fingertips curved under your jaw. His touch was light and gentle, his hand blissfully warm in contrast with the cool, recycled air of the starship, and you swayed slightly closer to him, leaning your face into the sensation.

He trailed his thumb down the line of your cheek until he reached the corner of your mouth. Your breath sped up slightly as you felt the calloused pad of his thumb brush over your lips, followed by two of his fingertips.

“Your lips are so soft,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth.

You brushed your tongue lightly across his fingertips, tempting him to slide them deeper between your lips. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped them into your mouth as you swirled your tongue over them. He rested his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning softly over your skin. He raised his other hand to caress your cheek, his gaze fixed on you with an expression of pure fascination.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and traced them over your lips once again. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but instead, he took a ragged, shuddering breath and spoke again.

“Keep going. Describe it to me. What next?”

“Next—” the word was inaudible, and you paused to search for your voice. “Next, I touched my throat. Softly. And very slowly.”

The warmth of his fingers as they traversed the short distance from your jaw to the collar of your uniform sent shivers racing across your skin.

“May I?” he asked as he reached the opening of your collar.

You nodded your permission, and he unzipped your jacket with his other hand, the pressure of his knuckles barely palpable on your torso as they descended the line of the zipper. Instead of immediately tugging off the garment, though, he simply continued to stroke and caress your neck, drawing his fingers down from the corner of your jaw to the notch above your sternum.

“After that, I… I traced my collarbones,” you whispered.

His fingers slid beneath your uniform to run along the ridge of your clavicle as his thumb rested against the base of your throat.

“What did that feel like?” he asked quietly.

You shuddered. “Good. It felt… good. But not as good as when you do it.”

At last he slid the jacket off your shoulders, leaving you in only your camisole. His eyes flickered down to your chest, and he swallowed audibly as he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. “What did you do after that?”

“I brushed my fingertips down the center of my chest,” you murmured. “Between my breasts, but I didn’t touch them yet.”

His lips curved into a small smile as his fingers followed the line of your sternum until they reached the silky fabric of your camisole.

“Is this regulation?” he asked in a lightly teasing tone.

“No,” you admitted. “Are you going to write me up?”

“I’m sure the general would be very interested in how exactly I knew that your underwear was out of reg,” he said with a quiet huff of laughter. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice from betraying the fact that you thought you might actually die if he stopped touching you now.

Is it possible to die of frustrated lust? GAR lieutenant investigates. More at eleven.

Rex dipped his fingers lower, beneath the satin camisole, as his thumb traced over the plush swell of your breast.

“Is this how you touched yourself?” His voice was low and gravelly, with no trace of laughter lingering in it.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Just like that.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he must be able to feel it as he trailed his hands over your soft, delicate skin. His eyes were fixed on your body, pupils dilated wide with arousal.

“And what did you do next?”

“I think you can guess,” you replied, heat rising in your face.

He leaned close and whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending a wave of tingles down your spine. “Indulge me.”

You inhaled sharply. “Next… Next I touched my breasts—I cupped them in my hands and played with them.”

Rex froze. His hand stilled, resting against your sternum. Even his breath paused momentarily. He whispered your name, his lips barely brushing the silky skin of your neck.

“Rex,” you murmured in a low, husky tone. “Touch me.”

He dropped his head lower, his lips almost making contact with your shoulder, but he hovered a breath away from you. Both of his hands settled on your ribcage and slid up beneath your breasts, tracing your contours, before finally cupping your breasts through your camisole, squeezing you gently, capturing your nipples between his fingers and teasing them until they were stiff and aching with pleasure.

“Like this?” he asked, his harsh whisper hot against your skin.

You arched up, desperate to feel his mouth on your body, but he held that tiny distance between the two of you. “God, yes, just like that.”

He slid his hand down your abdomen until he reached your hip. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your camisole to tease the soft skin of your belly, and then curled beneath your waistband as he dragged his knuckles over your hip.

“What were you thinking about when you touched yourself here?”

You dropped your head to his shoulder, burying your face against his neck, not wanting him to see the truth in your eyes.

“Tell me,” he said. His voice was soft, but every instinct you possessed screamed to obey his command.

“You.”

The word was quiet—barely a breath—but you might as well have screamed it. Rex’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming. The hand that still held your breast released you, and his arm clamped around your body. His fingers tightened on your waistband and pulled you hard against him as he finally, finally kissed you. Lips, tongue, teeth descended on your shoulder, worked up your neck and across your jaw, leaving a trail of heated sensation in his wake.

When he reached your lips, he devoured you with all the passion he’d been holding back with such meticulous self-control. His kiss was everything you’d imagined for months. It swept over you like a wave, scattering your thoughts and making your head spin as his tongue slipped between your parted lips. He released your waistband and glided his hand beneath your camisole, up your bare abdomen, to palm your naked breast as he kissed and kissed and kissed you, until there was only one coherent thought in your mind: Is this really happening?

You clung to him, fingers gripping plastoid. You’d wanted Rex for so long, and now that you had him, it almost didn’t feel real. The thought galvanized you. You broke away just long enough to yank the camisole off over your head, dropping it to lie in a crumpled heap on the floor as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back into your kiss. His armor bit uncomfortably into your exposed skin, but you didn’t care; you were practically climbing him, frantic for contact.

“Wait,” he rasped.

“Seriously?!”

He laughed at your impatience. “Seriously. I haven’t waited all this time to rush it now.”

Your breath caught at the implication: he’d wanted this just as much as you had. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked pointedly.

“You’re my captain—” you began.

“And you’re my lieutenant,” he replied.

Ah. Solid point.

“You’ve—you’ve been waiting for me to make the first move?” you asked. “This whole time?”

“Since the minute you came aboard.”

“Damn,” you said, struck. “Are you sure I should be working in intelligence? I completely missed the signs.”

“In fairness, stealth is one one of—”

You cut him off abruptly with a kiss. You slid your hands over the back of his head, stroking the soft, velvety, close-cropped blond hair. His groan of pleasure rumbled against your lips, sending a jolt of arousal through your entire body.

“Captain?” you whispered.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he murmured, nuzzling your face gently.

“Permission to remove your armor, sir?”

“Kriff, don’t call me that,” he begged. “But also yes. Please.”

You went to work quickly, helping him unbuckle and strip off the heavy plastoid.

“Not a fan of being called ‘sir’ in the bedroom?” you asked curiously.

“Just don’t need to be reminded that we’re breaking about forty-two regulations right now.”

You shot him a look brimming with mischief. “We’re going to break a lot more before we get to Coruscant.”

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #the clone wars fic #star wars #sw tcw fanfic #clone wars #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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huramuna · 1 month

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banshee's lament - chapter 8.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.7k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

i've been planning this chapter for months now, i hope you all enjoy! there is a surprise in this chapter 👀

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

It was slowly nearing half a year since Shera and Cregan arrived at King’s Landing– she still hadn’t gotten used to the heat but she had finally, somehow, begun to adjust to the people, the looks, the whispers and sneers.

She, albeit slowly, was losing care in such things. She had been spending more and more time with the people she cared about– the ones who made her happy. She still visited Helaena and the children once a day and sometimes would even stay overnight and giggle under the covers with the princess like they would when they were children.

Her mornings started by watching Aemond spar with Ser Cole. She didn’t hide from it anymore– as she felt… somewhat liberated from showing her eye to him. She couldn’t exactly explain, to herself, much less anyone else, why she felt warmer than usual when watching him clash swords with his mentor. Sweat dripping from his face, the little sneer he plastered on when he was particularly concentrating. It felt like butterflies were trapped in her stomach, beating against her skin to get out. It was unfamiliar at first, the feeling– but now it’s become a recognized acquaintance, even if she couldn’t exactly name it.

Aemond, as well, had taken it upon himself to make more effort to spend time with Shera. His days before she returned to King’s Landing were very structured, very planned and scheduled. He would wake up, spar with Cole from morning light until lunch with his mother, then back to sparring until early evening when he would wind down by reading in his chambers, eat dinner, and then go to bed. ‘Going to bed’ didn’t really indicate sleeping, however. He didn’t need much of it to function and found the dreams (and nightmares, to his chagrin) that came with sleep uncouth– so he laid, usually for hours, until his mind drifted into the lightest of sleep cycles. He valued organization and repetition– impromptu changes to such a rigid routine were unwelcome.

Except for Shera– a very impromptu change to his life on her own. Mayhaps unwelcome at first, his outward antagonistic behavior to her was improper and came from a place of, surprisingly, regret. Regret and self-loathing. Usually, he attributed the feeling of self-pity and self flagellation in association with his brother, who was in all rights, a pathetic example of a man (but still his brother and wouldn’t tolerate such talk about him from anyone else) but when Shera came back, walking down that hall– she had looked so small, like she was a fragile heirloom on the verge of breaking at any moment. She could hardly walk without guidance and hid herself.

When his mother said she was returning, as vague as it was, he felt some sort of resentment bubbling up in his gut. What gave her the right to return now? He fully expected her to be the epitome of a Northern lady, hardy and strong, unyielding. The letters ‘she’ (unbeknownst to him at the time, the words were fabrications of Cregan) sent after Driftmark, painted the picture of someone who was fine, who was well adjusted, who didn’t have to go through moons and moons of relearning how to be a person. The image of Shera he had concocted into his mind, and onto paper– an icy woman with fiery hair who would come to blows with someone rather than shed a tear– was not what he saw.

No, what he had seen in that hall, who he had seen– he didn’t recognize her. Then, seeing the small curl of copper hair, the fur stole, the wolf. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, spurring every cell in his body into action, setting them on fire. Blood pumped in his ears and he could hardly hear her (whispering voice aside).

She was broken. Harsh, yes– but it was true. She was a shell, behest to the terrible experience they both suffered.

Regret flooded through him. She was this way because of him, because he dragged her along in the middle of the night to watch him claim Vhagar.

I should have killed them. I should have killed them.

And he retreated from her. He hardly remembers his words to her after she came out from his mother’s chambers– they felt vile in his mouth, like spewing venom. The primal part of him, the dragon, was unruly and restless.

He couldn’t stop lashing out at her–

But what did he really feel?

He fucking missed her. He missed her more than he could ever profess. He wouldn’t admit it outloud, of course, he had to maintain some form of self-preservation.

After their night in her room, after seeing her eye– there was a shift. They spent more time together and she became a fixture of his schedule.

Wake up, spar with Cole and have Shera watch him until noon, they would lunch together three days out of the week with Helaena. He cut his afternoon sparring in half and spent that time with Shera. At first it was awkward, but they melded into one another like their youth quickly.

She begged him to teach her how to draw, to help strengthen her eyesight.

“It… it hurts to focus.” she sniffed, looking up at him. She didn’t wear her veil when they were alone, which he made sure they were when they were drawing. Her blind eye was red rimmed slightly, twitching.

He had set up a vase on a small table for her to draw– it was a simple clay vase with a depiction of two nightingales in flight. They had just moved on from plain objects to something a bit more detailed, albeit only by a little bit.

“Don’t strain, Shera. Just… look at it normally. It’s blurry in some places, right?”

“… yes.”

“Okay. You looked at it up close for a good five minutes. Do you remember what was on the side?”

“The… the nightingale imprint.”

“You can see it in your mind, but it’s not clear to the eye. Use your memory to fill in the blanks.”

“Aemond— this… this is just a test of memory. How is this helping my eyes?”

“Trust me.”

She started off shaky, her first slew of sketches no better than his were when he had first started, but she fell into it quickly. She developed her own style, straying from the charcoal that Aemond used exclusively, and opted for more colorful tools– she had woad paste pastels imported from Dorne. They would sit and depict the same thing and come out with completely different results.

It was so easy to forget that she was betrothed to another. That she was to leave soon.

That she was to be his nephew’s wife. His nephew who didn’t give a shit about her. His nephew who was there. Did no one else think it a bit sick that she was to be the wife of someone who took a part in her mutilation?

Was he the only sane one?

He sighed softly as they finished up their drawings for the day. They had been sketching the coastline of Blackwater Bay– Shera went with a color scheme of blue and green and sparse spots of orange and yellow.

He stuck to his monochromatic charcoal.

“Rhaenyra’s name day gala is… in a fortnight, right?” Shera hummed, using her foot to pet Moongeist, who was at her feet.

“Mm,” Aemond responded, flicking some errant charcoal powder from his doublet. “A mummer’s farce, if you ask me.”

“... I don’t care much for events– but at least… your mother and sister are getting along,” she tilted her head as she wiped her hands off.

Rhaenyra and Alicent had been working together to plan the event and were in high spirits. They were frequently seen chatting lightheartedly.

“Half-sister,” Aemond clarifies, giving her a pointed look.

“Half-sister,” Shera says, brows raised. “I suppose it is a send off, too– since…” her voice trails off slightly, not really wanting to talk about her impending wedding to Jacaerys. She hasn’t spoken much to her betrothed as she didn’t feel the need to– she let him run around with her brother and do what he liked. She imagined it wouldn’t be much different when they were married.

An uneasy silence settled over them. There were many words on the tips of their tongues that they just couldn’t say– it would make it real.

“Shera-,”

“Aemond-,”

They spoke at the same time, standing up simultaneously. Moongeist made a warbling chuff sound that sounded like a laugh.

He must be sick of our antics.

“I should get back to my chambers– before dinner. Cregan wants to… eat with me, for some reason.” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed in his usual manner.

—

Shera sat across from Cregan, leg crossed over the other as she fed Moongeist scraps under the table.

“What did you want to speak about?” she broke the silence, glancing up at him. She had put her veil back on– to her dismay, as she had come to like not having it on… around Aemond, at least.

“Do I need a reason to want to dine with my sister?” he asked, clenching his jaw slightly.

“... no,” she mumbled, flicking her nails against one another. “But you don’t usually dine with me.”

He chewed on his piece of mutton slowly, regarding her. “I’m leaving, Shera. I need to go back North.”

“Why?” she blurts out, a bit more emotionally than she wanted to. She and Cregan didn’t have a great relationship, but they were… siblings. There was familiarity.

“I’ve stayed too long already, there is a keep to run, things to do, Shera,” he narrowed his gaze. “Will you be alright… alone?”

Her lip caught between her teeth. “... I suppose so.” she and Cregan had their moments– she thought he was a huge idiot most of the time, but that was her brother. She had been by his side for the last ten years and he nursed her back to some semblance of health when she returned from Driftmark. No matter the choices he made, the ones he made for her– they were all one another had, really.

Her chest ached slightly that he would be going back North and leaving her here. She wouldn’t be alone, per say, but… her blood would be so far away.

“Will you… attend the wedding?” she asked then, drawing little circles on the table with the tip of her nail.

“Yes, I’ll return to Dragonstone for it.”

“Dragonstone?” Shera looked up, slightly alarmed. “I thought the wedding would be in King’s Landing?”

Cregan stopped chewing, suddenly looking sheepish. It was unbecoming of him. “I… yes,” he cleared his throat. “Jacaerys said that after his mother’s name day gala, they will move back to Dragonstone.”

Why does no one tell me anything? “Hm.” she grumbled, sounding much like Aemond– she’s picked up on his little mannerisms and made them her own, it seemed.

“You will be going with them and will be wed soon after.”

She made another noncommittal noise, scraping the remains of her plate to the floor. She’d lost her appetite.

She would be alone sooner than she thought.

—

Returning from a luncheon with Helaena, a few days after Cregan’s departure, she discarded her veil right away as soon as the door was closed behind her.

She waved her hand in front of her face, despairing in the heat of the South. Moongeist agreed, his tongue lolling out in a pant as he lapped at a small tub of water at the foot of the bed.

“It’s too hot for us here, dovey,” she whimpered, wiping sweat from her brow, beginning to strip the various layers of clothing she had on— she did have somewhere to be later in the day, but she would simply have to redress. “I hope Dragonstone is more breezy, lest we melt.”

The layers flew off of her, pooling upon the floor like a puddle of dark ichor. It likely didn’t help that she only wished to wear dark colors, attracting the heat of the sun to her poor constitution. Her cheeks flushed red with the errant warmth and she wondered if this was how those with Targaryen blood felt all of the time— constantly huffing, puffing, warm and sweating. It was terrible.

Finally in nothing but her shift and underclothes, she walked to the bed, hand reached out to peel back the blanket when something shiny caught her eye.

Investigating further, she found a small velvety box, opened to reveal a silver choker, inlaid with three sapphires. Blinking profusely, Shera carefully pried the piece out of its holdings and inspected it. It was, to say the least, flawless. It matched her silver earrings that she always wore almost down to the exact detail, the engravings even the same— long, flowing tendrils into the metal, outlining the gems like garlands. Pearls hung from the bottom of each sapphire. Her thumb roved over the center sapphire, the largest one and the most prominent. It was cool to the touch.

Gently placing the choker down, she dismantled the box looking for a note or any indication of who might have left it. She guessed it to be Jace— did he intend for her to wear it to the gala? She would have to find a garment to match.

Shera descended to her wardrobe, rummaging through until she landed on something that would go swimmingly with her new necklace. It was a dress she hadn’t worn at all, and had been tailored for her shortly before leaving Winterfell. It was a silver and blue dress with intricate embroidery akin to that of a Godswood, but the leaves were a cool toned blue rather than red. She had a pearl-laden head garment, imbued with a silken veil and ringed headdress of sorts, with silver moons hanging down on each side.

Curious.

–

“You… must stay outside, lovey,” Shera murmured to Moongeist. She had received a missive– unclear from who, but either Alicent and Rhaenyra– that they would prefer if her wolf was not in attendance to the gala. She wanted to cry, leaving him outside of the ballroom. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t really command her companion– their relationship, as impenetrable as others may see it, was the culmination of years of hard work and trust. They were so attuned to each other, Moongeist knowing when she was pushing herself too far, when she was in distress, and when he needed to step into a situation. He was, on all accounts, very polite and well-mannered – for a wolf. He had never bitten anyone who didn’t deserve it. His good conduct thus far and impeccable record was apparently not enough for him to be admitted to the event. He whined as Shera snuffed into his fur, murmuring soft nothings into it. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she whispered. “I’ll come get you when everyone leaves and you shall have all the scraps you’d like.”

Tearing herself from him, he sat dutifully outside of the glass door that led from the gardens into the ballroom. She willed herself not to cry, not to cry.

She was unsteady on her own feet, hoping to find someone familiar to steady herself on. The last option of familiarity presented itself first. Jacaerys spotted her right away, putting a hand on her waist. “Shera,” he smiled warmly. “You look… wonderful tonight. Mother is going to be so happy to see you in attendance.”

“Jacaerys,” she responded, willing a smile on her face. He was better than no one. She steadied herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, were a bit dim. He seemed… forlorn. “We don’t have such lavish events like this much– up North… apart from feasts. There usually isn’t much dancing.”

He swallowed, his brow furrowing minutely. “May I interest you in a dance, then?”

“Mm,” she hummed as they descended to the dance floor. She thought about her dance with Helaena and Aemond on the night of her betrothal dinner– it all felt so far away now. She tilted her head slightly as they danced. Jace’s head was looking to the door, as if he was waiting for someone. “As annoying as he is– I miss him as well.”

Jace looked slightly bewildered. “Pardon?”

“I may only be able to see from one eye, but I’m not completely blind,” Shera murmured. “You’ll see him again.”

The prince softened slightly, nodding his head. He was grateful for the words.

They danced a bit more and mingled, more so Jacaerys talking to people and stringing Shera along. Somehow, through it all, she became separated from him, walking on her own through the throngs of people. The heat, even with her less thick layers than usual, was stifling– from all of the bodies.

She suddenly felt… panicked, like when she was lost in the tunnels that one evening. “Excuse me,” she whispered hurriedly as she pushed through people, who didn’t even seem to see her there. “Pardon m–”

Her voice was cut off by a strong arm pulling her around her waist. Her anxiety damped right away as the familiar smell of sandalwood and leather took over her senses. Aemond looked down at her. “Lost again?” he was wearing a black and deep purple button-up doublet, with a long overcoat. It had a flared collar. He looked nice– it wasn’t much different color wise to his usual garb, but it absolutely wasn’t something he would spar in. He was even without his sword– but a brush of Shera’s hand near his waist revealed he did have his dagger strapped to his belt.

“... mayhaps.”

“And where is your guide? It is unlike your dog to abandon his post.”

“He wasn’t invited to the gala,” Shera frowned.

“And you’ve… been left alone?”

“Jacaerys was–”

Aemond held up his hand. “You don’t need to tell me any more,” he rolled his one eye. “He wouldn’t be able to keep track of you if you were the size of a dragon.”

They fell into an easy sway– he was much more relaxed than he was when they first danced. But Shera couldn’t shake what her brother had said– they… Rhaenyra and her brood, which included Shera now, would be leaving a few days after the gala. She hadn’t told Aemond, she didn’t know how.

“You’re worried,” he tilted her chin up to him so their gazes could meet. “I can feel your unease from here.”

“... I…” her mouth felt dry, her hand clutching his inner elbow shakily. “We’re leaving.”

Aemond stayed silent.

“Jacaerys and I… are to be wed upon Dragonstone– and we are to leave… in a few days.”

Aemond still declined to speak.

“Aemond,” she pressed her thumb into his skin.

“You can’t leave again,” he stated. He did not ask, nor plead. He stated it, as if it was a definitive fact. “I won’t let you.” the same moment of rage she had seen before was there, bubbling under the surface. A vein in his neck bulged out and she could feel the control he was trying to keep over himself, over the situation. He gripped her face with both hands now, boring into her with a surprising and sudden placid smile.

–

With a hand over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra scanned the crowd. It’d been so long since she properly enjoyed an event. The planning of it with Alicent had been… more fun than she thought it’d be, and the two women quickly fell back into a rapport, akin to when they were girls together.

It felt right.

Her eyes eventually fell upon two familiar faces— Shera, her veil pulled back slightly by Rhaenyra’s half-brother, Aemond. His hand gripped her face softly, but with intensity as the two locked gazes, lips pursed, brows furrowed, clearly in a heated conversation. It took Rhaenyra all but five seconds to be teleported back to her own wedding to Laenor, all those years ago, where she and Daemon had been in the exact same position— where she had dared Daemon to cleave through her father’s men, steal her away to Dragonstone and make her his wife.

Fuck.

–

“They think you are tame and controlled— but I can see it, the blood welling and boiling just under the surface of your skin. You’re hardly holding it together,” she whispered harshly. “Do you not think I’ve tried to devise everything I could… to stay? To stop any of this?”

“Quell me, then. Let me take you to marriage and let me cut your lip, taste your blood in the ways of old. Dampen my molten blood. I’ll do it in an instant, under the heart tree, in the molten halls of the Dragonmont– anywhere,” his nail pressed into her cheek, angling her head upward to look directly at him. No escape from madness, look me in the eye, he seemed to taunt silently.

It was overwhelming. She was overwhelmed with the warmth in her stomach, the butterflies she felt– they bursted into ash, searing into her like a brand. Shera felt the world around her chill, her extremities cold. “A-Aemond,” she croaked, her hand grasping at his shoulder with all of her might, but it’d only came through as a light tug. “A-Aem—“

Coldness spread through her, her vision fading to white. Then she was warm, extremely so— like she was on fire, panting and spewing hot breaths from her open maw.

Blinking her eyes— she was outside, her heavy wisps fogging the glass pane on the door. Wait. She had full vision, not just the one. It felt odd, so wrong for her to be able to see all around her like she was whole and normal.

Why was she outside? Just let me in, Godsdammit, let me in! She growled low, hands coming up to scratch at the wood and glass, nails digging into it. Her nails were longer than normal and much sharper, a deep black in color.

She wanted in, in, in, in— her hands, no— her paws and claws shredded at the door, eyes peering into the crowd. They were gathered around, shifting slightly to let her see what was going on—

They were gathered around her, eyes rolled back in her head as she laid limp in Aemond’s arms. She saw Jacaerys storming over, already hurling accusations towards Aemond.

No, no, he didn’t do this, stop! She screamed, barking and howling, her teeth biting into the wood and beginning to rip it apart, splintering and cracking the glass.

Shera watched in horror as Jacaerys unsheathed his sword. Aemond was still holding her, loathing to give her up—

Stop, stop, stopstopstop! She bursted through the weakened door, glass and all, feeling it tear at her fur and skin. Patrons gasped around her as she mulled through them towards the center, snapping and snarling.

“Moongeist, calm down!” Jacaerys said, his eyes wide in surprise as she sat between him and Aemond.

So she was Moongeist— that is why it felt so familiar. She, no, they drew their lips back in a growl, hackles raised. Back off, back off, back off! They screamed, snapping at anyone who got too close.

‘That wolf has gone mad!’

‘Is that the prince’s intended?’

‘Yes, but not the prince that’s holding her.’

‘How wanton.’

They panted heavily, still feeling a deep rage within them. Everyone was too close, too close– the sounds of the gala drowned out as they looked to the upper windows of the ballroom. A familiar sight to behold– the cream colored blur and siren’s song of a voice.

A beige and cream colored barn owl sat atop the eave of the window, staring down at them with wide eyes.

‘Now you know, dear Shera.’

–

Shera awoke later, still cold as ice. She was back in her own body but still felt the remnants of itching fervor from being in Moongeist– not ‘in’, it had a word. Warg. She heard children’s tales about it, how a man can enter the mind of a beast and become one with it.

She glanced around the room. Aemond was pacing– she was in… her chambers. Jaw clenched, she sat up from the settee with surprising vigor.

“Shera–” Aemond sputtered, stopping his pacing.

“Hush, come with me,” she grabbed his wrist and strung him along, feeling more lively than she had in ages. Moongeist padded alongside them, hugging to her leg just in case.

She led them down to the weirwood, not letting go of her grip on him.

“You cannot lie to me, Aemond Targaryen, not here. Do you see that?” she gestures to the face etched in the bark of the Great Oak– staring back at the two of them.

How silly they must look.

“Do… not… lie to me,” Shera pleaded. She approached him, her hand skimming the edge of his jaw. He was so warm, always so warm– he permeated through the cold she always felt. “You can lie to everyone else. Keep… those walls up and don’t let anyone in. But not… not to me. Never to me,” she was trembling with the weight of what she was asking, her fingers drumming against his skin. “Did you mean it? Did… you mean it? You want me here with you?”

He stilled her by covering her hand with his own. “I wouldn’t–,” Aemond murmured, his free hand coming up to unhook his eyepatch. Her breath hitched as he discarded it. The moonlight caught the concaves of the gem first, expanding over the flecks of blue, all shades of it.

A sapphire.

She palmed the matching stones on her mysteriously gifted choker. “You… you… your eye…” Shera stumbled slightly, her knees wobbling beneath her.

Aemond held her upright with one arm, slung around her waist. “Hm?” he asked in return, a playful lilt to his voice– something only reserved for her.

“It’s… it’s blue!” she squeaked, pulling his face closer to her, observing with the same scrutiny that she had when they were sketching together. “And… and…” she kept babbling, tugging at her gifted choker. “And this? You… you git! You… cad! Oh, you’re incorrigible.” her words were inflammatory in nature but she… was laughing– as much as she could anyways. It was a quiet giggle, like the soft trill of a small bell.

It made Aemond chuckle in return. The two of them soon devolved into a fit of joviality. “I quite like you in blue, Shera. In my color,” he leaned down to whisper in the shell of her ear. “I had to let Jacaerys know… exactly…” he punctuated each word as his hand made a home on her jaw, inching closer to her lips. “... where and to whom,” his thumb pulled down her bottom lip. “You belong.”

Every nerve in her body was on fire. She’s never felt so warm, so hot in her life. Is this what it felt like to be a Targaryen? Gods, it was fucking stifling.

“And… to be clear,” he continued. “You belong here. With me.”

Her mouth parted, she was barely breathing. She… she wanted… she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him, more than anything she’d wanted before. She was mad; this was mad. Even on shaking legs, she pushed herself on her tippy-toes, pressing their lips together.

She felt… elated. More than elated, it felt like she was flying, skimming the clouds like a dragon, wings spread… free.

Aemond melted into her right away, pulling her closer as they melded together. His tongue swiped against her lower lip as he caressed her so softly, so gently– more gentle than she could ever imagine him being.

This was the first time she ever took something– something she wanted, and she got it. It was selfish, she knew– selfish and dangerous and reckless and just… hers. This was hers. He was hers. “Mine,” she whispered as they caught their respectful breaths. “If… I’m yours, then… you are mine, right?” she clarified, a bit less confident than her previous possessive declaration. “Quite right, little wolf.” he hummed, pressing another kiss to her temple.

In a brazen show of exuberance, she captured his lips once more.

Things were forgotten. Namely, everything that wasn’t them in this moment. Their individual turmoils, their shared despair. All notions of her mysterious collapse, Aemond’s scuffle with Jacaerys, Shera’s impending marriage to the said prince, tensions rising between two sides of a family–

This was for them.

The only time that either of them had taken anything for themselves in the last ten years.

a/n: ART IN THIS CHAPTER BY @lonelymagpies who, as always, was LOVELY to work with! they captured the scene perfectly.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #banshees lament #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc

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mariacallous · 2 months

Text

An air raid alert has just started when Victoria Itskovych joins a Zoom call from Kyiv. “It’s, like, a usual situation,” she says. “But really, it’s not usual.” February 24 will mark the second anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. For nearly two years now, Kyiv has been under bombardment. Some weeks, people have to trudge to their shelters night after night, checking text alerts and Telegram channels to figure out where the missiles are falling and when it’s safe to come out—although, it’s never really safe.

That relentless stress, and the trauma of losing family, friends, and colleagues on the front, has taken its toll. A poll by the city government last year found that 80 percent of residents reported symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has exposed the whole of Ukrainian society to battle shock. “We’ve all suffered from this,” says Itskovych, who is director of the Kyiv City Council’s IT department. “Almost every person has somebody who was injured or died during the war, or lost their home or lost their health.”

In the face of such widespread injury, the Kyiv government has turned to Ukraine’s now-famous civic tech infrastructure for help. As the war enters its third year, the municipal government is starting to build a citywide system for providing mental health support to citizens. It’s a vast challenge, but also a unique opportunity—the first time that such a mass-trauma event has happened to a society that has already built the tools of digital government. Dealing with the mental health impacts of the invasion will be absolutely vital to keep society resilient, functioning, and committed enough to repel the invaders. It’s also the key to Ukraine’s postwar recovery, laying the groundwork now for a society that can rebuild itself physically and psychologically from the horrors of war. “This is the future of our society,” Itskovych says. “We are building the basis for the resilience of the community itself.”

At the heart of the plan is the Kyiv government’s digital platform, Kyiv Digital, which it launched in 2017. Before the invasion, it was largely used to manage parking and public transport, and to notify residents of disruptions to services such as road closures or power outages. When the war began, those notifications became more urgent: incoming attacks, the locations of bomb shelters, and the safest routes to reach them. Like other parts of Ukraine’s civilian technology, the city pivoted its tools to keep people safe and support the war effort, bootstrapping and rewiring the systems at pace.

“The first changes to the notifications we did in hours,” says Oleg Polovynko, adviser on digitalization to Kyiv’s mayor. Since then, the digital teams have been engaged in a constant cycle of innovation, trying to figure out what services they can bring online. The war has pushed them to act more quickly, to adapt tools they have and invent things that don’t exist.

They’ve expanded tools for civic participation, letting citizens vote on petitions, send feedback to the city government, and ask for help, such as financial support to repair bomb-damaged homes. And they’ve collected a lot of data, which is how the Kyiv government has been able to measure the scale of the city’s distress—and people’s reluctance to seek help. Of the 80 percent of residents who show signs of trauma, “40 to 45 percent are afraid to have contact with doctors who can help,” Polovynko says.

But this is only half of the problem that needs solving. For those who do want to seek treatment, there simply aren’t enough resources to help them. Clinical psychologists are supposed to limit the number of patient consultations they do in a day, so they don’t burn out. Before the full-scale invasion, Inna Davydenko saw a maximum of four patients daily. Today, Davydenko, a mental health specialist at the City Center of Neurorehabilitation in Kyiv, sees twice that number. When we speak, she’s just finished a video call with a soldier stationed near the front, whom she’s helping cope with stress and anxiety.

Even before the war massively increased the number of people dealing with trauma, depression, and anxiety, Ukraine’s medical system suffered from an underinvestment in mental health provision. “In most hospitals, you have maybe one psychologist. In good hospitals, it’s maybe two,” Davydenko says. “A lot of people need psychological help, but we can’t cover everything.” There is simply no way that the current system can grow to match the enormous jump in demand. But, Davydenko says, “almost every Ukrainian person has a smartphone.”

This is exactly what Polovynko and Itskovych want to exploit, using Kyiv Digital’s platforms and data to digitize mental health support for the city, and so close the gap between need and resources. Their project will focus first on those they’ve identified as being most vulnerable—war veterans and children—and those most able to help others: teachers and parents. The next six months of the project will be a “discovery stage,” Polovynko says. “We need to understand the real life of our veterans now, of the children, of the parents, what’s their context, how they survive, what services they use.”

The project will track people through the process of recovering from trauma, monitoring the treatments they ask for and the ones they receive, their concerns as they move through the mental health system, and their outcomes. Once the team has a detailed map of services and bottlenecks, and data on what’s working and what’s not, they can match individual needs with treatments. A full roll-out is scheduled for early 2025.

“It doesn't mean that the whole chain of the service will be absolutely digital,” Itskovych says. Some patients may be directed to group therapy or one-on-one meetings with psychologists, others will be given access to online tools. The aim, she says, is to create efficiency, to close the service gap, but also to provide comfort, meeting people where they are. “For a big part of our clients, there is more comfort with getting the service online, in different ways. Some people are not comfortable meeting a specialist one-on-one; they prefer a digital way to get the service.”

The project is being supported financially and operationally by Bloomberg Philanthropies, a charitable organization created by former New York mayor and Bloomberg founder Michael Bloomberg. James Anderson, head of government innovation at the organization, says that the project comes at a critical time for Kyiv, where people continue to suffer even though global attention has shifted away to other crises.

“There's always a tremendous amount of attention when the immediate crisis hits,” Anderson says. “But mayors continue to have to deal with the human costs of crises, long after the newspapers have turned to new subjects. That’s certainly what we sense and see in Kyiv.”

The size of the challenge in Kyiv is clearly daunting. But, Anderson says, there are reasons for optimism. Cities have got better over the past two decades at responding to common crises, such as Covid-19, which also required rapid, mass digitization of services. “Every crisis is distinct and different, and awful, in its own way,” Anderson says, “but there are lessons learned.” The Kyiv government, and Ukrainian society more widely, have demonstrated a capacity for rapid innovation to meet urgent needs, and Anderson hopes that success in this project could see it replicated internationally. “This is not the last war. This is not the last crisis,” he says. “I think Kyiv has lessons that they can share with cities around the globe.”

For Kyiv, and Ukraine, the crisis won’t end when the war does. “Psychological health is the number one problem for Ukraine,” Davydenko says, before correcting herself. “Number one is Russia, number two is our psychological health,” she says. “PTSD is our future.”

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thetiedyesheep · 7 months

Text

Back Rooms Level: 840 - "The Daycare"

Difficulty level: Class 3

Unsafe

Unsecure

Low Entity count

Description

Level 840 is the 841st level of the Backrooms. This level consists of a daycare with various play areas within the daycare walls and an outside area resembling a sort of liminal cafeteria area. A single physical entity called the Daycare Attendant tends to the daycare. It is completely indoors, so has no changing weather conditions and stays around a temperature of 21°C (69.8°F) at all times.

There is a day and night cycle with an instant switch, which will be referred to as “Playtime” and “Naptime”. There is no indication of the light-switch besides a subtle flicker of the lights a couple seconds before the switch itself. The night cycle usually lasts between 1-3 hours and the day cycle can vary from 3-9 hours.

The Mats

The Mats are the main area of the daycare and make up most of the level. Similar to a trampoline park, the floors are hard and matted surfaces. They vary from red to blue mats and cover the entire daycare floor. This is where naptime takes place when the lights are off (“Naptime”).

The Play Structures

Similar to the Tubes and Play Structures on Level 283, this area consists of Tubes and netted hallways colorfully intertwining into each other reaching up to around 15m (~49,2ft) in height. There are ramps leading to different floors of the play structure and half-slides and tube slides, all varying in color. It is not recommended to enter the full tubes as they have a chance of leading travelers to Level 283 and there has been no regularity to how often and which slides send you there.

The Ballpit

The Ballpit is one of the entrance points of Level 840, where in most cases you are greeted by the Daycare Attendant. As far as various communities in the Backrooms have been able to gather such as the M.E.G. and B.N.T.G. there has been nothing out-of-the-ordinary about the ballpit and is completely safe to be in.

The Staff room

The Staff room is currently the only confirmed exit of this Level besides the tubes.. It is a metal door with a push-handle with a “Staff Only” sign roughly at eye-level. Inside this room is another door where the janitor’s closet is located. Sometimes the janitor’s closet will lead to an office building located in Level 11.

The Entrance

The Entrance is located just outside of the daycare, visible from the inside and closed off by an indestructible glass wall almost reaching up to the daycare’s ceiling. Numerous cafeteria-style tables and chairs line up against the outer walls of the daycare, having a grayish color with a green highlight.

Entrances and Exits

Entrances

There’s a chance a rainbow patterned slide in Level 283 can lead you to this Level, spitting you out in a ballpit where explorers have reported being greeted by the Sun Man.

Exits

The janitor’s closet within the staff room either leading to Level 11

On rare instances is it theorized if this door can lead travelers to Level “!” aka “Run for your Life”.

Entities

So far there is only one known entity in this Level, but this is still up for debate as it seems to have different “modes” with different rulesets; “The Daycare Attendant”. This entity is 3m (10ft) tall and is incredibly lanky, limbs being no thicker than broomsticks.

In the two standard forms the face has big glowing white eyes and no mouth. The torso’s anatomy is roughly comparable to that of an ant due to the ball-like chest and hip region with a thin middle and puffy shoulder joints. The chestpiece has a half-transparent star which emits a glow similar to the eyes. The thin middle consists of two connecting segments being held together by a joint with a star imprint, also emitting a soft glow. They wear a transparent set of shorts resembling the puffy shorts medieval jesters wore reaching roughly the middle of the thighs. They have ruffles on their neck and feet and have long ribbons with two bells wrapped around each wrist.

The Sun Man

The Sun Man is the Playtime-mode for the Daycare Attendant and is generally passive as long as you remain behaved. He walks around and cleans/picks up the play area of the daycare and will occasionally check up on the travelers. He reacts positively to gifts ranging from drawings to crafts to supplies. He has 7 sharp and pointy rays on his head

When a traveler tries to leave the daycare the Sun Man’s focus shifts immediately and he darts to the entrance doors, quickly retrieving the “escapees”; he will become more aggressive with each attempt, like a tally on each visitor.

When he gets aggressive, the 3rd mode is activated; “The Dark Sun”.

The Moon Man

The Moon Man is the Nighttime-mode for the Daycare Attendant and is generally aggressive or short-tempered. He walks around similar to the Sun Man, although he slouches more and moves in a more sporadic manner. He is very strict about Naptime, killing anyone on sight he deems as a “rule breaker”. He gets aggressive when you try to enter the play structures, although he doesn’t mind the ballpit as long as you stay quiet. He’s easily monitorable even when out of sight due to the bell that drags along the floor from his long hat. It is unknown if the 3rd mode can be activated while the lights are off.

The Dark Sun

The Dark Sun is the 3rd mode of the Daycare Attendant and is very aggressive towards travelers. The activation of this mode should be avoided at ALL COSTS! The appearance of this mode is an uncanny mash-up of both modes, but more sinister and having a dark color palette, like lava or a burning forest. They are very agile and will not calm down until they deem the rulebreaker(s) deceased and anyone unfortunate enough to run into him, despite “behaving”. Your best bet is to hide in the play structures and stay quiet.

- Drawing based off a survivors description

#backrooms au #fnaf dca #dca fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #dca #daycare attendant #fnaf daycare attendant #sundrop #fnaf sun #sun fnaf #moondrop #fnaf moon #moon fnaf #tiedye post

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esamastation · 6 months

Text

Shizuroth, part nineteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

Finally, finally, finally, after the shopping has been done, and his stupid signature leather jacket has been adjusted, and Genesis has given his final bitchy warning about not acting out of character, finally… Sephiroth can have some peace and quiet.

Some day off! Not that the sparring wasn't great, and the clothes were frankly desperately needed, even if he couldn't make his usual colours fit right. All that aside though, he really needs time to himself! There's still so much to figure out! And he really needs to meditate. He needs to sort himself out! And he also, probably, needs to make use of Shinra's archive and records and study some history.

He also really needs a proper mirror in his little single room apartment. The bathroom mirror isn't enough to appreciate the new clothes. To think he used to hate dressing up formally as Shen Yuan. The difference of a few years as Peak Lord makes! And admittedly, Shen Yuan could've never looked anywhere near as good as Sephiroth in a suit like this. Sephiroth, really, looks just too good. Fit for a thousand magazine covers. Which is fitting because he's pretty sure Sephiroth has been on magazine covers back on earth! Which is kinda weird from this perspective! Famous in another world sounds like a damn isekai light novel title.

Ah, but then his whole life is a mockery of the genre.

Dropping his shopping bags by the wardrobe and his new coats over its door, Sephiroth throws himself on his couch and sighs, running a hand through his long bangs.

He has clothing, his room still needs some improvements and will never be Qing Jing Peak, but it will do. Those were the easiest things to cover, really, and now that they're done, now that he's spent several hours getting used to this body and how it looks and who he's supposed to be… the world he's now part of…

Is he really just going to be Sephiroth from here on out? Is he supposed to forget PIDW and Binghe and Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Just go on being Sephiroth, and put Shen Qingqiu behind him?

… He really isn't sure he can, actually! In a way, Shen Qingqiu had suited him better than Shen Yuan had. Well, once the OOC restrictions had come off and he was free to be himself, anyway. Being a soldier, a super SOLDIER at that, with alien DNA and the lifeblood of the planet in his guts…

Resting a hand on his stomach, Sephiroth tugs at the blood red shirt he has on.

It's… really a bit like he's Binghe now. He's an alien hybrid thing here, so it's kind of like being a half demon! Or, ah, weirdly accurate biblical angel? What with the angel wing motif these games have going for themselves… Sephiroth's final form was kinda eldritch, from what he recalls. Wings sticking out every which way. Ridiculous and over the top in a way only Final Fantasy can be!

Damn but he hopes he can grow wings at some point. That would be just so cool, he doesn't even care how ludicrous it would get. The whole thing about wings being cause for existential monster angst is a thing he probably would need to consider, but, seriously. Wings! Yes, please, thank you!

It's the lifeblood of the planet that bothers him the most. Not just because of the oil allegory.

It's also how the local reincarnation cycle works. Though it's more like a spiritual composting rather than straight up reincarnation - but still! The energy pumped into his veins comes from the souls of dead things.

Yeah, he can't ignore that anymore.

Sitting up, Sephiroth gets out of the dress pants he'd bought and the button up shirt, switching back to the more comfortable pyjama pants and t-shirt he started the day with. He takes a moment to put purchases away and tidy his room up to peak Feng Shui before sitting down on his bed.

The energy in his gut is thick, massive and near immovable. He'd read up on Mako as much as there was to be read on his phone. The cycle went something like Lifestream to Mako to Materia - so, in the right conditions, the stuff actually crystallises. So, in a way, Materia is spirit stones! And that's kinda what it feels like in his gut - like his energies are condensing, hardening under pressure… crystallising. Except not into a golden core, nah, just one big shapeless lump of dead-weight-energy.

Well, not on his watch!

Relaxing and breathing in and then slowly out, Sephiroth thinks about all the Cultivation tricks he learned cultivating with damaged spiritual veins and incurable poison. Here he kind of has the opposite problem than with Shen Qingqiu, though - Sephiroth's spiritual veins aren't worn and fragile, they're hardened, like… scar tissue. He really feels a bit burnt on the inside!

Shinra's method was all quantity over quality where it comes to this stuff. Brute forcing their way into a semi-functional magic system, and who cares if it scorches the earth when there's instant profit to be made!

What a truly subtle metaphor.

Well… Shen Qingqiu has worked with worse - and at least there's a lot to work with! So as long as Sephiroth manages to avoid the Qi-deviation of the century, he will have one hell of a golden core! Just gotta not burn himself inside out! No pressure!

Qi Condensation stage - done! He couldn't have done better himself. Foundation Establishment, however… yeah. Sephiroth really has a great body, but it is not prepared for a Golden Core Formation. His energy flow is all whack.

No wonder he cracked like an egg at the slightest bit of mental pressure… a bit like the original goods Shen Qingqiu, really, with his many Qi-deviations.

Right. Never mind that! He has a lot of work and not all the time in the world, alas. No seclusion training in this world!

Time to get to it.

#Fanfiction #svsss #ffvii #ff7 #Shen Qingqiu #Shen Yuan #Sephiroth

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

Also would love more of the art student x stem student peter writing,, again totally just self indulgent here but I adore their dynamic I could go on forever, like study dates but she’s working and Peter hangs around revising notes in her studio and they both just accompany each other AGHHH I could think about them for ages

-🍁🤭

Thanks lovely!

tasm!Peter Parker x artist!reader ♡ 727 words

Your hand comes into view, taking Peter’s attention from his notes for the first time in hours as you slide a paper plate stacked with pizza slices towards him.

“They were out of stir fry,” you say, “but they let me take extra pizza since they felt bad.”

Peter blinks, realizing his eyes are dry and achy. “When did you get this?”

“Just now,” you say, though it sounds like a question. Your brows twitch towards each other, somewhere between bemused and concerned. “Pete, I’ve been gone for like a half hour. You didn’t notice?”

Peter blinks again, hard. He gives his head a little shake. “No, I, uh…I guess I was too distracted. Thanks for the pizza.”

“Course.” You kiss the top of his head as you round the table, sitting down across from him with a couple slices of your own. Peter watches as you zone back into your work, a pensive frown coming to your face. You’re in the beginning stages of a new project, and the last few hours have been a frustrating cycle of erasing, sketching, and erasing again. Peter doesn’t get how you can even see through all the faded, half-removed lines on your page.

“How’s it going?” he asks, tentative.

Your frown worsens. “Not bad,” you say, in a tone that says not great, either. “I’ve landed on an idea, but it just…it doesn’t feel perfect. I don’t want to start and then have to change my mind again.”

“Didn’t you say that’s how it usually goes?” he prompts.

“Yeah,” you sigh, and you sound so upset about it that Peter has to—just has to—reach across the table and take your hand. You offer him a small smile and return the squeeze he gives your fingers.

“Want a break?” he asks you, and you raise your eyebrows.

“I just took my break,” you remind him.

It’s difficult to love someone and see them treat themselves how you treat yourself. Peter would count a run to the dining hall as a break, too, but he doesn’t like it when you do it. Still, that doesn’t give him a lot of ground for argument.

“Then can I see?” he tries, hoping talking it through will make you feel better.

You chew your lip for a second before nodding, going to slide your paper towards him.

“Nope, hold on.” Peter stands up on his seat, stepping one gangly leg and then the other over the table before lowering himself into the chair beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, hugging you so that your face is squished against his bicep. “Better,” he says. “Go on.”

You laugh at his over-the-top affection, but don’t move away, going into the details of your original idea versus what you’ve come up with on paper. The abstract always falls short of the concrete, Peter knows that, and yet he feels your disappointment in your inability to fulfill the full scope of your vision acutely. You grow more animated as you talk, eventually bringing the paper closer and sketching while he watches. Peter suggests his own solutions as you work. They’re useless of course, but he knows that having a sounding board helps you think, so he’ll keep the conversation going any way he can. To your credit, you don’t tell him all the ways he’s wrong. You only hmm and huh and then do your idea anyway.

After a while, you come up with something you’re happier with. It’s still not perfect, but Peter reminds you again of your own tenets; that it never will be, and your only job is to do the best you can with what you have. You’re smiling by now, so it’s a win in his book.

“You gonna talk me through your biochem notes now?” you ask him cheerily.

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your head. “You’re a gem for offering, but we both know you’ll get a headache.”

“I’ll eat my pizza while you talk,” you propose, picking up a now cold slice of your dinner. “C’mon, it’s only fair.”

Peter grins at you, your face lined with tiredness and hand stained with silver pencil lead but eyes alight with that fizzy energy you get from creation. “Okay,” he concedes. “But when we go home, we’re watching the most mindless show we can find on TV.”

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minarixx · 10 months

Text

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 ✯ 𝐓.𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨

"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙙𝙪𝙘𝙚𝙙. 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙗 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙢𝙚."

PAIRING. Best Friend'sDad!Kuroo Tetsurou x f!Reader

CONTENT. Sexual Content, Age Gap, Adultery, Degradation, Pet Names, Sub!Reader, Dom!Kuroo, Vaginal Intercourse, Spanking

The hidden struggles and desires lurking behind the façade of Kuroo Tetsurou's seemingly picture-perfect suburban family. An ordinary man who, in the midst of a midlife crisis, becomes infatuated with his daughter's friends, Y/N L/N.

WC. 4.2k

A/N. Proof-read like half and hoped for the best. Ts too long not reading allat

WARNING. Minors DNI

Inspired by American Beauty (1999)

𝓣he mid-morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting a soft, golden glow on the bedroom walls. Another day in the monotonous cycle of Kuroo’s existence begins. Pulling away from the blissful embrace of sleep, he fumbles to silence the alarm clock, its persistent beeping an unwelcome reminder of the unremarkable hours that lie ahead.

Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror,he saw a stranger. Deep lines etched themselves deeper into his face, a testament to the weight of a life half-lived.He wondered where the spark of vitality and adventure that once defined him went, as he forced a smile that felt foreign on his weary lips.

Downstairs, the illusion of domestic tranquility is maintained. Akira, his wife, moved through the kitchen with an air of calculated efficiency. Every gesture, every word, a well-rehearsed performance. Beneath her composed facade, was the growing chasm that separated them, a canyon of unspoken grievances and unfulfilled desires.

Nana, his daughter, slouches at the breakfast table, lost in the world behind her headphones. Her sullen gaze hints at the disconnection that has settled between them, a silent reminder of the fragments of intimacy that have slipped away unnoticed. He ached for the days when laughter echoed through these walls, when a genuine connection was forged in the simple moments they shared.

The room was shrouded in an eerie silence as the family sat around the dining table. The clinking of cutlery against plates echoed through the room, accompanied only by the occasional rustle of napkins. Each family member seemed lost in their own thoughts, their faces masked with a disinterested expression.

Nana, a quiet and reserved teenager, took a deep breath and broke the monotony. She glanced at her parents, Kuroo and Akira, who were engrossed in their own world, their eyes fixed on their untouched meals. Her voice barely above a whisper, she quietly shared, "I have a cheer performance tonight."

Akira and Kuroo exchanged a brief, absent-minded glance before shifting their gaze back to their plates. Their lack of response was disheartening but not unexpected.

“We’ll be sure to come dear, what time is it?” Akira replied. “6pm mother.” Nana responded, not looking enthusiastic about it.

Without uttering another word, they continued their silent meal, the sound of chewing filling the void that enveloped the room.

When 6pm rolled in, Akira and Kuroo drove to their daughters' cheer performance in silence as usual, no music, just the sounds of the bustling streets of Tokyo.

Tetsurou Kuroo, a man adrift in the desolate sea of middle-aged mediocrity, found himself drawn to the vibrant chaos of his daughter Nana’s high school cheerleading performance. As he sat in the bleachers, surrounded by enthusiastic parents and the deafening cheers of the crowd, a peculiar restlessness stirred within his soul.

His eyes scanned the sea of young faces, each filled with anticipation and hope. And then, like a siren's call, his gaze fell upon you. You, a vision of youthful allure and confidence, stood at the forefront of the cheerleading squad. Your (h/c) hair cascaded over your shoulders, framing a face adorned with delicate features that seemed to radiate an intoxicating beauty. You radiated a youthful energy, an untamed spirit that danced in your eyes. Laughter, like cascading melodies, echoes through the air, and for a fleeting moment, time slows as your gazes meet.

In that instant, time seemed to slow down, the constraints of his ordinary existence fade away, and the dormant embers of desire ignite within him. The world around Kuroo blurred into the background, as if a spotlight had illuminated you, isolating you from the rest of the universe. Your smile, a seductive curve of lips, pierced through his complacency and ignited a dormant flame within him.

Kuroo's thoughts swirled with a mix of admiration and desire. He couldn't help but be captivated by your aura of self-assuredness, the way you moved with a grace that defied your tender age. You symbolized everything he had lost touch with—youth, vitality, and the intoxicating allure of unbridled passion.

As he watched you perform, Kuroo's mind became a battleground of conflicting emotions. A part of him yearned for the forbidden, to embrace the vibrancy of youth and indulge in the forbidden fruit of desire. Yet another part recoiled in guilt, acutely aware of the consequences and the moral boundaries he risked crossing.

But beneath the surface of his infatuation, a deeper realization began to take hold. He understood that you, with your superficial allure, was merely a vessel for his own misplaced longings. You represented a nostalgia for the freedom and excitement of his own youth, a time when possibilities seemed limitless and life was an open road.

Kuroo's thoughts ventured into the depths of self-reflection. He questioned the choices that had led him to this point—the compromises, the sacrifices, and the loss of his own identity. Your ethereal beauty became a symbol of the life he had forsaken, a reminder of the person he had once been and longed to reclaim.

But as the cheerleading routine came to an end and you disappeared into the bustling crowd, reality settled in. Kuroo recognized the ephemeral nature of his infatuation. You were but a mirage, a fleeting embodiment of his own disillusionment. The true path to fulfillment in rediscovering the beauty himself.

And so, as the applause faded and the cheerleaders retreated from the spotlight so did Kuroo's fantasy.

Kuroo rose from the bleachers and got ready to congratulate his daughter. As they were in the hallways picking up their daughter, his eyes lit up when he saw you holding bouquet from your parents. Your smile shined brighter than any other. It was like those cartoons of a man smelling food and floating towards it, however to him, it was as if he hadn't ate for years.

Kuroo later found himself standing at the window of his dimly lit study, gazing out at the world beyond. His eyes, once dulled by routine, now seemed alive with a glimmer of hope. A gentle breeze danced through the curtains, rustling the papers on his desk. Lost in his thoughts, Kuroo pondered the emptiness that had consumed his life. The monotony of his job, the strained relationships with his wife and daughter, and the relentless pursuit of societal expectations had left him feeling like a hollow shell. A desperate longing for something more whispered within his soul, a plea for salvation from the mundane.

And then, as if in response to his silent prayer, he saw her. A figure, ethereal and captivating, emerged from the shadows. The evening light caressed your porcelain skin, and your flowing white dress seemed to float around you like a cloud. Your hair, cascading in waves like the milky way, framed a face that radiated a beauty so rare and otherworldly, it took Kuroo's breath away.

At that moment, time stood still. Kuroo’s heart, burdened by years of disillusionment, skipped a beat. It was as if an angel had descended from the heavens, gracing his world with her divine presence. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, as though caught in a mesmerizing spell.

As his gaze locked with yours, Kuroo’s mind was flooded with a torrent of emotions. A sense of longing and desire, but also a profound sense of understanding. In her eyes, he saw a reflection of his own hidden dreams and forgotten aspirations. It was a connection beyond words, a silent conversation that reached deep into his soul.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Kuroo felt truly alive. The weight of societal expectations and the shackles of conformity melted away, replaced by a surge of newfound liberation. In this mystical encounter, he glimpsed the possibility of breaking free from the chains that bound him.

His thoughts swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. He yearned to abandon the trappings of his past life, to embrace the beauty and wonder that beckoned him. The angel became a symbol of his redemption, a guiding light in the darkness of his existence.

When morning came he was back to his mundane life routine, it was all just a dream. The morning sun painted gentle streaks of golden light across the kitchen as Kuroo sat down at the breakfast table, his mind still grappling with the lingering thoughts from the previous day's encounter at the high school cheerleading performance. He had been captivated by the enigmatic allure of you, yet a part of him recognized the illusory nature of his infatuation.

"I'll be working the night shift today.." Akira spoke, her back turned to Kuroo as she lightly spread avocado on her toast. Kuroo didn't reply.

As he reached for a slice of toast, his daughter Nana entered the room, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and mischief. She took a seat opposite Kuroo, her youthful energy providing a stark contrast to his own disillusionment.

"Dad," Nana began, "My friend Y/N from cheer is coming over."

“Who is Y/N? I mean, I know she's your friend, but what's she like?"

"Oh, Dad, you have no idea. Y/N is the epitome of beauty. She's confident, charismatic, and has this aura that draws people in. She's got this wild, rebellious spirit that's so different from anyone else I know."

Kuroo’s eyebrows furrowed, a mix of intrigue and caution flickering in his eyes. "Sounds like quite a character. But what's her story? I mean, besides being your friend and all."

Nana replied. "Well, she's got this reputation, you know? The boys at school go crazy over her. She's always surrounded by attention, but she's smart too. She knows how to use her charm to get what she wants."

Kuroo’s mind raced, caught between the allure of your magnetic presence and the nagging voice of reason that warned against crossing forbidden boundaries. "Nana, I hope you understand that there's a lot more to a person than just their outward appearance or reputation. It's important to look beyond the surface and value the qualities that truly matter."

Nana nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. "I get it, Dad. But sometimes, you just can't help being drawn to someone, you know? Y/N has this energy, this confidence that's hard to ignore. I guess that's why she has such an effect on people."

Kuroo’s heart skipped a beat, his thoughts immediately transported back to the image of you on the cheerleading squad, your vibrant beauty captivating him like a moth drawn to a flame. He struggled to maintain composure, to hide the flicker of desire that threatened to ignite within him.

"Y/N, huh?" Kuroo replied, feigning casual interest as he tried to quell the rising tide of emotions. "That's nice, Nana. You two have fun."

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows as you arrived at the Kuroo residence, your presence like a gust of wind that stirred the stagnant air. Kuroo watched from the corner of the room, a mix of curiosity and trepidation coursing through his veins.

You, exuding an air of confidence and allure, walked into the house with a sway in her hips and a smile that could melt hearts. Your eyes locked onto Kuroo, a knowing glimmer dancing within them. The room seemed to come alive, charged with an electrifying energy that crackled between them.

Kuroo’s heart skipped a beat as you approached him, voice dripping with seductive charm. "Hi, Mr. Kuroo. It's so nice to see you again. Nana has told me so much about you."

Kuroo’s pulse quickened, his mind racing to find the right words. "Likewise, Y/N. Nana speaks highly of you. I hope you two have a good time hanging out. She's upstairs showering right now"

You leaned in closer, breath caressing his ear like a whispered temptation. "Oh, we will, Mr. Kuroo. But I have to admit, there's something about you that's caught my attention. You're not like the other dads. You have this air of mystery and allure."

Kuroo’s throat tightened, the weight of desire and responsibility pulling him in opposite directions. He knew he should resist, that giving in to your advances would jeopardize everything he held dear. Yet, the allure of your gaze and the intoxicating chemistry between them threatened to unravel his resolve.

A subtle smile played on your lips as you continued, voice laced with an undercurrent of seduction. "You know, Mr. Kuroo, you have a way of making a girl feel alive. You've got this fire inside you, and I can't help but be drawn to it."

His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape from the magnetic pull you exerted. His mind churned with conflicting thoughts and emotions, torn between the temptation that stood before him and the consequences he knew would follow.

Summoning his last ounce of willpower, Kuroo straightened his posture and met your gaze with a steely resolve. "Y/N, I appreciate your flattery, but I can't ignore the boundaries that exist. My focus is on being a responsible father and husband."

Your eyes flickered with a mix of disappointment and defiance. You took a step back, your mask of confidence momentarily faltering. "I see. Well, maybe one day you'll realize that life is meant to be lived, to seize the passion and desire that comes our way. Until then, Mr. Kuroo, you'll just have to settle for fantasies."

Kuroo’s heart sank as he watched you retreat to go upstairs, your words echoing in the empty space between them. The temptation had been strong, but he knew deep down that pursuing this forbidden path would only lead to destruction. The dance of desire had been tantalizing, but the cost was too high to bear.

As you left the room, Kuroo was left with a mix of relief and a lingering ache. He had resisted the temptation that had danced before him, choosing instead to honor the commitment he had made to his family. It was a bittersweet victory, a reminder of the fragility of human desires and the strength it took to stay true to oneself.

The night settled over the Kuroo residence like a velvety curtain, casting a hushed stillness upon the house. Kuroo sat alone in his dimly lit study, bathed in the soft glow of his computer screen. The rhythmic tapping of the keyboard filled the room, a solitary symphony in the silent hours.

Lost in his work, Kuroo's mind danced between the lines of code, his thoughts consumed by the demands of his job. It was in this moment of focused concentration that he heard a faint rustle from the staircase, a delicate whisper amidst the silence.

His heart skipped a beat as he looked up, his eyes meeting the form of you descending the stairs. Your presence, like an apparition, sent a shiver down Kuroo's spine. His initial surprise was quickly overshadowed by a rising tide of apprehension. The forbidden allure of the earlier encounter hung heavy in the air.

You approached him with a coy smile, your eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and desire. "Couldn't sleep, Mr. Kuroo?"

Kuroo's voice caught in his throat as he struggled to find words. He glanced at the clock, the late hour a reminder of the boundaries that should have kept them apart. "Y/N, it's late. You should go back upstairs."

Your steps were purposeful and deliberate as she closed the distance between them. Your voice, a gentle melody, enveloped him. "I couldn't resist, Mr. Kuroo. There's something about you, something that draws me in. I feel a connection, an electricity that I can't ignore."

Kuroo's heart raced, his resolve waning in the face of your allure. The lines of his own moral code blurred as he wavered between succumbing to the forbidden desires and upholding the values he held dear.

There was a tiny voice in his head that said he should stop before things get too far to the point where you can't control anything. His desires and impulses finally snapped.

Lingering gazes full of longing, wandering hands that find a home on your body, the voice that gives you jolts in your body. You clench your thighs at his voice and touch. The seductive act was sexy, he has to admit, sometimes the forbidden can be the most tempting.

“Are you finished tempting your friend’s father? Did you have fun? Or do you still wanna keep going’?” he questions, placing one hand on the countertop and the other on his hip. One half of his shirt bends where he’s got the buttons undone, showcasing his chest

He wants you to admit how much a desperate girl you are. How much of a needy slut you’re being.

“I haven’t even got you on my cock yet, and you don’t know a damn thing already. Acting like you weren’t behaving like a whore during the whole time you were in my house.” The older man wasn’t wrong at all.

“How about we skip to the part where you admit you want a man nearly twice your age to fuck you, baby?” he questions, snapping you out of your thoughts. Any second thoughts you had were ready to die like wilted flowers. “I know that cunt is begging to be filled.”

With his words, your walls clenches. Your panties are drenched and have turned into a darker shade at the crotch.

Kuroo stood behind you, though it takes only a few strides for him to reach you. You crane your neck to look up at him, his tall height causing him to tower over you. “What happened to the girl who was so willing earlier?” He ridicules you.

“Please..I want this.” you quietly murmur, and you watch as his face hardens.

“Oh, now you wanna be my good girl? You’re lucky it's night, your best friend is sound asleep and my wife is at work, sweetie. I would put you over my knee and spank that cute ass of yours ‘till you’re crying,” Kuroo tells you, and you have a feeling he’ll do exactly that any given moment.

You whimper at the thought. Kuroo’s hands look heavy, veiny yet soothing, and he doesn’t seem like a man who takes misbehaviour lightly.

With the little daring personality you had left, you reached up on your toes and grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Though you started it, he quickly took control. Biting, kissing, he makes out with you in an unforgettable way. A way no man has ever.

He claims your mouth and his hands do the same to your body. They grip your hips and bring you close to him, his hardened cock rubbing against your ass. Now, it feels as though it’s more intimidating than you expected.

But it makes sense, a man of his size must be large all over. He moves into you, grinding against your body for a moment’s relief.

Eventually, you pull away when the ache between your legs turns unbearable. “N-Need your cock, Mr. Kuroo. I need you in me. T-to feel you” you tell him, reaching down to palm it. Kuroo quickly pulls away before he gently moves you.

You’re bent over one of the countertops with the older man’s hands still on your hips. The cold surface is soothing against your hot skin, but it doesn’t quell the throbbing of your cunt. “So slutty… I’ll fuck you like the whore you are. Don’t worry,” he reassures you, flipping up your skirt.

Your nipples make contact with the marble of his work desk as you pull down the top of your dress. Kuroo lands a spank on your ass, making you let out a loud cry. “Shhh… You gotta be quiet, sweetie. We don’t wanna get caught, right?” he quietly tells you, and you nod your head.

He pulls down your panties and admires the glistening of your cunt. “That’s all for me?” Kuroo questions, pocketing the cloth.

Nodding your head, you whimper and clench around nothing. “Mhm, all for you, Kuroo! No one else,” your voice is more pathetic than it usually is. The confident facade was crushed by this man alone. “Good girl. Call me Tetsurou.” The zipper of his jeans is dragged down, the sound ripping through the air and waking up the butterflies in your stomach.

“Y’know, I could stretch this pretty cunt out so easily. Gonna let me ruin your little fuckhole? How many little boys have already been in this cause it's clearly never been by a real man.”

Immediately, you agree, in fact you beg for it. “Mhm—please, Tetsurou? I need you to make me take it,” you tell Kuroo. The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him groan.

You can feel the heavy tip against your opening, collecting your slick, giving you a teasing slap, and letting it catch. “You better take all of this dick, sweetie.”

With that, he pushes in. The stretch is overbearing as Kuroo pushes his entire cock inside of your wet pussy. He grazes your g-spot and fits snug, right up to your cervix.

Your hand fists together as you adjust to his massive length and the intense pleasure. Although all you could think about was him, his daughter aka your best friend was just upstairs. The sight of her finding out what her father was doing to her best friend felt wrong but made you even more turned on.

Moans leave your mouth continuously as Kuroo begins to thrusts, growing addicted to the way your cunt clenched around him. “Best pussy I’ve ever had... this can't just be a one time thing.” Insteading of replying all you could do was simply whine.

He begins to fuck you, pushing in and pulling out of your tightness. His cock shines with your arousal and your noises grow louder. “Good girl—such a good girl for me only. You’re takin’ it like a winner, sweetie,” Kuroo coos, but you’re speechless.

The sensations that send jolts through your body are ones you know you won’t be able to recreate with anyone else. Each thrust leaves you nearly-trembling, his cock brushing against your g-spot as he kisses your cervix.

Kuroo’s balls slap against your clit and your body jerks forward as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Feelin’ good, baby?” he questions, leaning over you. His chest presses against your back and his mouth is right by your ear.

As he thrusts into your pussy, he laughs. The chuckle is low and gravelly, one you’ve heard many times. “Already fucked stupid? How cute. It’s okay, baby. It’s your fault for being a slut and tempting a married man.” Kuroo husks, and his words have you suddenly clenching around him.

He curses at your grip, and does so again when you let out a wail of pleasure.

Immediately, his large hand comes up to your face and clamps over your mouth, muffling your moans, whimpers, and whines.

“You dont wanna get caught now do you, princess?” he reminds you.

“Are you gonna come, baby?” Kuroo questions, noting your little reactions.

Your cunt squeezing his cock, your pornographic sounds, and so much more. “Yeah? Gonna soak my fat cock already? Go ahead, slut,” he smirks, finishing his sentence with a series of dizzying thrusts.

Your eyes roll back as you suddenly hit your climax, pussy gushing around your friend’s dad, just like you’ve fantasised about. This whole scenario was straight from a porno. “That’s it, good girl Y/N. Make a mess on this dick, baby. I gotcha,” he soothes, fucking you through your orgasm.

After the shocks travelled through your body, your limbs twitch and shake from the intensity. Kuroo’s hand soaks up each of your pornographic moans while he stretches out your drooling fuckhole. The grip of your pussy is as tight as a fist, and Kuroo knows he won’t last as long as he wants to.

It’s not because he finishes quickly—it’s because you feel so damn good, and he can’t risk getting caught any longer.

Eventually, you ride out your release and Kuroo is determined to swiftly bring you to another orgasm. “You fuckin’ love this, don’t you, baby? Gettin’ fucked by a man twice your age and your size.” The mention of the two differences has you wanting to bite your lip, but you can’t.

Never in your life have you ever been fucked so good. You nod as best as you can and in return, Kuroo laughs of pride.

“That’s right, sweetie. Bet I already ruined you for other men, hm? This pussy was made for my cock, so you better not touch it without my permission,” he warns, and you nod your head. Kuroo pulls his hand away, the other one petting the back of your head. “Lemme hear it, baby. Tell me you’ll be his good girl from now on.”

“I– I’m your good girl W– Won’t be bad, promise,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice quiet. But it’s hard when his cock is stroking your walls and bringing you to another orgasm so soon. Your folds are sticky with arousal and so is Kuroo’s sack. It slaps against your clit each time he pushes forwards. He groans, “Good girl.”

Warmth fills you up and spills past his thickness, ropes of cum shooting out of the older man’s sensitive tip. A few seconds later, Kuroo’s cock is coated in your release.

As you both catch your breath, you shamelessly move your hips. Kuroo curses from the feeling, he sets his left hand on your hip, the other one bracing against the edge of the desk.

“Still didn’t fuck the brattiness out of you, did I?”

“Nope. But you love it. Don’t you. ?”

The look on his face and the throbbing of his cock answer for him.

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itgirlgyu · 7 months

Text

fallen over, choi beomgyu.

🥥 ﹒ ! (＞人＜;)ᶻz ﹒★ beomgyu x fem!reader.

ꜝ ওফ্ফো ! WC1072. ₍synopsis: during a sunny evening, whilst running away from your daily existential crisis you understand the importance of exercise. and,

sort of acquaint yourself with a charming fellow with kind of slippery fingers, and the prettiest face you've ever seen.

✫ this is dedicated to my best friend @itz-yerin i hope you like it baby!!!

"Don't mind me guys," you choked out despite trying your best to conceal the fact that your lungs were desperate for a steady source of air going in and out consistently, and letting you know that the lifestyle you had chosen for yourself all this while might be the case of being eaten alive if a zombie apocalypse did end up occurring in the near future.

"Go ahead," you were too focused on making sure your nostrils weren't flaring more than usual than speaking in coherent sentences, "Go!"

Your best friend, albeit initially confused but upon noticing and analysing the hunched over cycle posture and the sweat dripping off your body like a waterfall, had taken her befuddled, and slightly concerned boyfriend for a lap, or four while found a nearby bench to sit down to recollect your breath and think over how to expand your lifespan by a few more years.

Battling the urge to completely abandon the cycle onto the street, you lugged it with you as you crawled to the section with the grass, and collapsed beside the fallen torture device. The exhaustion gradually evaporates off your body like dewdrops under the scorching gaze of sunshine in the mornings of june, as a stealthy serenity sneaks in amidst the chaos of your surroundings, transforming all the clamour into a state of halcyon white noise.

You closed your eyes, allowing the gentle breeze to graze your heated cheeks, adorning you with the fragrances of all the florals it has been carrying. The sunshine played hide and seek with the clouds, drawing an array of inane shapes on your face like a toddler, tickling you with its sparkling mischief.

It felt good; it felt fine, despite the concerns that had kept you awake all night. It felt like you were alive in the moment and that's all that mattered. The blades of grass prickling your back, the June sun showering you with its rays and clouds coming to your aid. The warm gust of wind consoling you as well as the slight droplets of ice cold rain—ice cold rain?

You opened your eyes to uncover the mystery behind the whiplash of the capricious weather but to further push into a frenzy of perplexity, the clear blue yonder mocked you as it boasted an expanse devoid of any dark clouds—but the fog cleared up, and the reason behind the sudden downpour was someone's passionate participation in a topic you couldn't quite over hear. The sugary droplet falling off your cheek, and onto the green blades, only to be replaced with a few more similar ones when the conversation took another swift swerve increasing the ferocity of the words coming out of your assailant's mouth—so fast you were even a lip reader would have to suffer.

A few droplets were already a hassle as they dried off on your cheeks leaving a very sticky residue, but you had to seriously draw the line when the entirety of the popsicle slipped from his fingers and hit you right on your face. Before you could even process the piece of ice that was stuck on your face, you heard the man gasp, followed by another gasp from the person he was arguing with, both of them rushing over to make sure you don't sue—except the other one ran to another direction for some reason.

You should be sitting up by now and giving them an earful and but for some reasons, you couldn't—one of the major one being the fact the twenty minutes you actually enjoyed cycling, and the other half an hour you forced yourself to continue transforming itself into a bothersome back pain, and secondly it was quite amusing your main assailant's slightly long shag hair moving up and down from this angle. Removing the popsicle from your cheek, you tried to sit yourself up.

"Are you okay?!" You attacker crouched down to meet you at your current height. His concerned laced eyes analysed your face before fumbling with his jeans pocket to get his handkerchief out, offering it to you, "I am so sorry for this."

You touched your cheek before accepting the handkerchief to dab it onto your cheek softly putting on a show for him—except water and a good few seconds of rubbing the syrupy consistency wasn't leaving your face. You knew that, he knew that, but the world depends on such unspoken courtesies.

"It's alright." You assured him meekly, focusing more of your energy to get yourself off the ground so you don't seem like a brat—despite it taking a little more that what it takes other people, as in like seconds, you were at least able to get your ass off the ground for a few inches when you noticed the concerned expression glazing over his pretty face, "I was cycling for a few hours so my legs just gave out," you lied.

He nodded and extended his hands for you to take, "I am Beomgyu," He introduced himself, and you gave him your name in return.

"I am sorry for what happened! I promise I will buy you a good cleanser of your-" Before the beautiful man, whose name you had just learned to be Beomgyu, could finish his benevolent promise to take care of any arising skin issues you may face, his friend whom you had deemed to have abandoned his friend in need, came running as though he had something important to announce—conveniently missing the laid out bike on the ground and as a result crashing into Beomgyu's back who in a sick game of domino had fallen over you before he could even process what had hit him.

You cursed under your breath when you clearly heard a few of your spine break, with the added weight of two men laid out on top of you earning the questionable looks from every passerby. You couldn't even complain if you wanted to after all it was your own fault leaving it laid out instead of just properly putting it away on standing.

"I went to go get wet tissue for the blunder you created," The top part of the stack, the runaway friend, groaned while wiggling his way out of the giant dog pile.

"And you couldn't announce it, Taehyun?!" The one directly on top of your stomach croaked before turning to look at you, "I'll pick up a tab of your chiropractor I promise."

COPYRIGHTS RESERVED TO ITGIRLGYU 23'. FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies @ox1-lovesick @jisungsdaydreamer @wonioml @1921choi @forever-in-the-sky2 @gyuletters

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chibikyo · 7 months

Text

Day 8 - Breeding Kink

Baraka x M!Reader

Tarkat has some strange effects, including sending it's victims into a heat/rut cycle every six months. Baraka, no longer contagious, spends his upcoming rut with his new partner, filling him up to bursting. Reader is AMAB and male pronouns/anatomy used Warnings: breeding kink, slight mention of mpreg (not actual mpreg tho), cum inflation, belly bulge, not ABO but Baraka is experiencing a rut, slight cock warming, rough sex, biting and blood play (very slight, Baraka is a sharp boy), enthusiastic consent

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The feeling of Baraka’s arms around his waist, tugging him flush against the Edenian’s fevered skin made Y/n squirm with anticipation. Since Empress Mileena’s court mages had discovered a way to prevent people already infected with Tarkat from spreading the disease, he had finally entered into a tentative relationship with the Tarkatan leader. It had taken much convincing on his part for Baraka to give him a chance, but he’d been awed by the man’s perseverance and fortitude and Baraka was equally as charmed by Y/n’s admiration.

It wasn’t long after Baraka had entered courtship with him that they‘d fallen into bed together. Baraka had been so gentle, aware just how many ways he could hurt his lover, but Y/n was always quick to reassure him and slowly, Baraka had become more open with his affections. He still treated his partner delicately, sometimes infuriatingly so, so it came as a surprise when Baraka, looking quite embarrassed, had requested Y/n to assist him with his rut. Male Tarkatan experienced a sort of pseudo heat/rut cycle, once or twice a year, likely as a side effect of the infection. They would be hit with a strong fever and the strong urge to breed that, if left to fester, could be extremely painful.

Y/n had been quick to agree, reassuring Baraka again that he trusted him, that it would be okay if Baraka couldn’t be as gentle as he usually was. He understood Baraka might become a little feral once the rut was in full swing, and they had discussed a few precautions and safety measures, but there had been no need for those. Since Baraka had first stripped the clothes from his own fevered skin the day before, he had made it his single-minded focus to shower Y/n with pleasure and they were well into full rut now.

He felt Baraka thrust his cock forward, rutting shallowly against Y/n’s hole, still wet from the cum Baraka had already pumped into him. Baraka had been insatiable before this, able to cum several times before he was satisfied, but now it dialed up to eleven. No matter how long he went or how much he came, Baraka always seemed ready to go within a few minutes. Y/n was too weak and tired to protest, body sore in the best of ways as he felt the tip of Baraka’s cock catch on his fluttering rim, pushing into him with a slick squelch.

“Are you sure you don’t need a break,” Baraka growled, teeth pressed against Y/n’s shoulder even as he bottomed out in the smaller man. Y/n gasped as Baraka pressed against his prostate and trembled in his arms. Y/n twisted, pressed his lips against Baraka’s nose as he rocked his hips back encouragingly.

“Take what you need, sweetheart.” Y/n murmured. “Want you inside me, always, feels so good.” Baraka hissed, teeth scraping against Y/n’s delicate flesh as he began to thrust, slow but powerful thrusts, each one punching into Y/n’s sweet spot.

Y/n felt his cock stirring. He hadn’t managed to get more than half-hard for the last few hours, his cock utterly spent and oversensitive, but it seemed his body was finally ready to participate again. One of their safety measures meant Y/n had to have a very awkward conversation with his sister who would be lingering within the Tarkatan colony to pull him out should things go south. She’d hugged him, told him that he was lucky she loved him enough not to vomit while discussing his sex life, before she’d gone to a few Outworld healers to see what they could whip up to assist him. Apparently those infected with Tarkat were not the only Outworld race to experience heat/rut cycles and he’d been supplied with protein shakes laced with low grade aphrodisiacs to help him keep up.

Baraka had just finished helping him drink one of them an hour ago, holding the straw his sister had been smart enough to procure to his lips and had stroked his stomach as Y/n drank. He was grateful they seemed to be working as his cock began to leak pre-cum from Baraka’s assault on his likely swollen prostate. Baraka fought to keep things slow, languid, for as long as possible, but the heat burning under his flesh always won. He started to rut harder, faster, clawed hands that were surprisingly beautiful grasping Y/n’s hips so he could pull him down to meet each thrust and Y/n couldn’t help letting out gasping, breathy moans with each drag of Baraka’s cock.

“Gods you’re still so tight.” Baraka hissed. He rolled Y/n onto all fours, pulling his hips up so he could thrust into him even harder. Y/n spread his legs wider, rocked back to match Baraka’s rhythm. He felt Baraka’s hand sneak under him, pressing a hand to his belly, and the Tarkat shuddered to a halt. Y/n whimpered as the orgasm that had been steadily building fizzled out, watching Baraka’s hand stroke the hard lines of his stomach. The tiniest hint of a bulge could be seen as Baraka pressed into him deeper and Y/n moaned, realizing that Baraka was so big he could feel his own cock buried inside him. “Feel that? How perfectly you were made for me.”

“Baraka, please.” Y/n whined. “Please, need you to fill me up with your cum; want to be full of you.” Baraka began to thrust again, hard enough that Y/n could see the tip of his cock poking his skin every time he buried himself in his tight heat. Baraka had already cum in him so many times that it sloshed around inside him, but he didn’t care. He had to have more. The sensation when Baraka came was addicting; his whole body was burning from the rut, his cock a molten heat against his sensitive walls, and his cum just as hot and thick and Y/n moaned with need as Baraka growled into his ear.

“Not full yet?” Baraka hissed. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you. Still so tight even after I’ve fucked you nonstop for a whole day.” He pressed harder against Y/n’s belly, relishing the sweet noises it evoked from his lover. His other hand squeezed at the supple flesh of Y/n’s ass, claws digging gently into the skin. Y/n’s back was a mess of tiny abrasions and cuts from where he’d rubbed against the protrusions on Baraka’s chest. Baraka leaned down, lapped at the raw skin with his tongue, cleaning up the tiny specks of blood that stained each one.

“Going to fill you up so well with this one.” Baraka groaned. “The last times were just warm up, preparing you to be bred.” Y/n moaned at that and he heard Baraka laugh. “Do you want that, darling? Want me to breed you, fill you up with my seed? Wish I could breed you for real, you’d look so beautiful carrying my child.” Y/n let out another gasp, picturing it in his mind as Baraka reached down to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts.

“You’ll look the part when I’m done.” Baraka continued, savoring the symphony of moans and gasps that Y/n could no longer control. “I should plug this whole between rounds, ensure none of my seed is wasted, and just fuck more into you over and over.”

Y/n felt something snap inside him as Baraka hit his prostate with a final thrust, his hand furiously stroking Y/n’s aching cock, and he came with a scream, painting the sheets below him with cum as Baraka unleashed a torrent of his own inside him. His whole body felt on fire, burning up from the inside as he was hit by wave after wave of aftershocks, the longest orgasm he’d ever experienced. His cock didn’t even soften as Baraka continued to shoot rope after rope of cum into him, until his stomach cramped and stretched to accommodate. His arms shook with the effort not to just collapse under him.

“Gods you’re perfect.” Baraka breathed, his hand stroking softly over Y/n’s swollen belly. As gently as he could manage, he rolled Y/n onto his back, sliding a pillow under his hips to keep them tipped upward, before sliding back into Y/n’s drooling hole. Y/n keened, feeling his own cock jerk, still hard and weeping.

Baraka wasted no time building their rhythm back up, looping his arms under Y/n’s knees to sling his legs up around his neck. Y/n barely registered the pain of his calf scraping against Baraka’s protruding bones as he was folded up into a mating press, allowing Baraka to thrust even deeper. He rutted into him rough, shallow, barely pulling back before punching his prostate again and again, a constant drag across the abused organ. All Y/n could do was hang on as Baraka drove into him over and over.

He had barely recovered from the last orgasm and already that liquid heat was pooling in his core, his cock slapping against the tiny swell of his stomach wetly. His balls were tight, aching, and ready to spill over the edge and Y/n squirmed, wanting to escape the torturous assault yet hoping Baraka would never stop; would use him like this for the rest of his rut. He reached for his cock, desperate for any sort of friction to help tip him over into oblivion but with a growl Baraka snatched his hands away, pinned them above his head. Y/n made a distressed noise, struggling against Baraka’s restraining grip but he was too tired and Baraka too strong. He let out another anguished moan as Baraka dropped his head, tongue snaking out from his teeth to tease his nipples, alternating between them with a wet slurp.

“You’ll come on my cock and nothing else,” Baraka snarled. Y/n felt tears spring into his eyes as he felt his cock twitch and jerk, the softest brush of Baraka’s abs against it the only friction he received. Baraka pulled up, taking even that away as he let out a feral growl before rutting into Y/n harder still. “Do it, darling, let me watch you fall apart. Come for me.”

Y/n felt his muscles clench, balls drawn so tight it hurt as he crashed over the edge, vision going white as the orgasm surged through him. Baraka fucked him through it, chasing his own release and howling in victory as he came again, watching in awe as Y/n’s belly stretched around the hot, gush of seed. He stilled inside him, keeping him plugged up as he pumped more and more cum into his lover, watching him writhe under him as he was forced to accept every drop. Baraka leaned down, pressed his teeth against Y/n’s parted lips and slipped his tongue inside the warm, inviting cavern of his mouth. They tangled together, the closest Baraka could come to kissing, but Y/n loved it when he indulged.

They stayed that way for several seconds until Baraka finally unhooked the smaller man's legs from his shoulders, carefully helping him settle around him before grasping Y/n’s waist with both hands, thumbs stroking the slight bulge of his stomach. His face twisted up in what Y/n knew from experience was a devious smirk, eyes filled with equal parts awe and hunger as he watched Y/n’s breathing even out, eyes half lidded and wet with unshed tears.

“Oh fuck.” Y/n moaned as he propped himself up to look at where Baraka’s thumbs were worrying his sensitive skin. HIs stomach was no longer flat, skin stretched up into a slight bump that made him look like he was a few months pregnant. He reached down to feel for himself, gasping as the lightest press sent a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He collapsed back onto the pillows with a moan as he felt Baraka shift and turn, manipulating him back to their former position with Y/n as the little spoon. He did so gently, careful to keep himself sheathed inside Y/n’s tender hole so that nothing would spill out. Y/n choked as Baraka’s fingers trailed down to press at where his cock met the swollen rim, pressing a few drops of cum that had leaked out back inside him, his body stretching to accommodate the additional intrusion.

“So full, sweetheart, Baraka, please.” Y/n whimpered, not quite sure what he was asking for. Baraka’s finger slipped out as he tugged Y/n flush to him, buried as far as he could go into Y/n’s wet heat. It was only the second day. Baraka’s rut normally would not break until the third day, sometimes going into four. If he kept this up, forced Y/n to hold it all inside? Y/n shuddered at the thought, but he knew Baraka wouldn’t force him to take more than he could handle, and Y/n was starting to enjoy the feeling of being so full

“Can’t believe how much you took. So beautiful.” Baraka bit gently into Y/n’s shoulder, the need to mark his claim on him too strong to ignore. Y/n hissed, but didn’t complain, the pain grounding him back to reality as he felt Baraka’s hips start twitching again. Y/n shuddered, not sure his body could take more right now. “It’s alright, you take a break, love. I’ll make sure nothing leaks out while you sleep.” Y/n nodded, eyes already beginning to sag as he felt Baraka’s hand move down to cup his aching stomach. “I’ll have more for you when you wake.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #MK1 #MK #Baraka #MK Baraka #Baraka x Reader #Baraka X Male Reader #Kinktober 2023 #ChibiKaosu Kinktober #ChibiKaosu Writes

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lunalockley · 1 year

Text

The Limo Driver (part one)

Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Very NSFW which is funny cause reader is in her workplace. Fingers exactly where you want them.

Summary: Jake has issues, yet has the audacity to be possessive.

Words: 4700+

Notes: Hiii! I wasn't posting for a while because I wasn't satisfied with my writing, but now save yourselves I'm backkkk

Masterlist

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Truth is… you’ve missed him. All this time you’ve missed him.

You have realized he never told you how old he is, where he is from, or what he does. You don’t have any substantial information about his personality, about who he is as a person. All you know is he answers to the name of Jake and you think he drives a limo for a living.

That’s it. That’s all you have on him. And half of it it’s guessed.

Yet, you’ve missed him. A lot. Which is pretty stupid. And annoying.

Because if you already have to deal with mornings you suddenly wake up breathing hard and sweaty just by the infuriatingly vivid idea of his warm mouth making his way down on your neck, or the roughness of his hands grabbing your hips to pull you closer, deeper, harder… ugly, disgusting ideas you’re determined to call nightmares. At work, everything gets worse.

There are days when the restaurant is full, no matter how late it is. So you move around on a nonstop cycle greeting, serving, and cleaning until your shift is over and you don’t have energy left to think about anything else than your soft, comfy bed. But there are also days when almost no one comes. Days when no one wants breakfast at 1 am, for some reason, so you don’t have anyone to reassure there’s still bacon and eggs available—even when the ‘24-hour breakfast’ slogan plagues pretty much every inch of the restaurant. Nothing to serve, nothing to clean, no repetition to follow. Nothing to concentrate on.

So all that are you left with it’s the constant hum of the ceiling fan, your thoughts and the fact that his usual seat pulls your attention like a gravitational force, taking over you against all your fucking will. Whether it’s being used by a stranger and you can’t escape how wrong it feels having someone else where it should be him, or when its emptiness seems to mock how you haven’t been able to forget him despite how long it’s been since the last time you saw him.

So of course it’s stupid and annoying… and stupid.

Because if he’s not sitting there frowning at his coffee and flirting with you whenever you got closer enough, as he did for weeks on end all these months ago, it’s because he doesn’t want to, right? It’s been nearly a half-year for fuck’s sake. Of course he doesn’t want to.

You know that. You do. Yet the kiss gets replayed on your mind all the fucking time. Because that’s the exact same spot where you felt his lips against yours for real, not like the not-good-enough vanished version of your drea—nightmares.

Even though you’d prefer those horrible nightmares than staying behind the counter with nothing to do but alternate your eyes between a smooching couple in one corner and an old melancholic man observing the night sky in the other, the only customers in the restaurant. No one else has entered the place in a torturously slow hour and a half. And there's still another hour left until your shift ends.

It’s embarrassing how all your life you had been proud of yourself for not letting anyone take over your mind as you’ve seen in cheesy movies and listened to in corny songs. You were fine, taking care of your well-being, working on as many jobs as physically possible, patiently increasing your savings, doing everything in your hands to follow your slightly unrealistic dreams. But this? This is straight-out dumb.

You think about him as soon as you wake up, you get distracted on your daily life, on your work. And the fact that any little silly thing has the power to make you think of him, to wonder what he might be doing, may have he eaten, might he be okay—it’s infuriating.

You just never had someone on your mind… all the fucking time.

And now it’s getting to a point you’re just mad about it. About how silly you were to open up to him, to share your dreams and fears when he didn’t even tell you his last name. About how naive you were to let him be part of your life so easily. About the stupid kiss, too. About how you still care, how you’re still hoping he’s okay. About everything. Even the soft buzzing of the coffee machine is getting on your nerves.

You just have to… forget him. Somehow.

While you channel all of your frustration into cleaning the bar table for the eighty-sixth time you go through it again. You need a plan, you have to get over him. You need to go out, have a social life, get some new air. You’ll fucking do fifty push-ups every time he comes to mind if you need to. You won’t spend not even one more second thinking of him or his stupid lips, nor the lopsided almost-smiles he would give you every time you—

“Always working so hard, preciosa.”

A beat, and then you feel how your heart starts to race in your chest as all the oxygen seems to leave your lungs, getting replaced with too many emotions and thoughts you can’t process all at once. Everything feels like too much for a second. Too alive, too fast, too hot. And as if your body had a mind of its own, while you’re still trying to regain control of it, your head lifts and you’re certain you’ll finally find out you have lost your fucking mind.

But you haven't. Because he’s right there, in his usual chair.

Jake.

His brown eyes are the first thing that catches your attention, his gaze always having the power to somehow make you feel safe and exposed at the same time. Just like the first time you saw him, you weren’t able to look away even when he was drenched, limping, and bleeding. Another thing he never explained.

The memory makes you examine the rest of his body. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a shirt and his chest is moving hard underneath, almost like he had run here. At least he doesn’t seem hurt this time. You also notice he’s not wearing his usual hat and you think this might be the first time you’ve ever seen his hair in full glory. Even if it’s slightly combed you can see it’s curly and fluffy and you try to bury deep down the stupid desire to lose your fingers in it.

And you realize his whole body seems to be vibrating with some sort of energy, some sort of excitement you’ve also never seen in him before. And your own body, too susceptible to his, can almost feel it emanating out of him.

You search back for his eyes just in time to catch his slowly lifting from your body and when they make contact with yours they shine with something you rather don’t think about right now.

“It’s been a while,” he says still a little out of breath. And your heart is still in your throat while you wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. Is he expecting you to say something back to that? After all this time? Oh, it’s been a while? I haven’t noticed. At all. It’s not like I’ve been worrying to death because of you.

But even if you wanted to say anything at all out loud you don’t think you could, you’re still frozen in place working with way less oxygen than needed. So you keep taking each other in, staring in silence like two idiots waiting for the other to say something. And to your surprise, he gives in first.

“Did you miss me?” He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are bright and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, that flirty tone you know so well. The first thing about him that you can actually recognize because everything else feels out of place. The absence of his hat, the casual clothes, his whole weirdly happy demeanor. So you hold into it.

Which is the worst thing you could do. Because your heart already struggling somewhere in your chest makes a mortal downfall to your stomach in response to it. And you feel it breaking a little bit more. Of the thousand if-he-ever-comes-back scenarios you had in your head you never picture him being almost… cheeky about it. He spends night after night for months bolted to that chair, talking to you, flirting with you, fighting any drunk who got too handsy, waiting for you on your late shifts to accompany your way home through dark streets, looking at you in that stupid bone-melting way he does… kissing you, just to disappear for six months and appear all of the sudden to ask if you missed him? The nerve of him.

“It’s good to see you, Jake,” you acknowledge, and you curse yourself for your slightly shaky voice. You’re still trying to gain your body back from the emotional overload. The adrenaline is still buzzing through your veins. And the way his gaze flick to your mouth once you pronounce his name doesn't make it any easier.

“Just black coffee?” You hear yourself ask, and you curse yourself once more for blurting out his usual order just like that. You shouldn’t remember those things after six months, should you? The thing is you’re not just trying to avoid answering his stupid question but you also need to have at least something to do with your hands. You can’t just stand there in front of him like an idiot, for god’s sake.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” he answers dropping his gaze to the table and you take the opportunity to turn around away from his mesmerizing brown eyes and stupidly long eyelashes at least for a moment. “Always having fun playing with my heart, preciosa. You didn’t miss me, then?”

Again, the nerve of him.

“Clients come and go,” you toss carelessly back at him. Not facing him gives you a false sense of power. You have never been so ruthless around him, you never fully played along with his flirty comments but neither did you shut him down. Not being able to resist him. Stupid you. But no more of that.

“Mmm, just a client then,” he remarks in a meditative tone.

“Well, after all this time you’re not even that, are you?” You throwback a little too firmly, serving his cup of coffee a little too hard, almost spilling some on the counter bar. God, where is this passive aggressiveness coming from?

He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to. Instead he just looks at you. So you do the same, you can’t back down now.

As you observe him you notice part of his weirdly vibrating energy seems to have diminished along with his playful demeanor. He has realized you’re not playing around. And for a second you feel a stab of regret. Despite your annoyance, you enjoyed watching this new third expression his always serious face is capable of making, besides his usual grumpy, extra-grumpy murderous one you were already used to. Now all you have left are his rich brown eyes, which reveal more information than his words have ever done. Despite his will, you believe.

“How’s our cat?” Jake tries again, changing the subject. One you can’t resist.

“My cat. Just mine. And she’s fine. So big you wouldn’t recognize her.”

“Did you find her a name?”

“No. She’s still Viejita.”

Viejita. The way he called her when he brought her to you, tiny, malnourished, and full of fleas. He had found her alone in the streets. Said he had no heart to leave her, but he couldn’t take her home with him. Something about already having fish and cats not being discreet enough. So like the idiot you are you took her with you.

Not like you regretted though. You are pretty sure that tiny black-haired monster has become the love of your life.

“Viejita,” he chuckles softly. “That’s good. I approve it.”

You gasp, shocked. How dare he.

“You have no right.”

This time around he’s the one who seems shocked. After a brief moment, he says in perfect conviction: “Of course I do. I found her. I’m her father.”

“Yeah, you’ve missed half her life, that actually sounds like it.”

The silence rises again and his eyes, god, his eyes are looking at you with an intensity you’ve seen only once before: the night he kissed you. So instead of doing the grown-up thing and facing him once and for all, you do exactly the opposite. You turn around and pretend to be very busy doing literally nothing.

“And how have you been?” He asks a few moments later. Even when you can’t see him you feel his eyes pinned on you. You move things from one side to the other, pretending to organize them when you’re actually doing quite the contrary. You take a mental note to put everything back in its place before your co-worker arrives for her shift.

“I have work to do. Other customers to serve, Jake. Can’t spend the night chatting with you.”

“Yeah, sure, I see that. You’re drowning in orders,” you hear him grumble as you make your way to the table of the smooching couple that just left. They just had coffee and waffles, but you make the most of it taking as much time as you can carrying the mugs to the kitchen. Yet, it still takes too little. By the time you’re back at the counter top, there's still a half-hour of shift left. And Jake is right where you left him, his coffee untouched.

“C’mon bonita, talk to me.”

You had forgotten the power his dark raspy voice has over you, breaking goosebumps all over your body. One more reason to hate your work dress too short everywhere, leaving your arms as exposed as your legs.

“Stop—Stop calling me… things in Spanish, please.”

“But you are bonita. Muy bonita. Preciosa.”

Fuck him, why does it sound so good? You’ll listen to Spanish ASMR tonight. Not having him in mind, of course.

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t fight it. I’ve gone that way, too. But is just denial.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s doing that thing where the corner of his lips is slightly raised and his eyes shine with mischief. You can’t help yourself. You fall right in.

“What were you in denial of?”

“You.”

Ok, no. Abort. Don’t go that way. Change the subject. Fast.

You fill the air with meaningless sounds until you actually find something to say. “What’s with the new style? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so… so casual.”

He doesn’t smile but you see it in his eyes, your reaction pleased him. But then he crosses his arms and leans back in his seat a little bit, along with a subtle change in his demeanor. Almost defensive, but you’re not sure. “Borrowed.”

“Borrowed?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you need to borrow them?”

“Circumstances.” He answers with a shrug.

“Ok. And… what have you been up to?”

“Work.”

Single-word answers. A mimic of a response but not actually giving anything away. Keeping himself clean, not exposed, not involved.

“What are you doing, Jake?”

“I’m talking t—”

“No, you are not,” you interrupt him. You see a muscle appear on his cheek. “Why are you here? Why you came back?”

“I came back—came back to you. Didn’t want to leave.”

“But you did. So what does that mean?” You ask defenseless, tired of trying to figure him out.

He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything at the end. All you get is a head shake and a shrug as an apology. He won’t say anything, he never does.

“Nice talk.”

There are still almost twenty minutes left but you don’t care. The old melancholic man, the only customer besides Jake, is still sipping his coffee. He doesn’t need you.

You go and take your backpack to the bathroom. You’ll change and kill the time in there until your shift ends. But as soon as you close the door it opens again. Jake storms inside, you didn’t even hear his footsteps.

“Jake, what the f—”

“What’s wrong? What changed?” He interrupts you, positioning himself against the door. Blocking any way to escape him, forcing you to face him.

What changed?!

“Please, this isn’t—just…” you pause to take a big breath, putting all your effort into channeling the remaining patience you’ve got left “just leave me alone.”

“Why?” He asks softer than you expected, taking a step closer. But despite the tone, despite the cautious way he's approaching you you can see he’s holding back. You can feel his body tense with restraint.

“Because I want to be alone. I don’t want to be near you right now.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why?”

Is too fucking small here, this bathroom can barely fit two people. And he’s gotten closer. You can feel the heat emanating out of him. The audacity to come here and perform a little interrogatory when he never answers any of your questions.

“Jake, please—”

“Answer me. Why don’t you want me near you?”

“Please, stop being an—” an asshole, you want to say. A selfish idiot who just takes and doesn’t give anything back. But you don’t. “Just leave.”

“Tell me why.”

That’s it.

“I don’t wanna be near you because you’re being a fucking asshole and I hate assholes and I hate your stupid chair and I hate that you leave only when you want to and not when I ask you to, like when you kissed me and you just fucking left! I hate that you don’t answer any of my questions but you come here expecting me to answer all of yours, and I hate that you are so close to me,” you snap, trying to push him away full force but he doesn’t move an inch. “And I fucking hate you too so get the fuck off m—”

It’s so fast. His hand on the back of your neck is what silences you. He’s suddenly pulling you closer, caging you by taking over your waist with his whole fucking arm. And when you are millimeters from his face his eyes shine with something you can’t quite put your finger on but they immediately change into something primitive and dark, halfway to insane.

And then his mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you. Hard.

All you can feel is him. His scent. The low hum when his tongue invades your mouth. The hand holding the back of your head, the other moving over your back and pushing you towards his torso. All hard muscles and heat. His pulse jumping under your fingertips. His upper thigh between your legs.

Is this how it feels when he loses control? Is this how it feels when you lose control?

It must be. Because for sure you’re not in control of your body right now. Not for the way is pushing back to fit every part of his. Nor for the way you moan when he bites your lower lip. Or for the way your fingers trail down and get into the waistband of his jeans, desperate to feel more of him. The contact makes him shudder and growl into your mouth. But you can’t go any further because he’s suddenly turning you around so fast you barely get to hold your hands into the mirror before completely losing balance. His hands grip your hips, pulling you into him, making you feel the heat of his hardness and punching another pathetic moan out of you.

In response a pleased hum rose in his throat, the sound deep and husky. He slowly raises one hand through your body and wraps it around your throat, bringing you even closer to him. The other hand travels down your thigh. The look in his eyes wild and sharp, almost black when they click back on yours through the mirror's reflection. “Not so desperate to get away from me now, are we muñequita?”

You can’t breathe. Not when his fingertips find the hem of your dress. Not when he lifts it so, so slowly up to your waist. Not when he starts playing with the elastic of your panties. Not when he leans his head over your shoulder to get a better look. Not when he briefly brushes your clit through the fabric. Fuck.

You gasp at the contact. Jake removes his hand as his eyes immediately search for yours over the reflection, the intensity of his gaze as if his life depends on your answer.

“Do you still want me to leave?”

He’s not just asking for confirmation, he’s giving you a way out. If you say yes he will leave just like you said you wanted him two minutes ago. Perhaps he won’t ever show up again and you’ll finally get a chance to get back to your normal life before him. That’s what you should do. But you know won’t. Because whatever your common sense is shouting at you gets pushed back to the background. Too caught up in the way his body feels against yours. Too absorbed in what his next move might be, what his next words might sound like right there next to your ear. But you can't get yourself to recognize any of that out loud, so all you do is shake your head, utterly defeated.

“Mmm, what you want me to do then?”

You take his hand and try to take it back to your pussy but he takes it away before you can’t get any relief. It’s not fair. Instead, he raises his hand to move your head to the side, exposing your throat.

“Too bad. I’m not giving you what you want until you act right,” he says lowly and the baritone goes straight into your core. It’s too hot. You feel too hot. Overheated. There’s a faint sheen on your neck and now he’s licking it and you feel like dying. He lets out a noise that’s halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Months waiting for a fucking chance to get here and once I do you can’t fucking behave yourself. Now how was that? You hate me you say?”

“No. Jake, please,” you whine. Unable to stop yourself.

“No?”

“No,” a mere whisper. You don’t even know what are you answering. Your body wants him so bad isn’t even processing thoughts.

“So you don’t?”

“Jake.”

“You sound so sweet. But I need to hear more, preciosa.”

“Please, Jake, I’m so wet.”

That seems to push a bunch of air out of him. Almost like he couldn't help himself, he moves his head back over your shoulder to watch as pushes the panties to the side with his thumb. His index and middle finger beginning to collect your wetness, the touch so soft you can barely feel it. Torture. Not even close to enough.

“Just fucking touch me already please or I swea—”

The rest of the sentence is muffled as his two fingers fill your mouth, a pinch of something pungent and salty. Your own taste.

“Told you to behave yourself,” he slowly moves his fingers out to your lower lip just to get them back inside to the knuckle. The movement, the words, the tone coaxes a whimper out of you. You’re burning inside out. “Now tell me, does it taste like you hate me? Mmm?”

Before you can even try to answer he turns your head to the side and meets you halfway to kiss you. His hand on your jaw, his tongue dominating yours, his voice raspier when he speaks again. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

He keeps kissing you as he begins to trace the outside of your slit, up and down, up and down. And you feel yourself melting against him. His touch is so smooth and the effect that it has on you is so powerful. And he knows it.

“You just can't get enough of me, can you?”

And then when he finally starts working on your clit you lose it. God, you had no idea. If two of his fucking fingers have made this trembling, needy, overheated mess of you, you better don’t even imagine what he could of you if—No. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell, you wish you could even talk but language has left your fucking brain. All you can do is whimper as he keeps talking you through it.

“Does it feel good?”

“You’ve needed this all this time? Needed me?”

“Say it then.”

“Say it. Say that you need me.”

“Say the words, baby.”

“Would you like it better if I fuck them off of you?”

Your body makes a sudden jerk when he stops the movement, demanding an answer. But no matter the state you are in there’s still a little corner of your fogged brain fighting. Fighting for not giving him what he wants, no matter how much you want to. No matter if he’s only asking you to admit what you know is true. His hand finds your jaw and positions your head straight into the mirror, forcing you to look into his eyes through the reflection.

And you give in a little.

“No-o one gets under my skin the way—the way you do,” you manage to say, panting and trembling. Yet, you catch it. As soon as the words leave your mouth his gaze softens. His expression doesn’t seem to change, not anyone could see it. But you can. His eyes look pleased. The storm calms down a bit.

And while you're still spellbound, immobile under his gaze and unaware of anything else but his brown deep eyes he slides two fingers in. The stretch ignites fire from the inside. Your head rolls back into his shoulder as his head falls back into yours.

“Fuck.” The words sound muffled on your neck, low and delirious. “Fuck, baby. Those pretty little noises you’re making will haunt me till my last living night.”

You can already feel it. The way your muscles tense, the way your pussy is squeezing his fingers. So close, so close, so close, so fucking close. And then—

A knock on the door. Your co-worker is calling up your name.

Jake slips his fingers out and takes a step back. The movement sinks down into your stomach. Is he regretting it? Will he disappear again just like last time?

“I–I’ll be there in a minute,” you pronounce as clearly as you can, hoping she won’t notice the tremble in your voice.

Slowly, you come back to your senses. Your legs barely hold you up. A minute goes by and he still doesn’t say anything. You take your jeans and put them on. Deep down you already knew it. This doesn’t changes anything. He won’t let you in. And you’ve got enough of it.

“I don’t unders—All these months I’ve been so worried, and confused, and angry at you. And on top of that, I missed you so much that I even got tired of it. Physically tired of it. But you know what the worst part was? The more time you spend in my head the more I realized I don’t know anything about you. I barely know your first name. And you, somehow, managed to get any stupid little detail of me out in the clear and that makes it even—”. You finish taking off your dress and you put on your shirt. He's looked at you through the mirror throughout the whole process, his eyes dark and stormy again. You close your backpack and turn to face him. “The point is even this ridiculous little 30-second monologue of me being honest about how I feel it’s more than anything you’ve told me about you. I don’t know you, Jake. I’m not the one who needs to act right. And whatever this is,” you say pointing between the two of you, “is over.”

He’s taking deep breaths, his body tense, restrained once more. Controlled. With a last look in his eyes, you recognize what you couldn’t get your finger on earlier on. It’s vulnerability. But after a few blinks it’s deep down hidden again.

You think he might stop you once you open the door and walk away, but he doesn’t.

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Sorry if I tagged you and you only wanted to be tagged in the I wanna be yours series! I'll be posting very soon there. Please let me know if you don't want to be tagged in part two of The Limo Driver so I can remove you! <3

Also I don't remember who started calling Jake fancanon cat Viejita but please all credit to them!

#jake lockely smut #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector x reader #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #moon knight imagines #steven grant smut #mcu moon knight #moon knight smut #jake lockley fluff

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