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bloodandiron-if · 2 months ago

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DEMO (TBA) | FORUM (TBA) | CHARACTER INTROS (TBA)

BLOOD AND IRON is a compelling and mature action IF made for an adult audience. This story includes content that some may find disturbing, such as explicit language, mentions of child trafficking, child abuse, sexism, psychological stress, homophobia, intense violence, death, gore, and much more.

Inspired by Batman, John Wick, Ninja Assassin, The Punisher, and The Equalizer.

ABBREVIATION: B&I

- - -

Chicago, 1994.

Chicago bleeds quietly these days. Not in the headlines, but in basements, behind unmarked doors, in the flicker of broken streetlamps, no proper badge patrols.

The world didn’t ask if you were ready. It just kept turning and grinding down the soft parts until only the sharp edges remained.

Raised in a hidden facility outside Chicago, you were one of many children. An experiment in obedience, efficiency, and silence. They didn’t call it a home. They called it a program. And you survived it.

Barely.

They stripped your name. Trained your body. Broke your will, up until they didn’t.

You escaped.

The world didn’t know what to do with you.

But he did—the man who saved you, giving you a name, cover, and a second chance dressed up as a normal life.

By day, you blend seamlessly into the crowd, adopting a new name and working a steady job making pizzas. To the citizens of South Chicago, you’re just another face on the street.

But by night, you take on a different role—one that cleans up the shadows left by a broken system: dismantling organ trafficking rings, confronting human traffickers, and bringing to justice those killers shielded by power or wealth.

But this isn’t just an act of heroism on your part.

It’s personal.

You’re digging through the filth of this city, tearing up every buried secret, because somewhere beneath it all lies the truth.

The Facility.

And the man who ran it.

Whitaker.

He’s not on any official record—and the place that you escaped from doesn’t exist on paper.

But you remember the rooms. The drills. The screaming. The numbers burned into your skin like a barcode.

Every body you drop might be connected. Every whisper might lead back to him.

You’re not a hero.

You’re a survivor searching for the ghost of the man who made you—and the trail of blood he left behind.

The closer you get, the more unstable everything becomes—your past, your purpose, his goal.

You can follow orders. Break free. Burn it all down. But one question echoes through every silence:

Who will you become when you finally reach the end?

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Define who you are beyond the number—whether you seek connection, crave freedom, or prefer to walk alone.

Be straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, aromantic, or asexual.

Establish your cover identity—first and last name. C-4 doesn’t exist outside the wire.

Explore Chicago in the 90s.

Experience flashbacks of your harrowing and unforgiving childhood at the facility.

Define your body and presence with scars, tattoos and more, including flavour stats that affect immersion and narrative tone.

Choose out of four languages your MC can speak and understand.

Choose your ride, customize it, and leave your mark in burnt rubber and broken taillights. Whether it’s a snarling muscle car, a rumbling motorcycle, a rugged Jeep, or a heavy-duty pickup, you’ll be behind the wheel.

Experience a world where the way you choose your character's appearance influences how others perceive and interact with you. (Intimidation Meter)

Choose your physical appearance, build and height—whether towering and lithe, or compact and deadly.

Meet six ROs, each with their own storylines, layered personalities, and emotional arcs that evolve with your choices. It’s up to you to decide how the story unfolds: as allies, enemies, or even the possibility of something more.

Get ready for action. This story pulls no punches—literally. You’ll be thrown headfirst into brutal gunfights, savage fistfights, high-speed car chases, and close-quarters takedowns.

Define your personality through detailed flavour choices: are you brutal or merciful, stoic or emotional, cautious or impulsive, friendly or rude?

Navigate the grim underworld of adulthood: surveillance, corruption, organized crime, and the scars of memory.

Shape your legacy in a world that tried to erase your humanity. It's all down to you C-4.

OPERATIVE D-6 (RO)

Age: 24 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Korean-American Vibe: Ghost of the past. Loyalty carved from trauma. Quiet intensity.

The Operative — the life you left behind, still trying to follow you home.

D-6 is a shadow stitched to your childhood, moving with a precision that speaks louder than words ever could. They don’t flinch, don’t blink, and rarely break eye contact—yet there’s no threat in it. Just memory. Just calculation. The facility shaped them like it shaped you, but where you ran, they stayed. Hardened. Refined. Perfected into something cold and frighteningly still.

They barely speak, but understand everything. Loyal not by choice, but by conditioning—yet something in their gaze suggests the cracks are forming.

Whether D-6 is here to kill you, bring you back or break away with you… even they haven’t decided. But they’ve always been watching. And they never forget.

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES (RO)

Age: 33 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Puerto Rican-American Vibe: Gravely moral. Sharp-jawed justice. Righteous conflict.

The Detective — your ideological foil, and mirror of what you could have been with a badge instead of a body count.

Detective Juno Reyes is the type of person to walk like they carry the whole city on their shoulders, and honestly, maybe they do. Every crime scene clings to their coat, every unsolved case etched into the set of their jaw. They believe in justice, not the easy kind, but the kind that scrapes its knuckles bloody. The kind that keeps them up at night because they still think it matters.

Juno doesn’t trust you. Maybe they never will. But they understand you in the way only someone on the other side of the line can.

Where you cut through the rot with a blade, they try to dig it out with a badge. Righteous, relentless, and furious with the system that fails people like you, and maybe even with themselves for not walking away from it.

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO (RO)

Age: 22 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Italian-American Vibe: Snark-as-armour. Trash-mouth tendencies. Hot grease and soft heart.

The Co-worker — the one who has their worst days, yet still shows up.

Russo talks like the world owes them a fistfight and a cigarette break. All bite, all bark, and just enough burn to keep people at arm’s length. They’ve got grease on their apron, a permanent chip on their shoulder, and a mouth that never learned the word “filter.” You’re not sure they even like the job, but they’re here, day after day, late at times, but constantly grinding out those shifts like it's a special part of their routine.

They’re also halfway through a criminal justice degree at a city college they never talk about unless they’re arguing with the news playing in the background. Claims it’s all bullshit—cops, lawyers, the system. But you’ve caught Russo studying case law in the backroom between deliveries. Says it’s for the credits, but the way their jaw tightens during certain stories on the news? It’s more than that.

They're not just pissed off. They’re paying attention.

- - -

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES (RO)

Age: 27 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Half White, Half Mexican-American Vibe: Fragrance, coded language, and too many knives hidden in tailored jackets

The Interloper — the one who wasn’t supposed to be on your radar—but is.

Myles moves through rooms like a whispered secret and the scent of money—sharp, intentional, impossible to ignore. Head high, steps measured, eyes always calculating. They speak in layers, smile in puzzles, and dress like they’re late for a gala or an ambush, maybe both. Everything about them feels curated, controlled… until it isn’t.

You don’t know what they want, not really.

One minute it’s intel, the next it’s something softer, more dangerous.

Myles wasn't part of your mission. Not part of your world. But now they’re in it, circling closer, asking questions with too much knowledge behind the eyes. You're not sure if they’re here to ruin you, or to remind you there’s still something left worth ruining.

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE (RO)

Age: 25 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Scandanavian-American Vibe: Softness meets suspicion. The light in the hallway. The warmth in the cold

The Neighbor — the one who sees past the walls and doesn’t look away.

Monroe lives two doors down and leaves their window open when it rains. They laugh too loudly at sitcom reruns, forget to water their plants, and hum under their breath while waiting for the kettle to boil. On the surface: harmless. Gentle. The kind of softness you’d expect to break easy.

But there’s something behind the smile—something watchful—subtly. Thoughtfully. The way someone does when they’re used to reading what isn’t said.

Monroe doesn't pry. They just linger. Just look a little too long sometimes, like they’re trying to put a puzzle together without knowing what the picture will exactly be.

And worse, they still smile at you anyway.

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER (RO)

Age: 29 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American Vibe: Revolutionary soul. Firebrand idealism. Beautiful, dangerous hope.

The Crusader — the one who wants to save the world, even if it means breaking it.

Carter speaks like every word could spark a revolution, and maybe it could, if they weren’t already carrying the weight of too many failed ones. There’s something magnetic in the way they move through a room, controlled chaos, dressed in confidence and defiance. Their voice carries conviction like heat, and they never seem to doubt it. Not publicly, at least.

They believe in something bigger. In justice. In tearing down the structures that rot people from the inside out. It’s not naive, what they preach, it’s dangerous. The kind of hope that gets people killed. The kind that inspires others to follow anyway.

Carter sees what’s broken and doesn't look away. They demand change, even if it has to be carved from ruin. That makes them dangerous. That makes them rare.

And when they look at you, it’s like they see the potential for something more, something bigger than just blood and vengeance. But whether that makes you want to run toward them or burn everything down before they get too close… that’s up to you.

- - -

ELIJAH CREED

Age: 44 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Irish-American Vibe: Cigars, classical music, hollow warmth. That voice that makes monsters feel like myths.

The Father — the one who gave you a name, a roof, and a purpose.

Elijah Creed moves through the world like a man carrying both a lifetime of regrets and the weight of unshakable resolve. There’s a quiet authority in his voice, calm, deliberate, the kind that can soothe storms or summon lightning. His days are marked by the scent of cigars and the soft notes of classical music drifting through the rooms of the house you guys used to share.

He’s not just a guardian, he’s the father you never truly had, the one who took you in when the world wanted to erase you. Behind that steady warmth lies a steel core, forged by loss and haunted by the past. Elijah gave you a name, a place to belong, and a reason to fight, but never illusions that the world outside is anything less than brutal.

He is both shelter and shadow, a man who knows the cost of survival—and who will make sure you never pay it alone.

- - -

MS. CLAUDIA BELLAMY

Age: 49 Gender: Female Nationality/Ethnicity: American (Afro-Puerto Rican) Vibe: Gold hoops, chipped nail polish, a cigarette always halfway gone. Keeps a revolver in her sewing kit and a bottle of gin under the sink.

The Landlady — the building’s backbone, eyes, and occasional judge, jury, and babysitter.

Ms. Bellamy has lived in the building longer than the cockroaches, and even they know better than to cross her. Her voice rarely rises, but when it does, even the radiators stop rattling. Always in gold hoops and a housecoat with yesterday’s cigarette still smoldering in the ashtray, she moves like someone who’s already seen the worst and didn’t flinch.

She doesn’t run the building. She rules it, half landlady, half neighbourhood matriarch. Rent better be on time, the hallways better stay quiet, and no one better mess with the kid on the second floor unless they want a lecture followed by a left hook.

She calls your new name like it’s your real one, sees through lies like smoke through sunlight, and keeps a .38 tucked behind the cans of beans in her pantry. Whatever history she has, it walks with her, but she’ll never speak of it unless the city starts burning again. And even then, only maybe.

- - -

SALVATORE “SAL” RUSSO

Age: 47 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Italian-American Vibe: Loud shirt, louder laugh. The kind of man who sings to the tomato sauce and cries at baseball games.

The Pizza King — a local legend with marinara in his veins and a heart too big for this city.

Salvatore Russo isn’t just the owner of the pizza shop—he is the pizza shop. Grease-stained apron, gold chain bouncing with every belly laugh, and a voice that could carry through a riot. He talks with his hands, loves like he’s got something to prove, and swears every pie has a soul.

To the neighborhood, he’s an uncle. To his niece/nephew, he’s a safety net and a headache. And to you? He’s the rare kind of man who doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t want the answers to, so long as you show up, work hard, and don’t scare the regulars.

Somehow, Sal always knows when to push, and when to just slide you a slice and say nothing at all, but could all the smile and laughter be hiding a deeper truth than what's shown on the surface?

- - -

WHEELS

Age: 36 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Polish-American Vibe: Motor oil and Marlboro smoke. Burnt fingers. Mismatched socks stuffed into combat boots. A man who can hotwire your car with a bottle cap and grudge.

The Arms Dealer — your supplier and the only man in Chicago who listens to Public Enemy while cleaning an M4.

Wheels moves through the city like a ghost with a purpose—fast, sharp, and unpredictable. He’s not just an arms dealer; he’s a craftsman, a collector of weapons with stories carved into their blades. Among his prized possessions are three custom knives, each named after people who shaped his life, two exes who taught him lessons in pain and betrayal, and one for his mother, the only person he never wanted to disappoint.

His sharp gaze misses nothing, always sizing up threats and opportunities with cold precision. Reliable when it counts, Wheels plays the game on his own terms, offering more than just firepower, he’s a lifeline in a city drowning in chaos, but one that carries a warning: trust him carefully, or not at all.

- - -

DR. SILAS CROSS

Age: 55 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Lebanese-American Vibe: Tailored suits under his lab coat. Surgical gloves and bourbon. The hum of high-end equipment beneath the jazz playing low through recessed speakers.

The Surgeon — not your friend, not your enemy, just the man who keeps you stitched together.

Dr. Cross is not the kind of man you thank.

You show up bleeding, broken, maybe dying, and he fixes you anyway. No questions. No judgment. Just the quiet clink of surgical tools and the faint smell of antiseptic layered beneath expensive cologne. His clinic hides behind the façade of a luxury med spa, but the back rooms tell a different story. Marble floors, climate control, and machines that hum like symphonies, because pain, here, is handled with elegance.

He wears tailored suits under his lab coat, pours bourbon like it’s medicine, and plays Coltrane through speakers you’ll never find. Every stitch comes with an unspoken rule: you don’t ask about him, and he doesn’t ask about you. His price is steep, but he’s the reason a dozen corpses aren’t yours.

He’s not your friend. Not your savior. He’s the man who puts you back together because it’s the only thing he still knows how to do.

- - -

REESE

Age: 12 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American Vibe: Scuffed sneakers. Sharp eyes. A heart still intact—but only barely.

The Kid — street-smart pickpocket and your stubborn follower.

Reese has a grin too big for someone who’s had to survive this much.

He moves like he owns the sidewalk, dodging adults, snatching wallets, slipping through crowds like smoke. Every scrape on his knees and tear in his hoodie tells a story, and most of them end with him outrunning someone bigger. Or meaner. Or both. But behind all the swagger and mouthiness, there’s a kid who still believes in something. Maybe not people. But moments. Mercy. Second chances.

Reese follows you like a stray cat that decided you were home. Doesn’t care how cold you get, how many times you warn him off. You’re a ghost in a city full of monsters, and somehow, he’s decided you’re one of the better ones. Maybe the only one.

He’s not smart enough to know who you truly are.

But is young enough to believe that there’s still more to you than what meets the eye.

TBA.

#bloodandiron-if #interactive fiction #interactive story #choice of games #wip game #if wip #action #choicescript #B&I #choose your own adventure #cyoa #interactive novel #cog #action if #hosted games #wip #status: no demo #text game #if: intro

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runningincircl3s · 25 days ago

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Who Are You?

Kickboxer!Noah x Reader

Chapter Four

chapter warnings: i wrote the majority of this at 2am so reading it back i was like wtf. just the usual warnings, reader and her friends being too real, quick aaron taylor johnson mention (love of my life <3) gets a little nsfw at the end!

sorry for the wait for this one! i was debating whether or not to rewrite the ending as i wasn't sure if it was too soon for this to happen, but it's kinda important for the rest of the story so i kept it in!

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

A few days later...

You hadn't been able to focus on anything, you've been ignoring messages from your friends, not getting dressed for days at a time, oversleeping or not sleeping at all... basically just spiralling.

Just because of Noah? Not really. That certainly played a part in it. It was also because of work... The mistake you made had a major impact, and management hadn’t been subtle in their response. You’d been given a formal warning and told to work from home “until further notice.” Apparently, showing up to the office looking like you were about to cry wasn't inspiring.

But being stuck at home had only made things worse.

You barely left your home since, you'd just been sat on the couch, on your laptop, half working half pretending to be okay. The TV played constantly in the background, something just to make you feel like you weren't entirely alone. Laughter tracks and show intros constantly filled the room, but none of it touched you. You haven't laughed since the last time you were with Noah.

You kept glancing at the clock.

11:51.

Nine minutes until lunch.

You decided today you would finally go out. Just for some air. Maybe if you were feeling up to it you'd grab a coffee, maybe a pastry, anything that might lift your mood. You told yourself you’d feel better once you were walking. Once you had the cool air on your face, and something warm in your hands.

The clock ticked slow, but eventually, mercifully, it hit 12:00.

You stood with a quiet sigh and shuffled toward the door, throwing a hoodie over your tank top- which had a curious stain- and pulling your hair into a loose clip without bothering to check a mirror.

You didn't care if you saw anyone. There was only one person you wanted to see, and you were convinced you and your friends had scared him into moving to the other side of the country.

As you stepped outside, the sun hit your face, and you took your first deep breath in days. It was warmer out than you’d expected. The breeze was nice and gentle. You blinked up at the sunlight like someone just waking from hibernation.

Maybe this would help. Maybe this was all you needed.

You decided to go to your usual café, the one just down the street from you. You passed by a couple people you knew, but didn't stop to chat, just offered them a polite smile as you walked on.

But maybe you needed somebody else's company.

Because you were still thinking about him. You were always thinking about him.

Still replaying your last conversation.

Still wondering why he hadn’t come back. Wondering if it'd even be worth showing up to the class tomorrow.

So you told yourself not to care.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was bound to happen at some point, he would surely miss classes. Noah had his own life.

Maybe he was seeing someone. A girlfriend, or a boyfriend- James had been very convinced about that theory. Or maybe he’d just gotten bored. Maybe he found a better gym. One without a girl who clearly only came to flirt and couldn't do a proper roundhouse kicks!

You told yourself all of that, and it only made things worse. You only got further and further stuck in your brain.

Not knowing was just the worst part. Not getting to ask. Not even getting the chance to be let down properly. Not knowing truly why he didn't come.

With a frown, you pushed open the café door, the little bell above it chiming softly as you stepped inside.

You were greeted by the smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastry, but it barely registered in your brain. You were simply moving on autopilot, shoulders hunched in your hoodie, eyes glued to your phone. The line was short, only two people ahead, so you barely looked up.

When they called, “Next!” you shuffled forward, mumbled your order, your usual drink and a pastry you probably wouldn’t even eat, and reached into your pocket for your card.

But just as your fingers brushed the edge of it, the payment machine beeped.

You froze, quickly glancing up.

A part of you felt warm, a kind gesture from a stranger who may have seen you looked like you were having a rough time. Maybe it would blossom into a romance, and you'd tell your grandkids about this exact moment...

But then you saw it. A familair looking hand... long tattooed fingers, that belonged to a large tattooed hand hovering near the card reader.

And then your eyes slowly travelled up the length of his arm, past the dark hoodie sleeve, the curve of his shoulder, the tattoo on his throat, until you met his eyes.

Holy shit.

Noah.

Standing right beside you.

A small, soft smile played on his lips, like he hadn't just ruined your life. Oh fuck, what you were just imagining him here. What if you've missed him so much that your brain-

“Thought I recognised you,” he said, like he hadn’t just vanished from your life. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You blinked once. Twice. Opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He handed you your receipt like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like you hadn’t spent the past week convincing yourself he was gone forever.

“I... thank you." You finally managed, voice a little shaky.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you (and probably the stain on your hoodie.)

“You okay?” He asked carefully.

“Yeah." You nodded too quickly, "I just… I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Noah’s smile deepened, just a little.

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.”

"I... I only live down the street from here. I come here pretty often."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, "I've never seen you in here before."

You chuckled softly, standing to the side to wait for your order.

"You come here often?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Sometimes," he shrugged, "I don't really drink coffee anymore, but I like the tea here."

"Oh," you smiled, "I've never tried their tea before, but I like their lattes."

He held his cup out for you, with a look that said try some.

You hesitated for a moment before taking it gently from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment, yet it still made your tummy feel fuzzy.

You lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip, your eyes never quite leaving his. It was slightly sweet, a little floral and calming in a way you hadn’t felt in days.

“That’s really nice." You murmured, surprised.

“Told you.” He said with a little proud grin, taking the cup back from you.

And then your drink was called, your name echoing across the café, pulling you back to reality again. You stepped forward to grab it, feeling the heat of Noah still close beside you.

You turned back to him with both hands around your cup, unsure of what to say next. Unsure of what this even was. But he beat you to it.

“I'm sorry for missing the last class,” he said gently, as if reading your mind, “I had to go out of town for a few days... work stuff. I didn’t mean to vanish. I was supposed to let Tasha know, to tell you, but I kinda forgot.”

You tried not to show how relieving that felt to hear.

“I thought maybe I’d scared you off.” You said, only half joking.

“Because of your friends?” He laughed softly.

"They can get a little too much sometimes... I'm sorry-"

“No,” he said, still smiling. “I liked them.”

“You… liked them?” You blinked, perplexed.

“I thought they were funny,” he admitted with a nod, “But they clearly care about you a lot. That’s cool.”

You stared at him, warmth creeping into your cheeks.

"I felt a little lost without you there," you confessed, taking the conversation back to the class, "I had no one to laugh at me when I tripped!"

That made him chuckle, and the two of you began to move away from the counter, realising you were getting in the way.

"Well," he began, a small smirk playing on his lips, "If I get your number, I can let you know if I ever have to miss a day again..."

"Really?" Your eyes widened in shock, finally realising that maybe your friends were right...

Noah reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone, offering it over to you.

"Really." He nodded.

You looked down at the device like it was something sacred, then up at him again.

“You sure?”

"Yes." He laughed, the sound warming your heart, "Unless you want to keep living in suspense every week."

You playfully rolled your eyes, trying to disguise the way your cheeks were burning and thumbs a little shaky as you typed in your number, and your name, followed by a heart emoji, which you regretted the moment you handed it back.

Why the fuck would you put a heart next to your name?

“There,” you said, “Now you can’t disappear without warning.”

He glanced at the screen, reading your name and the little heart emoji you’d added without thinking. The corners of his lips tugging up into a grin.

“A heart?” He teased, one brow lifting.

“Shut up. I panicked.” You waved a hand, trying to play it off, but your cheeks betrayed you, warming fast.

Noah laughed again, pocketing his phone.

“No complaints. It suits you.”

You took a sip of your coffee to hide the way your lips curved, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was stood, how normal it felt to be talking like this again, like the week of silence hadn’t been eating you alive.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was about to say something else, and then your phone buzzed rather violently in your pocket.

You pulled it out and groaned. Your work app flashing a very unwelcome notification: “Where are you? Meeting started 3 mins ago!!!”

“Shit,” you muttered. “I’ve gotta run... I'm working from home and I'm supposed to be on a meeting... my boss is going to kill me.”

Noah stepped aside, letting you pass.

“Go. Save your job. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded quickly, already halfway to the door.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. Same time?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He smiled.

You paused only once as you pushed open the café door, glancing back over your shoulder.

He was still standing there, watching you. And when your eyes met, he gave you the tiniest wink.

You would be replaying that in your mind all day.

...

You burst through your apartment door like a woman possessed, nearly dropping your coffee as you kicked it shut behind you.

Laptop. Where the fuck was your laptop

“Shit shit shit…” You muttered, searching the room.

You spotted it on the couch, still open on your email inbox. You threw yourself down, loaded up the meeting app and clicked join with audio off, camera off, and tried to sit still as your heart pounded through your ribcage…

Because Noah had just paid for your coffee. Because Noah had smiled at you. Because Noah had just asked for your number!!!!

You’d barely got through the last week thinking you’d scared him off, or your friends had, and now he was letting you sip his tea and winked at you like you were in some cheesy romance movie.

You had to tell your friends.

You: GUYS HOLY SHIT

You: NOAH ALERT NOAH ALERT

James: girl we thought you died where have you been??

Kylie: WE HAVENT HEARD FROM YOU ALL WEEK WHAT THR FUCK HAPPENED

You: ok so he didn’t turn up to the last class so i kinda assumed he fled the country BUT I JUST SAW HIM AND HE ASKED FOR MY NUMBER

James: you saw him at work???

Kylie: no dumbass she’s been working from home

Kylie: wait… where did you see him then?

You: THE CAFE

You: THE ONE I ALWAYS GO TO!!!

James: hold up HE ASKED FOR YOUR NUMBER????

James: DID YOU GIVE IT TO HIM

You: DUH!!!!

James: is that all you gave to him😏

You: shut up

Kylie: girl get the fuck back to work before you lose your job for good and save the story for later!!!

James: hell yeah!!

You: okay fine

You put your phone down with a sigh and tried to pay attention to the meeting, though it was boring you to death. You weren’t even sure what you were supposed to be doing.

Then your phone buzzed again.

Annoyed, you picked it up, ready to tell your friends they had just told you to get back to work…

But then you saw it was from an unknown number

Unknown: Hey it’s Noah :)

Unknown: Good luck with that meeting

You nearly choked on your own breath.

You quickly saved his contact, then your thumbs just hovered above your screen, wondering what the fuck to say to that.

You: thanks :)

You: and thank you for the coffee!

You put your phone back down, a grin still plastered across your face as you turned back to your laptop…

Wait…

Why were you still staring at the ‘join’ screen?

You clicked over to your work chat, heart already hammering. And there you found a long, irritated message from your boss.

You scanned it quickly, eyes darting past the passive aggressive “hope everything’s alright” and “you’ve been very unfocused this month” stuff until you hit the final line.

“…And I’m working late tomorrow, so I would like to see you in my office. 5pm. No excuses this time.”

You felt your heart sink straight to your toes.

You slumped back in your chair, dragging your hands down your face. Why did the universe always have to throw something at you the second things started finally going right again?

FUCK.

You sent a polite reply to your boss, saying how you had tried to join the meeting but you were having some internet issues. And next, you had to tell Noah you’d be missing tomorrow’s class.

What the hell were you supposed to say?

You typed out six different messages, but hesitated after each one, deleting it and typing again. Eventually, you settled on:

You: okay so i’ve just been called into the office tomorrow at 5, so i’ll have to miss class 🥲

Noah: Oh shit

Noah: Well I was thinking about staying late at the gym tomorrow to make up for last week. If you let me know what time you’re back maybe I'll stay and we could have a private session…

Internally, you were screaming.

You: but i don’t think i’ll be back until pretty late :(

Noah: The gym shuts at 8??

You: fuck i won’t make it back in time…

Noah: Then maybe we could do it at your place?

You: yeah sure!

Noah: Great :) Let me know when you’re home and I’ll come over

Noah: Get ready to sweat😏

You stared at your screen, heart jackhammering in your chest.

Okay. Okay. So he’s coming over.

Noah is coming over.

To your apartment.

You let out a soft, panicked laugh and flung your phone face down on the couch. Then immediately flipped it back over and reread the messages. Twice.

Get ready to sweat😏

He was definitely talking about the workout... Probably.

But even right now you could feel yourself sweating, just at the thought alone.

You were spiralling, again.

You leapt up, did a frantic 360 spin in your living room, then made a mental checklist.

And it began with cleaninb the place. There was rubbish all over the place, the floors needed vacuuming, and for some reason you had odd socks in the most random places, some with holes in- and they definitely needed washing.

You looked around and immediately hated everything about the place.

The kitchen was a mess, the cushions on your couch never looked right, the whole place was cluttered and you hadn’t showered in days.

And now Noah was going to see all of this…

You quickly texted your group chat.

You: NOAH ALERT NOAH ALERT CODE RED!!!!

You: [sent a screenshot of your texts with noah]

You: GIYS HES COMING TO MY PLACE TOMORROW

You: FOR A PRIVATE SESSION????? WHAT THE HELL???????

Kylie: OH HOLY SHIT

James: bitch what about US???

James: or are we invited too…

You: NO!!!!

You: we’ll have to reschedule sorry guys

Kylie: usually i’d be pissed but i’m actually really happy for you

Kylie: girl get that dick!!!

You: 😟

You: excuse me.

Kylie: oh c’mon. “get ready to sweat” ??????

You: yeah. you haven’t seen me after a round with him. i’m dripping by the end.

James: OKAY IM NOT SAYING ANYTHING!!!!!!

You: guys you aren’t helping :(

You: be honest with me do you think he’ll think my place is nice

Kylie: yes!!!

James: just don’t let him see aaron.

Ah, yes. The mini Aaron Taylor Johnson cardboard cutout you kept by your tv, the one James gave you for your birthday last year, which you maybe got a little too excited about. You dress him up for the holidays, and he currently had a pair of pumpkin sunglasses on, though halloween had long gone. You quickly got up and threw him in a cupboard.

You: ok aaron’s been dealt with.

Kylie: honestly honey i don’t think you need to worry so much. he clearly likes you, and the state of your apartment won’t change anything :)

James: unless he’s an interior designer and he sees your mismatched kitchen chairs.

Kylie: IGNORE HIM I THINK THEYRE CUTE!!!

…

The meeting dragged on for almost an hour.

Your boss had been calm, which somehow made it all worse. There was no yelling, no grand confrontation. Just quiet disappointment and polite professionalism, words like “inconsistent,” “final warning,” and “you need to be more focused.”

By the time you made it to the train station, your face hurt from forcing composure. The train was packed, so you stood the whole way.

The thought of going home and seeing Noah was the only thing that had got you through the meeting, but he didn’t have to know that. You didn’t want to inflate his ego anymore after he found out he was the Hot Gym Guy.

You got off at your stop at 7:48. And then you had to walk home.

Your legs ached. Your bag dug into your shoulder. Your chest still felt tight from everything you didn’t say, but wanted to.

When you turned the corner onto your street, there he was.

Noah was leaning casually against the wall next to your front door of your apartment building, hood up, phone in hand. He was wearing a hoodie with a some band name you vaguely recognised on it, and a pair of black shorts.

He looked up the moment he saw you.

“Hey, you made it.” He said, straightening. His voice was soft, and the sound of it alone made your day a little better.

“Barely. I’m so sorry,” you blurted, breathless from the walk. “That meeting ran way over, and then the train was hell, and I-”

“Hey.” He smiled. “It's fine.”

You stopped in front of him, staring up at him like he wasn’t real, which you still had your doubts about.

He held up a bottle of water.

“Brought this. Figured you’d need it after all that.”

“Thank you,” you said, reaching for the bottle, your fingers brushing his, “Wanna come up?”

“Lead the way!” He smiled, holding the door open for you.

…

The elevator ride to your floor was quiet, maybe even a little awkward. You were just tired, still feeling deflated from the meeting and exhausted from the commute.

When the doors opened, you led the way down the hall to your place. Your keys fumbled once in your fingers, but you managed to get the door open without dropping them- a miracle, honestly.

You stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, brushing your hair off your face with a soft sigh.

“Sorry it’s a little messy, I tried to tidy but I didn’t have much time…”

Noah followed you in, calm as ever, water bottle tucked under his arm, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Looks fine to me,” he said, glancing around. “It's very cute, cosy even."

You dumped your bag by the couch and turned to face him, only to find him tugging at the bottom of his hoodie.

“I should probably warn you,” he said, giving you a slight, crooked grin. “I don’t have a shirt on under this. I was working out earlier with Matt and Davis, the shirt got gross so I took it off and threw it in my car… figured you wouldn’t want me stinking your place out before we even got started.”

You blinked. So he was wearing nothing beneath his hoodie?

You had seen slithers of his stomach before, and his back, but you never thought you’d get to see it all.

“Oh,” you said, already feeling slightly flustered. “Right. That’s… yeah, fair.”

“Cool if I take this off?”

Your brain was short circuiting. But you managed a nod.

“Yeah. Totally fine... I don’t want you overheating or anything…”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying not to laugh, then pulled the hoodie off over his head in one smooth motion.

And just like that, he was shirtless in your living room.

Your mouth went dry, but between your thighs was another story.

He wasn’t showing off, and that was the worst part. He just tossed the hoodie onto the couch like it was no big deal and then reached for his water bottle.

Meanwhile, you were suddenly aware of every inch of him, his chest, his arms, his stomach… he was covered in tattoos, and as he turned around you felt your knees go weak.

Never had you found someone’s back attractive before, but holy fuck.

Sorry, Jesus.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice casual like he hadn’t just turned your entire brain into mush.

You nodded, forcing a laugh.

“Yeah. Just… um. Still recovering.”

“From your meeting?”

You stared at him.

“…Yeah.”

He smirked but didn’t press.

“You wanna go and get changed, then we can start?”

You nodded, quickly heading into your bedroom, changing into the gym set you had left on the edge of your bed before you left for your meeting.

Once you had gotten changed, put some deodorant and your favourite perfume, then you stepped back out of your bedroom, finding Noah stood in the middle of your living room like he belonged there, relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, glancing around like he was assessing floor space- which you didn’t have that much of.

“I should probably move the couch.” You muttered, half to yourself, stepping forward and bracing your hands against the armrest. You gave it a push.

Nothing happened.

You pushed harder.

The couch barely budged.

Noah stepped up behind you, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Need help?”

“No,” you said, still pushing. “…Okay, maybe.”

He laughed quietly and moved beside you, pressing his hands to the back of the couch next to yours.

“On three?”

You barely had time to say “wait-“ before he shifted his weight and moved the whole damn thing like it was made of feathers.

“Okay, no one likes a show off.” You teased.

He shrugged like he hadn’t just casually embarrassed you in your own home. To hide the blush on your cheeks, you turned back around, opening the cupboard under the TV unit and dragging out two rolled up yoga mats, ones you had bought many years ago from your short lived new years resolution where you told yourself you'd finally start getting your life together. (You used them once with Kylie, pulled a muscle and never got them out again.)

“They’re a little dusty.” You warned, handing him one.

“That's fine.” He chuckled, already unrolling his onto the floor with a soft flap.

You tried to copy him, but the mat curled back in on itself. You had to step on one end to keep it flat.

Noah didn’t comment, but his grin said enough.

You knelt down to adjust it, tucking one corner under your coffee table to hold it in place.

When you straightened, he was already stretching, his arms over his head, back arching slightly, muscles flexing. Completely unaware, or pretending to be unaware, that you were watching.

You looked away fast, dropping to the mat and forcing yourself to focus.

“Okay,” you said, clapping your hands together like this was a totally normal event. “What are we starting with?”

“Let’s warm up your shoulders and legs,” he said, kneeling beside you. “We’ll go light today, so nothing too intense.”

You nodded, following his lead as he shifted into a forward lunge. He glanced over to watch your form, and you immediately forgot how legs worked.

Then he moved behind you.

“Just gonna check your stance.” He said, one hand brushing your hip, the other on your upper back.

You nearly tipped over.

“Loosen up. You’re stiff.” His voice was right by your ear now, calm and warm.

“Sorry, I've just... had a really bad day.” You mumbled.

“I can tell.” He said, not unkindly.

You exhaled, tried to relax your shoulders.

His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary. Then he stepped away.

“You’ll feel better after this, though.” He said, standing back in his place again, like nothing happened.

…

You were already flushed, hot and sweating by the time you finished warming up, and as usual, he looked untouched.

Whilst you were taking a quick water break, opening more windows to let some air in, he threw his spare wraps at you.

“Wrap up,” he said simply, winding his own. “We’ll do a few light rounds, I don’t have any pads or gloves though.”

You caught them clumsily, still breathless as you sat down beside him on the couch.

“We’re sparring?”

He nodded, already securing the wrap.

“You got some steam to let off. Better to do it with me than your boss.”

“You just want to laugh at me.” You said with a smirk.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, voice almost too casual, but there was something teasing behind it. A glint in his eyes that made your hands fumble with the wraps.

“Because I still suck at this,” you mumbled, trying to loop the fabric over your wrist the right way. “And I know you enjoy watching me suffer, especially when it comes to the roundhouse kicks.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s not true.” He said, and you gave him a look. “I don’t enjoy it,” he continued, standing slowly. “But it is cute.”

Your breath caught. Cute.

You opened your mouth to fire back something, anything! But then he stepped toward you, holding out his hands.

“Give me them.” He said.

“What?”

“The wraps.”

You hesitated. Then handed them over.

He took them without another word, his fingers brushing yours briefly before he crouched in front of you, dropping to one knee. He took your wrist gently and began rewrapping that hand.

“You always pull too tight." He murmured, not looking up.

“I like it tight.”

His lips twitched.

“Yeah?”

You flushed, immediately regretting your choice of words. He briefly looked up and you swore he was biting back a laugh.

“Shut up.” You glared at him.

“I didn’t say anything.” He finished the wrap and ran his thumb over the back of your hand once, just softly, before starting on the other.

When he finally stood, he didn’t step back, just looked down at you and offered his hand.

“You ready?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t. Not really.

“Remember,” he said, guiding you into position. “Focus on control. You don’t need to prove anything to me, or show off.”

You exhaled. Tried to settle your stance. His hands came down on your hips lightly, just adjusting you.

“Widen your base,” he murmured. “There, that’s perfect… Good girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t even sure he meant to say it, it came out softly, quiet, but it landed like a sucker punch to your stomach.

You looked up at him sharply.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You shook it off. Focus!

…

You weren’t sure when the sparring became funny, but somewhere between the fourth time Noah made you miss on purpose and the second time he caught your punch mid-air just to spin you and tickle your sides, you were losing your composure.

“Noah!” You half shouted, half laughed as his fingers found your ribs again, wriggling at your sides.

"It's conditioning," he said, smug, biting back his own laugh, "If you don't want me to tickle you, don't be predictable."

"You're the worst." You gasped, breathless as you wiped the sweat from your brow and staggered back, still a little giddy.

He just stood there, hands on hips, calm as ever.

"You'll thank me when you become untouchable."

You shook your head, pacing in a slow circle around him, catching your breath.

“Okay,” you muttered. “How’s this for predictable?”

Before he could answer, you launched.

A roundhouse kick, not perfect but it had power. Noah’s eyes widened just enough to let you know you’d surprised him.

Except… your foot didn’t quite land how you wanted it to, and you lost balance.

“Shit-”

Noah moved to steady you, but too late. Everything spiralled out of control in a blur of limbs...

And the two of you tumbled backwards, straight onto the couch.

With a heavy thud, he landed on his back with a soft grunt, arms instinctively around your waist, making you land on top of him with a soft, shocked oof. You tried to process what just happened, as you pushed yourself up, your hands on his chest, your legs either side of his.

“Shit-“ you gasped, “I… didn’t mean to do that.”

Noah wheezed a laugh.

“You okay?” He asked gently.

“Yeah- yeah, I just… oh my god, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“You sure?” He chuckled.

You shifted your weight a little, trying to find a better position as to not fall off the couch completely… and accidentally rolled your hips right over his.

Noah sucked in a sharp breath, and you froze.

Because you felt it.

Oh.

“Oh...” You whispered, eyes going wide.

His jaw flexed, his eyes screwing shut.

“Dont… Don’t move.”

And of course, you immediately moved again, flustered and clumsy, trying to do the right thing, your hips moving again as you tried to roll off of him.

And that only made it worse.

Noah exhaled hard through his nose, grabbing your hips to still you completely.

“I said don’t.”

Your cheeks burned.

“Sorry!" You quickly apologised, now breathless, "I didn’t mean-“

“I know,” he said, voice tight. “It’s fine. Just… don’t panic-“

So you didn’t. You didn’t move. Didn’t dare look at him…

But then you did. And your breath caught in your throat, and you felt that pulse between your thighs.

He was already looking at you, his eyes dark, lips parted, bare chest rising and falling beneath you. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fought to hold you still. And yet… his grip wasn’t forceful, or rough.

You didn’t move, he did. Just a little. His thumbs shifted along your hips, guiding you forward slowly, as if to test. You followed the motion instinctively, and your body rocked against him.

The friction made your thighs tremble.

Noah inhaled sharply, his hands tightening just enough to tell you he felt it too.

“Fuck.” He breathed, his head thrown back.

Your palms braced against his chest, but you didn’t pull back. You stayed there. Hearts pounding. Lips parting.

He looked up at you.

His eyes lingered on your lips, before dragging back up to your eyes, as you continued to gently rock against him.

Neither of you said anything, but neither of you stopped either.

He moved your hips again, just once, and this time you whined, gasping as your forehead dropped to his shoulder.

Then, slowly, the front door opened...

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

the next chapter is already pretty much finished btw so i might post it in a couple days :)

@dragoncopper @renegadebirch @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @xslavicprincess @foliosgirl @h4tef6ck @Jesuisunchaton @saythatuwill @astronoids @missduffsblog @montgomery-929496 @lonelydragonlady @happyclifford @popularpopularmonster @bluehairpunklol @bruce9818 @itsyaboinoah @mayaslifeinabox @lonesomegrace @dominuslunae @lacy1986 @jesuisunchaton @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @onlyethereal @theright-wrongway @geminigirlfromfinland @miss570 @trvshdxddy @spookieolson @sugaruapologist @latenightmusiclover @eversiincenykenjipepsi1 @shuiguans @lyschko666 @XxKatsatwatwafflexX

if i forgot you (IM SORRY) or you want to be added to the taglist, the link is here! or just comment or message me i don't mind! :)

#★who are you?#noah sebastian #again... i apologise for any inaccuracy lmao #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian imagine #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #noahsebastian #bad omens fanfiction #kickboxer!noah

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arbitrarykiwi · 1 month ago

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don’t mind me…just dropping my revised masterlist 🤓 I spent so long tryna make her cute… the longer I spend on here the more I realized my other one wasn’t cutting it 🥸

Welcome to my new n improved Masterlist! Here are some key things to know when browsing the menu for your next meal!

᯽ = sfw / fluff ꕥ = nsfw / smut

Reminder: These are just overarching themes for any work listed, please take caution and read any warnings on the individual fics before divulging!

If you want to send in a request and aren’t familiar with what I write, you can check out my request rules section on my intro post!

Want to be notified every time I post?! Comment on this post here or any other post to let me know ya wanna be on the tag list!

Enjoy some light reads with drabbles!

Messy n’ Wet (Se-Mi x Fem!Reader) ꕥ

Personal Photographer (Kwon Jiyong x Fem!Reader) ᯽

Worshiped Completely (Kwon Jiyong x Chubby!Fem!Reader) ꕥ

Done Went and Fucked the Plug (Plug!Thanos / Choi Subong x Fem!Reader) ꕥ

Head’s Best When Stoned (Thanos / Choi Subong x Fem!Reader) ꕥ

15 Minute Lunch Break (Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader) ꕥ

Dates with Nam-Gyu (Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader) ᯽

And They Were Roommates (Roommate!Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader) ᯽

Mid-Game Anger Relief (Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader) ꕥ

Drugs, Sex and a Headlock?! (Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader) ꕥ

Multi-Part / Multi-Version fics for you to divulge in!

Now Streaming… | a series of oneshots about your streamer lover getting a bit too much attention from fangirls ᯽

- Thanos / Nam-Gyu / Se-Mi

Producer!Fem!Reader x Thanos | various oneshots revolving around Producer!Reader and Thanos’ less than professional connection ꕥ

- Pill Poppin’!! / LIVE…In the Studio

Third Times a Charm | Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader smut series. You first meet him at a club. After one taste he’s hooked. And, not-so coincidentally, he’s running into you two more times. ꕥ

- Taste Test 1:3 / Oral Fixation 2:3 / Bodytalk 3:3

It’s Just Business, Baby | The Salesman / Recruiter x Recruiter!Fem!Reader smut series. you’re the new hire that he hates with a passion. He’s always in competition with you. When you enrage him so much he begins to track you down, trying to find you outside of work, you play along. ꕥ

- Workplace Conflict 1:4 / Overtime 2:4 / After Hours 3:4 / Professional Provocation 4:4

What’s Better Than One Boyfriend?! Two Boyfriends!! | ThanGyu x Fem!Reader collection of my thinks on the dynamic between reader / thanos / namgyu. Both in the games and out of games au ᯽ / ꕥ

- one / two

Want a shorter or one off read?? Here are some One-Shots!!! (Organized by character)

Illumoria | Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

When Nam-Gyu puts an ad up for a new roommate he didn’t expect someone like you to answer it ꕥ / ᯽

Proper Apology | Sub!Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Nam-Gyu has come home late too many times and doesn’t ever keep to his apologies- time to show him how to properly apologize ꕥ

After Work Relaxation | Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Nam-gyu has a stressful job as a club promoter, thankfully he has his pretty girlfriend to help him relax after a bad day ꕥ

You Can Take It | Mean!Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

You’ve seemed to have captured the attention of Nam-Gyu so much so there was an unspoken rule that you were his, one you had no idea about ꕥ

Like ‘em Weird | Loser!Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

There’s just somethin’ delicious about the socially awkward and standoffish guy you’ve been seeing in the club. ꕥ

Introvert Meets Innocence | Awkward!Nam-Gyu x Innocent!Fem!Reader

After Thanos and your friend decide they have had enough of you and Nam-Gyu acting like nervous high schoolers talking to their crush, they treat you like high schoolers; locking you in a room for a round of ‘60’ minutes in heaven. ꕥ

Reckless Temptation | Bum!BabyDaddy!Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

You’ve had enough of Nam-gyu’s shit! He never helps you with your daughter and can barely pay you rent. You finally confront him late at night after he comes home shitfaced. Sure you’re mad and yelling in his face, but he doesn’t hear you. He can’t stop thinking about how pregnancy made curvier, how your breasts were larger, and how badly he wants to fuck you senseless. ꕥ

Etched in Ink | Nam-Gyu x Pierced!TattooArtist!Fem!Reader

After asking Thanos about where he goes for his tattoos, Nam-Gyu schedules an appointment with you. He had no idea you’d be so fucking hot. ꕥ

Play Thing | Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

One of his favorite things to do with you is just play with you. So, when he buys you a fun new toy he makes sure you get good use out of it and that he got his moneys worth. ꕥ

Unlikely Partnership | Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Waking up in a warehouse with 400 some odd players. Nam-Gyu doesn’t understand why he keeps getting pulled towards you. ᯽

Captured In Low Resolution | Thanos x Fem!Reader

Thanos has pictures of you everywhere. You finally inquire about the shitty, low res picture he has on his computer monitor ᯽

Suck ‘em Dry! | Thanos x Fem!Reader

When you meet the egotistic, purple haired rapper he was so confident he’d be the one to ruin you…you decide to flip the switch and ruin him by givin’ him some crazy head ꕥ

Full of Surprises | Thanos x Fem!Reader

You’re the star student on college campus, good grades, great attendance- the first person Thanos knew he would see in class and the last person he would expect to see smoking weed behind the college football stadium ᯽

Passed Around | ThanGyu x Fem!Reader

Smoke seshes with your boyfriends always end up this way…you’re passed around like the blunt you all were smoking ꕥ

More to Love, Double the Fun | ThanGyu x Thick!Fem!Reader

While at a party you want nothing more than to go home. The two of them scout you and answer your pleas; you just don’t go to your home. ꕥ

The Happiest of Birthdays! | ThanGyu x Fem!Reader

All about how Thanos and Nam-Gyu celebrate their favorite girl’s birthday ᯽

Finish it all off with some scrumptious Headcannons

How Nam-Gyu acts when you’re sick ᯽ / ꕥ

Streamer Nam-Gyu ᯽ / ꕥ

Nam-Gyu with big titty gf ᯽ / ꕥ

Nam-Gyu with big ass gf ᯽ / ꕥ

Boyfriends Thanos and Nam-Gyu when you’re ovulating / on period ᯽ / ꕥ

Kwon Jiyong as your bf ᯽

#kiwismasterlist #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #x reader squid games #namgyu fanfic #player124 smut #kwon jiyong x you #thanos squid games x reader #se mi x y/n smut #fic masterlist #gdragon fic #nam gyu x reader smut #thanos x reader fic #thanos squid game #player230 x reader #player 124 x reader #nam gyu

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occamstfs · 10 months ago

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AL:IV Everycop

Streamers everywhere have a chance to try out Auto Larceny: IV before it drops. After being forced into playing as a police officer in game Ethan Davies finds himself fitting the shoes more by the second.

Back to a longer story here's my take on a Cop TF- Sorta sucked into a video game Ethan rapidly becomes an ephemeral everyman of a cop! MG, mental change, and corruption abound! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Auto Larceny: IV was supposed to be the game of the year. It wasn’t Ethan Davies’ standard fare but the streamer simply couldn’t miss out on the revenue bubble that’s sure to occur when the game first drops. Honestly he wasn’t sure why he got an early access copy of the game but he’s so early in his career that any shortcut to get ahead had to be taken. Still, he’d need to familiarize himself with the game before going straight to streaming it, which is where things began to go off kilter.

The intro cinematic to the game was fairly rote, the franchise was so massive that even disinterested parties were aware of the tone and gameplay. Ruffians driving down the sidewalk being chased by helicopters, wide shots exploring some amalgam of every city in California, drag racing down every major thoroughfare, Ethan was well familiar with the action movie parody tone of the world despite having not picked up the remote to play any game in the franchise before now.

Expectecting to click through menus and make his character, Ethan is surprised to instead be greeted by roulette wheel and a message: ‘In this edition of AL player characters and story modes will be randomly assigned to keep the game fresh! After completing story mode feel free to start New Game+ where you can choose from any of the hundreds of hand-crafted player characters!’ Ethan grimaces, quite a lot to ask of the player to jump into a rpg with absolutely no choice as to who you’re playing. It really doesn’t seem on brand to take player agency totally out of the players hands and there are certainly a good number of roles that he personally would prefer not to play.

Still, contract signed, he does need to stream the game at some point. Tired of being waylaid from playing the game proper he quickly clicks through terms of service and gameplay warnings, accidentally mashing himself right into rolling the wheel of AL:IV characters. Druglords, regressive women, and larger than life drag racers rush past in a circle as the wheel begins to slow with an sonically unpleasant clicking sound. Almost stopping it slowly twirls past Mike Malone-Midtown Vigilante before it slowly rolls onto, Emile Brighton-Billionaire Playboy. He purses his lips thinking how both of these experiences sound pleasant enough before the wheel clicks forward one final time. Ethan immediately clicks his own tongue and complains, “Oh what the fuck. Literally who is this in the game for…” Ethan has been assigned the role of Peter Clarkson-Cop.

Before the game has a chance to explain who his character is Ethan decides in no uncertain terms that he’s not playing as a pig in AL:IV. This game is infamously about playing criminals and ruffians. Even ignoring his IRL issues with the police he wasn’t about to spend any amount of his life walking in their shitty shoes. He resets the system and waits for the game to power back on so he may take another spin of the wheel. They know their fanbase, there literally has to be a way to game the game to play as who you want.

In the meantime Ethan browses his phone while the system begins starting up once more. Oddly enough he sees a few fellow streamers already tweeting about their time in the game which is more than a little surprising. Even more peculiar, a few of them seem to be putting on affectations to shill for the game? Even some of the straighter shooters are getting into characters Ethan couldn’t imagine them choosing to do. Seeing his friend and fellow streamer Chris Walters tweeting like a surfer bro Ethan scratches his chin wondering if he accidentally missed some bizarre lines in the contract he signed to do promo for the game.

No time to worry about that now though, as his game is finally spinning up once more. The AL:IV logo flashes red and blue as a siren blares and the intro begins once more. Only this time, the whole cinematic seems to have a decidedly more cop-forward tone. Opening in what is unmistakably a police cruiser there's a laptop jutting out from the dash with lines of text soaring past. The thick, suspiciously veiny arm of the driver clenches at a wheel as he chases a speedy scofflaw down the road before following the reckless driver onto the beach. He hears a deep raspy voice bark orders from a receiver on his belt which he quickly yanks to his mouth to shout his own mumbo-jumbo into.

Before the second frame hits Ethan is filled with a desire to shut the game down yet again. Unfortunately, before he can act on that instinct of self-preservation his attention is irrevocably drawn to the cinematic as if he’s possessed. Finding it more engaging than any piece of copaganda he’s seen before, Ethan is completely rapt as he sees the patrol car slide to a stop on the beach, somehow creating a steam trail against the sand. The camera twirls before zooming in onto a figure eating a donut sitting on the hood of his car. Ethan can’t quite make out any details of the man’s face, it’s ephemeral and yet every shifting angle and foggy detail is unmistakably masculine and powerful. He hears the officer’s voice shout Auto Larceny VI, Officer Peter Clarkson reporting for duty.

“Okay. Well I’m not playing this.” He says, shaking off his delirium as he wanders through menus and looks for the way to delete whatever paltry save date that has him pegged to play Officer Clarkson. He pauses for a second slightly shocked that he’d refer to the character by his title rather than take another jab at the pig, er, cop. He exhales from his nose and chides himself, joking about how taken his subconscious must be with the vaguely hot parody of a parody of a cop. Ethan then scoffs as he successfully navigates through the deliberately obfuscated settings to find the ‘Erase All Data’ button greyed out.

Growing rapidly irate at the game doing everything it can to put him in the leather shoes of a man he’d never deign to play as, Ethan dials the customer support number given to him by the developers in the hopes they’ll help him out. He taps his foot impatiently as he hears jarring ambient noise from the game, rather than kitschy hold music. Eventually as sirens blare he groans and accelerates his tapping, unaware that he has begun to sweat as the temperature begins to unnaturally rise in his room. The noise from his phone similarly begins to increase, or at least it seems it does which only exacerbates the man’s nerves. Feeling his shirt begin to grow damp from sweat and stick to his back he discards it and begins whinily cursing to himself.

“God why did I even agree to play this shit! I knew it was a bad idea.” Head in hands his glasses begin to steam as his body grows warmer with each passing second of irritation at the game and himself for agreeing to stream it. Before his sour mood could develop any further he flinches back like a loaded spring at the sound of a representative from the company. Shouting once more in shock as his body releases tension he was shocked to find himself carrying at such a low-stakes moment, “Fuck!”

There’s a moment of pause before the voice on the other end speaks up once more, her voice robotic and uncaring, “Excuse me Sir, this is Kayleigh Moore with AL:IV did you need assistance with your copy of the game?” Ethan’s face tinges red with embarrassment, coupled with his already burning body his eyes almost water as he clears his throat to answer, “Uhm so sorry about that, Miss.” He tilts his head at reflexively calling her Miss, “I was wondering if there was a way to start over, I think my copy’s glitched out or something?” Kayleigh quickly responds, “Of course, for the record is this Pethan Clavies?”

Ethan pulls the phone away from his ear, her calling him Pethan was unmistakable. Still it’s not like she’s going to pull his leg right? She’s on the clock, it must just be a genuine mistake, “So sorry Mi- Kayleigh, did you say Pethan?” emphasizing the out of place P. “That’s right sir.” Ethan rolls his eyes, obviously that’s not a name, let alone his name, he clears his throat again to hide his still present irritation, “No, my name is Pethan, Pethan Clavies.” Tonelessly she responds, “Right sir. That is what I said.” Pethan’s voice catches in his throat. That’s not. He’s not? God it’s so fucking hot in here.

Getting lost in his head for a few seconds Kayleigh, ever cordial and acting on information Pethan clearly doesn’t have, she gets back to work. “So sorry Mr. Clavies but unless you have a genuine problem with your game I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. Enjoy your day officer.” Mr. Clavies. Officer. Pethan fights the urge to throw his phone against the wall before realizing how out of sorts he must be right now. I mean, he forgot his name Pethan after all. Even now thinking that to himself, his neck reflexively clenches and one of his eyes slams shut as a headache stings.

Then it hits him. He’s burning up, drowning in sweat and has hair trigger rage. All signs suggest that he’s just come down with a fever. One he wanted to take out on that poor chick, er. God what’s up with him. Still, he sighs in relief at figuring it out, some tension leaves him though he is still racked with soreness. Stretching an arm he finds the pleasurable burn that usually follows workouts. Or that would follow his workouts, he’s not really one to workout. He thinks. Walking to go sleep off the fever he scratches at his chest and halts as he feels muscle at all where there should be none. Furrowing his brow he sprints to the restroom and clasps at his mouth when he sees his figure.

God he looks fucking hot. Something swimming through his mind knows this can’t be right, it must be the fever. But as he feels rows of sweaty abs under his fingers how could he dispute the evidence. Scratching at chest hair spreading towards his nipples and a treasure trail now inching well past his belly button he struggles to understand how his fever is also making him hairier. Nor too does he understand the dark green stains on his arms that seem like tattoos he’s never gotten. Mmm they must just be bruises he’s missed, convincing himself just enough as he flexes a new bicep at himself in the mirror and begins to chub up.

Somewhere in his fever-ridden head a streamer still kicks around and, unsure if he can trust his own eyes, he takes out his phone to snap a pic of his hard new body. He groans as he wonders who he should send it to. Stumbling to his bed his mind produces an answer, who else but his fellow streamer Chris Walters. He mumbles as his body temp continues to rise, “Chris’ll- huh?” Checking his contacts he struggles to find his friend. In fact a number of his online friend’s contacts seem to have changed, he shakes his head and his clumsy fingers accidentally click on the number for Chase Waves. Oh duh. He laughs at himself, embarrassed for having forgotten his friend’s name, before sending the shirtless selfie off and collapsing into his bed. Swiftly conking out in a pool of his own sweat and snoring as drool snakes out of his mouth onto a cheek that will be itchy by morning.

Indeed he woke up scratching a sweat and drool covered beard that he shouldn’t be able to grow in a million years. His hand briefly gets stuck in the thick new tangle on his face before he wrenches it out with a crunch. Before his eyes are open he stretches, moaning as his bones have put on years of aging and over a foot of height overnight. Consciousness slowly loading into his heavier new body he feels his meatier hands bump against the wall and his sock-torn feet hanging off the edge of the bed. “Bwugh, wuzzat!” He shouts alarmed at nothing as he sits up with a start in his bed, rubbing his thinned hairline and scratching at a treasure trail as thick as his pubes.

Pethan stumbles to his feet, his head throbbing with a headache as he adjusts to his new height and struggles to ignore new instincts boring their way through his mind. His hand yearns to reach for something on his belt only for him to scoff at himself. He’s of course not wearing a belt, having only gone to sleep in his compression shorts. He ignores his bulging dick and heavy balls to instead check the phone sitting on his bedside table, barely remembering he texted Chase through the haze of his mind.

Checking again he smirks as he sees the picture of himself he sent, “Heh always a stud.” Pethan ignores that he apparently sent this message in a dating app rather than as a standard text. So too is he unable to realize the picture displays him a completely different man than when he went to bed, and even further away than what any image he should recognize as himself. Any conclusions on the matter that could be made however are shelved as he tears his eyes away from admiring himself to see Chase’s response, “Heyyy Brah~ Huhuh, u know what i think fckr!! ACAB LMAOOO good luck finding sum other sucker 2 fuck pig”

Indignation burns bright in Pethan’s chest as he grumbles at the message, anxiety at getting this message from his, uh his friend? He thought they were friends? Pethan furrows his brows and groans at the mismatch, his voice sinking lower as his eyes keep rereading the surfer’s dimwitted message. His hands clench and veins pulse larger as his arms threaten to grow even larger in his rage. Two diametric ideas vie for dominance in his mind, the former just falling short, an angry yet self-pitying ‘upstanding citizens can’t get any dick anymore!’ loses out to the realer concern burning through Pethan Clavies’ mind. One that he shouts at the top of his larger lungs, “I’m not a fucking cop!” Forcing his hands down to his side in a petulant manner he springs up yet another inch in height and is struck lightheaded from the vertigo.

Pointedly moving on from his being shot down by a degenerate he isn’t sure he could label a friend anymore, Pethan stumbles into his living room in search of something. What exactly? He isn’t quite sure. Digging through his mind what for only brings confusion to the forefront, just need a cup of joe and a donut, he shakes it off and grimaces. Need a protein shake before the gym. Need my uniform and my service pist-. Jaw cramping from how hard he’s clenching it to put down these thoughts the, perhaps still, streamer turns on a speaker to blare out the voices in his head as his deeper breaths begin to give way to hyperventilation. Pethan turns into his streamer room which unfortunately brings him no peace.

His eyes glaze over as they alight on the game, AL:IV still playing. Somehow in the meantime it has abandoned the looping intro video and begun playing proper. The officer he was penned to play as idles in the lobby of the police station as Pethan unconsciously meanders towards the screen. He is less than aware of his movements as he goes to pick up the controller, his clumsier sausage fingers accidentally pause the game, bringing up the character’s stats menu. The first thing he reads is the character’s name: Officer Petan Clarison. His whole body twitches as he instinctively reads it and feels it overwrite his identity once more. That’s not what it said yesterday was it? Well of course it is, he typed in his own name didn’t he?

His head twitches to the side as a wave of old memories are now locked behind his new reality. Unaware of this Pethan endeavors to grasp something hard of his past self to hold onto. Unfortunately any attempt just releases a brief stabbing pain, almost to deliberately discourage Petan to dig deep enough to remember himself. Looking across his stats he finds himself quickly losing interest in the game despite his being unnaturally drawn to it. His eyes glaze over as he looks at his low intelligence, something inside him says he usually maxes that out. After a pause he questions that. When would he have ever even done that before? He’s not even that much of a gamer is he? His neck twitches again as if some neuron tries to fire but can no longer connect.

He shrugs moving on to see low charisma as well. Petan grimaces before deciding who needs charisma when you have authority. Pride burns in him as he puffs up his chest. Were he wearing a shirt the noise of straining fabric would surely sound as burgeoning pecs begin to bulge. He doesn’t need to persuade or to sway, he simply needs to state. His words are. He is the Law. Or, god. No. He groans as he finds his ability to dispute the assertion increasingly tenuous, “I’m not a fucking pi- not a p- not an, urgh, police officer.” He clenches his jaw finding himself not even able to call himself a pig. Or no, cops at all pigs. Not himself. Cause he’s not, he’s not a cop.

Petan forces his attention back to the game with a good deal of effort as the loud sounds and bright lights begin to actively deter his interest. His investment absolutely does a 180 however when he sees his strength stat not maxed out. Seeing red and exhaling in indignation he looks down at his own body compared to the one slowly spinning on the screen and sneers. Why does he look like a shrimpy little punk. Ignoring the dozens of pounds of muscle he’s put on thus far, Petan quickly tosses the controller down, done with stupid games forever as he makes for the nearest gym.

Keys in a bowl on the counter shine and glisten, somehow asking to be picked up and he thinks about grabbing them before feeling existential fear at discovering what they might unlock. He convinces himself it’s better to get cardio in on the way anyway, god knows he’s not going to step foot on a treadmill. Sprinting out the door he sees a black and white Challenger and his cock pulses at the sight. Before any further thoughts, or other substances, can spill at seeing the vehicle. His vehicle? He grunts and tears his eyes away from the pristine cruiser and sprints away, clearly hard cock bouncing in his athletic shorts. Off to the races Petan purses his lips wondering if he knows where the nearest gym is actually?

Oh, well there’s the one at the station? Groaning to himself at how quickly that idea sprung to his mind he picks up speed running towards a building with a massive veiny bicep hanging over the door. Hands adroitly cutting the air in front of him as if he were chasing a perp, ugh, running for fun, expertly. As one does. He forces his lips into a tight line as a mustache grows thicker out of his beard and tattoos stretch further across his large arms. He feels something shift in himself as he crosses the threshold into the gym. His beard thinning into stubble as his face shifts and hardens. More importantly his body begins to surge larger, straining his workout attire before he even touches a weight.

Petan stretches at the entrance, seemingly deliberately blocking the doorway as his body rapidly puts on weight simply from entering the gym. Once again immediately damp with sweat his chest packs on weight. Hitherto present but undefined mounds on his chest become two massive muscled pecs, apparently recently shaved. Scratching at his now stubbled face he wonders where his beard went, mumbling something to himself about regulation before he saunters into the gym. Taking wide steps as he adjusts his gait for the heavier package dangling loosely in his athletic shorts.

He takes a deep sniff in the air which makes his cock even more noticeable as the musk of the gym brings him pleasure immeasurable. The massive man ambles around the place, hooking his thumbs into the elastic band of his shorts, sneering as he feels there should be something harder there, something leather keeping his pants tight above his admirable defined ass. Grumbling to himself as he meanders about the gym as if he owns the place, ogling at the other burly men working out. All of them seem vaguely familiar, and jarringly stereotypical. Burly men wearing oil stained wife beaters arguing at the free weights, playboys with platinum blonde hair pouring water over themselves on ellipticals, some greasy hackers in the corner seemingly out of place, though they’re decidedly more shredded than any man in the van should be.

Petan fights the urge to assert himself over these groups. His chest thrums as he forces his legs to still as there’s a desperate pull to go brawl with the rowdy men. To force the suave white collar criminals if they don’t fork over some cash to him. To just go shout at the mousy sure to be cybercriminals and hope they piss themselves. He sneers at the idea and is really only held back from doing any of them by the desire to do all of them. The rising lust for action, to dominate and enact his rotten will trips whatever sense of self, whatever shreds of Ethan remain and he shakes his head, eyes widening at how much he seems to be losing himself as he feels a weight growing in the pocket of his athletic shorts.

His eyes then light on another perp, er, civilian. One he knows without a doubt. He sees Chase Waves and nods his head. Keys jingle in his pocket as he swiftly heads over to the man, something deep within him, growing deeper by the second, suggests that is a man he can trust. Seeing the hulking figure saunter over, chest forward, Chase rolls his eyes and puts up his guard. Head down and smile uneasy he speaks up before Petan can issue an order, “Heyy brah, er officer.” Flinching back as he feels treating the man before him with anything but respect would break bad quick.

Petan furrows his brow at this odd intro. Why is this man so on edge? His lips twitch as instinct swirl, he’s my friend, or was my friend, right? Why does he not trust me. Various muscles within the no-longer streamer twitch and grow as he begins to lose whatever ground remains. The surfer must have done something wrong. Petan’s body inches taller, wider, veins bulge down arms as they bulk. His chest presses against his workout shirt as it begins to darken.

Sleeves quickly appear as the garment shifts black. He grunts as a collar presses out of the neckline before performatively clearing his throat and speaking up, his voice dry and perpetually on edge, “Why’re you so nervous son?” His hair straightens into station standard as he sneers down at the surfer who audibly gulps. He feels his shorts begin to hug his ass and crotch as the fabric grows rigid, thickening as they expand and lengthen down his defined calves.

Waves responds, “We’re just uh, surprised you’re here is all uhhh, sir? Usually your type keeps to the station unless there’s trouble.” Trouble. Petan’s jaw hardens and widens as he looks down at the man, his tennis shoes rapidly thickening into a dark shined leather as the heels raise him even higher over this obvious delinquent. He clears his throat as he feels the cotton sleeves of his workout shirt grow firm and hug his massive biceps. Flexing just to hear his arms strain the tight sleeves he hears fabric tear down the whole front of his shirt as his pecs burst it wide open. Just as soon as his now hairy chest is exposed, buttons pop into existence and struggle to close it back up, still hugging impossibly tight. Trouble. What is there in this gym other than trouble.

Still wordlessly staring he can’t help but feel delight at the discomfort he has evoked in the typically chill surfer bro. Living a life almost deliberately to avoid men like Petan and yet, face to face what can he do. His memory lights to this morning when this twerp DM’d him ACAB, is he just going to let the punk say that to him? Petan’s brow hardens as his shoulders hunch and his back widens. One hand clenched at his side ready to reach for something on his waist that’s not there, the other scratching at his stubbled, or no, bearded face?

Seeing sweat trail down the blonde’s tanned face as he almost shivers in fear of the cop backing him into a corner, some impossibly frail shred of conscience cries out and fills Clarison with disgust at his domineering actions. Fear in his own eyes Petan steps back which only sets Chase more on edge. The surfer bumps into some equipment as he backs away. Hands raised as he speaks up and eyes an escape route, “Ah sorry for the trouble officer! Hope you have a pleasant day!” He sprints off into the locker room and Petan turns to see the commotion he’s raised, every patron in the gym now turns to look at him scowling. His hands once more go to his waist only this time he finds the leather belt he has been so craving to wear.

Biting his lip as weight begins pulling the belt down at every angle he struggles between pleasure and fear as bulky black items begin to appear from nowhere on his belt. Each new yank on the belt fills him with contentment as he finally has the tools of his trade, pepper spray, his trusty taser, his receiver. He audibly moans as he feels the weight of his service pistol finally arrives on the scene. Anyone keeping even half an eye on the officer would see his cock throb through his uniform pants as he does so.

Standing in the gym moaning in delight and struggling not to fondle his crotch only draws more attention to the out of place cop. Men as large as himself begin to rise across the gym and eye the officer with suspicious and disdain. Knowing when it’s time to beat feet Petan makes a note to rub one out later, when he uh? Gets back to the station? Twitching larger as he lets that slide without dispute he shakes off his masturbatory plans and sets to the crowd. Petan shouts over the din of clanking weights with bluster and authority that shall never leave his tongue again, “Yew all can return to yer business. Keep it clean and we’ll have no trouble.” He makes a decidedly not commanding expression as he looks so uncomfortable at the volume and weight of his words. Despite this everyone seems to listen and obey, cock throbbing once more as he sprints out the door, new car keys already in hand.

He clicks the keys and his pristine patrol car sounds off, he hops in the Challenger the station yoinked from some drag racer and speeds off. There’s a badge hanging from the rearview, P. Clarkson. Peter without a thought or hesitation yanks it off and throws it on, comfort filling him as he feels he just found the final missing part of himself. Leather seat creaking under him as his huge form shifts larger yet again, clearly unhealthy veins bulge down his arms as he speeds down a thoroughfare, unconcerned with the other drivers as he goes to the only place he can think of. The only place that matters to him. The station.

His face shifts yet again as he enters a different part of the city, smiling as he nears what may as well be his home. It is his home. Tattoos shift in the same ephemerality that apparently encompasses the whole of his form. Some other scofflaw runs a red light and his hand flashes to press a button that activates his sirens. Shaking head to stay on target he instead uses the sirens to run the red light himself before simply keeping on his way to the station. Each inch closer he finds himself drifting permanently away from the streamer he once was. Good riddance he thinks, twerp probably pirated games anyway.

Theme music from AL:IV begins playing from his game stereo and he smacks it until it begins playing the theme of Officer Peter Clarkson, that of the police force as a whole. Shifting in his seat as his bulge hardens and fills his pants and his butt forces him to sit higher in the seat. Officer Clarkson swerves across lanes and finally pulls into the station, expertly drifting to a stop. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust as he hops out of his car, as if the world were loading in around him. He gets out to sit on the hood of his car and his form shifts again. Body mind and face becoming one of a million combinations that Peter Clarkson is to embody. In the game Officer Clarkson doesn’t quite matter. He’s a grunt. He’s a sheriff, he’s the chief. He is whatever the role the force needs to fill, and some unfortunate sod had to take that bullet.

Uniform shifting military green as his torso alone bloats heavier than the whole of Ethan Davies’ body once took up. He thoughtlessly shoves his pistol in his pants for easy access as he goes to sit on his hood and eat a donut as prophesied in the officer’s intro, rather, his introduction cinematic. He sits and waits as the cracks of who Officer Peter Clarkson is begin to fill just enough that he can indeed become anything demanded of him within the world of AL:IV. Oozing authority and dripping with unearned condescension his mind goes blank enough be anything from intro mission cannon fodder grunt to the stogy commander of the department as a whole.

Flashes of his programmed life, of his shifting lives, sear through him. Basic enough to fit any dreamed role as needed, thorough enough that anyone who cares enough to inspect the officer would find substance. Officer Peter Clarkson leans back on the hood of his car as he feels his potential, smirking and fondling his bulging package as the hood creaks underneath him. Bad cop, ‘good cop,’ new blood, hardened detective. Brawny, bulky, wiry, wounded. Officer Peter is a blank slate for the programers to work like putty. Each one of course having the chauvinism and fragile masculinity that they saw fit for the character to embody.

Officer Clarkson feels in his the roles that he is perfect to fulfill. Overtly virile officers to spar with vigilantes and players who prefer to play as seedy criminals. Goody-two-shoes fresh faced straight shooters who step in to apprehend those the good guys wish to see behind bars. Perhaps preferably for the man he once was, the game was rated M for a reason after all and on the more erotic side of things Peter steps in to be the cop stripper that any male-interested players can see fit to ogle or play with to their heart’s content. Perfectly sculpted body speckled with as much or as little body hair as they so choose.

AL:IV is at the cutting edge, a truly living and breathing game. One that is made more perfect with each and every player. Thanks to fame seeking steamers like Ethan eager to immortalize themselves online, the developers have ensured that even the least compelling characters and storylines are teeming with personality. When time comes that the litany of waivers and contracts signed by any parties involved in the making of the game are up, any content creators ready to move on are absolutely free to return to the lives they lived before. Though who knows, at that time AL:V is sure to be right around the corner.

#cop tf #male tf #corruption #reality change #mental change #personality changne #male transformation #hair growth #muscle tf #masculinization

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meganmeyers · 6 months ago

Text

POMEGRANATES & WINES

ACT ONE: DRIFTMARK

jacaerys velaryon x aunt!targtower oc

word count: 4k

masterlist: intro

act two: driftwood throne

warnings/includes: bastardphobia, blood, fighting, death(mentioned), lost of innocence(?)

Summary: Princess Averillia Targaryen was the 5th born child of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower in 117 A.C. Close in age to her nephew Jacaerys Velaryon a close friendship formed in between the two vicious families.

Note: Hello everyone! Just a warning! I haven’t written a fan fiction in a VERY long time. Like it’s been YEARS! So, I may be very rusty in the writing department. Another note: This will be a three-part story. It would be too long to make into a one shot. Also, this part deals with a lot of character building/ setting up the story.

The second princess to King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Consort Alicent Hightower was born just a bit more than a year after her brother Daeron Targaryen. The babe was shown to the courts in long and frivolous christening gowns and wrapped in the beautiful, embroidered blankets, a true look of a royal princess. The only thing not matching on the babe was her constant screams and crying when she was dressed in such gowns and wrapped in the blankets. Ear piercing screams were heard in the court rooms. A restless child truly, the restless of the five babes Alicent Hightower birthed.

As the princess grew, she began to grow a thick head of restless curly honey like blonde hair. A good resemblance to the late Queen Alysanne Targaryen and the early ancestors of the Hightower bloodline. The princess would have been mistaken for a Hightower if she didn’t bear the old Valyrian facial features and the lilac irises of the Targaryens. A stark difference to all 5 of her other siblings and her own father. Her restless hair only grew as restless as her for the continuation of tantrums she had. The toddler would argue in childish gibberish when she had on the fancier court dresses and when she was forced to attend the nursery with all her siblings and nephews. The child was content with being alone and in simple nightgowns day and night.

As a child she behaved in proper fashion, but the courts heard about the princesses' distastes in certain dresses, hairstyles, and colors. The dresses were all of simple styles and simple embroidered designs. The dresses were in shades of blues, purples, and creams. The biggest tantrums she had thrown were over the queen’s insistence in the color green. Oh, how the princess detested the color green. An entire collection of dresses was made for the princess in simple cuts and designs in all shades of green. The small girl had taken them all to the dragon pit and tried to have her elder sister's dragon, Syrax burn them. The princess Rhaenyra had quickly intervened when she found out the girl's intentions and had commissioned her to have new dresses made in shades of blues, purples, and creams. The Queen Alicent had finally given up the losing battle she was fighting with the Princess.

The courts had dubbed the young princess, “The Simple Princess” just as they had dubbed the Princess Rhaenyra, “The Realms Delight”.

When the princess reached the age of six, she demanded her father take her to Dragonstone to claim her own dragon after her nephew Prince Jacaerys, had bonded with his own dragon Vermax and told the little princess about it. The king Viserys had told the girl that she was too young to claim a dragon of that size that were living on Dragonstone. The princess let out cries after cries about how she’s not too young and that she should be able to have a dragon. The king, tired of the princesses' tantrums, decided that the entire family will spend some time on Dragonstone. The king was also hopeful that his son Aemond, would also have a chance to claim a dragon being the only other one of his children to not have a dragon.

While on Dragonstone it had taken no less than 5 hours after arrival for the Princess Averillia to go missing, also included the Prince Jacaerys to go missing as well. Everyone had searched for the Princess and Prince till after nightfall. A dragon keeper had found them deep in the dragon pit sleeping shoulder to shoulder under the wing of a relaxed Silverwing. Trying to retrieve the children was a hard challenge. Silverwing had been awoken by the royal family and dragon keepers entering her area of the pit. As if the children were eggs, she’d almost burnt a dragon keeper alive when she went to retrieve the children. The children remained there all night under Silverwing’s wing and the watch of three dragon keepers. Once the children had awoken, they were stinking of dragon and also gotten the most serious scolding from Rhaenyra on how dangerous and reckless they were. A family holiday wasn’t as thrilling being kept under watchful eyes the entire time.

Back in King Landing the Simple Princess quickly fell into the habit of being found constantly in the dragon pit with her dragon mount. The keepers constantly found her practicing her needlework, working on her High Valyrian, or working on her studies. Soon Prince Jacaerys became her partner in crime. Where Averillia was, Jacaerys would follow. Vermax also became familiar with Silverwing being his rider was constantly in close proximity with her rider. Being the ill-tempered beast he was he had thrown his own dragon tantrum and Silverwing had burnt a small bit of his tail scaring the young dragon. The children had broken into fits of giggles and laughter during the event.

The princess Rhaenyra had soon given birth to Prince Joffrey Velaryon. The young princess remembers seeing maids clean up blood along the halls from that day but didn’t know the reason. She also hadn’t known the reason for her friend to be leaving her. The little princess was distraught by the news of Jace and his family leaving. The little princess had puffy eyes during the departure of her sister's family, fearing she’d wouldn’t ever see them again.

The funeral hadn't been as gloomy as she thought they were supposed to be. She wasn't upset by the death of Laena Velaryon but also, she didn't know her. Averillia had only known her as her uncle Daemon's wife, also Jace and Luke's aunt though their father, Laenor. Many people from court also attended the funeral, they didn't seem to upset by the death of Laena Velaryon either. Averillia had found it a bis distasteful. If you didn't care for the one in the coffin, then why attended the funeral? The little princess had hoped that when the stranger comes for her that she'll be laid to rest by only her close relatives. Not made a spectacle about because she's from a powerful family.

She shouldn't worry about that now, since that's still many, many, many years away. Even if Lady Laena did pass away in childbirth meeting her end faster than when it was probably planned out for her. Averillia did have the fear of that being her fate, or more so her sisters. Helaena wasn't too much older than her and their mother had already started the planning on marrying her to Aegon. She found out after overhearing Aegon and Aemond's bickering over Helaena and her.

“Our silly sister, she confines herself to the womanly arts of needle work and etiquette then with anyone else. She’s a foolish girl, should have been sent to Oldtown with Daeron. She would have been made of better use there than here."

Hearing those words did hurt her feelings, she had known her brothers didn't favor her, but she wasn't useless. She had quickly left the funeral afterwards telling her mother she was feeling awfully ill. Which indeed she did start having an awful feeling in her belly, but she was confined to her bed for the rest of the evening or just left staring out the window of her room looking out at the landscape of Driftmark.

Once the sun had fallen behind the waves, she had decided she was done being couped up in her bedroom. She grabbed the bottom of her robe and nightdress and slowly made her way outside.

She walked along the stone paths to the beaches along the island. The air was indeed cold on the island, maybe a robe with sleeves would have been a better choice of clothing for this adventure. The princess had found her spot on the stretch of beach by the water. She picked at the small pieces of rocks and shells in the sand while taking in the colder air and salty smell.

"Illia?". The princesses head snapped around to find Jace standing by the edge of the line where the grass meets the sand. "Jace?", she answered. confused by him being outside. He was still dressed in his funeral clothes. "I didn't get to see you at the funeral today?", "I wasn't feeling well after we arrived, I guess I got seasick.". Jace had made his way up towards the princess as she answered him on her disappearance. "My brother gets seasick as well, and he had the shorter boat ride out of us." He sat down, next to the princess and she had gotten a good look at him and saw the puffy redness around his eyes.

"Have you been crying, Jace?", her hand reached up to move the bangs from his eyes for a clearer view. He immediately jumped back away from her hand, "Gods Illia, you're freezing!". The prince had been quick to remove his cloak and wrap her up in it. The princess had taken the extra layer without a second thought but still wanted an answer to her question. "You didn't answer my question, Jace.". Jace tightened his into a thin line before speaking. "Should you grieve for someone who's not your family?". Illia was a bit taken back by the question, "I suppose if you'd care for them enough, but there isn't a reason why you shouldn't. What has happened, Jace?".

"Sir Harwin. He died after he left. I shouldn't care, he wasn't related to us but still I-", "You shouldn't feel ashamed for that, Jace. You cared for him, and he very obviously cared for you. Theres nothing wrong with that.". Jace had sighed at her words. He knew she meant well but knew she hadn't realized the darker secret in his words.

"I have missed your company, Illia." He had turned to look at her when he said that. She gave him a small smile, "I have missed yours as well, even more now than ever...". Her eyes casted down to the darker water. "You seem to be the only person I'm not foolish too.". Illia had rested her head into her arms on her knees, hoping to hide her saddened look from Jace. "What on earth are you speaking of Illia? Who thinks you're foolish?", He moved closer in hopes of hearing her words more clearly over the sound of the waves.

"Aegon and Aemond, I heard them speak about it today at the funeral. Aegon said I'm a foolish girl who should have been sent to Oldtown, just as Daeron has. That I am of no use to the family, just a waste of space. I'm afraid that he may be right, I'll just be a useless girl who'll be married off to some old lord miles and miles away to solve father's political issues, in turn then birth the awful man heirs until I meet the stranger in a childbed - Illia had tears in her eyes at the words she repeated and of the fears she shared - or worse, I'll have to marry Aemond or Daeron. Just as mother has done with Aegon and Helaena." The little princess hides deeper into her arms only to see her golden hair wrap around her shoulders and arms.

"Is that why you had left the funeral early? Because of your foolish brothers? You know my mother wouldn't allow that Illia; she loves you. I also don't think you're foolish. You're just a girl. Aegon is a drunk who picks upon his siblings because he can't ever even try to do anything right. You bonded with the good Queen Alysanne's dragon mount at the age of six years old just because you didn't have a dragon, without the help of the dragon keepers either. -- he shakes her shoulders a bit to make her look at him -- You're an extortionary girl, Illia. A simple but extortionary girl.".

Illia's eyes have long dried, and she had started to smile more. "I truly did have an upset stomach though. But I have also truly missed you Jace." As soon as the girl had ended her sentence the screech of a dragon had been heard overhead of the prince and princess. Both looked to the night sky and seen the dragon of the late rider taken to air. A small but vivid outline of a person on the back of Vhagar.

"Jace... Who's claimed her?"

Both the prince and princess had run to the dragon pit to find an answer. They walked slowly into the pit to find Vhagar has landed and her rider dismount. "Who are you?", Jace's voice demanded into the hall of shadowy darkness. Slowly the figure walked into the light and revealed himself. "Aemond..."

"It's him!"

Behind them Rhaena, Baela, and Lucerys had walked into the pit. "Vhagar was my mother's dragon!" Rhaena had exclaimed, a look of pure anger was on the girl's face. "Your mother is dead! Vhagar has a new rider now." "Aemond! How can you be so cruel?", Averillia asked. "She was mine to claim!". "Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride - the boy looked from each prince to look right at Rhaena - it would suit you.". "Aemond!", Averillia screamed as Rhaena went to shove the blonde prince. He had thrown her to the ground, before he could turn back, he was hit hard across the face by Baela to which he returned the harmful action.

Averillia knew she shouldn't get involved but her brother had gone too far. The princess was fast to come to the aide of the two female cousins and go at her brother. She had gone for her brother's shoulders in a successful push, but she hadn't expected the boy to get a handful of her skirt and cause a tear in the gown's fabric. The boy had dragged his sister to the dirt in the action and quickly climbed on top of her. He had swung a quick hit to her head before being thrown off by Jacaerys. The boys fell back in the dirt and had swing after swing at each other.

Aemond had been able to roll them so that Jacaerys had been on the bottom rather than the top. Averillia had scrambled herself to stand up to see the turnover. Little Lucerys had decided to catch a taste of the fight and jumped right onto Aemond's back wrapping his arms around his neck. The blonde prince had stood up and shook his body trying to get the little prince to release his grip, in turn walking back into the blonde princess stepping upon her gown and causing the three to fall to the ground. Hitting the wall being the last one in the pile and little Lucerys had screamed at the impact of being sandwiched between the blonde siblings.

Jacaerys had grabbed the blonde prince and thrown him back to the ground throwing punch after punch. The two girls joined in the punching or at least Averillia thought they had; all she could hear was grunts and the sounds of thumping. Hair clung to the girls' face blocking her view from the ground. She heard someone fall to the ground and some more wrestling before a scream had been heard.

"You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!"

"Bastards"

Averillia had started to lift herself up and move her hair to see the sight of Aemond holding little Lucerys by the neck with a rock above his head. "My father is still alive!", Lucerys had cried. Hardly eligible with the snot, blood, and tears the small boy had all over his face.

"He doesn't know, does he, - Aemond had turned to Jacaerys - Lord Strong?". A smirk spread across Aemond's face at his final sentence. "Aemond... stop-", "Shut up Averillia! You're useless!". Aemond had spit back at the girl. Aemond had thrown the young prince to the ground before going at the elder brother. Averillia heard swishes of a blade cutting through the air before a loud thump was heard. Jacaerys had fallen right next to her in the dirt, "Jace?".

A rock suddenly came into view as Aemond smashed Jacaerys across the forehead with it. "No!", Averillia yelled as she had thrown dirt into her brother's eyes before giving him a good shove back. She turned her attention quickly to her only friend and head his bleeding head against her chest in hope of some sort of protection.

She heard the screams from behind her. A blood curdling scream. She lifted her head to find Aemond clutching his face and Lucerys standing above him.

Blood, dark blood mixed with the dirt under the blonde prince.

The halls of nine was quite dark no matter how tall the fire was. The small sounds of Aemond's flesh being sewn together was the only consistence of noise in the large hall.

"How could you allow this to happen? I will have answers!"

"The princes and princesses were supposed to be abed-'

"Who was on watch?"

"The young prince was attacked by his own cousins and sister, Your Grace."

"Averillia?"

Across the floor Averillia sat on what seemed to be a cushioned footstool as Jacaerys sat next to her; being held against her chest and Lucerys was on the floor hiding behind her exposed leg as if her leg would stop anymore danger to come to him. Her forehead had a nasty gash in her forehead from Aemond's ring and the back of her hair felt sticky. Her white nightgown was in ruins by the dirt, sand, water, blood, and the extreme tear along the side exposing her entire leg. Jace's blood was the major reason her golden robe was turning a dark red color. If her stomach hadn't hurt today, it surely did now in this very moment with her father and mothers intense staring at her.

A loud sound of the doors opening was heard and running footsteps were heard soon after getting the attention off of her and to whoever had walked into the room. Now the bloody blonde princess and dark-haired princes sat alone in the room.

"Jace?"

"Luke!" Fast foots steps were heard as Rhaenyra rushed towards her sons. "Show me.", Luke had rushed towards his mother fast as she crouched down to the princes and princess's level. "Oh gods, Illia!". Rhaenyra rushed to examine Jace and Illia's heads and faces through the blood and dirt. "Who's done this?"

The room bursts into screams from accusations from each child. Illia wanted to cry from her sorehead as she felt the pain of it all now as the room got louder.

"Silence!"

"He called us bastards..."

"Averillia. I want the truth of what happened."

"What else is there to hear? Your son was maimed, and her sons and our daughter were responsible." "It was a regrettable accident."

"The prince brought a blade to the ambush! He meant to kill my son!"

"It was my sons and sister who were attacked and forced to defend themselves! Vile insults were levied against my sons."

"What?"

"He called them bastards, Father.". Attention had turned to the young bloody princess sitting holding the elder equally as bloody prince. Aemond's eye had a scowled look in it before Rhaenyra had stepped more in front of all three of children after the attention shifted.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons."

"You tell me boy. Where had you heard such insults."

"Where's Sir Laenor?" "I don't know, I had gone out to walk because I couldn't find sleep. I had found Illia's shoes and Jace's cloak on the beach shore and thought something must have been wrong."

Eyes were again on the bloody prince and princess as they slowly stood behind Rhaenyra. "You tell me Aemond. Where did you hear such slander?"

"From the Prince Jacaerys himself, Your Grace. He had confessed to Averillia right on the beach."

Gasps were heard across the room, all eyes turned to the bloody pair. "That's not true! Mother that is not what happened!", "Illia. Did my son tell you this?". "No, he did not Sister. I swear upon the old gods and the new."

"Of course she'll defend him! I wouldn't be surprised considering the fact that she had given herself to him on the beach. Look at the blood down her legs!"

"You lie! Mother that didn't happen!" Rhaenyra looked down and saw the bright red blood trickling down her young sisters exposed leg pooling at the floor. "Illia?". The young princess let out an ear-piercing cry at the sight. "You foolish girl! You ran around and decided to just give your virtue to some boy! You ruin yourself for your future!".

"That's not true. I didn't do it. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't."

Alicent continued to scream at the little princess in front of the entire room. Rhaenyra had taken to comfort her young sister. It was far too much blood for it to be her virtue. The young princess had gotten her first course. "Father! You must cease this!", Rhaenyra cried to try and aide her younger sister. "It wasn't her virtue; it's her monthly course, father. Please cease this!"

The room has gotten silent except for the small princess's cries.

"This matter has finished. As your king I demand it. Whoever decides to spread such accusations of my grandson's parentage or my daughter's condition; shall have their tongue removed."

"Sir Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon. If the King decides to ignore the transgression the Queen will not. He can choose which eye to keep; a privilege that wasn't granted towards my son."

Illia was shoved behind her sister at the demand. Illia had never truly been scared of her mother until this moment. More yelling had been heard before the ear-piercing scream of Luke was sounding in her ear drum.

Alicent, her mother. Was charging right at them with her father's blade. Illia was then pushed back by someone before tripping over the footstool she had been sat on earlier. Falling back to hit the floor hard.

"Illia?" "Illia, wake up! Oh gods! Call the Maester. Now!"

Averillia woke up in a room that wasn't hers. "Illia?"

Averillia opened her eyes more and saw her sister and nephews standing above her. Fabric had been shoved up Lukes's nose and Jace had his head wrapped in fabric as well. "Thank the Gods you have woken up Illia." Rhaenyra ran a hand over her head and held her chin after this. "You had taken a nasty fall last night, Sweet Girl."

Illia's eye just stared widely at Rhaenyra before getting increasingly glassy with tears. "Boys. Leave us at once. Go tell the Maester that she's awakened." A door closing had broken the small princess to fly into Rhaenyra's arms in chest wracking sobs. "Illia, sweet girl. What's the matter? What troubles you so badly?"

"I- I- I- n- n-noth- nothing hap- nothing happened between Jace and I sister! Pl- Please believe me!" The girl got out through hiccups and cries. Rhaenyra just sighed and cradled the girl closer to her, giving a gentle rocking as if she was a tiny babe. "I know that, Illia. The Maesters had confirmed last night that you did indeed start your womanly cycles, and also Jace told me what actually happened on the beach. I've raised Jace to be a more respectable man then that."

The little princess let out more cries, "I'm so-sorry, Rhae-", "Shh. Relax sweet girl. You've gotten nothing to be sorry about. Just try taking deep breathes. You're safe."

endnote: Thank you for reading! please let me know what you think of the story so far!

#jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd jacaerys #jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #hotd x reader

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luckydraww · 2 months ago

Text

Ashes

Fracture - Chapter 1

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 5.6k Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, Mentions of character death, Verbal Harassment, Isolation, Panic, Dissociation, Emotional Supression, Self-Doubt, Unreliable Narrator (trauma informed). Synopsis: You navigate the newly-found discomfort that comes with being an outsider, haunted by trauma and loss. Tensions start rise as fresh wounds are poked at.

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The next morning…

The bed underneath your hands is far too stiff. Devoid of blankets, with only a flimsy cover, it feels just as apathetic as the facility. You miss the feeling of a proper bed, or a proper room. One unbothered by the constant checks from medical staff and the incessant scribbling of the scribes that pop in and out without warning.

The overpowering smell of medicinal herbs and tinctures sting your nose, as you stare at the bag the healer left on the table in your room. There’s several packets in it, consisting of different blends they think might help your insomnia. You hate the taste. You hate how they cloud your mind. How they make memories of the fallen slip away through your fingers like sand.

A quick glance around the room reveals nothing new, it’s the same dull room you’ve been staying in for the past two weeks. At least it has some decor, unlike the isolation room you were originally placed in when you were found. A flower vase sits on the table side bed, holding a handful of little blue flowers with yellow centers. They’d be gorgeous, if they weren’t already half wilted. A petal detaches, driftung pitifully to the table.

A knock at the door. Your eyes snap up and away from the bag to it, only to see the doorknob already turning. You tense up, hands twitching as you instinctively reach for your dagger—only to remember it’s not on your person. You twist and reach for the small vase instead, only to freeze when you recognize the voice that greets you.

“Planning on using that against your Wing Leader of all people?”

You finally glance over to see your Wing Leader, Hongjoong. His expression is relatively neutral as he glances you over, though his eyes seem to pierce your soul. It’s like he’s logging every little reaction you make in his mind for future reference.

“Get up, grab your bag. I trust the healer already went over your discharges with you.” He says, hand still on the doorknob. It’s not a question.

He doesn’t wait for you to get up, already turning on his heel to leave the room. You quickly get up, reaching for the bag full of herbal mixes and slinging it across your back as you follow him out into the hallway. The mage lights in the room slowly dim, and you find yourself falling in step behind him as he heads towards— wherever it is you’re going.

“You’re being reassigned to Squad 3. The paperwork was finished yesterday but medical wanted you to stay one more night before discharge. The items that the recovery team were able to find have been sent to your new room already, though I’d double check to see if anything’s missing. Your room will be on the second floor with the other cadets in your new squad. You haven’t been cleared for much past basic training exercises, and Dàn is still grounded until she’s cleared—“

He cuts himself off when you let out a scoff. Dàn has to be cleared for flight maneuvers? Since when did they get to decide what you do or don’t do with your own dragon?

“Is there something wrong, cadet?”

“No sir.” Comes your quick reply, rolling off your tongue before you can make things worse.

Hongjoong stops and stares at you for a moment, before continuing down the hall and out the door towards the bridge that connects the healers quadrant to the rider quadrant across the canyon. His entire demeanor is distant. This is the wingleader in his element. Cold. Efficient.

There’s only a second of silence before he comments.

“The tension in your shoulders would suggest otherwise.” He comments, as you step into the hallway. Add on observant.

The hallway has small windows that line the walls, letting you look out and down to the valley below. The thud of Hongjoong’s footfalls ahead of you keep you moving forward, though your eyes are trained to the distance below. It’s sunny outside, and the valley below is relatively green and lush. Normally, you’d be able to appreciate the beauty, the serenity the valley and its view can bring. However, today is not the day.

Instead, a swirling of a chaotic mess of apprehension, anger, loneliness, and grief eat away at your stomach. You miss your squad mates, but you can’t get the visions of that day out of your head. A stray flower growing off the cliff side—yellow and vibrant— seems to taunt you.

“Can you think any louder, little one? I almost didn’t hear you.” Comes a snarky, slightly irritated comment from Dàn.

“You decide to comment on that after being basically MIA for the past three days?” You counter.

“I had matters to attend to.” Comes her cryptic reply.

The cool, pearlescent bond between you and Dàn had felt stifled the past few days. Where the bond typically felt like clear, silvery-blue water, it instead was a dried up creek. A trickle instead of a steady stream.

“Right.” You think at her bitterly, hoping to portray even a fraction of your hurt and anger.

“It was not a slight against you.” She growls in your head, her own irritation reverbing in your skull. “I am simply covering my bases. You were safe.”

You cut the connection off, not wanting to hear her lecture for today. She could likely crash through your barriers if she pleased, though it seems today she’s more lenient than normal. You can feel her hovering at the edges of your mind, before her presence ultimately fades to the normal hum.

“— and he’ll be the room to your left. I expect to see you on the mat later today. I’ll ensure you have a sparring opponent, since you were likely left off the roster today dud to your stay in the infirmary.” Hongjoong’s voice grabs your attention again. He looks at you expectantly, awaiting a reply. You must’ve missed something—not that you’re willing to admit.

You nod, trying to be as believable as you can be, as he leads you to the dorm rooms for second years and up.

“This one’s yours. If there’s any issues, bring it up with your squad leader. Also,“ he reaches into his pocket, handing you a patch. “Swap out your signet patch for now.”

You turn the patch over to look at it, noticing it’s the same compass design he wears on his own jacket. You furrow your brows, glancing at him silently in question.

“Your signet has been escalated to tier three. Classified.” He explains smoothly.

As you open your mouth to ask why, he holds a hand up and shakes his head.

“I also believe that keeping you off of training is poor judgment from the medical staff, seeing as you’ve already been off training for the past two weeks, so you are going to sparring today. I have a meeting to get to with the other leadership, though, but I trust you’ll find the training room just fine considering you’re a second year. Just make sure you swap out the patches. I expect to see you after lunch, on the mats.” He says, before whipping around and heading towards the exit. The thuds of his boots against the floors fades away slowly as he strides away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

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Your new room is bare. Functional, but lifeless.

It has the basic furniture, a desk, chair, bed, armoire, and bedside table. A small mage light sits on the bedside table. The walls are bare, save for the standard issue clock seen in every cadet’s room.

The bed is simple, but notably the blankets have changed. The color is different, navy instead of black. A small, inconsequential change, but it unsettles you nonetheless. They may have just run out of the black blankets when they were assigning you a new room, but you already miss your old blankets. On the bed are several standard issue sets of folded leisure wear.

You turn your attention to the armoire, opening its creaky wooden doors to peer inside. Several sets of your flight leathers sit inside, though you note that the squad patch on all your uniforms has been replaced with a different number. You feel dizziness take hold as you stare at the flame with a “III” embroidered inside, instead of the “I” you’ve known the past two years.

The floor spins. It’s somehow too loud, too quiet, too fast and slow at the same time as your breathing picks up.

Laughter. Smiles. Celebration. Tears. Pain. Anguish.

Memories of your fallen squad mates threaten to overwhelm you in the moment, and your spiral is only relieved when you realize you’re digging your nails into your palms.

“Little one.” Comes Dàn’s concerned voice in your head. Her constant presence seems to flood you momentarily, as her vigilance pokes at the edges of your mental walls.

You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at your hands. In. Out. In. Out. You take a moment to try and calm your breathing, before glancing down at the patch still in your hands. You still need to put it on your uniforms.

Except, you can’t get them out your head. You try your best to block it out, shoving it deep down, but it somehow comes back stronger. Your chest feels heavy as a creeping sensation of dread and fear climbs up, threatening to choke you, rob you of your voice.

“Little One.” Comes Dàn’s voice again, much sterner than earlier. “your breath stutters. Focus.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the shimmery silvery-blue thread that connects you and Dàn. It’s hard, and you find yourself fighting off the memories and echoes of your old squad’s final moments.

“You’re reacting to shadows, not steel. You are spiraling. Anchor yourself.”

“We were fine, Dàn. I—we were laughing. I looked straight at them. They looked at me like—like I wasn’t—“ You respond, but Dàn cuts you off again.

“They were compromised. That is not your fault.”

“But—“

“No. They were taken by something vile. You cannot mourn what they were in the end— cannot let it haunt you. Not when it wasn’t truly them.”

You feel a lump rise in your throat, as you clench your jaw in an attempt to ground yourself. You feel pitiful, losing out over ghosts of all things. A rider reduced to a coward in seconds, simply because of a patch.

“Lean on me. Endure. Remembering the dead keeps them here. Let them rest, little one. Do not let the darkness drag you down to join them. You can worry about the useless patch later.”

You exhale, shakily backing up to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Your hands grip the signet patch in your hands harshly, but your breathing evens slightly. After a few moments, the worst of the feeling ebbs, leaving you tired but slightly more composed. Dàn goes back to being silent, though her presence is still felt.

“You should get some rest. Lunch hour is soon, and afterwards you’re expected on the mat for sparring. Don’t let your emotions cloud your abilities.”

You nod, putting the patch down on the pile of folded clothes on the edge of the bed, before moving it all onto the bedside table. You pull back the blanket, sliding in under it and yanking it up close to your chest. You lay your head down for a quick nap, unsure if sleep will bring peace—or ghosts of familiar faces.

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The waking world calls you back far sooner than you’d like.

For a fleeting moment, it’s blissful. Then reality comes crashing back down. The sheets are navy, not black. There’s no little carving on the headboard. Not yours.

You take the opportunity to shove your heart into a little box before it can overtake you. You are not weak, you remind yourself.

Blankets fall off the bed as it dips under your weight when you shift to sit up. You could care less, as you get up and stretch the ache in your neck and back. Must’ve slept awkwardly.

You reach for the armoire. Your hand pauses to hover over the handle, frozen in hesitation. Then, gripping it with more force than necessary, you open the door to snatch the first set of leathers within reach.

Your eyes catch the silver stars — second year. An open eye, encircled by a starburst. Your old signet patch, tier two. Vague enough to hide what you actually see. Above those two— A winged emblem with a two emblazoned on it, your name and rank nestled right under it. Cdt. L/N Y/N, Second Wing. Finally, a flame for your sections Except it’s wrong. You stare at it, as if glaring might burn away the “III” and bring back what’s supposed to be there. It doesn’t.

Throwing the leathers on your bed, you reach for the new signet patch sitting on the bedside table. The patch is a simple compass, though its meaning implies—to most cadets at least—that you’re likely far more dangerous than you seem. A frown graces your face as you start to pick at your old patch, ripping the stitching off to remove it. Your movements are a bit agitated, though from what you can’t tell. Once the final piece of string is pulled and discarded, you press the patch against the leather, trying not to think about its implications. Changed. Watched. Dangerous.

Once you deem it passable, you throw the old patch onto your table, and start to shrug on the uniform. You give yourself a cursory glance, ensuring it’s on properly, before reaching into the bag of things the recovery team had found. After a moment of rustling, your hand finally meets steel—your daggers. You pull them free, the cool weight grounding you. Familiar. Steady. You slide them into their sheaths.

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Finally feeling somewhat ready, you reach for the door and head out the room to the food hall. The walk there, the hallways are relatively devoid of people aside from the occasional cadet passing by. It gives you a moment to mentally prepare.

Reaching the door, your hand rests against the smooth wood as you steady yourself. Here goes nothing.

Opening the door, you’re met with the sounds of a busy hall. Cadets chattering, sharing meals, memories. The sound of something clatters to the floor, followed by a high pitched laugh. It’s overwhelming—but not nearly as much as the crisscrossing filaments you see between everyone. They shimmer with every color under the sun, creating an intricate spiderweb over the entire room.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you will the colorful threads to dim. The faintest of outlines of them linger on the edges of your vision, but it’s much less overwhelming now.

You turn your attention to the side of the room, picking up one of the trays as you round the corner. The food line up seems lackluster today, you end up grabbing one of the dry turkey sandwiches. A cup of water finds itself onto your tray, along with a mush medley of vegetables.

Your feet steer you to the table you used to share with your squadmates on instinct. The lack of people sitting there wrenches something in you painfully. This is wrong. There’s no laughter or life here. The table is too clean and untouched. There’s no messy crumbs, or spilled water. No papers flung haphazardly to the side by your squad leader.

And yet? You still sit. Almost in denial, like you expect one of them to pop up and say it was all a joke. A hand on your shoulder, a tray dropping loudly next to you. Anything. Where are they? Why aren’t they here yet?

A lump forms in your throat as you stare down at your food. You’re suddenly not hungry, if you ever were. The sandwich, normally unappetizing, looks downright sickening. Your eyes sting, and you can’t stop your vision from blurring as unshed tears gather. Biting your tongue, you reach to at least take a sip of the water. The cup is paper and flimsy, while the contents are borderline metallic. The taste has you setting the cup down again, unwilling to take another sip. Hands grip it tightly, and you feel it crush in your hand, water overflowing. It drips down your hands and fingers, onto the table, but all you can think of is the memory it evokes. Blood. Warm, and horribly sticky. Bile rises in your throat, but you push it back down. Just an hour. You didn’t need to eat anyways.

That’s what you tell yourself, but every minute feels like an eternity. You feel like you’re stuck in a bubble, wanting to scream. Even if you did—no one would hear. Or care.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

Lunch was more performative than anything. You managed a bite of your sandwich, but it makes you feel queasy. The table drank more of your water than you did, the liquid having seeped into the wood and floor underneath. Most of your tray ended up in the trash.

Gathering your things, which really isn’t much, you get up to head to the training room. As you exit the lunch hall, a handful of cadets stand hovering just outside. Mostly first years in squad 2, their faces and names evade you. A glance at them reveals that they’re staring straight back at you. One of them leans in to another, whispering something in their ear, causing a gasp to escape as the first year glances back at you. Ignorong them, you hurry past them without a second glance.

Entering the training room, you notice most of the second years in squad two and three are already there. Your eyes dart over the groups, letting the threads flood back into your vision for a moment. The vividness of your new squad’s threads hit you hard. Vibrant reds and yellows, blues and greens. It’s almost intimidating, how closely knit they are. Their threads weave together in a complex net, overlapping and shifting constantly. Squad two’s on the other side of the room look dull in comparison.

You stand awkwardly by the entrance, unsure if you should approach—until a a head looks up and away from the group at you. Warm brown eyes meet yours, and a smile breaks out across his face. Yunho. Your new Squad Leader.

“Over here!” He calls, beckoning you over. “We’re about to start.”

You square your shoulders and walk over before the anxiety can say otherwise. The rest of the group parts to let your through, though most of them already look less than pleased by your arrival.

One of them eyes you up and down—as if searching for something. A taller cadet, next to him smiles at you, but the smile is more taunting than welcoming.

Yunho pats a hand on your shoulder, and attempts to pull you closer to look at the list in his hands. You stiffen, sidestepping away to create space again. The man seems utterly unbothered by the cold shoulder, and just angles the paper for you to see.

“Today you’ll be paired up with Jongho—“ he starts, but a scoff cuts him off.

“No. I want to go against her. Me and Jongho can switch.”

Yunho looks up from the paper, smile faltering for a second. You can practically see his mind rapidly sorting through thoughts as he shakes his head at the cadet.

“No. I was asked to pair her against Jongho, Woo.”

The cadet—who’s name clicks as Wooyoung—crosses his arms.

“By who? Because last I checked, you’re the one that makes the spar matchups. Professor could give less of a shit about second years pairing.”

Yunho shakes his head again.

“No. That’s final. If we have time after matches, maybe, but-“

“Good,” Wooyoung interjects, his eyes finding yours, “Jongho, you better kick her ass.”

The cadet he looks at as he says that—Jongho— shrugs. He looks utterly unbothered. Either he doesn’t care what Wooyoung thinks, or had that much faith in his abilities.

Yunho turns to you again, and claps his hands together.

“So— Y/N, correct? This is Squad Three. I’m the Squad Leader, so if you have any questions or concerns feel free to bring them up to me!” He starts, beaming.

As he introduces the squad, you can’t help but feel a bit removed. He refers to each member so warmly, the threads between them practically hum with unspoken devotion. When it comes to you, however, there’s nothing. No bond. No thread. The way he refers to the squad as separate from you rubs you the wrong way. Like his personality is directly at odds with how he truly feels. The Squad. No welcome. No acknowledgement that he’s your squad leader now.

“Anyways, this is Jongho, he’ll be your sparring partner for today.”

You glance at the cadet Yunho gestures to again. His expression is neutral, but he regards you with mild curiosity. His eyes dart down to your patches, where his eyes linger. Likely the flame patch marking your new squad number. That is, until you realize he’s staring at the signet patch. The compass. Unknown. Dangerous. His face for the briefest of moments looks wary, before it’s back to unreadable.

“If you need me, I’ll be sparring with San. Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung glances back to his squad leader.

“You’ll be sparring with Mingi. No funnny business like last time. Understood?” Yunho asks.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, but mumbles out the faintest “yes sir”.

“Good. Yeosang, you’ll be on standby babysitting. We’ll rotate out whoever finishes their spars first.”

The quiet one in the back—who’s been staring at you this entire time— nods. You assume that’s Yeosang, based on his and Yunho’s reaction. As your gaze shifts back to Yunho, you do a double take. A single stripe falls just below Yeosang’s name plate.

Executive officer.

You didn’t realize this squad had one.

When your eyes wander back up to his face, he has the faintest smirk on his face, but it quickly dissipates.

“Right. We all know the rules. Pick a mat, and get started.“

The squad disperses, picking mats and laughing while you’re left standing awkwardly next to Jongho. He waits for everyone else to pick mats, before zeroing in on a open one. He nods his head towards it silently, indicating where to go.

Getting into position comes easily. You’ve drilled these hundreds of times before. The room sounds die down as you all wait for the start call. Trying to gauge the man before you, you’re only met with the same unreadable expression.

“Start!” Yeosang calls out.

The sound of the other scuffles starting echoes through the room. Squeaks of shoes against the floor, sounds of cadets dodging and weaving. Yet, Jongho doesn’t move immediately. He meets your eyes for a moment, dark brown, unreadable. Then it sharpens into something more. Focus. There’s no arrogance. No taunts, no feints. Just calm, unshakeable readiness. Healthy caution.

It rattles you more than if he had underestimated you.

You take the first move, finally breaking the eye contact. Where you’re good, he’s great. His moves are clean. Efficient. He’s infuriatingly composed, and moves as if he can almost see your thought process. He parries every move, counters every strike. There’s no hesitation, just calculation and unwavering determination.

It only takes one wrong move—one wrong misstep. Your legs are swept out from underneath you, and you’re face-first on the mat below. His hand is square in the middle of your back, the rest of him pinning your lower half down.

You tap the mat, indicating you yield, cheeks burning with humiliation. First day with the squad, and you’re barely holding your own.

”Good form.” He offers hesitantly, before he’s leaning back.

You nod, your voice stuck in your throat. You’ve never been beat that fast. You don’t think you’ve seen any other cadet tap out at that speed for that matter. You don’t offer a thanks, your pride too wounded already. Sitting up, and taking a breath, you rub where you got kicked on the leg.

“Guess surviving doesn’t always mean you know how to fight.” A voice rings out across the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

Wooyoung.

He’s standing off to the side of his mat, arms crossed. His hair is messy, the tie holding it back seemingly having snapped during his own spar with Mingi. He tilts his head, as a smile spread across his face, but there’s something darker to it. Something sharp. Suspicious.

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you always this quiet? Is that why you lost your squad? Because you don’t know how to make proper call outs on the field?” He goads, smile widening.

He makes his way over to your mat before Yeosang can stop him. He gets into fighting stance, eyeing you. There’s a dangerous sparkle in his eye.

“Or maybe you were too much of a coward to step in and save them?” He adds on. His smile is twisted as he sees you get into your own stance across from him.

Your pulse quickens, but not in fear. It’s anger. You’ll be damned if you let some pompous asshole of a cadet say you didn’t try. You’ll cry about it later. Right now? You need to get your frustration out.

The match starts before Yeosang can step in and stop you two. It’s less a spar and more an outlet for both of you.

Wooyoung moves like he’s intentionally trying to trip you up. Feints designed to frustrate more than gain an edge. Punches that are a bit too hard for a friendly spar. He’s grappling you, trying to throw you off balance. Every hit he lands that makes you flinch just makes him smile more, like he’s proving a point.

“You move pretty well for a someone who ran from the scene.” He quips during a close exchange.

Anger and sadness flood your being, and you find yourself pulling punches less and less. Your hits are more by emotion than proper technique.

“Careful Y/N, losing your cool?” He smirks, ducking under one of your swings to make a lunge at your lower half.

You manage to side step for a moment, reel yourself in, and defend. He knocks you off balance momentarily, but you plant your foot when it lands. Managing to kick him off and away, you re-center yourself. With a few well timed hits, you back him up towards the edge of the mat.

A grapple, a twist to his arm. He’s slightly off balance and on the defensive—he’s not smiling now.

Then, you feel it.

Heat.

You glance down to see his hand is glowing red. In the moment you falter, he beaks free, grabbing for you with the hand.

“Cheap.” You spit out, dodging to the side. His momentum sends him sailing forward to the other end of the map.

“Maybe,” he says, grinning again. “Or maybe I don’t buy the whole survivor act.“

He’s not even trying to conceal his signet use anymore, when he lunges at you again. Heat kicks up your side as a hand connects to your armor. A char mark is left, and the smell of burnt leather hits your nostrils.

The world shifts.

Mirror images of yourself and Wooyoung appear everywhere. The floor tilts yet stays still. The walls and mat warp constantly. It’s sickening—like floating and falling all at once.

Wooyoung stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden change.

Yeosang stands amid the mess, completely unbothered by the constant warping and shifting.

“That’s enough.” growls a voice, low and firm.

A moment later, the world turns back to normal. For a beat, no one moves.

“You know well what you did wrong, Wooyoung. Me and you are talking after this.” Yeosang says firmly, his eyes icily staring down the cadet.

Wooyoung scoffs and turns away. He mutters something under his breath, before stalking back to the mat where he originally was with Mingi.

You don’t move or say anything—just glance down silently at your armor. A very clear hand-shaped scorch mark is apparent, a charred divot where his hand connected to you for a moment. It’s still warm.

Yeosang watches you a second longer than necessary, before turning away.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

The rest of the training is much less intense, though you do still catch Wooyoung occasionally glare at you across the room.

Following the match against him, you notice you’re slower. Sloppier even. Every mistake you make, you fixate on.

If you were faster, could you have stopped your squad from destroying itself? If you were stronger, could you have fought off the first one to be infected?

“Their deaths were not caused by you.” A voice in your head cuts in.

You ignore Dàn, feeling too lost in your head to listen to reason. Your next strike to Yunho—that’s right. You’re in your last soar of the day—misses again.

Yunho furrows his eyebrows, confused at how you miss that easy of an opening.

Your next move is a little too slow, and he parries it effortlessly.

He stops moving all together, sighing.

“I think that’s enough for today. You’re still recovering.” He says, backing off.

You lower your hands in confusion.

“You’re not completely off medical restrictions yet. You’ve had enough. I’m calling it.” He repeats.

You blink for a moment, mind blank, before straightening yourself up. Nodding stiffly, you look around the room. Everyone’s stopped to stare at you, like you’re some kind of show.

Weakness gets you singled out—and you’ve just been dismissed.

Yunho hums, before pointing at a bench near the exit.

“You can stay over there until the block is over. Maybe observing will help.” He says.

There’s no outright malice in his words, but they still sting. Observe. As in—watch and learn because you’re doing horribly. Watch and learn how to actually fight. Watch and learn how to actually protect yourself, so you can protect us.

You can’t tell if those thoughts are your own being projected—or if they’re plausibly what’s going on in his head. Either way, you defeatedly sit yourself down.

The bench is worn smooth, and creaks under your weight. You watch half-heartedly as the others spar. Without you in the mix, everyone gets an even turn. Six squad mates. Three duos. You’re the outlier.

They all work so well together. Each member seems to understand the other in a way you could never hope to comprehend. And then there’s you. A piece in a machine that never belonged. You’ve already gotten one of them in trouble with his executive officer—maybe you are the problem. Who’s to say you didn’t do something to piss Wooyoung off?

Creak.

Someone else sits next to you.

The scent hits you first. Green tea, sandalwood, and soemthing clean. Almost floral. A quiet kind of calm. You don’t glance over.

Not until the voice speaks up, at least

“Is there a reason you’re not sparring with the others, cadet?”

The voice is smooth. Warm, measured. One that doesn’t need to be raised to be heard.

Seonghwa.

You tense up. Not out of fear, or wariness—but because it’s him. His presence right now isn’t loud, or brash, or energetic. It’s off putting because it’s the opposite. Calm. Composed. It’s the presence of someone who’s reading you better than you could ever read him.

“I was dismissed. Squad Leader cited medical reasons.” You reply.

He glances at the mats, humming softly.

You chance a glance at him finally. He’s alert, but relaxed. The mentality of someone always ready to step in, but not high-strung.

“I saw. However—you’re not injured. So, I’m asking again. Why aren’t you sparring with the others, cadet?”

“I think… that I shouldn’t be over there. I make things worse.” You say softly.

“Worse? You think your presence makes things worse?”

You don’t respond—but you don’t need to. Your silence is far more telling than any words could be.

Seongwha sits still, watching as San throws Wooyoung to the floor with a loud whoop.

“The squad has been through everything together. Been together since parapet—“ he starts

Dread hits you in your stomach. You know. You had that too.

“What you see between them—“ he gestures broadly to the area they’re all in, “wasn’t built overnight. Failure, mistakes, loss—it’s what bound them together. You won’t match that overnight, or anytime soon.”

There’s no softness to his voice, but there’s no malice either. Just unwavering conviction.

“I’m not here to coddle you,” he continues, “but I also won’t stand by and watch you be useless to the squad because you’re feeling blue. You’re a rider, not infantry. If you’re unfit to spar? Say so. If you are, act like it."

His words are unapologetic. Direct. They sting, but they’re necessary.

You meet his eyes finally. For a brief second, you see it: Caution. Not unkindness—but a leaders wariness, tempered by experience. He doesn’t explicitly trust you, especially not with the squad he originates from—but he’s willing to give you the chance. The briefest look of relief crosses his face, though you think you may be searching for something that isn't actually there.

“I’ll be back on the mats tomorrow. Ready.” You say.

He nods his head, accepting it, before standing.

“Good. Tomorrow? Act like someone who deserves a place here.”

He walks off to speak to your squad leader without another word. Like he had only stopped to tie his shoe, or fit in a quick stretch.

You’re alone again—but you don’t feel as invisible. Even if the burdens still weigh on your shoulders.

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Taglist: @euphoricem

#ateez fanfic #ateez series #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez x reader series #ateez fic #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #fracture luckydraww #luckydraww #fic: fracture #fracture #fourth wing au

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w2soneshots · 1 year ago

Text

Ibiza -W2S

words: 1.2k+

warnings: alcohol consumption.

summary: you spend the day on a yacht while your boyfriend and his mates film hide & seek. You deal with his mean drunkenness. Then when you get back to the villa you take care of him.

notes: this is based off of this request!! I think drunk Harry’s hilarious😭. Don’t forget to reblog! Enjoy this extra lone one💓✨

Liked by gkbarry_, ksi and 561,308 others

y/username: Ibiza 2024!🌴🍹🌺☀️💘

Tagged: @wroetoshaw @behzingagram @faithloisak @taliamar @freyanightingale

-comments-

wroetoshaw: 🔥🔥

faithloisak: you cutie

taliamar: stunning girl🫶🏼

y/nfanpage21: pahaha the second pic😭

user31096420: another iconic sidemen holiday

user91837410: she's so fit

A few days ago we arrived in Ibiza. It was initially just going to be the boys because they were planning a few sidemen videos. But they decided that there hasn't been a proper holiday with everyone for years since, Ethan and Faith had Olive, Me and Harry got married, as well as Simon and Talia so we cleared our schedules and booked tickets.

We're here for a week and plan on doing as much relaxing as we can but the boys still need to film their videos. Today they're filming a hide and seek on a huge yacht. We're all staying in a massive villa that's really close to the sea line. "Morning." Harry yawned. My sleepy face curved into a content smile. "Good morning." I whispered before kissing his soft lips. Harry wrapped his arms around my torso. "Do we have to get up?" He dug his head into my neck. "Yes Haz. The boats booked for eleven." I replied. He groaned.

Eventually I got him up and we began getting ready. I pulled on a bikini that wouldn't give me offensive tan lines, since I'm planning on laying in the sun all day. Then popped on a cute cover up. Once I'd sorted my hair and covered myself in suncream I headed downstairs where everyone was sat eating breakfast. I said "good morning." then grabbed a plate of fresh fruit along with a smoothie.

After breakfast we all collected the last of our things then just as the taxis pulled up we left. Harry helped Ethan get Olives stuff into the boot while I carried the baby for Faith while she clipped in the car seat. It's only a ten minute drive so we were soon being dropped off at the dock. The day before yesterday we spent a few hours on a smaller boat but today (since they're filming a video) the yacht is massive. The crew also flew in yesterday to film this video so they met us here.

We were told not to grab our things from the taxis because the staff on board would get it for us. When we got onto the yacht we were immediately given drinks and a quick toor. The woman brought us up some stairs. "And these are the tanning loungers." Me and the girls looked at each other with a smile. "This is where I'm going to be spending the rest of the day." Talia joked, but she was being fully serious and I felt exactly the same.

The boys wondered off to film the intro for the video and all four of us girls lay down on a lounger, while Olive slept next to Faith in a little travel cot under one of the large umbrellas. I chatted quietly with Talia, Freya started reading her book and Faith soaked up the sun. We could hear the boys screaming, shouting and laughing as they filmed. Vik was the seeker and wasn't doing the best job which was obvious from what we could see from the top deck, but I'm sure that will make the video even funnier.

Once Harry, Ethan and Josh had been found we caught them peering up at us quite a few times. "You all look like creeps you know!" I shouted. The girls laughed from beside me and the boys faces turned a bright shade of red. "You just look too good in that bikini babe!" Harry shouted back sarcastically. I smirked with a shake of my head. Then returned to tanning.

After almost three hours the boys finally finished filming so we had some lunch. As the day went on we jumped into the sea, played mafia and just sat around enjoying each other's company. Everyone began actually drinking as it started to get later. Accept me, Faith, JJ and Tobi because I had had like one or two but really couldn't be arsed with a hangover, Faith needed to look after Olive and JJ and Tobi don't drink.

y/username just posted a new story!

I sat next to Harry as he swayed back and forth slightly. "You alright?" I asked. He was clearly very drunk. "What? Oh. Shut up I'm fine." He replied. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. I looked around the group, all eyes on us. I burst into a fit of laughter. "Alright big man I think it's time you get to bed." I tried to help him stand. "No!" He shouted. I sighed tiredly. "Here. I'll help." Tobi got up from his seat. We decided to all call it a night so left the ship and got taxi's back to the villa.

"Here you go mate." JJ murmured as him and Tobi lay an almost asleep Harry on our bed. "Thanks boys." I smiled as they walked out with a quick "good night." I pulled Harry's clothes off, leaving him in just his boxers. Then I placed a glass of water on his nightstand, along with some paracetamol for his hangover. Thankfully Harry usually isn't physically sick when he has a hangover so there was no need for a bucket. After I took a quick shower I slipped into bed, next to him.

The next morning I got up decently early to make everyone breakfast. Faith was already downstairs since Olive had been awake for quite awhile and she didn't want to wake Ethan up since he was hungover and he woke up early yesterday for Olive. "Good morning you cutie." I greeted Olive in my high pitched baby voice, that seems to just appear whenever I'm around animals or babies. She giggled with the sweetest little smile.

"Morning." Faith also smiled as I sat down next to her on the couch. "So last night Harry seemed to be a little..." "mean." I finished her sentence. "Well yea." She breathed out a laugh. "He's a mean drunk. It really doesn't bother me to be honest. I find it hilarious." I chuckled. "I'm glad, I was a little concerned." "The first time we went out together it was a bit of a shock to the system but over the years I realised that it's just how he reacts to alcohol."

After a good chat with Faith I headed back upstairs to check on Harry. I slowly opened to door to see Harry front down on the bed with his face turned towards the door. I walked towards him and squatted in front of him. "Harry." I whispered as my hand gently stroked his face. He groaned. "Have some paracetamol love." I grabbed the pack from the nightstand. "My head hurts." He slowly opened one of his eyes. I smiled at him "I know. Sit up for me."

He pushed himself up and turned over so he was sitting against the headboard. He took the tablet along with almost the entire glass of water. "Was I mean?" He asked quietly. I laughed "Uhm... I've had much worse." He groaned as he covered his face with his hands. "Sorry." He mumbled. "Don't be. You were completely gone with the fairies." I said sarcastically. He chuckled but then winced, probably from the pounding headache. "Go back to sleep. I'll have breakfast downstairs when you're ready." I quickly pecked his forehead. "You're too good to me." He replied as he returned to his previous position.

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cocktail1999 · 5 days ago

Text

okay so ive Decided to finally make a proper intro for this account

hi im calli

im 14

i like zero day and allat shi (wow)

yes im TCC, i dont condone.

yes i have been fedded before

uhmmmm

anyway

fav cases:

eric H

dylan K

pekka E A

nikita L

artyom A

fred W

heres my favourite artists or smt

yeah idk

thats my intro

#tcc fandom #zero day #tcc tumblr #tccblr #true cringe community #andre kriegman #cal gabriel #tcctwt #SoundCloud #Spotify

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sturns-angel · 3 months ago

Text

shy!matt x partygirl!reader

summary: matt's first real los angeles party ends a lot differently than he was expecting.

a note from angel: this is another intro to a potential au and i'm reallyyyy excited about this one!

divider cred: @bernardsbendystraws mommy

the loud music slightly distorts my senses, but i’ve grown used to it at this point. parties are my thing, any chance i get to go out with my friends and have a good time i’m taking it. my hand stays intertwined with mia’s as i drag her further into the swarm of bodies.

“y/n! slow down! you’re gonna make me spill my drink!” mia shouted at me over the noisy crowd. i roll my eyes at her and turn to stick my tongue out teasingly. before i can turn back, my body collides with something broad, someone broad.

quickly, i look up and meet the boys gaze. “shit, i’m so sorry!” i exclaim, looking down at the stain from my drink that’s plastered on the front of his shirt. when i look back up at him, he’s looking down at his shirt and he seems nervous. borderline scared. mia reaches up and lightly smacks my arm.

“i told you to fucking slow down, idiot!” she yells, staring at the mess i’ve just made on this boy. he shakes his head rapidly, bringing his hands up to fidget with his now damp shirt.

“i-it’s okay. ‘m fine.” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “i wasn’t paying attention to where i was going. ‘s my fault.” he rambles on.

before he can say anything else, i drop mia’s hand and grab his, now moving back the way i just came to escape the crowd. “no, no. that was totally my fault. i can help you clean that off. i’ve had my fair share of spilt drinks so i might be able to get that out.” now it’s my turn to ramble.

we make our way down a dimly lit hallway and when i turn around to look at the boy once again i notice that mia didn’t follow us. she must’ve gotten too embarrassed and decided to hang back with the room full of strangers.

i pull him into a nearby bathroom, thankfully no one was in there and since there wasn’t a lot of people in the hall there was no line. “you don’t have to- i mean, it’s not a big deal. really.” he mumbles, leaning back against the sink while i rummage through the bathroom cabinets.

“dude, please. i was practically running through the room and i wasn’t looking when i body slammed you.” i chuckle to myself, grabbing a wash cloth and running it under some warm water. “this is the least i can do.” i ring out the excess water and move to stand in front of him.

his eyes nervously follow my hands as i start working at the large stain. i notice his breathing has quickened a good bit, but choose to not acknowledge it. i’m sure to anyone else this would be weird, but considering the large amount of parties i’ve been to, this isn’t even close to the weirdest situation i’ve been in. i do, however, feel guilty.

“fuck, i feel really bad. was this expensive?” i ask as i lightly pinch the fabric and look up at his face. “i can buy you a new one if the stain doesn’t come out.” he shakes his head and his mouth falls open slightly.

“n-no, it’s not. even if it was, i couldn’t ask you to do that.” he says quietly. his eyes finally meet mine again and i feel my heart flutter. the past few minutes have been a bit of a blur so i didn’t get a chance to get a proper look at him until now. he’s fucking gorgeous.

“wow.” i breathe out, holding eye contact with him, forgetting about the stain for a moment. “you’re… really hot.” i chuckle. almost instantly, i see his cheeks grow red and he shifts his gaze back down to his shirt.

“um- i-“ he stumbles over his words and i can’t bite back the smirk growing on my face. “t-thanks.”

“shit, sorry. i guess i should focus.” i laugh out, moving my attention back to the stain once again. i begin gently pressing the wet wash cloth to the fabric and start attempting to work the liquor out. “i’m y/n, by the way.” i introduce myself softly without looking away from the task in front of me.

“‘m matt.” he responds and i see a small smile growing on his face. “t-this feels kinda… weird.” matt says with a low laugh. i pull the rag away from his body and look back to his face.

“damn, i’m sorry. is it too cold? i thought i got the water warm enough, but i can-“

“oh! n-no, not that. this is just my first real party and, of course, this is how it turns out.” matt chuckles as his gaze shifts back to meet mine again. his eyes widen a bit before he starts to ramble once again. “no- not like it’s you’re fault. i-i just mean with my luck- shit. i mean-“ he interrupts himself with a defeated sigh.

“i get it. kinda makes you want to stay in your comfort zone forever.” i giggle at him, continuing my work with the mess. he nods slowly and i see his shoulders slouch as he relaxes. not fully relaxed, though, of course. “so, you’re not really a party person, huh?”

he shakes his head. “my brothers made me come out tonight. they said i need to get out of the house more, but - i dunno - i just prefer staying home.” matt shrugs as he explains. i nod along, silently encouraging him to keep talking. his voice is so soft that if i hadn’t closed the bathroom door i doubt i’d be able to hear him over all of the commotion from party.

“all the talking, the music, the people-“ he waves his hands around slightly, “-makes me nervous which eventually leads to my head hurting. it gets a little overwhelming.” matt lets out a sigh, sounding like he just needed someone to vent to about his distain for the party scene.

“i get that. it’s not everyones cup of tea.” i reassure him while moving my hands away from his shirt. i huff in frustration and my eyes lift up to meet his. “i’m so sorry, matt. i don’t think i can get this out like this.” he stares at me for moment, staying silent.

"t-that's alright. i can give it a try when i get home." he says quietly. i give a simple shrug and step beside him to rinse out the wash cloth.

"just take it off real quick. i think i can get it, might just need to go at it at a different angle or something." i explain. matt doesn't say anything, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. i look over at him and notice he seems even more nervous. i'm not even sure how that's possible. "you don't have to if you're uncomfortable." i reassure him, keeping my hands in the sink as i continue to ring out the rag.

"oh, no, it's fine. uh-" matt mutters as he peels his shirt off of his body. i can't stop myself from letting my eyes travel over his body. he's slim, lean. there's not much muscle definition, but that suits him. before he can catch me staring i shift my gaze down to my hands, seeming as though i'm very interested in rinsing out this rag.

matt reaches out, shirt in hand, bringing it into my view. "so," i start as i begin scrubbing the shirt that is now resting in the sink, "what do you do when you're not being forced out of the house?" i giggle.

"um, i like to read." matt begins and, when i look over to him, i see him visibly cringing at his answer. i give a small nod and hum in response. "i don't know. i'm kinda lame. video games, movies, books. i-i don't like being out in crowded places like this." he leans back against the counter and stares at the wall in front of him. "shit, i sound so boring."

"i don't think you sound boring." i smile over to him, rinsing the shirt and straightening it out. something flashes behind matt's eyes that i can't quite put my finger on. once his grin returns, i feel that familiar warmth creeping into my stomach again.

"thanks..." he mumbles. i continue drying his shirt and he shifts his weight awkwardly before clearing his throat. "you - uh - you're really pretty, by the way." matt struggles over his words so much that it almost sounds forced. it sounds like he's trying to make himself sound like someone he's not. fuck, he's so cute.

i turn to the side to fully face him, his cheeks covered by an adorable blush. "thank you, matt." i respond and hand him his still damp (but clean) shirt. for a moment, i let my eyes trail over his torso once more. i look back up to him and he's already staring at me, almost like he's waiting for me to keep talking.

"y-yeah. of course." he says, gripping tightly onto the shirt. "thanks, again. you really didn't have to help me and... talk to me, ya know." matt's voice sounds as if it's giving out. there's a roughness to it, but it's not the roughness i expected from the painfully shy boy standing in front of me. his voice was laced with something that i had heard before, but never from someone like matt.

"i like talking to you." i admit, moving the slightest bit closer to him. there's something about him that's pulling me in and i'm finding it hard to walk out of this cramped bathroom.

matt gulps and, after what felt like forever, he pulls his shirt back on. he gives a small shutter as the damp material brushes against his chest. i put my hand out, but matt doesn't budge, clearly confused about my movements.

"give me your phone." i giggle at his reaction, quickly scrambling to pull his phone from his pocket. after unlocking it, he hands it to me and i start putting my number in. "we could go see a movie or something. maybe i could even convince you to come with me to another party." i explain. once my number is saved, i sent myself a quick message from his phone simply reading 'matt'.

"promise i won't spill another drink on you." i place his phone back in his hand and lean up, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. just as i start to pull away, i feel one of his warm, soft hands land on my hip. i lean back just enough to look into his eyes, scanning over his face and taking note of his flustered state.

"thanks..." he repeats. we're so close that if either of us moves, our lips would surely touch. i want to lean in. we both want one of us to lean in. instead, i lean away from him and make my way out of the bathroom.

"bye, matt." i smirk and send him a quick wink before returning to somehow even more crowded party.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturns-angel #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fanfic

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ne0n4ngel · 1 year ago

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STRINGLESS CHARACTER REFS BABYYY

I've had these saved up for a WHILE but i felt like they needed text for social media, so i whipped something up quickly last night to post today, im so happy to finally have some decent character refs that arent just for me and Rope

So now you get a proper intro to all of them :3

Also posting an old but more interesting raster ref that i made before i decided to make all of the refs uniform for development reasons

#deltarune #deltarune au #utdr #stringless au #spamton #swatchton #swatch deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune stringless #blue addison #deltarune addisons #look at the beautiful family #and payton ig

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littlemisskookie · 2 years ago

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Crocodile Tears: Intro

Crocodile Tears: Index Ship: Stoner!Reader | Stoner!BTS Description: You accidentally eat brownies with aphrodisiacs in them. Even worse one of your asshole friends catch you reading smut to cope, and decides to airdrop your collection of your dirtiest fantasies to the rest of the house. Just your luck. Warnings: Dub-Con, Degradation, Humiliation, Dom!BTS, Sub!Reader, Weed (sorry it’s what helps get me in the mood to write these), Dirty Talk, Kink Shaming?, mentions of the reader being into kind of dark/taboo kinks, Jimin is incredibly mean for no reason, Reader is ridiculously horny and is good at weed Word Count: 2,397 A/N: This has now been edited and finalized which means I can get started on the first segment!

You coughed, smoke erupting from between your lips. You feel Jungkook's large hand offering a comforting (arousing) pat on your back, rubbing gently to comfort you out of your coughing fit. Damn, why'd you have to get horny when you were smoking weed? It didn't help that you were surrounded by perhaps the hottest guys on campus. Who would've thought that befriending fellow stoner, Hoseok, over a blunt in a party would lead to introducing you to his other stoner friends? Before you knew it, you guys would hang out regularly, bonding over a bong.

Today wasn't supposed to be any different from those days. You had smoked with these seven plenty of times before. Most of the time it was in Yoongi's studio apartment, practically hot boxing the small space.

Today though you guys were lucky. Namjoon's rich parents were going to be gone on a cruise for two weeks. You guys could smoke carefree in a nice ass mansion and not have to worry about the smell, as Namjoon assured you the maids would take care of it. (They much preferred Namjoon to his parents despite the weed smell assistances, probably because he's so charming. You didn't blame them. Namjoon had that old money charm, the type that would make you not hesitate to do whatever he asked.)

You guys brought bongs, edible gummies, baked goods, weed, pipes, snacks, water bottles, pens and carts- anything a proper stoner hangout would need.

Part of the reason the guys adored you so much was because you had the highest tolerance of any girl they ever met, which was very contradictory to first glance. You could outsmoke any man you met, and could brag you had never greened out despite the amount of weed you'd smoke once challenged. You could simply keep going, you were a beast, this was your talent. You were proud to say you had outsmoked each and every man in this room, earning their respect and the privilege of joining their smoking group. You weren't going to argue. You've never gotten so much free weed and attention from hot guys in your life. You were used to the attention it would bring you now for the most part. Cute girl who smokes weed? It's stoner boy kryptonite, basically your super power.

Except against one. There was one guy that definitely wasn't the most respectful to you, treating you like he barely even liked you, but for some reason you didn't find yourself minding. You don't think you'd mind it from any of these guys, but as it was, your stoner powers gave you a leg up on these guys. Most of them wouldn't dare think about disrespecting a deity like you.

That didn't mean you didn't have your moments of coughing, though. Usually you were better and holding it down nowadays, but it was a bigger hit than you were anticipating.

Jungkook pulled the bong back, face in front of yours to examine your expression. "You ok?" he asked. You look up at him, eyes locking. He's got that hooded eyes, hazy look in the eye that looked so similar to "fuck me" eyes. You didn't want to assume, though. Too many times guys told you it looked like you were giving them fuck me eyes when in reality out were simply stoned.

"I'm good," you assured, trying not to think about how good his lip ring looked. Shit, you were probably staring at it right now. You quickly turn away, feeling flushed, reaching for the plate of brownies you had pulled from the kitchen. "God, I'm having insane cravings right now, though!"

"Wait, Y/N, where'd you get those brownies?" Jin inquired, squinting down at your plate.

"In the kitchen. Namjoon said I could help myself to whatever food's there." You paused after scarfing down another bite. "Oh no, do these have more weed in them? I mean I think I'll be fine, but shit."

Jin's mouth dropped open. "Uh, no... not weed."

Your brows furrowed as you stared back at him. "What is it, then? Did you put fentanyl in brownies, Jin?!"

"God, no! Not fentanyl... aphrodisiacs," Jin sheepishly admitted.

"What the fuck, man, why'd you bring sex brownies to the party?" Yoongi laughed. "Trying to start an orgy or something?"

"No! Me and Y/N were just joking about it last time we hung out and were talking about those chocolates on tik tok that make you horny. She was like what if we all took one and saw what happened? I decided to make some myself and brought them. I didn't know Y/N was going to end up eating half of them herself!" Jin explained hurriedly, eyes glancing to you quickly for help.

"So you were trying to start an orgy!" Yoongi accused.

You bursted out laughing. "Well, that explains a lot. At least I can't overdose on aphrodisiacs. Teaches me not to let my munchies get the best of me." You turn to Jungkook, biting your lip at the sight of him. These sex brownies were really doing something to you. You're all giggly, though, from the weed. "Munch. Munchies. Do you think munches get munchies?"

"Y/N definitely seems high enough," Namjoon laughs. "Sorry you're just going to be stuck with the brownies... effects. You sure you'll be ok?"

You wave your hand dismissively. "I'll be fineeee. I'm basically horny most of the time anyways, this will be no different."

"TMI," Hoseok jokes, rolling his eyes.

You were fine.

For all of, like, ten minutes.

Once an hour had passed, you were practically wanting to jump out of your skin. You found your mind wandering off, you were biting your lips far more often than usual, your eyes weren't just blazed stupor, but full on fuck me eyes. You found yourself staring intently at your guy friends. Jimin's thick lips wrapping around a blunt, letting smoke pour out. The way he was staring back at you, almost suspicious. God, he'd probably be disgusted if we knew what sort of thoughts you were having about him. He always acted a bit disgusted by you. You eyes flitted away to his best friend next to him. Taehyung's hands gripping around the bong, elegant fingers wrapping around it, veins tracing along the middle. You wondered if he'd choke you if you asked. Wait stop. You try to keep your high mind from wandering off to dirty places and focus on what's in front of you. Jungkook's tattooed fingers as he rolled up a joint for you, doing so with such delicacy and precision. He was so careful, and was definitely the best at rolling. You sucked at it, and were grateful that Jungkook's attentive personality made him volunteer to be your personal roller. Without thinking, you bring your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your thumbnail as you stare at Jungkook with a certain intensity.

It was Taehyung who spoke to you first. "Y/N, you good? You looking kinda zoned out, there."

You snapped out of it, hand flying away from your mouth. "Huh? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking."

"Your joint's done," Jungkook said, tatted hand offering it up to you.

"Thank you, Kookie," you grin, tussling his hair in front of you. Fuck, you wanted to grip it while his head was between your legs. You reach back, clearing your throat. "It's kind of hot in here, actually. I think I'll go to the balcony."

You hope they don't read too much into your need of absence, but who were you kidding. You were obvious.

You leaned against the railing of the balcony, enjoying the fresh air. You lit up the joint and inhale the smoke, opening your phone to distract yourself. With smut. Hey, horny brain has a one track mind? You pull up your fanfiction recommendation blog, mainly used to store your favorites and save for later, for times like these. You scroll past the stories, each depraved tag and recollection of the smut's materials not seeming like enough.

You clicked on the third story, entrenched in the words as you try to imagine the scene before you. The weed made your mind hazy. You didn't know how much time you had spent out here reading porn. The joint was already halfway finished.

You didn’t even notice the balcony door being open and shut behind you, finding yourself too engrossed in the words on your screen. Perhaps if you were sober, you’d have felt his presence behind you, eyes peering over your shoulder.

"What's sex pollen?"

You practically jumped out of your skin, squealing at the feeling of hot air against your ear. You spun around, lower back soon pressed against the railing as your space was invaded, to see Jimin, his red tinged eyes meeting yours. The one man here not impressed with your surprisingly high tolerance. Maybe because he of all people knew about deceiving appearances. He leaned in closer, far closer to you than he had ever been in the time you’ve spent with him and his friends. His chest was a mere few inches in front of yours, hands clasped against the railing beside yours, trapping you. The aphrodisiacs weren’t helping you, and you were feeling a certain type of way about having a handsome man so close to you.

"Jimin! What're you doing here?" Your heart pounded erratically in your chest, the anxiety overwhelming you at being caught.

"You've been out here for a while, the guys were getting worried about you," Jimin explained. A devious smirk formed on his lips. "Guess I should explain to them you're fine, just out here basically reading porn."

"I-I'm not-"

"Oh? What's sex pollen, then?" Jimin grabbed your phone, your reflexes too slow to stop him. He wore a shit eating grin as he watched your eyes flit between your phone and his face, unable to even process the beginning of your defeat. You were completely defenseless and stunned, not sure how to understand how he had beaten you so swiftly, or why he was particularly smug about it. You don't think he's ever smiled at you before, whether out of kindness or humor. This smile lacked both. This was a grin of enjoyment at the sight of you fussing and at his mercy. "Explain, Y/N."

You gulped. "I-It's just this like… trope.”

“Trope?” His thumb slides up the screen, the sentences scrolling by. “Seems pretty scandalous compared to your typical romance tropes. I don’t think I’ve heard of this one, before.”

“It’s more of a fanfiction trope than an actual literature trope…”

“Oh? How’s it work, then? What’s so appealing about it?” Jimin’s amused expression was in stark juxtaposition to your flushed, embarrassed one.

“U-Um… it’s w-when the person gets affected by this pollen or something in general that makes them all... needy. And they need someone to take care of it for them."

“Take care of it how?”

You huffed, irritated with his teasing. “What do you think? You already know. It’s called sex pollen for a reason, quit teasing me.”

"Oh?" Jimin quirked up a brow, obviously pleased with your embarrassment and stammering. His hand came up to your throat, and there was a hitch in your breath. "But it’s so fun.”

“No it’s n-not-“ It was hard to keep your sentences structured well as Jimin tilted your head back, hand sliding further up to your jaw, making you lean back. Adrenaline pumped through you has your anxieties increased, all to aware of you dangling halfway off the railing at this height.

“This trope of yours sounds very familiar. Taking aphrodisiacs, familiar.” His chuckle was taunting in your ear, his soft breath noticeable in the night air. “Hoping for something to happen, Y/N?”

"No, I-"

"Did you do it on purpose, sweetheart? Wanted one of us to take care of you? Put you out of your mercy and fuck you cause you need it so badly?"

You gasped at his words, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. Your back was still arched against the railing, and both of your hands clasped around Jimin's arm for support, afraid of both falling back and falling into him. His muscles felt so firm underneath your fingertips , and you tried not to think about how much you had missed the feeling of digits on your throat. Jimin's eyes flit over to your screen, going back to scroll through the stories you saved. He could probably feel your heartbeat against his fingerprints quicken as he delved deeper into your trove of dark and twisted fantasies. "Fuck, this is some really nasty shit, Y/N. You're into some depraved shit. Alpha/Omega? CNC? Step-siblings? Always knew you were a pervert. Bet you've thought about us gang banging you before, huh?"

His canines gleam in the dim light, taunting you. Your wide eyes met his with terror, and you whimpered in his hold.

"Fuck, Jimin, please please please don't tell them-" you pleaded.

"But how can I keep this to myself?" In horror, you watched his devious fingers tap against your phone screen, airdropping your blog of fanfiction collections to the rest of the house. He let you go, allowing you to catch your breath as he backed away from you. Fishing out his own phone, he accepted the request. He waved your own screen in front of your face, taunting you with your own powerlessness. You grab it from him, staring in horror as you see that three people accepted the airdrop. Fuck. It wasn't like you could even pretend it wasn't you, your name was attatched. The worst part is you didn't even know who accepted it, the names only being "iPhone".

You stared up at Jimin in horror, only to see his sadistic grin as he scrolls through your personal porn stash. "Don't worry, I'll make all your dirty fantasies come true," Jimin chuckled. "I’ll be a bit busy for now, though. Have to catch up on some light reading. Besides,” he turned towards the door, looking back to you with devious excitement. “You’re a big girl, I’ll let you take care of this by yourself.”

He left you alone on that balcony, gawking and trembling, wondering just what would happen if you were to step back in that house.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #Jimin smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts fanfiction #bts #bang tan #jungkook fanfiction #Jimin fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #Yoongi smut #Namjoon smut #suga smut #Agust d #rm smut #Jin smut #Seokjin smut

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certainempatheticturkeymuffin · 4 months ago

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I have a thing that I'm not sure I'm ever actually gonna publish, so here's the intro — my favorite part :3

Warning: Death, Blood, Corpses, Decomposition

The scent of blood is thick, and the winds are still with horror as the carnage becomes clear and the smoke makes way for the wind. Venti looks at Mondstadt, trying with all their might to break what must be an illusion, but… it's not.

The cathedral is broken and shattered, the statue gone in favor of a portal — to Celestia or the Abyss, the wind doesn't know. The buildings that weren't razed to the ground were broken and destroyed, debris is scattered around the chipped stairs and battered plaza.

Bodies litter the streets. Knights, who fought until their final breath. Adventurers, who ran or fought in equal measure. Nuns, who sacrificed their lives in the hopes that others could get to safety. Civilians, who desperately tried to save their loved ones.

Children, who cried in terror as their prayers did nothing to save them.

Every Mondstadter is accounted for. Their bodies broken, burned… dismembered. Glory, Barbara, José, Kaeya, Flora, Bennett, Dvalin–

All… except Venti. Barbatos. The sole survivor of the massacre. The sole fighter remaining. The one who failed to keep the invaders at bay. Venti's bare feet hit the bloody stone, red staining pale skin and white cloth alike as they absently collect the bodies.

Their children deserve a proper burial, and Barbatos has failed them enough already.

Red and brown seep into their white feathers and white clothing, defiling the purity of the wind with the blood of man and dirt of graves. The wind refuses to blow away the smoke, as ash taints their tongue and stains their skin. In the eternal darkness, they dig, they collect, they bury. They carve names into the debris of their home, a mockery of proper gravestones, yet still the best they can give as many bodies begin to bloat in the open air. Minutes bleed into hours into what must be days and weeks and years. The wind does not know, the wind does not care, as Diluc's head is sewn back onto his neck, as Fischl's arm is reattached to her torso, and as purge fluid spews from Eula's mouth. One after another. One, then ten, then a hundred, then more. Corpse after corpse finds its home in the graveyard. When it runs out of room, they start digging holes outside the walls. Then onto the mainland.

If the earth and stars are looking for the wind, Venti does not know, nor do they care, as the wind rebuffs all trespassers, lest someone happen upon the sight of their children's bodies unburied and unseemly.

When the deed is finally done, from the city to Springvale there is nothing but a graveyard. When the wind finally stops and lets the tears flow, there is not a soul left wandering, not a soul forgotten or abandoned among the thousands of bodies. Each of their children is finally put to rest, and the wind mourns.

The wind mourns. It cries and sobs, and tears make way for anger as they stare at an infant's grave. As they see a sea of stones, so many stories cut short, their children all dead with no revenge to be taken.

And this, they decide, will not stand. A single thread of the thousand winds of time is not enough to turn back the clock, even all thousand would struggle to go back a few days.

Their mother does not have that limitation.

Filthy with blood and dirt and tears, Barbatos stands and makes way for their mother's temple.

#mine #my wriitng #my wips #my writing #genshin impact #venti #genshin venti #mondstadt #genshin mondstadt #genshin #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: corpses

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serendipity-by-chance · 8 months ago

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New Gen 11

so like ive been having thoughts about ng11 given the recent chapters and all and wondering. whats the point of them lol. this is like me questioning the author again lol.

like we were first introduced to them very early on with sae's intro. ever since then the 11 players of ng11 have been mysterious. even more so with how much the manga heaped praises on sae making him compete against all bllk players and still coming out on top. also being the only one (prior to charles) who could actually play with shidou. and given that sae is genuinely the best midfielder we've seen so far, it was obvious that we would be excited for the ng11. However, ng11 is still confusing. according to bllk wiki (bear with me i havent read the manga in a while and im too busy with finals to reread and find the panels but trust once exams are over i will!) ng11 are players who are categorised as the "next gen" of football superstars. which would give u the idea that theyre the best of the best in the current gen. but here's the thing. they're not. look at loki. he's the same age as sae (i think i forgot sae's age but loki is 17/18) but loki isn't part of ng11. which u can say maybe he isnt anymore cause he's pro but remember when we see Michael for the first time isagi knows he is part of ng11 (chapter 157) which means isagi knows who the ng11 are right? Also when we see lorenzo for the first time (210) once again isagi knows who he is. Which definitely means that isagi knows who ng11 are. but thats not the case for loki which can lead us to think loki was never part of ng11. but loki is definitely a better striker than kaiser so why isnt he part of ng11? my problem with ng11 is how it seems so inconsistent? what makes one part of ng11?

again bllk wiki says that ng11 players are those of the next gen who have skills that cant be copied by others in a sense? like we see when michael makes his first kaiser impact even noa admits that michael is better at his speed of shot than noa and thats not sth he can easily copy. not to mention sae with his flawless pass. so is that all that makes one ng11? a skill that others cant copy? so ig ng11 is just the bllk version of knb's miracle generation (this came to me when i was rambling to my sister). the whole concept and history of ng11 being still ??? is so weird to me especially given that we have 3/11 of them in the manga now with sae and michael playing such pivotal roles to the two biggest characters (isagi and rin).

anyways, this thought came up to me cause i was seeing people on twt being like "so rin is better than ng11!!!" cause kaisagi decided to team up to beat him which made me think "huh, is he?" which then made me start questioning what exactly makes one ng11.

but whether rin is better than ng11 or not is still up for debate. especially cause there's 8 other players we havent seen. also... they all play different position lmao. rin is definitely the best in bllk. with rin vs kaiser debate... hmmm. even im a bit like... confused. id say in terms of their personal skills they might be more evenly matched? the kaisagi team up is necessary bc while rin has pxg on his side the entire bm team is divided betn kaisagi with both of them in a tug of war to turn the team in their direction. the match of bm is never bm vs other team lol. its always isagi vs kaiser vs other team. kaiser doesnt fight with just rin he fights with rin AND isagi and the same goes for isagi. which is why the next chapters will be so interesting.

anways these are all my thoughts on ng11! maybe i'll do a better one when exams end and i reread the whole manga and take proper screenshots and notes.

#blue lock #blue lock meta #blue lock discussions #michael kaiser #itoshi sae #don lorenzo #isagi yoichi #itoshi rin #new gen 11 #ng11 #bllk #bllk thoughts #bllk rambling #bllk 285 #pls share thoughts lol

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bobbithewriter · 1 year ago

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Miller's Secret

Chapter 1: Cafe Kisses

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word Count: 5058 Series summary: [NO OUTBREAK] You don’t know how or why but you find yourself drawn to an older man. His broad shoulders, strong arms, and pepper gray hair drive you wild. But there’s one problem: he’s your professor. Unsure of how to get over this crush you decide to apply for a mentorship… under him. It could all go horribly wrong, or it could be just the thing you both need. Series warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, this is so smutty I’m not even sorry. Very veryyy brief mentions of Y/N (if any). Age gap- reader is in her 20’s while Joel is in his late 40’s/ early 50’s, it’s not specified. Student/Teacher relationship but it’s not what you think. Inappropriate relationships, yearning, tension, sexual tension, sarah doesn’t exist here (sorry girl), secret relationship, cursing. Chapter summary: After crafting the perfect schedule for your last year of college, you find out that one of your classes in your first semester got dropped. Forced to find a replacement, you settle for Intro to Philosophy with Professor Miller. You’re in for a big surprise. Chapter warnings: 18+, Smut, fem!reader, professor!joel miller, sexually explicit thoughts, cursing, age gap, inappropriate thoughts/dreams, oral (f receiving), sexual tension, secret relationship.

A/N: This is the first chapter to what I hope will be an interesting series. It goes without saying that this is all FICTION. enjoy:))

The heat is stifling outside, the sunning blazes down, scorching the Earth beneath it. It’s nearing the end of summer and you just can’t believe it’s gone by as fast as it has. Although you’ve spent most of it working, like today, there have been a few moments of relaxation sprinkled in, but not nearly enough for your liking.

Making your way into your two bedroom apartment, you toss your keys on the coffee table near the door. You kick off your shoes and rush to turn the A.C. on hoping to be rescued from the heat. The apartment is silent, your roommate, Jade, is most likely at work giving you time to decompress from the very tiring shift you’ve just had.

You enter your room and are welcomed by your cat Lulu whose orange fur shines thanks to the sunlight passing through your window. Clothes litter the floor, books and magazines lay scattered on your nightstand and desk, your room is a proper mess, but it’s your mess. You make your way to the rickety wooden desk that sits against the wall closest to your window, pulling the near see-through curtains together in hopes of keeping some of the sun out.

You open your laptop and look up your school’s student sign in, hoping to review the courses you’ll be taking this semester. Although you’ve grown to love school and love the structure it provides you with, you feel an immense relief knowing that it’s your last year in college. The parties and events are fun but you finally feel ready for more, you’re hoping for something more worthwhile. Lucky for you, your last two semesters are light ones since you’re not taking nearly as many classes as usual- you shudder thinking back to your freshman year when you thought taking seven was a good idea. Last spring, when registering for classes, you crafted the perfect schedule: four classes fall semester, three classes spring semester- easy.

You scroll down to the bottom of your schedule only to find that one of your classes, an elective, has been dropped. Confused, you grab the notebook from the shelf above your desk and flip through the pages until you find the schedule you outlined back in April. Sure enough you see that your photography class has been dropped due to them not finding a professor for the course. You check your student email and find that you were sent a message back in July notifying you of the change. Frustrated at yourself for forgetting to read your emails, you return to the school’s registration page. Unfortunately, with classes starting next week, you know that the chances of you actually getting a class you’d find interesting are slim to none. You scroll and scroll until you’re able to find a class that fits with the rest of your schedule: philosophy. Great, you think, two hours a week dedicated to listening to some old guy drone on and on about ethics and morals and what the meaning of life is.

The cursor hovers over the register button. Do you really want to do this? You have two options: you could always take photography next semester with the professor you like, or, you can suck it up and get this elective over with and earn another three credits but be forced to listen to a bunch of existential nonsense. You, for whatever reason, pick the latter. You rationalize with yourself that it’s only one class and it’s just one step closer to graduating. You decide to mull over the syllabus jotting down a list of school supplies you might need for the upcoming school year when you get a notification from your email.

Professor J. Miller

Fall A- Tuesdays and Thursdays 10:30-12:30- Office hours: TR 1:00-3:00 or by appointment

Welcome to Intro to Philosophy! Like the title suggests this course will be the most basic introduction to philosophy and its integration into our society. No textbook is required for this class but I do expect you all to come to every class prepared to discuss the handouts I give you. Participation is a requirement for this class and I look forward to hearing all of your thoughts and opinions. Looking forward to meeting you all next week!

Best, JM

Although you won’t have to spend even more money on textbooks for the class, the prospect of having to show up every other day for weeks on end just to earn a participation credit is enough for you to groan aloud.

The week goes by quickly, between work, getting ready for the upcoming semester, and hanging out with Jade, you’ve barely had any time to yourself. Lucky for you, you don’t have any classes on Monday giving you time for some much needed self care. You complete your yearly before-school-starts-self-care-routine, trimming your hair, painting your nails, shaving your legs, plucking your eyebrows- the works.

You spend the day lounging about your room, playing your favorite albums on your record player to fill the silence. You try on different outfits feeling totally relaxed for the first time in weeks. As if on cue you get a notification from your phone. Opening your email you find a message from Professor Miller with a full copy of the syllabus and a short article to read.

Good afternoon everyone! Below I have linked a copy of the syllabus and an article for you all to read before class tomorrow. I hope to spend less time going over the syllabus, only answering questions you might have, and more time talking about the contents of the paper. Please come prepared!

Best, JM

Great, homework before you even start the class. You move to your bed where lulu is sprawled out and begin reading the article. You read paragraph after paragraph discussing value theory and metaphysics, taking notes as you do with the hopes of actually understanding what you’re reading. You finish and decide that you’ll review the notes tomorrow before class. Surely it won’t be that bad.

You wake up later than you intended and realize you don’t have nearly as much time to get ready as you wanted. You get ready quickly knowing you’ll have to stop by your school’s cafe since you didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast. The drive is a short one and eventually you’re pulling into the student parking lot.

Grabbing your backpack and keys you enter the cafe, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling your nostrils. Looking at your watch you realize you have 20 minutes till class starts and relax a bit. You order your usual, a vanilla latte with two shots of espresso and a chocolate croissant, and wait for your name to be called. Behind you you hear the bell on the door jingle signaling that another customer has entered the already very busy cafe.

As you wait you can’t help but look around at the cafe’s patrons, some are clearly students while others are harder to discern, maybe professors, maybe alumni, you’re unsure? Your university is located at the center of the city so many alumni linger around, finding jobs after graduating but still gathering at some of the college’s most popular cafes and restaurants. You’re broken out of your thoughts by the barista calling out names and orders.

“Large six shot quad espresso with extra ice for Joel”, shouts the barista.

Your eyes first land on the very large cup filled to the brim with espresso and then to the person picking it up from the counter. Your eyes trail up from his hands, to his arms, and finally to his face, ogling him unintentionally, and you’re met with a sly grin from the man standing in front of you.

“Sorry for starring”, you laugh, “I’ve just never seen someone order that many shots of espresso in a single cup.”

“What can I say, I like my coffee strong”, he laughs. “I’m Joel”, he says, extending his hand out for you to shake.

The man before you is tall, six foot if you’d have to guess, with broad shoulders and large arms. He’s sporting a light blue button down and navy blue trousers that make his already tan skin seem impossibly warmer and brighter. His dark brown hair is peppered with grays as is his beard- though you wouldn’t really describe it as a beard, more like scruff. His hands are large and pretty much engulf your own as you extend your hand to shake his. His shake is firm and you find the handshake lingering longer than you both probably anticipated.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you”, you reply. From the looks of it he’s anywhere between his late 40’s or early 50’s, but you’re not really sure. His brown eyes hold your gaze momentarily and you notice that he too is sizing you up. You snap out of it when you hear your name called.

“Small vanilla latte with two shots of espresso for Y/N”, the barista shouts again.

“Ah I can see why my six shots would scare you”, Joel jokes, keeping his body facing you as you reach for your breakfast.

“Yeah well caffeine tends to make me jittery and I’ve got class in a bit so I’m trying to keep the coffee to a minimum”, you respond. “Anyways, I better get going”, you say, “It was nice meeting you, Joel.”

Before he has a chance to respond you find yourself walking to the door but not before turning back around and giving him a small smile. As you make the short walk to your first class you find yourself thinking of him. It’s been a while since you’ve been with a guy and maybe that’s why you find yourself still thinking about this stranger but a part of you also knows it has more to do with his good looks. You’ve never really found yourself attracted to older men like that, partly because you live in a college town where most of the guys you interact with are no older than twenty five and partly because you’ve just never met an attractive older man in person.

You think back to his face, a blend of strong, masculine features but with a much softer side as well. The slight curve of his nose and edge of his jaw seemed almost drawn with charcoal, and you can’t help but think back to the warmth in his eyes.

God it’s been too long since you’ve been with a guy, now you’re replaying a five minute interaction with a total stranger. Great. You take your phone out to text Jade.

Y: Dude I just saw the cutest fucking guy, too bad he was like 50:/ It’s actually concerning how touch starved I am bc im literally daydreaming about this guy and we said like five words to each other LMAO J: OUUUU DILF DILF DILF Girl go for it, who cares if he's old, hot is hot Did you get the sexy strangers number?? Y: NO our interaction lasted maybe two minutes J: Too bad:( It’s okay bc I hereby declare that we are officially going out this weekend and you’re gonna get laiddddd Y: okay this conversation is over J: this. weekend.

You smile despite yourself and fasten your pace hoping to leave any thoughts of Joel in your wake. You take the stairs up to the second floor and enter the room. Although it’s not quite as big as a lecture hall, there are a decent amount of students already there waiting for class to start. You take a seat in the middle of the third row, your usual spot since it’s close enough to seem engaged when you want but also far enough away so you’re not in the direct line of crossfire when it comes time to participate.

You’re too distracted getting settled to notice him walk in but when you look up you see Joel… in your class… walking to the podium? You’re struck with the sudden realization that he’s your professor. Your professor is Joel. Oh my God. The sexy stranger, as Jade put it, is literally your teacher.

It seems that he notices at the same time as you do and he gives you a warm smile. Okay, there’s no need to freak out. He clearly doesn’t care so why should you and really there’s nothing to even care about right. It’s fine, he was clearly making normal conversation and you just happened to be the sex-deprived stranger he gave his attention to. There is absolutely no reason to overthink this. So what your teacher is cute, it won’t make a difference, you’re here to get your credit and go.

He makes his way around his desk and podium and begins, “Good morning class, I hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding the room. It’s good to see you’re all here so let’s get started shall we. If you have any questions about the syllabus now is the time to ask, I want to get started on dissecting the article I had you all read.”

His voice is clear- confident- and you can’t help but to hold onto every word he says. He looks around the room, waiting a beat to see if anyone raises their hand and moves on.

“Okay great, now I want you guys to first raise your hands and tell me your thoughts on the paper itself, did you like it, did you dislike it? Feel free to get as specific as you want.”

Around you, your classmates raise their hands and participate, voicing their opinions on the paper. Some thought the paper was interesting, others didn’t, but there seems to be a universal agreement that the paper was difficult to really understand, a fact your professor seems to catch onto.

“So it seems as though the room is pretty split between whether the paper was good or not. That’s fine! Philosophers have disagreements all the time. But how many of you really understand what Value Theory is, hm? Can someone explain what it is to the best of their abilities, it’s okay to be wrong, that’s why I’m here”, he says.

You raise your hand, “Value theory is, at its core, worried about justifying our value judgments and the actions that follow. It basically tries to answer hard questions like what it means to pick between the ‘lesser of two evils’ or what it means to be a ‘good’ person.”

“That’s exactly right”, he says, holding your gaze for a moment and giving you a small smile.

You return his smile with pride, happy to have gotten the answer right. You’ve always excelled academically and although you would never admit it to anyone else, you crave the validation you get from your professors and peers.

The rest of class continues on like normal with Professor Miller explaining the differences between Value Theory and Metaphysics and how they might help us answer some difficult questions.

Class continues as normal and just as he’s about to dismiss everyone he gives a few housekeeping reminders: two papers to read before next class, office hours are Thursdays after class, and mentoring?

“Like the syllabus says, I do mentor a small group of students each semester who want to get a more in depth understanding of philosophy. Unfortunately I cannot mentor every single one of you so if you want to be one of the lucky students please submit a one-page proposal of sorts by the end of class Thursday. If you have any questions feel free to email me. You’re dismissed”, he says.

Packing your things you’re left with this new idea to ponder. It might be good to have Professor Miller as a mentor so you can get another letter of recommendation, but you’re not even sure you even enjoy philosophy like that. You have a couple days to decide anyways, who knows what you’ll end up doing.

The rest of your day drags on slowly and by the time you finally get home you can’t help but sink onto your carpet floor and just lay there. Lulu hops off the bed and curls up next to your side. You let out a groan thinking about just how much homework you have to do and it’s only your first day. Two papers to read, a proposal to write- you decided you’d take a shot at it, there’s no guarantee you’ll even get picked so who cares- a four page research paper due, and an online quiz. You mentally thank yourself for only having picked three classes this semester.

After eating dinner and showering you decide to start on your proposal. You rack your brain trying to come up with at least three different reasons you want this mentorship. One: you need another letter of recommendation- you plan on applying to graduate school or law school and both require amazing letters of rec- and one from your philosophy professor would look good. Two: you find philosophy interesting (sometimes) and maybe one on one sessions with your professor will strengthen that interest. And three: it doesn’t hurt that your would-be-mentor is easy on the eyes. Okay that third reason isn’t really a reason it’s more of a plus but it’s still valid.

It takes you longer to submit your proposal than it does to actually finish it. You deliberate the options: you could submit it and work closely with Professor Miller, if you get picked that is, or you could never submit it and never have to worry about being in close proximity to that man. Fuck it, you think, and click submit. You hope you don’t end up regretting that.

Thursday comes and goes pretty uneventfully with the exception of Mr. Miller telling your class that he would release the names of the students picked for the mentorship by the end of the weekend. You, surprisingly, aren’t at all nervous. You know that if you get picked it will look great on your resume but if you don’t it won’t really make much of a difference.

Unsurprisingly you spend the rest of your day studying and going to work, it seems as though your days consist only of those two things now. When you get home you find Jade sitting at the dining room table on her laptop. You decide to join her seeing as you both have seen so little of each other because of all the craziness that the start of the semester consists of.

You guys quickly stop working on any actual homework and start talking about random stuff, friends, boys, work, and school. Eventually the conversation shifts to your professor.

Jade gives you a smirk, nudging your arm, “So how cute is he really? Do you have a picture of him or something, I’ll be the real judge.”

You open your laptop again, scrolling down your course page until you find his picture. Zooming in, you turn your computer towards Jade.

“Sweet baby Jesus, that is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Oh my GOD! Is it too late to register for this class?” she laughs. “If you don’t make a move I will.”

You laugh, snatching your computer back from her. “You know I can’t do anything, he’s my professor. It would be totally unethical”, you say.

“It would be totally fucking hot”, says Jade. “Come on it’s not like you’ll get expelled or anything, it says nothing in the Student Code of Conduct about it so you’re fine.”

“Have you ever even read the Student Code of Conduct?” you retort.

“Well no, but I’m sure it doesn’t say anything about that”, Jade laughs.

You both stay there talking for another hour or so, taking turns telling each other about how your days have gone. Eventually Jade decides that Saturday night is “the night” as she puts it.

“We are so getting you laid, you need it more than anyone I know, no offense”, she says.

You give her a glare but ultimately give in. You haven’t gone out since that one night last semester that ended with you holding Jade’s hair as she hurled the contents of her stomach into the toilet. You’ve never been much of a partier, much less someone who enjoyed one night stands but if you’re honest with yourself, it’s been a barren few months and you haven’t had much company with anyone except Bertha, your vibrator. Maybe it was finally time to give into the college craze and sleep with a random person, no emotions, no strings attached, just sex.

The thought stays in your head throughout the rest of your day. As you’re getting ready for bed you open your laptop and can’t help but look at the picture of Mr. Miller there. He really is sexy, you think, as you’re reminded of his broad shoulders and strong arms. You fall asleep with the thought of him in your mind.

You’re sitting in his office, nestling yourself further into the wicker chair. You close your eyes taking in the smells of his office, rich mahogany, oak, and leather. You feel him behind you, his presence close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off of his body. Your heart seems to stop, anticipating his next move. His hands trail up your arms leaving goosebumps in their wake. He lowers his head down to your shoulder and you feel his breath against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down to the base of your spine.

“Do you know how wrong it would be for us to do anything? Hm?” he whispers.

His voice reverberates through your entire body, straight to your core. You feel the familiar flutter in your lower abdomen and the way your heart seems to start beating again but this time impossibly fast.

His lips press a kiss to your shoulder and you instinctively move your head to the side, hoping he takes it as a sign that you want more. His fingers trail up your arms again but this time to your neck, pressing the pad of his thumb down onto the skin he just kissed.

“Your heart’s beating a little fast there sweetheart, you alright?”

You nod, silently praying your body doesn’t betray you again.

“Hm. Are you lying to me now? You know”, he says kissing your neck again, “good girls don’t lie. Are you a good girl?” he asks.

You think you nod again but your mind is so out of it you’re not sure if you actually do or not. His scruff lightly scratches against your smooth skin as his left hand wraps itself around the base of your left shoulder and his lips make their way up and down your right, your breath hitching as he does.

Against your ear, he again whispers, “Tell me the truth, baby. Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to take you right here?”

Your mind is reeling from his touch, his lips, his words, you’re struck silent for once.

“You know baby, if you’re honest I might just give you what you want. C'mon darlin’ be a good girl and tell me how much you want it.”

You open your mouth and pray that your voice sounds stronger than you feel right now. “I want you to touch me. Please touch me”, you whine.

“Where do you want me to touch darlin’? Your breasts? Want me to play with your nipples? Or your cunt? I bet it’s already so wet for me”, he whispers against your skin.

“Both”, you cry out, spreading your legs apart praying he gives you what you most crave.

He lifts you up from the chair and spins you around, pressing you firmly to his front. He moves one hand to your hair and pulls it gently, angling your face to his. His eyes have gone from brown to nearly black and it sends another shiver down your body. His lips crash into yours in a kiss so earth shattering you feel yourself turn to mush, leaning against the desk for some support. With one hand in your hair and the other on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to his front, you finally get to feel the hard dent in his pants. You moan into his mouth and regain some sense. You kiss him with a newfound intensity, pawing at this chest hoping to feel some of the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

He smirks against your mouth, chuckling at your urgency. “You’re so damn cute when you’re desperate, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want”, he says before his hands begin exploring your body even more. You feel the hand that was on the base of your back move down your ass and give it a hard squeeze, that familiar flutter in your abdomen returning. His lips once again move to your throat and down your chest; you feel your face getting hot and your breaths getting more rapid because of the lack of oxygen. He begins unbuttoning your satin blouse, replacing where the buttons were with kisses.

He moves you so your back now rests flat against his desk and you feel him kiss lower and lower down your body. He kisses his way down to your naval and begins unbuttoning your jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly, taunting you.

Just when you think he’s going to give you what he wants, his lips start going back up, following a similar path as before. He kisses your breasts over the mesh balconette bra you’re wearing, your nipples hardening as he does. You’re moaning wildly at this point, never having been this turned on before. His hands move to your back, unclipping your bra and tossing it to the side. He begins attacking your chest with a fervent need, softly biting your nipples, forcing a moan from deep within your chest. Your hands make their way to his hair and you tug at the base of his curls needing an anchor as you feel yourself slowly begin to lose it. You’re desperately trying to find some friction between your legs and you start grinding your still covered cunt against the dent in his pants.

“Look at you, such a sweet thing grinding against me. Cmon baby, tell me again how much you want it”, he says as his lips make their way down your body again.

“Please” you beg, “I want it so bad, please just fuck me.” Your chest is rising and falling rapidly and you’re almost certain you look fucked out of your mind even though nothing’s even happened yet.

“Oh I’m not going to fuck you here, honey, though I bet you’d fucking love it”, he says.

Your chest deflates a little from disappointment and you can’t help the low whine that comes out of your throat.

“I will, however, give that pussy the attention it deserves”, he says again, this time pulling your pants down past your hips and off your legs.

Your heart begins racing as he kisses his way down your stomach, stopping right at the edge of your panties. He looks up at you and sees pure desire written all over your face. He kisses your center over the fabric of your panties, making you jolt from the sudden contact. Moving to kiss along the inside of your thighs, his scruff scratches harshly now against your skin. His fingers wrap themselves along the sides of your panties and he slowly peels them off of you.

You look down at his kneeling figure, fully clothed with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a stark contrast to your entirely naked form spread out for him on his desk.

“So fuckin beautiful”, he says against the skin of your thighs, peppering kisses there at random. Just as you're about to beg for the fourth time, he wraps your legs over his shoulders and dips his head between your thighs. He licks a long strip up to your clit where he starts sucking relentlessly. Your fingers find themselves digging into his hair, holding on as you grind yourself further into his mouth. He licks your cunt until you’re writhing in pleasure, holding onto the desk and his hair for dear life. You feel that familiar knot in your stomach begin to form and you chase it. You’re a moaning mess when he starts to tongue fuck your pussy, so close you could scream. His nose continuously bumps against the hood of your clit and you think you see stars.

“Fuck I’m close”, you moan, your back arching against the cool wooden desk.

One of his hands comes up to tug on your hardened nipples while the other finds refuge between your thighs. You feel him smirk against your skin and you realize why when he dips a finger into your spasming hole. His large finger works itself in and out of you, pushing you closer to your release.

“You like that baby?” he asks. “Cmon I want you to come for me. Can you do that sweetheart?”

Not waiting for your response he adds another finger, fucking you in tandem with his mouth. With every stroke you feel yourself getting closer, your juices gushing down your inner thighs, producing a sound so obscene it’s bordering pornographic. It’s only when he curves his finger, hitting your g-spot that you feel yourself lose it.

“Oh my God-”, you cry out, “Fuck I’m cumming.”

Your legs shake beside his head but he doesn’t stop fucking you through your high. Your mind is blank and your thighs are sticky from your release and you think you might have just gone to heaven and back.

You wake with a gasp in your bed. You’re drenched in sweat and you feel your shirt sticking to the skin on your back. The boyshorts you’re wearing feel wet and sticky from your release. You sit up trying to momentarily catch your breath and you stare in the mirror directly across from your bed. The skin on your chest is red and blotching and your sheets are rumpled.

God, did you really just have a wet dream about your professor? Maybe applying for this mentorship was a mistake.

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