#Women Chest and Shoulder Exercise

[fitnessmantram]

Women Chest and Shoulder Exercise || Resistance Band Exercise || #shorts...

Women Chest and Shoulder Exercise : The 10-20 range is effective for the chest, but many people say that sets of 8-12 reps or less, somewhere in the 5-10 and 10-20 ranges, give them the best results

[neopuppy]

Shameless (M)

pairing. step-son Jeno x step-mom reader

genre. stepcest, infidelity, Jeno hates his dad, young trophy wife step-mom

wc. 10k

warnings. dubcon, profanity, exercise/body talk, Jeno has a thing for sweat, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

now playing. Shameless//Camila Cabello

smut warnings. masturbation, mommy kink, coercion, a lot of breast focus, reader has large breasts, oral, improper use of a cucumber.., raw fucking, noncon filming, wet messy etc..

“She’s a little too young, even for you.”

Jeno’s tongue drags along the backs of his teeth peering over his father’s shoulder for the last 10 minutes as he idly scrolled through various photos and short video clips. Most innocent enough, cute selfies showing off your pretty fanned out eyelashes, a new lip gloss shade, or just an adorable smile.

The videos his dad took time to watch made Jeno’s breath hitch, looping the few seconds of you showing off a new bikini for summer, filming yourself in the mirror and turning to show off a scandalous yet feminine pattern right above the indentation of bikini bottom scrunched between your pert buttcheeks.

“I work very hard, son, believe I deserve a pretty young thing.” He snickers, having noticed the youngers reflection on his phone screen a few minutes ago. “Something about this one..”

“Where’d you find her? Another sugar baby app you had to pay to join?” Jeno crosses his arms, glaring daggers into the back of his father’s head. Pathetic, working hard for what? To blow your funds on women who probably gag over your shoulder while you fuck them and lose your stamina after two minutes?

His father chuckles, swiping the social media app shut to open his messages. “You’re going to hate this but she approached me first.” With a proud smile he turns to face his son, showing off back and forth messaging between the two of you. Majority of the context is similar to how two cute shy teens would chat, nothing racy despite knowing his father’s likely buying time to pounce and unleash an arsenal of embarrassing boomer dick pics.

“You’re lying.”

Standing up, his father sneers, a smile hidden somewhere behind his resentful expression. “Believe it or not, your old man’s still got it. Now, if you don’t mind— I have a date with your soon-to-be step-mom.” He winks, purposefully bumping roughly into his son’s shoulder on his way out of the living room; leaving Jeno standing there rubbing at the spot mindlessly, jaw tight as he recounts your username to conduct his own investigation.

His first summer home in years and this is what his asshole father wants to pull? Jeno grimaces, plopping down on the couch to commence his search and find your other social media platforms.

“Twenty-fucking-two? He’s out of his mind.” Muttering to himself, he quickly taps in and out of various videos. The fact that you follow dance trends is enough to make his eyes roll, concentrating harder than he should have to on your face and the quirky silly wide eyes you make at the camera instead of the obscene way your breasts bounce freely beneath a much too tight and thin crop top, braless. Of course.

Jeno bets you did approach his dad first, he can picture it now. A sweet little helpless thing miraculously bumping into him at Whole Foods or some other ridiculously overpriced grocery store, batting your big doe eyes irresistibly after calculating the worth of the ludicrous gold Rolex adorning his wrist. No doubt adding the sum of his Gucci loafers and Dior sunnies; undoubtedly pushed up into his salt and pepper hair as he read over the nutritional information of a new all-natural all-organic sugar free gluten free energy drink.

You probably struck up conversation from there, perched yourself on his dad’s arm striking up flirtatious charm about the product in his hands, just to lean in closer and smash your ample chest against his arm.

Jeno clicks his phone shut frustrated, balling his fist open and shut to watch the blood flow down and redden his skin.

It infuriates him how easily his father continues to win, after the divorce his view of the man he once admired could never be repaired. What he once respected and admired all came crumbling down as his mother broke down crying in his arms after years of pretending to act dumb and not notice late evenings at the office, extended company trips, or the stains of lipstick shades she’d never wear and remnants of musky oud that simply never complimented her skin.

Jeno rests his eyes, ignoring the itching ache in his chest. What could he do anyway? What did his dad have to lose that money couldn’t buy him a new and better version of.

A house? A car? More designer brands and jewelry to mark his status in the upper class?

It only took a month, one fucking month, and the answer became clear as his dad lifted you up by your trim waist hidden under ugly burly veiny paws. The smile across his face so arrogant and cocky, hoisting his young little play thing up in the pool just to watch your beautiful round chest bounce in his face beneath triangles of material hardly containing you.

Jeno can’t deny he gets something out of it too, something he stores away for later along with the cheerful sweet moaned giggles you let out after splashing his father’s face with water and demanding in the most helpless submissive tone to be put down. Bet his dad loves that, in fact, he knows he does. It didn’t even take a full two weeks before you moved in with a fat diamond rock on your ring finger. The sight of it nearly blinded him when it caught the glare of light.

Jeno knows he can’t keep up with his father’s wealth, not yet. Material things aren’t his strength either, but as he jerks off into his palm by his bedroom window facing the backyard where you’ve taken to performing your morning pilates, his eyes concentrate on your insane flexibility. The tip of your head near your feet keeping your taut ass up for him to salivate over, and now he knows one thing for sure.

He needs to fuck his step-mom.

Jeno’s usually a morning person, but leave it to his father to ruin that for him.

“Kiss kiss.”

Disgusting.

Heavily wrinkled lips pout in your face, his dad slithered around your waist from behind as you finished packing your new husband's lunch. Really, it’s repulsive to watch unfold every morning. The only perk being the smile you beam Jeno’s way with your much too chipper and excited ‘Good Morning!’ As you skip to the fridge to pour some of your lemon water into a glass, breasts all round and taunting from where he sits; nipples always hard, piercing through your collection of various nighties and tank tops.

“Anything for breakfast? I can whip up some pancakes real quick if you want.”

Jeno tries to hide his grin, as much as he wishes to act like a brat— he can’t. The thing is, you’re lovely in every sense of the word. Too lovely, doting, and appealing, never once causing him annoyance.

He wants to scoff, demand you whip up the most delicious fluffiest pancakes, take your top off and throw the batter down your bare chest before laughing in your face to clean it up; lifting up one breasts at a time with fat wads of tears in your eyes as you plead for him to stop— stop being mean, stop smearing more of the mess he’s caused you to make across your lips.

“Nothing for me.” Jeno motions to the protein shake resting in his grip. “I’m trying to lean out.”

“Lean out?” Your smiles too soft, lifting to one side with surprise. “I can’t imagine you have anything but muscle left, when's the last time you had your body fat measured?”

“Ah, you don’t know because you haven’t seen me shirtless, yet.” Jeno says, more as an invitation to get a rise out of you, having to swallow back a sigh at your lack of response; not even a hint of interest. “Need to slim down my waist a bit to really achieve the shape I want.”

“Well if you ask me..” Jeno waits, appreciating how lightly you float around the kitchen to gather your fruits and toppings to decorate your yogurt bowl with. “You look really fit, your waist is practically non-existent.”

“How much do you weigh?” He asks abruptly, evidently throwing you off by the way your gaze widens in shock and a stutter passes between your lips, quickly averting your attention back to the half chopped strawberry in front of you.

“Wha— uhm..”

“Sorry, that was rude.” Jeno smiles, awkwardly scratching his nape. “I was wondering if it’s less than what I can press.”

A dazed gleam coats your iris, staring back dumbfounded by the image of your step-son working his hips up with crossed eyebrows, using all the force and strength of his muscle mass to lift.

“How much can you do?” You ask, clearing your throat and refocusing on your breakfast. The question more to keep up with the conversation before you run off to hide in your bedroom.

Jeno lets out a breathy laugh. “I shouldn’t have asked, don’t know what I was thinking.” Pushing up from the kitchen island to stand, he pauses before making his way to exit; having taken to a grueling AM workout after downing his shakes. “I can definitely press double, if not more than what you weigh.”

He doesn’t miss the way your hands come to a halt, gripping around the knife in your hold, eyes silently falling shut with a deep breath.

“You should come join me some time, bet I can lift you easily.”

Jeno’s grateful at least that his father has no choice but to work morning to evening five days a week to earn the lavish lifestyle he’s achieved. He’s thankful because you love to perform your afternoon stretches in the backyard, the landscape his bedroom window coincidentally faces.

“So flexible.” He mumbles to himself, forehead resting against the window frame where he stands with his hand buried inside of his boxers, mindlessly thumbing at the slit of his cock for a hint of relief. Your mid-day sessions only last about over an hour, depending on how far you want to push yourself.

Sure, the splits always made his balls tighten up, having to slow down the pace and pull at his length, circling the base to quell the sudden urge to throw you up and down on his cock fully spread out.

But really, the extended puppy pose takes him over the edge every time.

Jerking off from his bedroom window has become unsatisfactory, the best part is really after when you walk in with your smile high off endorphins, gently patting the sweat that’s accumulated on your gorgeous décolleté.

“Oh Jeno, I thought you’d gone out.”

He hums, following your movements around the kitchen to replenish your hydration, noting the beads of sweat continuously rolling down between the dip in your back. His teeth bite down on the tip of his tongue, tempted to shove you up against the fridge and lick them all clean before falling to his knees to suck the dark patch between your thighs.

“Good workout?” Jeno never tries to hide that he’s checking you out, he makes it obvious everyday. “Looks like you really worked up a sweat.”

“Oh yeah, it’s so hot outside.” The lack of eye contact you’re able to maintain indicates discomfort, judging by the way you try to clean off your stomach and arms.

“My dad has a thing about sweat, right?” Jeno offhandedly mentions, not missing the awkward twitch in your cheek to hide a grimace. “That’s why you’re always so clean by the time he gets home? The water bill has to be through the roof with how often he has you doing laundry.. not that he cares.”

“I suppose his nose is a bit sensitive.”

“He always complained about how my mom smelled, her hair after a day of not washing, the smell of the dinner she cooked him on her hands still.” He continues, enjoying your lack of reply. “He’s picky about a lot of things, I’m sure you know what I mean.”

A fake smile shuts down the conversation, nodding toward the staircase. “It’s time for my shower.”

Jeno nods, shamelessly eyeing the stains of wetness under your large breasts, pushed together even tighter by the binding sports bra meant to keep you held in place through vigorous activity. “Wouldn’t want daddy to get mad now, would we?”

A wash of embarrassment has you scurrying away from your step-son quickly, leaving behind the small towel drenched in your sweat that immediately catches his attention.

Jeno definitely inherited the same sensitive sense of smell from his father, but unlike the old man he’d become more addicted to the different places his nose had led him to. A smirk lifts his lips, tucking the towel up above his mouth to deeply inhale. It’s mind-numbing how delectable you smell, he even sucks on the remnants of damp that hasn’t fully evaporated, quietly mewling within his chest.

The telltale sound of the upstairs shower from his father’s bedroom tears him from slipping into euphoric madness, cock already half-erect as he trudges up the stairs and finds himself tip-toeing into your bedroom, the bathroom door only softly creaking as he makes space to peer through. The daily routine of watching you scrub down every inch of skin, so smooth, hairless, meticulously shaving clean each short hint of stuble. His father must be real demanding of how his little stay at home house-wife should present herself, of course.

Bunching the nearly dried towel inside of his briefs, Jeno groans between clenched lips, rubbing the cotton fabric up and down his length, his heart rate pumping up to a high-speed when you lift a leg to reach deep between your thighs and leave the fleshy area hidden there completely bald.

That will change once he manages to infiltrate, he’ll make you change for him.

“You should go out son, I don’t want you hanging around the house.” Jeno’s dad doesn’t even bother to mask his disdain, shoving a wad of cash at his chest. “Scram.”

That would be too easy, it’s not as if his friends haven’t been blowing up his phone about some party tonight. He’ll plan to leave later and miss the sound of his father’s pig-like moaning squeals when he takes five minutes to fuck you. For now, his ass isn’t moving from one of the pool chairs, opting for the more shaded area under a large canopy to watch from.

Why would he want to miss out on the display you put on for his old man, stepping out in a tight little two piece bikini that does nothing to cover any of your curves. Jeno’s cock twitches as you slowly step out of your robe and his dad whistles making grabby hands at you to enter the pool. “Jump in, baby doll.”

Sick. God he hates hearing that old worn voice order your around. He hates how you giggle and enter from the steps, giving him a half-assed jump only for your breasts to lift up under your chin before the water immerses your perfect body, lifting back out pouring cascades of wet down your shoulders and arms before his dad snatches you up by the waist. “That’s my girl.”

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—

Jeno takes a deep breath through his nose, an irritating pinch forming between his eyebrows the more you indulge his father, dawning the smile only reserved for your husband: hugging him close between your mounds of breasts as he releases a deep moan and licks up your neck.

His stomach churns the longer he watches, shoving himself to stand and move to the jacuzzi where he can’t help but to still watch from, ignoring the daggers his father’s eyes shoot at him on his way in. He won’t dare enter the pool while the two of you canoodle in there, preferring to stay clueless as to what your lower halves could be up to, the sight of his dad’s thick ugly hands cupping your breasts from is behind already enough to make him gag.. maybe if not for the shocked moan you let out, wrapping around his wrists shyly. “Babe.. we’re not alone.”

You whisper, but Jeno traces the words from your lips, ducking lower into the jacuzzi until one of the jets rumbles against his stomach, chin grazing under the hot water.

“Ignore him.” His dad could give two fucks, squeezing under your chest with more firmness, pushing them together creating a long dip of cleavage.

Jeno can see the lack of comfort in your hidden gaze, keeping your eyelids lowered with a demure embarrassed smile, saving face only for your husband's pleasure. He knows if you couldn’t sense another pair of eyes on you, you’d be your usual bubbly coquettish self, flouncing around burying his dad’s face in your chest, giggling all loud and cute.

The thrill of watching your discomfort escalate makes his cock kick up, lowering down onto his knees for only his eyes to peer over the jacuzzi’s ledge, noticing the way your gaze skirts by quickly to not give him enough acknowledgment to feel seen, but to stay aware of just how much your step-son can see. It’s easy from the angle to remove his father’s existence behind you, especially when he shifts closer to the ledge and one of the jets blasts right against his groin.

A shiver runs up his chest, biting down on his bottom lip as he stays transfixed on your flimsily covered breasts abused and bounced around. He has to hold back a curse when he finally unties his swim trunks, tugging free his length right in front of the burst of bubbled water. The pressure pushing out of the jet breaks against his slit, choking down a groan when your gaze finally meets his, mouth tense and ashamed.

He can’t keep a smile off his face, tugging harder at himself as your forehead wrinkles together, breathily arched up by the force pushing your breasts up and down against the splash of blue chlorine water.

The water around him boils against his skin even hotter, short of breath under the heat, short of breath from the image of your lips parting open. Jeno imagines you can bend your neck forward and wrap around his girth passing between your tits, it wouldn't be hard to reach anyway. Jerking up, he pushes against the jet hole, cock instantly engulfed by an intense amount of pressure blowing out against him. The push and pull only causes his stomach to clench, sink in and hollow out his middle-section.

You were doing a better job at ignoring him before, unable to stop for seconds now to watch your step-son’s facial features contort together… he can’t, he wouldn’t..

Nostrils flare, shoulders hidden under the bubbly foam around him, jerking mindlessly into the jet. It’s like breaking a dam over and over again, the pressure of release spilling out against his thick size, the only thing missing being your convulsing slick warmth squeezing and fighting to push him free as he thrusts in harder, fucking you full beyond capacity you can handle.

Jeno could care less about the predicament he’s landed in here, stroking his cock without control like some wild animal, succumbing to his desires and needs to bend you into all kinds of positions. He knows he can too after weeks of watching you move your body bonelessly, get you twisted up like a pretzel, face down ass up, legs behind your head full-nelson you flat on your back with his dick full slotted inside, grinding down just to watch you fail to squirm away. He’d leave you with no room to move, let alone breathe, fat tits pushed up under your chin, jiggling up and down and up and down with each thrust.

“Fuck.” He’s close now, tongue lolling out at the gasp that hitches in your throat. Siren-like eyes glazed over from the constant manipulation your breasts have been put through. What a fucking pervert, watching you struggle to collect yourself and maintain your etiquette.

Does his dad even savor the way every inch of your body tastes? Does he suck on your tits until your nipples pebble up rock hard and dig into the roof of his mouth? Jeno never see’s a mark on you, no… daddy doesn’t play rough with his toys, does he.

Jeno would though, fuck he’d have you screaming to the high heavens. He can’t hide the bob of his head the closer he reaches, catching your fully widened eyes stuck on him, and your bikini top finally coming undone after minutes of tugging and kneading.

Hands too large to be yours come up just a second too late to cover over your exposed nipples allowing Jeno the chance to see how swollen and pert and big they’ve gotten, probably prodding at his dad’s hideous rough palms.

The wet bounce of fat under his control has him emptying out into the jet, most of his release blown away from the powerful stream mixing in with the rest of the ramped jacuzzi water.

He has to calm himself, overheated from the drop back down to reality, overheated from the sun burning down onto the already steamy hot tub of water. Taking his time, he’s lazy to exit, patting off his reddened chest and stinging skin to a somewhat dry finish. The heat hardly subsides with eyes on him, specifically yours..

“I said scram you damn brat.”

His father’s shrill tone gives him an excuse to glance over, most of your frame hidden by his wide back stretched around you to hug you against the pool wall for discretion to tie your top back up.

“Yeah yeah, don’t wait up for me.” Not that he would, Jeno didn’t really mean that for his father anyway. The lingering gaze grazing down his body taking in every crevice and dip of bare naked muscle though, part of him hopes that you will wait up. He means it though, even with one more glance your direction before heading inside, finding your eyes for only a millisecond.

Don’t wait up mommy, I’ll be too busy fucking any hole presented to me, maybe even multiple. Anything to curb the incessant growing need to get you alone, slam you down and fuck you until you’re ripping that ring off your finger.

Jeno has to admit, he’s impressed by how long you’ve held it together, managed to keep up your composure around him despite his best efforts to make you start to crack.

Soon. Real soon.

“You’re around the house way too much, either get a job or get out.” Jeno’s father barged into his bedroom after that little pool escapade. Throwing pamphlets for schools across the country at his face. “I put enough money in your bank account, it’s time for you to quit fucking around and make something of yourself.

Jeno knows deep down inside his father’s ulterior motivation came from an all too pretty adorable wife, evidently unhappy with the way his son has decided to forgo his gym membership in favor of walking around shirtless dripping in sweat after using the home equipment.

He couldn’t put up much of an argument with the old man. It’s not entirely your fault he found his ass on a train 7 hours away the next week, just in time for a new semester.

Sure, it’s not entirely your fault, he can’t put all of that insecure assholes blame on you.

But it is your fault, and that long silent train ride gave him all the time to ponder, reflect, plot, devise the next step. Work harder, fuck more, leave you with no choice but to wipe the drool from your chin at the mere sight of your step-son.

If only it could be that easy. He really can’t stand how reluctant you are to trip and fall, landing right into the palm of his hands breasts first. Can’t stand the way you still parade around town proudly introducing yourself as the Mrs. Lee. The side-eyes and whispers never affect you, too happy to give a damn with each guiltless swipe of your husband’s black American Express.

God, he can’t stand it. He can’t stand you.

Jeno really can’t stand his step-mom.

Not because you’re awful or even a bitch, no.. in fact, you’re perfect. Too perfect for his nasty cheater asshole father who could care less for his mother, now ex-wife.

“Ah Jeno, it’s so nice to have you home again.” Your sweet cheerful voice interrupts his fuming thoughts, the back of his head instantly relaxing in the mound of your breasts as you circle his neck and lean down to hug him. “You hungry? I stocked up on all of your favorites.”

Nuzzling back into your warm embrace, he sighs, eyes drifting shut to inhale the notes of peach and cucumber wafting from your freshly cleansed skin. Supple soft radiant skin he knows you spend meticulous hours of the day exfoliating, lotioning, massaging with oil only for your useless husband to rub his old disgusting rough hands upon.

“Missed cooking for me?” He mumbles, shifting to bury his nose in the column of your throat to fully immerse himself in your savory scent.

“Look how skinny you’ve come back, that school not feeding you properly or something?” You reprimand, patting over his flat stomach lightly. “I have to make sure to keep you full for the next couple of weeks before your break ends.”

Nudging the top of his head with your chin, you continue into the kitchen, still in your silky pajama set. Something short, hardly covering your abundant chest, dad wouldn’t have his young little trophy wife any other way, always ready for the taking.

Jeno can only imagine how many mornings his father has snuck up on you making breakfast, bending you over to fill you up before heading to work. Fucking bastard doesn’t deserve to even touch you, let alone any of those fake moans you must practice to please him.

“Are you worried about me?” Jeno’s chair scratches across the kitchen tile, slowly lifting up to get a better look at your buttcheeks squeezed by your panties, innocently bent over in search of a pan. “Maybe the school cafeteria doesn’t serve anything that satisfies my hunger.”

“I’ll fix that,” too distracted on your hunt for the right spices and oils, you fail to notice how close Jeno’s gotten, hovering behind you with a smirk as your robe slips from your shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to go to school so far away. You could be eating my home cooking everyday if you’d just stayed local.”

“…is that so?” A grin teases at his lips, halting your hand from adjusting your robe to push it down left to fall at your feet.

A shiver runs up your spine sensing his breath fanning across your shoulder, palms smoothing down your waist to your hips. “Jeno?”

“I’m hungry, mommy.”

“Jeno? Wha—“ your hips stay locked in place, shoved against the kitchen counter by the stronger ones behind you knocking forward to trap you.

“I missed you too, mommy.” Shoving his hips forward, Jeno’s girth slots between your flimsily covered ass, rutting quickly to lodge between and create delicious friction against his cock. “You know what I really missed?”

“Je-Jeno.. what are you..”

“Last summer when you moved in, every different ridiculously tiny bikini you wore around the pool. Your fat tits barely contained, just how dad likes it huh? I guess we have that in common.” Keeping you held against the counter with his hips grinding in circles against your ass, hands find a way to your shoulders, swiftly dropping down the straps of your nightgown leaving your breast to bounce out freely. The morning crisp air circulating around the house breezes past your nipples, hardening the buds instantaneously.

“Sweetie, this.. this isn’t right, your dad—“

“Is an asshole.” Jeno bites, cupping your breasts that overflow in his hold, the fat squeezing between his digits pushing out a low groan from deep within his chest. “Fucking decrepit dickhead, bet he can’t even get hard from this alone? I’ve seen that erectile dysfunction prescription.. can’t even take care of you and fuck you right can he, mommy?”

To emphasize his point, Jeno’s hips swerve, fucking forward vigorously for the thick shape of his rod to slam between your panty covered behind, night gown bunched up over your hips from his incessant humping. “Can’t tell me a pretty young thing like you doesn’t miss it, hours and hours of getting the life fucked out of you.”

The kneading and massaging at your chest accompanied with your step-sons evidently large size has you panting, hands gripping the kitchen counter for some relief. Shaking your head, you try to ignore the way your hips rut back to find his, biting back a moan from escaping. “Jeno, please.. sweetie, d-don’t—your dad..”

A rough slap under your breast silences you, the fat rippling under Jeno’s strength as he delivers another slap, working in succession to bounce and smack each with his chin perched over your shoulder rambling on and on about how good you look like this. Perfectly pliant, needy, face full of ecstasy all thanks to your step-son.

“Dad has great taste, I’ll give the old fuck that.” Jeno snickers, teeth digging into the vein lining the side of your throat. “Had me hard as a rock fucking into my fist all summer, tried to get over you by filling up any hole.. couldn’t get your pretty body off my mind.”

“Jeno, baby.. w-we can’t. Your dad, he’ll.. he’ll kill you.”

Breath staggers against your neck at the term of endearment, hips fucking against you in earnest. “You think I fucking care about him? What about you? What about this mess you’ve made mommy? How can you do this to me? Tempt me all the time with these perfect fucking tits and expect me to leave you alone now?”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry Jeno.. I didn’t—“

“Baby, I’m your baby.” Jeno pinches your nipples roughly, pulling and slapping forcing a loud echo of skin on skin to barrel across the kitchen. Jackhammering his hips faster against your ass. “Tell me to stop, don’t fucking tell me what dad wants. You tell me to stop.”

“B-baby… I-I…” a sad pathetic cry sounds, dropping forward loosely as your thighs tremble erratically, held up only the rough grip on your chest undoubtedly leaving behind marks of nails and bruising.

“Must be true.” Jeno grunts, shoving your underwear down. “Like father, like son.”

“Jeno, please, you can’t do this!” It’s harder now to fight him off, roughly taken by your chest, fondled like some little doll only there to pleasure him. “If—if he finds out—“

“Don’t worry about that senial bastard, he wouldn’t be able to read a sign even if it was spelled out for him.” Your step-son doesn’t relent, fucking against your panties roughly until the his stiffed up cock shoves the material between your ass. “You’re so wet for me, you feel that? Feel me?”

Jeno thrusts forward angling his size right between your poorly clenched thighs, ass bouncing back against his pelvic bone. “Think you can handle that? Too big for you mommy?” He reaches down to whip out his cock, expertly dragging his fully hard length out to slot against your soaked covered core. The contact makes his eyes roll up, long eyelashes fluttering rapidly impairing his vision for a minute as his size drags against the wet shape of your cunt.

“Oh fuck fuck.” Jeno refuses to cum like this, even if his stomach muscles contort and suck in viciously. He swallows down a hissed breath, jerking back to fuck against your drenched panties in earnest.

“J-Jeno.. please!”

“You want it, huh? Wanna get fucked by a big fat cock finally?” Jeno bites back a laugh, mostly a groan as the tip of his cock ruts against your clit. “Daddy can’t fuck you the way you need, can’t get you off. When’s the last time you had a real orgasm? Not that whiny shit you fake for him.”

Inner-turmoil loses to your arousal, forced to slide up and down what feels like a forearm between your thighs. Your good sense dissipates the more your cunt spreads around the girth pushing between your folds, aching to feel each pulsating vein lining your step-son’s length drag against your wet slick pussy.

“I’m… fuck Jeno..” between gasps and choked back moans, you weakly give him a thrusts back, faintly meeting his motion to rut against your clit and create a mind-numbing friction.

One of his palms lands against your ass like a crack of a whip, sending your chest to collide forward and press against the cool marble of the kitchen counter. “What did you call me?”

Gathering your underwear, Jeno pulls the material aside, sucking spit away that's gathered around his thirsty tongue upon seeing your cunt so ready to be wrecked and fucked. “Look at that tight hole, like a virgin. No way daddy’s fucking you right.”

You’re grateful that your brain hasn’t fully failed you yet, even with your step-son’s thick palms spreading your ass open continuing to spew nonsense out about the appearance of your perfect pussy. God knows you’d beg and confess how badly you need to cum— cum around your husband's son’s monster sized cock. “How am I going to fit in there mommy? I’m way too big for you.”

Jeno sounds sadistic, hawking out spit that lands and drips down to your entrance. “Should I be nice and prep you?” He laughs, a fake laugh, a mocking teasing laugh. “That would be too nice of me, wouldn’t it?”

He leans over your back, reaching for the basket of fruits and vegetables just past your head. “Should I be nice?”

Long fingers wrap around one of the cucumbers half hanging out of the basket, dragging the vegetable down to smack against your cheek. The solid food slaps your skin heavy and rough, making your step-son smile wide, highly pleased by the shame wrinkling your forehead together. “Mommy’s always so nice to me, always takes care of me so well.” Jeno taunts, leaning back and tapping the vegetable down your spine to run between your buttcheeks.

“I shouldn’t be too mean..” the thick tip of the cucumber meets your entrance, cold against your heated core making your hips shiver forward to get away.

“Baby..”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He presses in, cursing between gritted teeth as he watches you stretch open around the vegetable. It’s big, even then no competition for how wide the tip of his dick is alone. “Opening up so so pretty for me, mommy.”

He fucks the cucumber inside of you just half-way, sending your toes to arch up from the floor and scramble to grab at the kitchen counter; threatening to cut open your bottom lip with how hard you bite down to keep in a moan. The whole situation makes you feel dirty, disgusting, ashamed that you couldn’t stop him. That deep down inside you know you’d never stop him, you want it too much. Form the day you noticed your step-son watching you stretch from his bedroom window, to the time you caught a glimpse of him by the bathroom door as you scrubbed down and rinsed your naked body clean. You’ve always wanted him to make a move.

Maybe you’d been dreaming of this moment all along, adding your ingredients to the pot everyday until everything boiled over and spilled past the rim.

“So fucking nasty mommy.” Jeno keeps mumbling, thrusting the vegetable in and out of you, enthralled by the way it comes out stickier, coated with a thick layer of sheen. The wet dripping out past your cunt with each fill, spilling down your inner thighs to the kitchen floor like some whore that needs to be fucked and bred everyday. “Taking it so good, you’ll take me even better.”

His throbbing length slaps against your hip with each push and pull against your insides, hissing and groaning behind you the closer he reaches to stumbling over the edge. “You want that mommy? Want me to fuck you so good, make you forget about that huge rock weighing down your finger.”

Jeno doesn’t let you answer, not noticing the way you curl your hand into a fist to tuck away your wedding ring before discarding the cucumber as he rips you off the counter to shove you down to your knees.

“Fuck.” Gripping around his length he strokes quickly, reaching down to pull on one of your nipples and watch the fat perky mound jiggle under his ministrations.

“Gonna cum all over your perfect tits, push them together for me mommy.” Jeno slaps your breast impatiently, balls tight and tensed up between his thighs doing his best to stave off his orgasm from barreling out.

Eyes filled with big watery tears gaze up in a daze, cupping your substantial fat tits together making the perfect little pocket pussy for his cock to slide between. “Oh fuckkk.”

Jeno’s neck drops forward, slamming up between your squished breasts. Teeth grinding together to stop himself from screaming at the visual of your heavy perfect tits bouncing around his size, the tip of his length nearly hitting under your chin with each thrusts up against your chest. “So good mommy, so fucking good!”

Jeno reaches for your jaw, squeezing in roughly and smacking your cheek to pop open your lips. “Just like that, so fucking hot.” It’s everything he’s dreamt about. Nights stuck inside of his dorm room looking up milf porn, step-son breeding step-mom, juicy breasts bouncing on his computer screen that could never compare to how good this feels.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, thrusting against your chest harder, forcing the weight of your breasts up and back down into your palms, bouncing deliciously. Slapping your cheek again, digits dig into your cheeks and drop a wad of spit in. Pleased from his high up angle as you stay open and let him watch it glide down to the back of your throat. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Jeno tugs away, cock slapping down on your parted lips before reaching for the tip to squeeze around and release into your mouth. “Swallow all of it.” He moans out, circling your throat with his other hand to feel himself slide down. “That’s it, so good for me mommy.”

The smug smile he gives you before hoisting you up to sit on the table you share meals with your husband at lets you know this is far from over. “Don’t be rude mommy.” Jeno pouts, pushing space for himself between your thighs. Soft palms stroke up and down almost like a warning. “Say thank you.”

He smirks, sinking down to bury between your thighs and proceed to use his tongue in ways your husband never has.

“Dinner looks great!” Your poor unsuspecting husband sits down right where his son had his meal with you mere hours ago(one that had your back split up in an arch and your eyes meeting the back of your skull), hands clasped together before the plate you serve him.

“Now now,” Jeno chimes in, moving to stand from the dinner table to grab a bowl from the fridge. “I see no greens on that plate, didn’t your doctor warn you about that high cholesterol?”

Your husband eyes his son suspiciously, too focused on the little brat to see the sheer panic running over your face behind his side. “I found this new cucumber salad recipe, I think you’ll really like it dad.”

He smiles, an endearing sweet genuine smile, a smile that could easily make you forget what type of evil menace you’re really dealing with here. “Here, try it out.”

To your absolute horror, Jeno sets down a bowl of seasoned, finely chopped, and wet cucumber before his father, nodding eagerly.

“You put poison in this or something?” He grumbles, stabbing at the slices before shoving a batch into his mouth and chomping with a pleased hum. “Not bad, not bad at all. What’s that flavor?”

His son grins wide, eyes large and full of mirth.

“I knew you’d like it, got a kick to it right?” He blinks up to meet your mortified gaze, biting down on your fingernails as your mind shouts frantically- he wouldn’t!.. he would!.. no, no, HE WOULDN’T.

As if he can read your thoughts, Jeno winks at you, clapping his father on the shoulder. “I guess we have the same taste, daddy.”

“Don’t dare bother to throw any parties while I’m gone.” Jeno’s father glares at him, pointer finger digging between his chest. “No funny business you hear me? You need to show your step-mom some respect.”

Jeno has a hard time hiding a smug smirk, having to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to contain himself. “Oh dad, trust me, I will show her nothing but the utmost respect. You have nothing to worry about.”

His father squints, skepticism crossing his wrinkled features as he takes in his son’s face once more before heading out to bid you a long goodbye filled with lingering wet kisses.

“Right. You know what? These vacation breaks from school really seem unnecessary. Why can’t you be normal and go on trips to different party cities like the rest of the guys your age?” He scoffs, waving him off flippantly, not even a hug? Jeno clutches his chest dramatically, following after to watch the two of you say your goodbyes from the top of the staircase.

“If he bothers you..” Thick calloused fingers hold your chin delicately, nothing like the nimble boney ones that dug into your face just a few days ago and forced your mouth open to spit past your tongue. Jeno doesn’t really care to tune in, more amused than anything by the little act you keep up. Such a cute young sweet house-wife, more dolled up than your usual for a morning session of pilates. The extra effort put into your appearance no doubt for his father’s benefit, a pretty vision for him to leave behind. It’s not as if the 2 minutes it took for him to fuck you this morning wasn’t enough for the old man.

Jeno hums to himself, catching your line of sight before you follow after his dad to say bye from the driveway as he enters his ride to the airport. Maybe that’s fear in your eye, but excitement builds up his chest nonetheless; you’ll have no arms to run to now. Nowhere to hide that he won’t be able to find you, no asshole of a father to whisk you away from him. At least not for the next foreseeable 24 hours.

That’s why he goes back to bed, his father rudely awoke him this morning with a loud cursed groan after climaxing out of breath and falling onto your bed with a loud thud. He’s surprised the old man hasn’t keeled over and died yet trying to get his rocks off with you. Jeno sighs thinking about the past few days as he lays back down and buries his face into his pillow, you really have been doing a great job of avoiding him.

That doesn’t mean he misses the silent glances and hesitant looks, or the stiffness in your spine whenever he so much as passes by. No, he notices everything you do, even how you’ve been locking your bedroom door when taking showers now. It’s cute really, a game more than anything now as he rests his eyes and hums, imagining you’ve come back inside and surveillanced the downstairs area for your big scary step-son, probably sighing in relief that he’s left you alone. For now.

He’ll let you get your lovely perfect morning routine on, build up a nice sweat that gets your heart racing, high off endorphins from stretching and straining your muscles with various exercises. He’d prefer it that way really, and judging from the time— soon, soon you’ll be on your way to the kitchen to refresh with a nice chill glass of electrolytes. What a pleasant easy life his father has granted you, all you have to grant him in return is your body. It’s no wonder you work daily to keep up appearances for the old man.

Jeno’s mother had never cared much to fulfill his father’s porngraphic ideals of how women should look and act, but you, ah he really struck gold with you. He can’t deny that if he had found you first, he would have ate you alive.

“Oh.”

Your step-son’s not surprised to see you exit the newly renovated makeshift room filled with gym equipment(that used to be for his gaming consoles), gently patting your sweat glistened skin off as the door opens and unveils him standing there across from you expectantly.

“Figured you wouldn’t want me to share such a small space with you.” Jeno says, making no effort to disguise his gaze, dragging down from your chest to your hips and stopping between your thighs to moisten his lips. “All sweaty, out of breath, making sounds that could read as inappropriate..”

Tight-lipped, you nod and ignore him before stepping out and motioning inside the gym room. “All yours.”

“Everything?”

Jeno’s arm launches forward before you can take another step, pausing you dead in your tracks against the hallway wall, a less than innocent grin stares back at you. He cocks an eyebrow, following the beads of sweat raining down your forehead at faster speed the closer he inches forward until you’re pressed up against the wall with little room to free yourself.

“You thought I’d make this easy, didn’t you?” He huffs through his nose, bending at his neck to perch his nostrils right above your throat and swallow down the fresh scent of your hard work. “Burned up a real good sweat for daddy?”

“Jeno, can we talk first at least?” You squirm, leaning back as much as you can with feet flat to the ground in an attempt to slither down the wall inconspicuously. “I don’t want your dad to suspect anything, what happened the other day..”

“When you came around my tongue and begged me to fuck you?” He interrupts, pressing his forehead forward to hold yours in place, voice gruff and deep. “Or when daddy enjoyed his meal? Were you scared mommy? Don’t worry, I won’t let him do anything to you.”

“That’s not it, I’m married to your father!” You smack his chest to push yourself free, digging your palms into his muscular pecs without much budge. The contact only riles him up more, releasing a growl and bumping his nose closer to yours. “Please! Jeno, I’m all sweaty and disgusting. Let me take a shower first at least.”

“Why would I let you do that? And ruin all of this for me?” This being the sweat Jeno proceeds to lick from the divet between your collarbone, slurping his way down to your ample breasts squeezed snuggly inside of a tight sports bra. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good.”

Hearing his praise only makes you squeamish, struggling more to shove him away and break free from his biceps bracketed around you. “Please, I smell! Don’t be gross!”

It’s laughable to even ask this of your step-son, especially after having to sit and watch your husband munch away on a phallic shaped vegetable that his son had just used to get you off with.

“I’m gonna need you to shut up mommy,” Jeno scoops the soaked fabric of your bra under your breasts, pushed up higher forming two round mounds perfect for sucking on. “Nothing gross about you, or this.” Teeth bury into the perky fat of your chests, sucking roughly, rough enough to hurt but not leave marks behind.

Jeno can’t stop his hips from rutting forward, grinding his aching thickening cock against your stomach. His basketball shorts don’t do much to conceal how hard he is already, having chubbed up in his room from the thought alone of what he planned to do to you today. He has enough respect for you to leave no signs of bruising behind on your chest, but that doesn’t mean he cares when you cry out to stop again and pull away with your weak nails scratching at the wall.

“You really want me to stop?” He asks, cock dragging up and down from between your pelvis to just above your navel. “Tell me the truth mommy, I know he can’t fuck you the way I can. Know you’re desperate for it, want your sweet little step-son to hang you off his fat 9 inch cock? Come on mommy.” Jeno’s drooling between each word, slathering your chest in spit between his muffled speech and consistently sucking. “Admit it, wanna get fucked so bad.”

“N-no.. please, baby, don’t—“

Jeno’s chest rumbles, groaning loudly as he reaches to pull your bra off, rolling the wet material up for your breasts to bounce out lewdly. The smack of your chest meeting the top of your ribcage and breasts clapping together makes you squeal, quickly shutting your eyes in shame.

“Fuck, so sexy mommy. Don’t hide from me, don’t hide any of this from me.” He squeezes your chest roughly, jutting your nipples out to form perfect taut pacifiers to suck on. Jeno’s tongue works feverishly, sucking and licking at your pert buds until they fully harden to a painful point under the vacuuming pull from his mouth.

Jeno leaves your chest swollen, blood rushed to the skin he’s sucked on viciously. He hums, examining how heavy they weigh down in his palms, gripping and kneading, shoving his face between your cleavage just to hear you squeal and struggle to inch away from him. So damn cute.

“That old assholes really manipulated you well,” he grumbles, licking up the trickles of sweat dripping down from your nape to your shoulders and chest. “Has you thinking this is gross? That you are gross? What the fuck is wrong with him, huh? I should kick his fucking ass.”

“Don’t talk about your dad like that..” you whimper, biting back a moan when he bites and tugs at one of your hard nipples, jiggling your other breast against his face. Even with your mind battling between lust and guilt, you can’t help but to feel bad.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Jeno whispers, leaning in to plant a firm kiss on your lips to shut you up. “He doesn’t even appreciate you.”

His hand cups between your legs, making your thighs lock around his wrist as he cups your sweat soaked mound. Shorts still wet after your vigorous workout. “Baby, not there, please please.”

“Mommy, I’m not going to tell you to be fucking quiet again.” He grins, licking your lips before sliding down your body to his knees. Jeno peers up, eyes sparkling in a dreamy almost innocent way, like a kid in a candy store. “I’m nothing like him.”

To prove his point, his face drops forward between your legs. The fight you put up to keep him out is useless, overpowered by his much larger stronger size as his arms come to wrap around your thighs and pull you apart allowing for his nose to drag up and down your sweaty slick soaked workout shorts.

“Jeno!” Your neck drops back weakly, eyes rolling shut at the sensation of your step-son pulling the material of your shorts with the suction of his mouth alone. Tonguing and sucking on the fabric to absorb the remnants of sweat that poured down and collected between your thighs. Pulling on his hair serves you no advantage, completely under his control as he grinds your cunt against his face roughly.

The only resolution you find comes from covering your face to hide your moans of pleasure, whimpering into your hands the more he licks between your folds shaped by your thin shorts clinging to your center.

Jeno sounds like a rabid animal down there, devouring his way through the best meal he’s ever had. The first sound of a rip sends your spine to straighten out, reaching back down to pull on his hair. “What are you doing!”

He groans, more turned on by your hands digging into his scalp and pulling roughly. Scooping around your thighs for more leverage, Jeno pulls at your shorts and bites down the seam until they give, ripping enough of a hole for his digits to push through and expand. A growl vibrates against your center as he dives in, teething your thin underwear away to roll his tongue against your clit.

“Oh my Go—“ out of breath you arch against his mouth, head shaking side to side and banging into the wall behind you. “Jeno!”

His tongue hardens and swirls against your clit, stimulating each nerve until your feet kick against his back and your hips jerk forward enough to ride his face. He can hardly breathe between your thighs, unbothered by the lack of air reaching his brain as he strokes your clit in expert motion until your cunt spasms against his mouth. Shouting out with your palm hitting flat against the wall as you release down his chin, entrance rocking along the lower half of his face despite the sensitivity throbbing around your middle.

Jeno laps at his mouth like a thirsty dog, slapping your exposed core before moving to stand and wrap around your waist to ensure you can’t run. Not that you will.

“You ready for it.” Resting your hand on his groin, your step-son rushes you up the stairs, scooping under your thighs to reach your bedroom faster.

“In here?!?” You grimace, head shaking to begin pleading. “Not where we slee—“

“Hush.” Jeno doesn’t give you more of an opportunity to argue, immediately hooking into your shorts and underwear to pull them off, only throwing them aside after stuffing the wet fabric under his nose to get a deep inhale. “God damn.”

As much as he wants to let this moment wash over him, the reality of having his wildest fantasy come true, laid out flat in his prick of a father’s bed, legs spread open showing off the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen; Jeno can’t deny how badly he needs to fuck you before he cums in his pants. He’s never been this turned on before, slapping your thigh as he reaches to turn you over onto your stomach, cunt all shiny and raw from the back, squished between your legs making his head spin even more somehow. There’s no way in fucking hell his dad deserves you, not one bit.

Reaching to shove down his shorts, Jeno pats his pocket for his phone, swiping it out discreetly to hit record and perch the device against one of your pillows; making sure to keep it out of your sight before he adjusts between the backs of your thighs. “I’ll fuck your ass too.” He says with a stroke of his thumb between your buttcheeks. “Gonna need more cucumbers for that though.” He snickers, finding a photo from your honeymoon framed on your bedside table, the side you sleep on of course.

Flipping off his father’s cheesy grin, he reaches over to slam the photo down. This is his moment after all, no one else's.

He’d never let you know how raging hard his dick feels right now, lining up the tip to your waiting hole. Having to roll his tongue back to stop himself from blurting out the amount of times he’s busted a nut into his hand, on his stomach, fuck even the pool jacuzzi jets more than a few times by now. All thanks to his precious step-mom, so carelessly displaying every inch of skin, fueling his perverse brain more than you even realize

“Knew you’d take it so good for me,” it’s better than getting a taste of you, which he didn’t think was possible. The stretch of your cunt expanding around his wide girth, skin pulled over the head of his cock struggling to keep him out and somehow pull him in at the same time.

“Gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” Jeno says in a more cocky tone, feeling more confident than ever now with half of his length inching inside of you. Pussy walls trembling around his size, sucking around the fat meat pulsing its way inside. No college slut, no amount of lotion to aid his palm, no graphic image available on a free adult website would ever come close to this.

Fully sheathed inside, he sounds out of breath, listening to your whimpers and moans you try to hide with your bedding tugged between your teeth. He glances at his phone quickly, positioning himself to pull out slowly and fall into a rapid pace, dropping his lower half to yours faster and faster until you’re screaming out. The way you scramble to grab onto something—arms flailing out to grab your bed for purchase only encourages him to fuck you faster. Slapping your ass with each powerful thrust.

“Best dick you’ve ever taken, don’t fucking lie to me.” Jeno demands, delivering another harsh slap to your ass before ramming forward balls deep. The collision of his palm cracks around your bedroom, knocking a loud cry from your chest. You nod rabidly in response, gasping deliriously with each pointed thrust. “Say it! Who fucks you this good!”

“You! You baby! Only you!” His phone’s camera stays angled filming your sides, albeit shaky and hard to capture the complete fucked out devestation that’s taken over your pretty face, it’s enough. Enough for him to get off to later, enough to get his way every single time if he needs to.

“That’s right,” Jeno angles his hips to fuck you full with each heavy land of his lower half, pushing your ass up with every clapping shout of skin on skin sounding out between your bodies. “Only me, only your baby.”

The camera tips over, screen gone black directed at the ceiling only recording the sounds of your moans and broken words between each other, Jeno’s gruff heavy panting breaths. The crash of your bodies rocking your headboard against your bedroom wall in a way he’s never once heard his father achieve.

“I’ll never stop fucking you now.” His bicep locks under your chin, forcing your waist to arch forward almost painfully; just enough to strain your lower back. “You’re mine.”

He follows with a growl, lips pressed up to your cheek, laving at whatever skin he’s able to reach. With another roll of his hips, he comes to a still, the thick muscle of his arm around your neck popping out in flex as his body tightens up and locks around your throat. Biting back a moan, Jeno’s release pours inside of you, hot and thick ropes of cum aimed deep inside of you before pulling out the rest of the way to spill between your ass and thighs. “Fuck!”

He sighs, kissing the top of your head to make sure your eyes have shut before reaching for his phone to record the beautiful mess left on your body. He wants to keep going on about how his dad will never fuck you to the point of nearly passing out, dragging his fingers through the mix of your releases before bringing them to his mouth to suck on.

One taste and Jeno knows he won’t stop fucking you until that ring slips off your finger for good.

“Hope he wasn’t too much to put up with while I was gone.” Your husband wraps around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Next break I’ll have him go stay with his mother.”

“It’s okay my love, he really doesn’t bother me..”

“Hmm, well he sure bothers me.” He sighs, burying his nose into your hair. “Trying a new shampoo?”

“No…” you hold back from making a face, not having had time to thoroughly clean yourself all squeaky clean thanks to your step-son fucking you through the night.

“Oh..” his nose scrunches, pulling away at the sensation of his phone vibrating against your hip. “God, what the hell can this kid want now?”

It has to be Jeno. As unsuspecting as you can, you shift to peer over your shoulder where your husband stands with his eyebrows twisted together. “Why did he send me a video.”

He presses play, immediately setting off your fight or flight response and mentally mumbling off a thank you for the kitchen counter keeping you steady on your feet. The sound of your moans blast from your husband’s phone accompanied by heavy deep grunts, skin clapping against skin and his phone screen covered by the image of your lower half rippling under the weight of your step-sons brutal unrelenting thrusts.

“What in the—“

“Oh my god!” You shriek, slapping a hand over your mouth to quiet your shock. Another text pops up at the top of the screen not even a minute later.

Jeno- ‘Sorry about that dad, meant to text that to my group chat. My mistake.’

“This fucking kid.” Your husband mutters, continuing to watch the video with squinted eyes. “The time stamp on this is from the other night?”

To your horror, he looks at you with an even more confused expression, swiping the video away before it comes to an end. “Did that little shit have someone over? After I made myself clear—“

“He went out!” You blurt out, nodding and catching yourself with a grip on the counter behind your back. “I didn’t think to mention it, but he went out that night. Don’t know when he came back.”

Your husband nods, glaring back at his phone. “I guess he got that insatiable sex drive from me.” He grins at that, humored by his own intrigue watching the girl his son was hooking up with. “Got my type too.” Leaving out the part about a tight little ass, he leans over to grab yours with a squeeze and plants a kiss on your cheek.

You offer a laugh, forcing it to sound less uncomfortable than you feel. “You should delete that text babe, I don’t like that you could be looking at other girls when I’m right here.”

“Is my sweet angel jealous?” He chuckles, slapping your butt and opening his phone to show you as he deletes the message. “My son could never land himself a woman that comes close to you, believe me. You have nothing to be worried about.” With a kiss to your lips he makes to exit and head to your bedroom to shower, leaving you alone to collapse against the counter and quell down the urge of panic trapped in your chest.

The buzz from your phone halts your breakdown, grasping over the kitchen island for it to see new messages from your step-son.

Jeno- ‘You think daddy may prefer these?’

Attached are different angles, showing off more of the bed you sleep in with your husband every night, catching peeks of your pleasured face. Jeno’s behind you in the thumbnails sharing an equal image of rolled up eyes and lips parted open. You don’t need to hit play to know how obscene each video must be.

Jeno- ‘You’ll be sure to keep your pretty mouth shut if you know what’s good for you, right? I know you’re a smart girl.’

An image of your legs parted open from behind sends next, backside covered in a mess of your step-son’s cum and wet arousal smeared around your thighs.

Jeno- ‘Be good for me mommy.’

[otaku553]

Straw hat women redesigns :) I was trying to doodle some of the crew and came to the realization that I just Could Not with Nami so I wanted to play around with it a little bit

Some more design notes below:

Nami’s design actually went a lot smoother for me than Robin’s! I think canon post timeskip Nami is a very low bar. While you can argue that to some extent Nami being vain and seductive is part of her character, I do feel that there are many more integral parts of her character that can be highlighted in her design, namely map making and her combat. Though not one of the stronger straw hats, Nami does seem to be well practiced with her staff outside of its use for weather manipulation, and I think her being a physical combatant, even slightly, can be better reflected with more loose clothing for better mobility.

For her mapmaking, I wanted her to have constant easy access to her tools and to information about the locale, so around her waist she has one large pouch at the back for books and scrolls and maps in progress and one small pouch to the side for writing utensils and measurement tools. As backup she also has 2 pens in her bun, which also act as pins for keeping her hair up if she ever needs to move a lot.

I’m not sure how clearly it shows up in the notes, but Nami’s shoe soles are also made from whatever artificial cloud material makes up the weather island she stayed on during the timeskip, so that it both pads her steps to make them soundless and bounces for better mobility. The shoes are naturally shaped like heels but without the actual heel, since she tends to move around on tiptoes anyways- a nod to her epithet as cat burglar and her past as a thief.

I made her shoulders a bit broader because I think they probably get a lot of exercise with her staff, and changed out the bikini top for a more supportive chest wrap, with a loose tank over it for breathability. The compression socks and sleeve are more stylistic than anything, since I like layers, but they might come in handy for her if she spends extended amounts of time sitting down making maps for the crew.

Robin’s was a bit more difficult for me to figure out, and I might go back and revisit it at some point. For Nami, it was a bit easier to imagine what would pair well with her combat methods and her needs as a mapmaker, but with Robin, she’s an academic who fights almost completely hands off, without a specific weapon to her name. Because her strength lies mostly in her devil fruit, she has a bit more room for style over functionality, but I also still wanted her to have something that made sense with what she was. I don’t really think I succeeded in that regard, but it’s also hard to convey what she does visually— she’s more of like a professor than a field archaeologist I think.

I really really enjoy her cowboy hat but I didn’t think it would match with the rest of the outfit so I switched it out for a wider brimmed hat and kept the orange sunglasses on it, as a nod to the revolutionaries with the combination of headwear and eyewear. She deserves a trench coat. I don’t make the rules. And the rest of the fit mostly came down to things I think I would enjoy wearing, haha

The trench coat is partially a nod to the scholars of ohara, who seem to wear white coats like lab coats in some screenshots of robin’s backstory. I think also the reading glasses help to make her seem a bit more academic, but aren’t prominent enough to leave a strong impression. All in all I do wish robin’s design had more functionality in it but I also think that robin is a character who probably enjoys dressing up nicely like this, especially in the comfort and stability of the straw hats.

[jrosemariemotheringwhilesingle]

Simple But Effective Strength Training Exercises for Women Over 50

Simple But Effective Strength Training Exercises for Women Over 50

Introduction As we age, it becomes increasingly important to prioritize our physical health and fitness. Strength training is a crucial component of maintaining a healthy and active lifestyle, especially for women over 50. Not only does it help to improve muscle strength and reduce the risk of injury, but it also has numerous other benefits such as improving bone density, reducing the risk of…

[feeder86]

Train to Gain

“I want to get jacked!” Jay declared, standing in front of his new personal trainer with his chest puffed out.

Matt nodded, having heard the same thing many times from plenty of guys like Jay, in their early twenties. “Okay, so we’re aiming for muscle gains,” he clarified, making a note of it. “Is there a reason why you want to make this your focus?” he asked, seeing from Jay’s body that he already had a pretty good build that most guys would have been envious of.

Jay nodded. “I’ve just split up with a girl I’ve been with since high school,” he stated without a drop of remorse or sorrow. “I feel like I want to finally do something for myself. You know what I mean? I want to look good. Muscular. Lean.”

Matt nodded. So, just like all the other guys, this one believed that getting more muscle on him would help him score with the ladies. He didn’t need a PhD to crack that little mystery about the boy’s true intention. It was a tale as old as time itself. 

Being so muscular himself, guys like Jay seemed to gravitate towards Matt on an almost daily basis, knowing that he could deliver the results they wanted. They saw his statuesque physique in the gym and felt that working out with a guy as built as he was was akin to ordering that body type for themselves in a catalogue. But Matt was not convinced by this latest client. Jay was a pretty-looking boy, with large soulful eyes and a gentle innocence about him. He wouldn’t be single for long. Some girl would come along, snap him up, and this whole muscle workout craze would be a thing of the past for him.

Nevertheless, Matt settled down to a detailed conversation about what it would take, the commitment Jay would need to make and the amount of sessions he would arrange with him each week. It was obvious that Jay had all the enthusiasm for his goals, but little knowledge of how to actually get there. “We’ll take things slow to begin with,” he smiled. “Then we’ll see how we get on.”

Seeming pleased, Jay shook Matt’s hand and threw his workout bag over his shoulder to leave. Then, as Jay was walking out of the gym, Matt watched as the eyes of every woman in there drifted towards his cute, tight glutes in his fitted gym shorts. Matt chuckled, nodding knowingly. It may have been Jay’s first time being single in his adult life, but it wouldn’t take the pretty boy long to work out that he didn’t need any more muscle to get women. Three weeks, maximum, Matt predicted. There was no way Jay would be paying for his services for longer than that; not when he didn’t need to.

Matt was aware that he was in the minority when it came to enjoying those winter months. But as the holidays came and went, he jumped out of bed with a renewed spring in his step, knowing that the gym would be fit to bursting with chubby, overweight and under-exercised guys trying to make a fresh start for the New Year. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly it was that he loved about them so much: that doughy shape, the jiggle of fat as they strolled on the treadmills. Maybe it was the way their sweat made their tight gym clothes stick to their rounded bodies . Matt was both mesmerised and fascinated by it all at the same time. 

It was around this time of year that he had met his now ex-boyfriend who had been trying to lose a few pounds back then. He’d copped a lot of crap from his colleagues at the gym for dating someone so big, and he’d had to challenge them multiple times for their attitudes towards the match. So what if he was into bigger guys? Whose business was it who he dated? Certainly not theirs. Not that any of it mattered in the end. Nine months in and the whole relationship had fallen apart anyway. His heart broken, just as they had all been expecting,

“Alright! That was pretty good!” Matt marvelled a staggering twelve weeks later, as Jay successfully squatted his biggest weight yet. He slapped the guy on his shoulder and passed him his water. “You’re killing it!” he smiled encouragingly.

“But I don’t look any different yet,” Jay grumbled, repeating the same complaint that had surfaced again and again in their recent sessions. “Sure, I’m a little stronger, but not much.”

“We’re taking it slow, remember,” Matt stated calmly. “You were quite clear from the start that you wanted to add muscle the lean way. It just takes a little more time.”

“But what’s the alternative?” Jay asked.

“Proper bulking,” Matt replied. “You give your body all the calories it needs to grow. We discussed this in our first meeting, remember?” he explained, a little exasperated. “You were insistent. You wanted a lean muscle bulk.”

“I want to be bigger,” Jay shot back.

“If you go with the bulking option, you’d have to accept the fact that not all of the gains you make would be muscle,” Matt tried to clarify.

“But I saw this guy online…” Jay began, rambling yet again about some viral influencer who claimed to know it all about how to get ripped with ease.

Matt bit his tongue. He genuinely liked Jay, but he was fed up of trying to debunk all of the insane fitness myths clients came in with these days. He was only twenty seven, and yet he wondered how much longer he could stand to do this job when there was so much misinformation out there. “Look, let’s just try it,” he suggested forcefully, cutting Jay off mid sentence. “I’ll set you up with a bulking plan and we’ll see what happens. If you’re not happy after a couple of weeks, you can fire me and send all your money to those online fitness con artists instead,” he stated plainly.

Still not seeming overly convinced, Jay nodded. “Okay. We’ll try this your way…”

“So, have you got much planned for your week off?” Matt asked Jay a good few weeks later. He’d found that he didn’t struggle with small talk as much with Jay as he did some of his other clients. They seemed to share the same sense of humour and had successfully recommended more than one decent TV show to each other in the past.

“I’m going to a wedding,” Jay answered, sitting himself back ready to lift.

“A wedding, huh?” Matt asked, loading on the weights ready. “That’s a great place to meet girls,” he said, finding it bizarre that Jay was still single after all this time.

“Not a chance!” Jay chuckled, lifting his hands up to grab the bar. “I told you, I’m done with all that.”

“Whatever you say!” Matt chuckled back; his eyes catching sight of Jay’s stomach as the guy’s t-shirt rose, ready for the lift. He could tell that the bulking diet was well underway, with a padded thickness around Jay’s middle, bulging to the sides to form what many might consider the beginnings of love handles.

Jay lifted like never before. After one set he insisted that Matt make the bar even heavier again; grunting with the extreme effort it took.

“You did it!” Matt marvelled, finally setting the bar back minutes later. “I can’t get over how quickly you’re progressing now.”

Jay sat up, spreading his legs wide and owning the space he was in. It was a feeling Matt knew all too well: the sense of power and size after lifting more than ever before. “This bulking is really working, isn’t it?” Jay smiled.

“It is!” Jay nodded, trying to mask his surprise at just how much more noticeable Jay’s extra thickness was around his waist when he sat up like this. There was no way the guy was going to stick out the full bulking period; the boy seemed genetically predisposed to carry a tight little paunch at this size. Already Matt could sense the cut was on the horizon.

Once again, Matt’s predictions fell flat on their face. As more weeks went by, Jay was very quickly becoming one of Matt’s strongest clients. However, it was all coming at quite a cost to the guy’s naturally athletic physique. Built around a solid core, Jay’s chunky middle was rounded and significantly paunch-like in appearance, despite being somewhat muted by the large chest and muscular shoulders that had grown alongside it. If Jay had been going for that muscular V-shaped back, he had fallen far short of the mark. His stout tummy had swelled out his love handles to a size that could not be hidden by pretty much any of the t-shirts that he wore in the gym. Matt had even seen the guy out and about upon occasion, feeling shocked at just how thick and overfed he actually looked; especially with that meaty swagger he had about him, artificially pushing out his arms to increase his width.

“And, we’ll finish with twenty minutes on the treadmill,” Matt declared during their next session, waiting for the exhausted guy to sluggishly pick himself up off the weight machine.

“The treadmill?” Jay asked, as if Matt had been joking. “I’m not paying for you to watch me on the treadmill for twenty minutes,” he laughed.

“You do realise that we’re going to be putting a lot more cardio exercises into your routine from now on? We agreed to start cutting from next week, remember?”

Jay brushed him off, insisting that he could do another set on the machine he was currently on. The rest of the session continued in that manner until the time was depleted. Then a sweaty, beefy looking Jay simply lifted a protein shake to his mouth and began chugging.

“What’s in that thing?” Matt asked, noticing that it was far thicker than any of the recipes he had supplied to Jay. He took it from Jay’s limp hand and held it to his nose. “That’s so sweet!” he gasped, recoiling slightly. Swirling the remaining third in the bottle, Matt declared with absolute certainty that this was not part of the diet plan he had given Jay.

“I found the recipe online,” Jay shot back, snatching the shake back and draining it quickly. “I drink four of these daily. Your shake recipes were good, but I wasn’t packing on the muscle half as quickly as I am now.”

Matt winced. Jay had been heading in the wrong direction for weeks now; his muscle gains overshadowed by significant increases in fat. And Matt had been ignoring it all, pushing it to the back of his mind, denying it. “Have you got the recipe for me to look at?” he asked diplomatically.

Jay lazily held out his hand for Matt to pass him his cell phone from his bag. Then, after a couple of seconds, the webpage link came buzzing through to Matt.

“Um…” Matt mumbled, feeling his heart beating with worry. “Have you really been drinking these four times a day? Did you not think to check out the ingredients? All that sugar? Condensed milk?”

“I’m not an idiot!” Jay grumbled back, as Matt noticed the fat that was starting to build up under the handsome boy’s chin and into his cheeks. “These things promise results and they deliver. I’ve gained 25 lbs in the last two months alone!”

Matt took a step back, feeling that he had let Jay down more than any other client he had ever had. Yet, somewhere deep inside of him was a spark of attraction. Jay was starting to look genuinely fat. It was literally spreading across his entire body and had been doing so for weeks.  “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled guiltily. “I should have been more on top of your diet planner. This should never have happened.”

Jay seemed utterly perplexed by Matt’s remorse, but he agreed to pack up his stuff and head out to a local cafe for a more thorough debrief. They sat with two coffees at a small table near the front as Matt considered how best to insist that Jay quit the shakes as soon as possible.

Matt thought he had his speech all ready to go. He inhaled, ready to begin, when he suddenly noticed that Jay’s attention was elsewhere. A large, overweight guy had come in through the door, making Jay look across with interest. Matt followed his gaze and then cringed with regret, realising that the man was none other than his ex boyfriend, Chris. They had just made eye contact.

“I’m really sorry about this!” Matt blasted out, realising that his almost 400 lb ex was heading over to the table and there was nothing that he could do to stop him.

“Hello Matt,” the large bellied guy smiled. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded, not looking directly at him in the hopes that he would soon get the message and leave them be. “Nice to see you, Chris,” he lied.

“I gained a bit of weight recently,” Chris went on, patting his fat stomach. “I’d love to show you some time.”

“I’m actually with a client right now!” Matt hissed, losing patience. “When I said that things were over between us, I meant it.”

Chris looked down at them both, giving Jay in particular the most filthy of looks. Then he turned, deciding that the coffee house was no good after all and disappeared out of the door.

“Who was that?” Jay exclaimed the second the guy’s large form had disappeared beyond the windows. 

“My ex,” Matt sighed, feeling frustrated that they should bump into each other here; whilst he was with a client no less! “We broke up about eight months ago.”

“You? And HIM?” Jay asked in disbelief, making it hard for Matt to tell whether it was the fact that he dated guys that most surprised Jay, or the sheer size of that ex-boyfriend. Either way, it became the focus of a long line of questions that Matt was finding difficult to deflect.

“I’ve made a decision,” Jay finally declared as they at last got off the topic of Matt’s love life. “I want to keep the bulk going for another six weeks.”

“I would very strongly advise against that,” Matt replied immediately.

“Six more weeks!” Jay laughed, as if he was making the simplest of alterations to their training plan. “It’s nothing! You need to learn to relax, buddy!”

Matt sighed. Perhaps because he was still reeling from coming face to face with Chris again, he did not feel especially inclined to argue. Jay was a client after all, and his wishes had to be respected - even if he was making a choice that Matt knew would make it significantly harder for the guy to get back in shape afterwards.

Just as Matt had anticipated, the weight that poured onto Jay’s body over the coming weeks was nothing more than pure fat. He’d find himself staring at it, having never felt so conflicted in his life. He was attracted by fat on a guy’s body, yes. But Jay was also a client who was confused by all of the bad advice out there and had caught himself up in a pattern of weight gain that was bloating his previously toned body. The sight of it, Matt had to admit, was nothing short of wildly arousing.

“He’s one of yours isn’t he?” asked one of the other trainers as Jay walked in for his training session wearing a t-shirt that was significantly too tight for his bloated torso. The guy braced himself against the wall to stretch out his calves, not realising how much his shirt had ridden up in the process and exposing a good three inches of his new, overfed tummy pushing itself over the waistband.

“Great work, Matt,” sneered Harry, the other male trainer, giving him a sarcastic slow clap as the three of them all watched Jay from a good distance.

Matt wanted to explain how he hadn’t been to blame; how Jay had found bad advice online instead, and was continuing to bulk against his advice. However, there was a strange thrill in not saying anything at all; something that Matt could not explain, even if he tried. 

Next, Jay began squatting, spreading his chunky legs wide apart with the good posture that Matt had taught him, then lifting his body up and down. It was a simple move and not at all noteworthy but for the extreme tightness of the shorts he was wearing, pulling the waistband lower and lower at the back, revealing more and more of his butt crack with each dip; thanks in part to the similarly undersized underwear he had on underneath.

“Ugh!” laughed Harry.. “No one wants to see that!”

Matt looked around at the others in the gym. Jay was indeed getting looks of disapproval, and even disgust, for his scandalously tight clothing.

“You need to have a word,” the trainers all agreed. “He’s putting people off. It’s bad for business.”

Matt sighed. He knew what they were saying was right, but how could he even begin a conversation about it to a client who was paying him? Especially one he was starting to crush on in the most inappropriate of ways.

Despite Jay’s confidence on the weights, it was quite clear during that session that the guy wasn’t making as much progress with his lifting than he obviously thought he was. In fact, his lifting had peaked almost two months earlier and there had been minimal successes since then. What had changed was the amount of sweating Jay was doing; leaving the machines with a damp imprint of his overfed rear which Matt wiped down each time. But with the sweating, Jay’s clothing tightened around him even more. Matt didn’t need to see Jay on the scales, he was an expert on every part of his body, knowing exactly how it was altering because he could see it right there, before his very eyes. He had to breathe a little deeper when he felt the arousal getting too much for him. Jay’s butt was pure perfection; shaped by good genes and some decent early muscle gains, but now swelling and widening with the pounds and pounds of fat the guy was amassing.

Jay had been buzzing about his new apartment; finally allowing him to get out of parents’ place. It was going to make bulking a lot easier, he’d declared, making Matt feel uneasy about how much more extreme his client may take things.

“I’ve got boxes and boxes of stuff all over the place,” Jay complained. “I need a good sort out, really. It’s just so easy to dump it all in the closet and forget about it though.”

“That reminds me,” Matt jumped in, seeing an opening and seizing upon it. “I got an email the other day for a good discount on the online shop I use for clothes,” he began, having pondered over how best to approach the clothes issue for the entire hour of their session. “It can be quite hard to find stuff that fits right when you’re a bodybuilder.”

“Tell me about it!” nodded the chubby boy, not sensing the irony in his words in the slightest. “None of my clothes fit properly anymore.”

Matt nodded. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a good lead in to discuss Jay’s dissatisfaction with his clothing and how he shouldn’t really be feeling such tightness around his stomach when he was trying to pack on muscle. As it was, he could feel the eyes of the other trainers on the back of his head. The only task he had to complete was getting Jay out of those ridiculously tight gym clothes. “I use this brand,” he lied, showing Jay the webpage he had just got up on his cell phone. He knew that impressionable guys like Jay wanted to look like him; to have the same confidence and presence. If he recommended a clothes line to them, he was pretty certain they would take it. “With the progress you’ve been making, you could probably get away with the extra large, but the 2XL might suit your needs more if you’re still in the bulking phase. Fast delivery too.”

Jay nodded with interest and took every link that Matt sent him. 

“I’ve spoken to him about the clothes,” Matt nodded, seeing the faces of expectation from the other trainers as he went back after the session ended.

“I know it’s tough having to tell a client that they’re getting too heavy,” Harry nodded. “But when he’s spilling out of his clothes like that, enough is enough. It’s time to say something.”

Matt nodded, knowing that Harry was exactly right. But that wasn’t what he had done, was it? He’d sent Jay off believing that he was making ‘progress’ and that he needed to wear clothes suitable for bodybuilders. The reality was anything but. Jay was chubby and out of shape. He’d not done any cardio in… it must have been months! He was a client who kept Matt awake at night with his feelings of guilt. He was letting the guy down, and this latest stunt was his worst sin of all.

It came as no surprise when Jay continued to be obsessed with bulking, even after the third and fourth deadlines for cutting came and went. The small mercy was that Jay was at least dressed better in the gym. With his new clothes, he was starting to look like any other broad, fat guy. His pretty face was still getting him the odd glance from some of the women, but the fatter body underneath was more than enough to ensure that it never progressed into anything more.

“You’ll never guess what I managed to get tickets for!” Jay blasted one Wednesday evening as he came in for his session.

“No way?” Matt grinned, knowing exactly where Jay was going with this. “You got them? But the concert has been sold out for months!”

“They were giving away tickets on the radio. I phoned up, answered some trivia questions live on air with someone else and… they’re mine!” he grinned, clearly delighted with himself.

“Congratulations!” Matt beamed. “I’m so jealous! You’re going to have such a great time!”

“No… WE’RE going to have such a great time,” Jay corrected him. “They asked me on the radio show who I wanted to take with me, and I told them your name. You’re the only person I know who is as obsessed with them as I am. No one else would appreciate it like you would.”

Matt’s initial reaction was to decline. There were many clients who tried to socialise outside of these sessions, but it was almost always unprofessional to do so. However, he had also desperately wanted to see this band since he was eight years old. Plus, he and Jay did genuinely seem to get on pretty well.”

“Can I give you some money for the ticket then?” he asked.

“No, I got them for free,” Jay shot back, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll drive us then,” Matt tried to compromise, knowing that the concert was a good couple of hours away. “I know where your new place is. I can pick you up at about 4pm on Saturday afternoon?”

Jay nodded, accepting the offer without hesitation. Then, for the rest of the week, Matt was telling all of his clients about the concert and how excited he was. He was amazed that not a single person had heard of the band or even recognised any of the tracks when he played a couple of samples for them on his cell phone. ‘What the hell was wrong with people?’ he thought to himself, highlighting in his mind just how much better he clicked with Jay than anyone else he worked with.

That Saturday, Matt didn’t really know who he was trying to impress as he slipped on his most expensive shirt and left the last three buttons undone to expose part of his strapping chest. He turned up at Jay’s building, expecting to head straight off, but was instead buzzed inside.

“Sorry!” Jay spluttered, opening the door to him, covered with only a small towel around his waist, fresh from the shower. “I had a big lunch and fell asleep! I only woke up ten minutes ago.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt nodded, trying to keep his eyes fixed on Jay’s face and not look down to explore his client’s beautifully chubby proportions. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Jay trotted back into his bedroom; his jiggly love handles bouncing with the quick pace he was going at. Matt simply took a deep breath and tried to control the arousal that he felt. He looked around the apartment, coming to one very obvious conclusion: This was the home of a fat guy. It was obvious; from the small armies of empty beer cans, to the carnage of emptied take out containers and pizza boxes. Discarded clothes dotted the space and Matt found himself meandering into the kitchen; his curiosity getting the better of him. He opened the refrigerator and peeked in all of the cupboards as quietly as he possibly could. What he found was far worse than he ever would have imagined: cakes, candy, cookies and several containers of those disastrous protein shakes… Jay had the lot, and then some. The guy was eating like a pig and putting on weight at a frankly alarming rate. Matt tried to breathe deeply again, but this time, the blood rushing towards his groin seemed determined to give him a full on erection.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” Jay smiled moments later, coming out in a shirt that was far too small for his stout little gut. He opened the refrigerator and downed one of his shakes, as was his usual routine at this time. Once again, Matt had to look away. Then, as the last of it drained, Jay lifted his arms and pumped his biceps, now covered in a good layer of pure fat.

The conversation flowed well in the car as the pair listened to a few of the band’s old albums and talked at length about their shared interests.

“If we’ve still got twenty minutes before we need to go in, I’m going to find some food,” Jay declared once they had parked up. He walked slightly ahead as Matt tried to avert his eyes away from the guy’s wide, overfed glutes, barely contained in his overly tight pants. “I absolutely love bulking,” he declared a few minutes later, holding a giant burger in both hands and raising it part way to his mouth. Then, like a genuine glutton, he dropped his head over it and began feasting with his large shoulders hunched forwards.

Matt genuinely did try to enjoy the concert, but he was conscious of trying to hold back an erection the entire time. He wondered why his brain had to be wired up this way. Why couldn’t he just enjoy the music without getting turned on by the significantly chubby guy he had come here with? He’d had to sit for significant periods of the concert with his hands resting over his crotch as Jay danced beside him, arms up in the air and his rounded tummy popping out. It was so humid in there, making Jay glow with a beautiful fat-boy sweat and ensuring that his clothes plastered themselves to his thick body even more than they already were doing.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Jay smiled the moment the lights came up. “How would you like to go backstage?”

Matt couldn’t believe it as he was shaking hands with his idols and chatting away with other fans backstage only minutes later. It truly was an extraordinary night.

“So, how do you guys know each other?” the lead singer asked as he came up to them both at the bar.

“Matt’s my personal trainer,” Jay answered, downing his beer into his bloated belly.

“I can see you’ve got your work cut out for you,” the singer whispered to Matt, tapping him on his strong back in sympathy.

“I’m in the best shape of my life,” Matt went on, clearly a little tipsy. He put his beer down and reached into his tight pocket to pull out his cell phone. “This is me, before I started training,” he declared, passing the singer a picture of him from just under eleven months ago: slim, handsome, athletic.

“And this is you… ‘before’ you started training?” the guy asked, ensuring that he wasn’t misunderstanding.

Jay nodded enthusiastically, raising his chubby arms to flex and simultaneously letting his chubby belly fall out for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Right,” the singer nodded, confused and surprised; possibly wondering if Jay was making some sort of joke. He slapped Matt on the back once more, then headed off to speak to some others.

When Jay asked to stop off for more food on the way back, Matt didn’t feel that he really had the right to refuse him after the night they had had together. However, it was yet another torturous exercise, having to sit next to Jay as he was gorging his fat body on more fries and burgers in the passenger seat. The sounds of his greedy chewing and swallowing were turning on an already stimulated sex drive to even greater extremes.

“I thought he might have been flirting with you,” Jay explained as they discussed their encounter with the lead singer. “The way he kept on tapping you on the back like that.”

“That wasn’t what that was about,”  Matt answered simply as he tried to control the boner he was getting, listening to Jay sucking air as he reached the end of his gigantic milkshake.

“You must have people flirting with you all the time, the shape you’re in,” Jay continued, stuffing the last of the fries into his mouth.

Matt took a breath in, wondering how to answer something like that. The answer was yes; he certainly did get a lot of attention from both guys and girls. But, as was being made strikingly clear to him that evening, the types of people he found attractive himself were often quite far from what most would expect.

“You don’t talk much about this sort of stuff, do you?” Jay asked him next after a pause.

“Neither do you,” Matt shot back.

“I’m just out of a long term relationship,” Jay replied grandly.

“Over a year ago!” Matt laughed. “In that case, I can use the same excuse.”

“You mean that huge guy we met in the coffee house that time? You were really into him?”

“I was in love with him, yes,” Matt replied, feeling that the conversation was getting a little too close to the bone now.

“How did he get that big? Was he always fat? Or did he just put on weight as an adult?” Jay pressed on obliviously.

“Combination of both, I expect,” Matt shrugged, trying to think of how to shift the conversation away from his ex.

“Do you think I could ever get as big as he is?” Jay asked.

Matt looked across at Jay in confusion. “Chris wasn’t a weight lifter, y’know?” he stated plainly. “He was probably as weak as a kitten. He was just… very overweight.”

“I just remember him being large,” Jay shrugged. “Guys like that always make me feel a little jealous.”

“There aren’t many people who would be jealous of Chris’ body type,” Matt chuckled, assuming that Jay was making fun.

“I think, if I kept up my protein shakes, I’d have a chance at getting to his sort of size,” Jay pondered aloud.

“I have no doubt that you would,” Matt nodded. “But it wouldn’t be lean muscle, I can promise you that.”

“Do you think it would suit me?” Jay asked playfully back.

Now Matt felt entirely on the backfoot. There was no way to answer the question without incriminating himself somehow. “I guess so,” he mumbled vaguely.

“So, do you think I should give up weight lifting then?” the guy immediately replied..

“I didn’t say that,” Matt countered.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently. I’ve had a lot more success gaining weight and getting big in other ways, rather than muscle. Maybe I should just focus on that?”

“You know exactly what I’d say to that. I’m a personal trainer!” Matt reminded him. “Of course you’re not supposed to give up weight training and just let yourself get fat.”

“You can be such a square sometimes,” Jay laughed. “You’re so caught up with your diet plans, your nutrition goals and research papers on exercise schedules. You forget that most people don’t care about any of that stuff. It’s all about feeling good in your own body.”

The last fifteen minutes of the journey went by a little smoother, with the conversation naturally evolving into something lighter.

“Want to come in and grab those recipe books you lent me?” Jay asked as they parked up outside his building.

Thinking about another of his clients, Matt nodded keenly. It was more than obvious that Jay had little interest in any of the lean meals in them, so why not pass them on? He followed the guy up the stairs, allowing his brain to fantasise about taking the chubby guy straight into his bedroom. Now that he knew he would be home in twenty minutes and able to release all the pent-up sexual frustration from his evening with Jay, he somehow felt more able to embrace it; gazing with lust at those giant glutes, like round globes of fat, pressed tightly into Jay’s pants as he walked up the stairs ahead of him.

“They’ll be in my closet somewhere,” Jay explained, leading Matt into his bedroom. Inside here, the mess of take out containers continued, making it clear that Jay did just as much of his eating in bed, as he did anywhere else in the apartment. He reached over a pile of boxes and leaned into this closet, presenting Matt with a full view of his wide rear. Matt simply stared at it, swooning.

Jay had to lean in more and more, too lazy to move the boxed out of the way, and grunting from the effort. Matt told him not to worry; that he could get them some other time, but still Jay persevered, leaning even more of his weight onto the boxes at the front. Then, in a split second, they gave way underneath him, sending Jay falling head first into the closet, his legs up in the air.

Matt grabbed at him in a swift rescue, lifting him up and out by pulling him by his waistband and trying to reach his arm in to hold Jay just above his waist. He was a very heavy boy indeed, and not easy to shift, but eventually he came, looking significantly worse for wear. The most stressed buttons on his shirt had popped clean off and his pants had ripped as Matt had tried to pull him up from behind.

“Sorry about that,” Matt mumbled, seeing what a state Jay now looked in his torn clothes. He’d had to pull him at a strange angle to get him back upright and, although he hoped it wasn’t the case, there was a possibility that Jay might have felt the erection in his pants as he was put back on his feet.

Jay flattened his hair and shuffled over to his mirror. His fingers explored the ripped buttons and torn material. There was his little fat belly popping out like never before; his significant fat gains never looking more obvious. The hallmarks of actual obesity starting to shine through.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Matt asked, wondering why Jay was so stunned; his nervousness increasing by the second.

“If I asked you to stay tonight, would you?” Jay asked simply.

“Why do you want me to stay?” Matt asked. “Do you think you’ve hurt yourself?”

Jay did not answer, but simply unbuttoned only the remaining buttons of his shirt and let the material fall to the floor. “Stay,” he repeated, letting Matt’s gaze fall in its entirety upon his bloated, fattened body. “I can tell that you’d like to.”

Matt allowed himself to enjoy the sight. His fingers twitched at his side, desperate to explore and touch. “Do you mean that?” he asked, no longer hiding his interest.

Jay nodded, grabbing a wedge of his own fat. “Let’s just say, you’re not the only person who gets a boner over this stuff.”

Immediately, Matt pulled Jay into a deeply passionate kiss. Their hands began to explore each other and they soon fell, entirely naked onto the unmade bed. Finally, the fizzing sexual tension that had been torturing Matt all night was set free; the fireworks still to come.

Matt woke the next morning as the light began pouring in through Jay’s window. He turned, seeing the bloated boy still resting deeply. Despite his good looks, this wasn’t the sort of thing that Matt ever did. He could count on a single hand how many guys he had slept with in the past, and he could explain how each one of them had eventually ended up breaking his heart. 

Jay stirred as Matt made an attempt to get out of bed. “Morning,” he called out. “What a wild night, huh?”

Matt smiled. “Pretty wild, yeah!” he nodded.

“Did I do it okay?” Jay asked sweetly. “I’ve never tried to give a blow job before.”

“You did great!” Matt nodded. “Amazing, in fact,” he added, remembering how quickly they had both climaxed last night. He’d worked on Jay first and then the sweet guy worked his mouth on Matt until he came in less than a minute. 

“Could you go and get me my shake out of the refrigerator?” Jay asked next, sitting up. “I forgot to have my last one when we got back yesterday, so I’ll have to make up for it this morning. In fact, bring me two,” he reconsidered. “I’ll get it down now.”

Matt hesitated for a moment. He knew that, officially, as Jay’s trainer, he wasn't supposed to approve of these shakes. Still, he was in Jay’s apartment, having just spent the night, so he could hardly start lecturing him now.

Still in a state of undress, Matt slipped out of the room and tiptoed over the mess that was littering the living space. He opened the fridge and felt a pang of arousal as he remembered just how many Jay had prepared for himself.

“Thanks,” Jay smiled, getting back from the bathroom as Matt returned. “I can still feel that burger from last night,” he chuckled, rubbing the shelf of stomach fat, before taking a deep deep breath chugging one of the shakes.

Matt’s penis, which hadn’t been flaccid since the moment he woke up next to Jay, began to pump itself harder upon watching Jay drink. He found it embarrassing how quickly his arousal responded to stuff like this and he moved his hand to cover it up; not wanting Jay to see and realise what a freak he was. However, as he looked at the bedsheets, he could see that the same thing was happening to Jay as well, with his own hardness pushing the material upwards, throbbing up and down like a heartbeat.

Taking himself off to the bathroom, Matt calmed himself down. He was so into Jay, he couldn’t ruin it, like last time. When he returned, both shakes were emptied and Jay was up, checking his body out in the mirror; that old jock physique of his destroyed and replaced with the chubby, overfed form there was today. Gone was the youthful pertness of his glutes, now so wide and juicy. All the added fat had swollen his chest up so considerably, with his new, pointed nipples looking alert and sharp as they started to droop a little onto the broad, shockingly ball-like stomach that completely dominated the boy’s appearance.

Matt went over and kissed the chub sweetly, hoping that Jay wouldn’t feel differently now the morning had arrived. Afterwards, he took the guy’s hand and then gently led him back to bed; making love to him slowly and passionately this time; wanting to show Jay just how much he could adore and cherish him, if he would only give him the chance.

When Jay turned up for their training session the next day, there was an air of mischief about him. The pair of them were chuckling and smiling, knowing exactly what they had got up to at the weekend and excited to be in each other’s company again. Now when Matt had to touch him, supporting his arms in a certain way, or correcting his posture, it sent waves of pleasure through his entire body. If he tried to get tough with Jay to get him to build up a sweat, the guy would come back with something flirtatious or rude, making Matt laugh.

“What time do you finish tonight?” Jay asked after a particularly arousing session where Jay had actually done very little indeed.

“Ten,” Matt replied, wincing at how late it was going to be.

“That’s okay,” Jay smiled excitedly. “Want to stay over again?”

Matt looked around, trying to hold himself back from wanting to kiss Jay right there and then; the cutest, chubbiest guy currently at the gym that moment. He knew how unprofessional it was to be dating his client. In some ways, it was like playing with fire; both terrifying and thrilling. “Want me to bring anything over?” he asked politely, knowing how low Jay was getting on supplies like lubricant and condoms after the weekend.

“You could pick me up some doughnuts,” Jay happily agreed.

“Oh, right. Okay,” Matt mumbled in surprise. That hadn’t been what he had meant at all. “Any particular kind?” he offered, not wanting to spoil the mood by declining.

“Just the twelve pack that you can get at the late night convenience place at the end of my street,” Jay answered him, clearly wanting to kiss him goodbye, but knowing that he couldn’t here.

Slapping the twelve pack of doughnuts on the counter a while later, Matt couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Here he was getting a spark of arousal at buying all this sugar and fat for his chubby lover. What would people say if they knew? He strolled over to Jay’s place and was buzzed in, finding the apartment door open as he made it up the stairs.

Seeing his chubby boy sprawled out on the couch, Matt took off his shirt and smiled, closing the door behind him before he marched straight over to kiss his new lover. Still dressed in his gym clothes, Jay’s stomach was falling out of his t-shirt as he twisted his head for the kiss. Two more empty flasks of shake sat on the floor beside the couch, alongside another pizza box that Jay must have picked up right after his workout.

Matt had slipped his hand onto Jay’s tummy as he went back for another kiss. How could he tell him off for his bad diet when he looked so adorable right now?

“Did you get my doughnuts?” Jay asked.

Matt nodded, getting up to collect them and feeling surprised at how eagerly Jay took them from him.

“Amazing! You got the cream filled ones!” Jay cheered, ripping the box open and pushing a doughnut straight in his mouth.

Matt hadn’t realised that there were different types, having just bought the first pack he’d found in the store, but he was pleased that it was giving Jay so much pleasure. He gazed with adoration as he ate, feeling himself falling hard for the guy. He sat there, on the floor, below the couch, rubbing Jay’s leg, observing it all. Doughnut number 5, 6 and 7 disappeared. Afterwards, Matt slipped in beside him, kissing his head from behind and holding the overfed boy tenderly. Whilst he couldn’t wait to sleep with Jay again, these tender moments were something he never wanted to rush.

“Did anyone notice that we were flirting at the gym? Jay asked as they lay tenderly together later on. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“That’s not something I want you to worry about,” Matt whispered into his ear. “I can handle any fallout if it comes to that.”

“I’ve actually wanted to quit weight training for quite some time. I just didn’t know how to tell you properly. Then our little relationship wouldn’t be so much of an issue.”

“So, we’re in a relationship, huh?” Matt teased, beaming with pride and hugging his boyfriend tightly from behind. “I don’t want you to give it up just for me, though,” he added regretfully.

“You’re the only reason I stuck it out so long,” Jay chuckled. “The truth is, I’m getting a lot more of a buzz out of developing my mass in ways that aren’t strength training related.”

Matt lifted his head as he lay in bed and looked down at the fat filled stomach on Jay; his hardness immediately throbbed into the guy’s doughy glutes. He wished he could control it; still wanting to conceal the fact that he found the idea of Jay becoming even more overweight so wildly erotic. He realised that as much as he would try to reason with Jay about his overeating and general laziness, his dick would always be there, trying to undermine his words of caution.

Although Jay didn’t acknowledge it with his words, he reached across for yet another doughnut, even though he had previously said he was stuffed. Was that for Matt’s benefit? Was he doing it to turn him on? Perhaps it was yet another unintended error of Matt’s that was dragging Jay even further down this crazy rabbit hole.

Jay’s gains began to speed up quite dramatically within the first six months of their relationship; Matt’s guilt increasing with every pound. There were times when he should have stepped in to stop Jay pushing his appetite too hard. When he discovered Jay buying in clothes for himself that were far too large, he could have asked why. He knew so much about nutrition and what it all was doing to Jay’s body, bloating it more and more beyond recognition. He’d crossed 300lbs. That should have been a moment for them both to take stock and reevaluate things; but the arousal of it all; the way Jay seemed to not care in the slightest about how people were seeing him these days; that confidence; the love that Matt felt for him. It all culminated to ensure the personal trainer kept quiet and allowed it to continue.

Jay’s body was stunning. There wasn’t a single spot where the fat hadn’t done its work, softening and swelling him up. With the lack of weight training, Jay’s chest had succumbed to the blubber, now filling up under his armpits and inflating his arms. All the while, his gut and wide butt quietly continued to grow ever more; becoming more extreme with each passing day. 

Matt couldn’t say not to Jay on his birthday. He’d asked him again and again what he wanted to do for it: a day trip, a weekend hotel stay, any gift he wanted. But all Jay had insisted on was a take-out meal in front of the TV.

“This ice cream is definitely the best,” Jay smiled, scooping out from the tub with his spoon. “I can’t believe you found some!”

“Well, you’re worth it,” Matt smiled. “I even found some of those special flavour doughnuts that you tried a few months ago. So you’ve got something to enjoy tomorrow as well.”

“Tomorrow?” Jay chuckled sceptically. “I’ll be having those bad boys tonight! It is my birthday after all!”

Matt laughed and nodded. There was no arguing with that logic.

“In fact,” Jay continued. “I’d like you to be the one to feed them to me.”

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Matt pretended to spill his glass of water and made a fuss, grabbing a towel from the kitchen.

“Why do you always do that?” Jay asked, obviously downbeat. “You’ve got to know that I love the idea of you feeding me. We both clearly get off on how fat I’m getting. Everyone thinks you’re a feeder now. They saw you with your ex; they’ve seen me getting over 350lbs. You’ve heard them whispering it behind your back. So why won’t you ever feed me?”

Matt tried to brush the comments off. It wasn’t the right time; not on Jay’s birthday. However, his refusal to answer only seemed to make things worse. “Okay,” he finally surrendered. “I’m not being coy,” he admitted. “I… I just…” he stumbled. “It was when I was dating Chris.”

“The four hundred pound guy you were with before me?” Jay asked, with only a mild hint of jealousy.

“Chris and I didn’t meet at a club like I told everyone. We actually met on a kink website for feeders and gainers.” 

“How did I not know this?” Jay laughed, realising that his shy boyfriend had been holding out on him the entire time. “So you used to feed Chris to make him gain weight?”

Matt nodded. “It was great. It felt amazing. I fell ridiculously in love with the guy. He put on about 40lbs in the time we were together.”

“You dark horse!” Jay joked, barely containing his delight.

“But it just wrecked things in the end. We both wanted him bigger and fatter. We spoke about it endlessly. But when Chris was in a mood with me for something, he used to blame only me for making him fat. He said it was all my fault he was so unhappy. I spent so much of my time trying to make him smile and the second something pissed him off, he’d throw it all back in my face.”

“That’s not very nice,” Jay agreed, pleased to finally learn how Matt’s previous relationship had ended.

“Then there was one day when Chris’ car broke down. He came over in such a bad mood and started taking it all out on me. He ended up getting drunk and heading out with his friends. He made out to them all that I was fattening him secretly. He even messaged my parents to say the same thing.”

“Shit!” Jay cringed for him, now realising why Matt’s parents had never been especially warm with him.

“Chris apologised, of course. But it was too late. Fake news like that travels like wildfire. Even though I knew I was always going to be attracted to bigger guys, I always promised myself, I wouldn’t ever get caught up in a situation like that again. Not if it risked making someone as special as you so unhappy.”

Jay nodded, completely understanding. “It makes sense,” he nodded in agreement. “But you’re not to blame for how I’m turning out. I’m not Chris, and I never have been.”

“I get that, but..” Matt tried to counter.

“No, I mean it. I’ve wanted to be a fat boy for as long as I can remember. I felt so ashamed about it. I thought a muscle gain might quench that thirst, but it didn’t. There is no part of me that is doing this just for your pleasure,” he stated sincerely. “So stop with the guilt.”

Matt nodded, feeling that he had been thoroughly put in his place. This wasn’t all about him. This was Jay’s journey.

“But I think you also know how huge I want to get. I know you’ve spotted some of the clothes I’ve been buying recently,” Jay smiled.

“Yeah, those sweatpants you bought the other day…” Matt nodded knowingly. “They were something else!”

Jay beamed with pride. “Aren’t they just!” he chuckled. “So why don’t you tell me, seriously,” he insisted. “How do you really feel about me getting so fat that I could actually wear pants like that?”

Matt considered his answer, knowing how upfront and honest they were both trying to be that evening. “Excited,” he replied simply. “Really turned on by it.”

“So, would you be willing to help me with getting there?” Jay asked.

Matt knew what Jay was asking of him and he sighed at the hard choice he was having to make. “I really want to,” he admitted, rubbing Jay’s rounded gut and admiring the tight softness. “It’s been so difficult trying to hold myself back sometimes.”

“Then stop,” Jay shrugged. “You know that I’m doing this, with or without your help.”

The two men looked at each other with true honesty in their eyes. “Okay,” Matt smiled at last. “Okay, I’ll.. try.”

Jay beamed brightly and slouched his fat body into the tortured couch, placing his limp hands at his side and opening his mouth, waiting. “No time like the present. It is my birthday, after all!”

Matt, who had not been anticipating such an immediate start, fumbled slightly, not knowing what to do as he picked up a doughnut from the table. “Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked nervously.

Jay nodded, raising his eyebrows with excitement, but did not close his mouth as the doughnut was dangled so wonderfully close to his face.

With the doughnut in his hand, Matt pressed it into Jay’s greedy mouth. The boy moaned in appreciation and took as large a bite as he could. The sound was instantly arousing. Already he felt the sugar uncomfortably sticking to his fingers. By the time the third bite came along, he knew the remaining piece was too big, but pushed it into Jay’s mouth anyway; making the fat boy’s cheeks swell with fattening dough and sugar. Yet, still the glutton gorged, sucking the sugar off Matt’s fingers as soon as he possibly could. This was hot!

Jay’s hand reached towards the hunk’s crotch, feeling the arousal his part in the feeding had given him. Then he smirked gleefully. There was no hiding anything now as they both undressed entirely. “Feed me another,” he demanded.

Matt did as he was told, picking up more confidence with each fresh doughnut he pushed into the horny boy’s mouth. Seeing sugar glistening on the glutton’s cheeks, the arousal in his eyes; the pleasure he took from drawing this side of Matt out.

“Am I a good piggy?” Jay asked teasingly,sucking on Matt’s hardness as the doughnuts were all finished at last.

Moaning softly, feeling his dick getting sticky from the fat guy’s sugary saliva, Matt nodded in agreement. Had Jay really just referred to himself as a ‘piggy’?

“Say it then,” Jay demanded, letting his hand take over for the few seconds he needed his mouth to talk. “Tell me what a good, fattening pig I am.”

Matt’s brain was foggy with lust. He could tell that Jay was already holding back, not allowing him to climax just yet. “You’re a good piggy,” he heard himself saying, worrying that he could ejaculate the moment he felt the words leaving his mouth. “And I do want you get fatter,” he admitted. “I always have.”

“Prove it then,” Jay suddenly demanded, slipping his mouth and hands away from Matt’s hardness; cutting him off in an instant.

“How?” Matt asked, having been so close to finishing before this abrupt stop.

“The refrigerator,” Jay simply replied; smirking in triumph.

Matt knew in an instant what he needed to do. He headed straight over and collected Jay’s calorie shake from the cool refrigerator and held it in his hands, about to become the world’s biggest hypocrite after everything he had said about these things.

“What do you want me to do?” asked a super horny birthday boy, laying back again and letting the fat splay into the seat once more.

“I want you to drink it,” Matt replied, already unscrewing the lid.

“What’s it going to do to me?” Jay whispered next, savouring the kinky moment between them both.

“It’s going to make you fatter,” Matt smiled back, so happy to be drawn into the game; so happy that he was doing this at last.

Matt stepped closer to the fat boy and then sat beside him, using his free hand to jiggle the immense softness that had enveloped Jay’s torso, whilst kissing him deeply. Then, just as Jay was really getting into it, he lifted his free hand up and gently rocked the boy’s head backwards so that his mouth pointed towards the ceiling, in position for the pouring.

“Are you ready, Piggy?” Matt asked, finally unleashing his true self. “It’s time to grow for me…”

Jay’s eyes were dancing with excitement as they drifted from his feeder’s gaze and up towards the ominously held jug of calorie shake looming above his head. Then, just like that, his mouth opened wider than Matt had ever seen it go before.

Matt couldn’t put his finger on when exactly he came, but he knew he hadn’t been done pouring. His fat boy had slipped his pudgy, sweaty hand onto his hardness and tugged at it; pushed it right into his giant, jiggling stomach, until Matt could stand it no longer. His orgasm had been years in the making and he moaned louder than any of his former lovers had ever heard him.

A new beast had just been unleashed.

[flowerandblood]

The Temple of the God

[ Ares • Ettore x Aphrodite • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, fingering, smut, angst, violence, swearing, marital infidelity ]

[ description: Many men look at her with lust, however, no one's gaze is as terrifying as that of her brother, the god of war, cruel and cold, reminding her more of a barbarian than one of the kings of Olympus. He is known to care little about pleasing women in his brutal rapprochements with them, however, he surprises her with his attitude when he visits her one night. ]

This oneshot is my Valentine's Day gift to all of you. I love you, thank you for being here! I plan to come back to this couple in the future, let me know what you think! 💕

Part 2 − The Temple of War

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

She could see it in the way he looked at her. She saw it in the light movement of his head, his raised chin, his slightly parted lips, his gait lazy, confident, careless, like that of a bear or a lion. He circled around her, angry and frustrated, unable to get what he wanted.

There was something animalistic in his nature, in his posture, in his aura, his gaze seemed to her empty, yet at the same time endlessly deep and dark; he could not concentrate on calm deliberation, there was a perpetual, irrepressible storm in his mind.

He would exert himself on the battlefields, at the head of armies of his heroes, with whom he would train and duel for days, their muscular, broad bodies often completely naked, glistening with sweat and oil.

She watched them sometimes from the windows of her chambers on Olympus. Their great wars and pointless exercises aimed at making them tear their opponents to shreds, with one sword cut depriving them of their members, wallowing in their blood.

Her brother did not abhor carcasses, decay, murder, cruelty, she thought he fed on it, his enemies knew no mercy from him, their pleas clashing with the cold stone that was his heart.

Her nature was the complete opposite of his and they both knew that they had nothing to offer each other. However, whenever he caught sight of her silhouette, walking in the company of her servants, river and mountain nymphs, entertaining her with conversation, he did not take his piercing, hot gaze off her, his lips pressed into a thin line; he turned the hilt of his sword as if in a trance then, drifting away with his thoughts.

He did not desire her, he wanted to devour her.

She knew that he had cohabited with many women, including her maidservants, who later lamented to her that he was brutal and cruel, that he did not know or understand what female fulfilment and joy were, did not know the women's bodies and their secrets, because he was only interested in his own fulfilment.

One day she visited him while he was practising with his warriors; they were wrestling and throwing each other to the ground, the one who gave up had to pat the other on the shoulder.

They were completely naked.

Seeing her, several of them covered themselves, knowing full well who she was, ashamed that she might judge them or their bodies, mock them and expose them to the ridicule.

She, however, approached her brother, looking straight into his eyes beaming with utter black emptiness, his broad chest adorned with drops of sweat rising and falling in heavy breathing.

He stood before her without any sign of embarrassment, his eyes roaming all over her body, judging apparently how her flesh presented itself in her soft velvet-like translucent white robe, pearls braided into the curls of her hair. They stared at each other for a moment in silence, as if testing each other, her face, like his, expressing nothing.

"Stay away from my servants, brother. They have complained to me that you are hurting them." She said at last, his jaw clenched at her words, his nostrils quivering in impatience.

He didn't answer.

He never answered.

She turned away, heading back towards the cloisters, feeling the thirsty gazes of the men turning behind her, disappearing at last into the halls of the gigantic ancient palace.

Men craved her for many reasons, one of which was the urge to prove to themselves that they could be desired by the goddess of love herself.

It was a great oversimplification, however, because of her experience this is what she came to be called, people, men and women, began to offer prayers to her begging her blessing in their marriages, asking for her intervention in matters others would have been afraid to whisper about.

She blessed ardent loves, burning to the core.

Yet she herself, though she was ashamed to admit it, had not experienced one herself.

Every time she thought it was the one, the man she believed to be her beloved died, or betrayed her by following another goddess, bored. Her heart was broken so many times that she allowed herself to be approached by men only to give her physical pleasure.

Her husband, Hephaestus, was a good and warm-hearted man. He spent his days in his great forge located in the heart of the volcano, in which the fire flowed constantly. She visited him there rarely, the dust and noise there was unbearable for her.

Although they both had respect for each other and a kind of cordiality, he preferred to devote himself to his work. He did not understand her needs, just as she did not understand his, for which she did not blame him.

Their marriage, unlike that of Zeus and Hera, was more peaceful, both of them resigned to their roles and didn't get in each other's way.

She knew, however, that before her father, ruler of the thunderbolts and all of Olympus, had decided to marry her to Hephaestus, it had been the God of War himself who had furiously demanded her hand, believing that she was his to claim.

Their father did not share his decision, apparently fearing his violent nature and what kind of husband he would turn out to be.

Her brother then disappeared for years, sinking into great wars and battles, the earth trembled from his rage, from the peaks of their heavenly mountain she heard the cries and moans of his enemies.

That day, after what she had told him, he came to her at night.

Completely naked, without a trace of embarrassment on his face, he walked slowly across the cold stone floor towards her bed, draped with a canopy and translucent curtains, which he pushed aside with an impatient flick of his hand, passing between them.

He stopped when he caught sight of her bare figure, looking at him with furrowed brows she raised on one elbow, feeling no shame whatsoever, yet unable to stop the squeeze between her thighs and the heat in her lower abdomen noticing that at the sight of her body his manhood twitched and swelled.

"Get out." She said coolly, but he only hummed as if he was considering something. She turned on her back, ready to scream if necessary, knowing her servants would come to her aid and her brothers would drag him away from her.

She was curious, however, to see what he would do.

She looked vigilantly at his silhouette walking slowly towards her, with his big cold black eyes and tense body he reminded her of a wild animal preparing to attack.

She thought he was about to throw himself at her and try to take her against her will.

He, however, sat down beside her; his large, wide hand raised and, in an uncertain, calm movement, ran down her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin as if he wanted to see what it felt like.

"− like velvet −" He murmured low, breathing through his mouth as if he was trying to calm himself; she seemed to notice on his face something of childish curiosity, as if she and her body was something unremarkable and completely incomprehensible to him.

His hand went higher, to her breast and began to rub and play with it, as if he liked the shape of it and how pleasant it was to the touch. She sighed quietly, realising with disbelief that what he was doing and how he was behaving was making her wet, her fleshy insides pulsing with tension.

Finally his fingers ran over her neck and face, his thumb stopped and parted her plump, glistening lips; he leaned over her as if he wanted to get a proper look at her, his warm breath enveloped her skin, the smell of his sweat seemed primal, masculine to her, her body involuntarily quivered at the thought.

He kissed her, kissed her as if he wanted to devour her, his caress full of chaos and impatience, of his hot, sticky lips, of his wet tongue, of his saliva and teeth. She gasped into his mouth, surprised to feel what he was doing between her thighs, her heart pounding like mad.

He groaned low into her mouth in surprise and tightened his fingers on her cheeks, panting hard as her hand gripped firmly his hard, swollen manhood.

She gasped for air when she felt how generously he had been bestowed by the heavens; she gave him a few slow, encouraging squeezes sliding her hand from the fat, pink head of his cock to it's very base, his hips involuntarily began to respond to her movements.

"− harder −" He commanded, closing his eyes, his hand involuntarily squeezed her breasts, too hard and without sensitivity. She hissed quietly, clamping her hand tighter on his length, wanting to cause him pain; he growled feeling it, digging his fingers into the skin of her cheek, looking at her with rage.

"− not like that − more gently −" She explained, clamping her hand over his, showing him with the strokes of her fingers how he should caress her, directing his thumb to her nipple.

"− rub this place − ah, yes, just like that −" She mumbled, tilting her head back, feeling his impatient breath on her, watching her and her reactions with interest, surprised apparently at how she was able to change in a matter of moments.

She felt his length tremble in her grasp when he heard her first, quiet moans.

"− that's enough −" He said impatiently, laying down on top of her, his large hands, rough from holding the sword, gripped her thighs, wanting to spread them apart and finally possess her, her fingers tightening on his sweaty, muscular shoulders.

"− no − not yet − touch me there −" She mumbled.

He looked at her with a gaze from which her whole body froze, it seemed to her that his irises were completely black, menacing, burning with a desire that destroyed and devoured.

For a moment he didn't move, breathing heavily as if he was considering her words; she licked her lips realising that he had never done this before.

He had never touched a woman down there with his fingers or his lips, never caressed her before he owned her.

She swallowed loudly, sliding her hand down to his, in a gentle motion encouraging him to sink his fingers into her hot, leaking womanhood.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at the sensation, foreign and unfamiliar, tense, he rested the weight of his body on his elbow, leaning to the side, watching from the corner of his eye what he was doing to her.

"− here, brother − touching me here will give me pleasure −" She whispered, guiding his fingertips to the bud hidden between her folds, showing him how to tease her clit with circular, slow movements.

She parted her lips, feeling the pleasant tingling in her lower abdomen, her hips involuntarily began to respond to his strokes.

"− only here? −" He asked lowly, furrowing his eyebrows, his stony face expressing concern at her words knowing that the place she was showing him was outside and not deep inside her. She sighed quietly, guiding his middle finger to her slit; he looked at her face, gasping out loud, feeling the way her fleshy walls resisted him, hot and sticky.

"− not only − can you feel it? − right here −" She whispered, directing him to the spot inside her just above her opening, between her muscles. He shuddered all over, licking his lips, dried apparently from emotion, his erection hard and swollen, twitching involuntarily, betraying how aroused he was.

"− yes −" He exclaimed, digging his middle finger into the spot she showed him, his thumb teasing her pearl, clearly wanting to see what would happen when he started touching both places at once. She moaned loudly, tilting her head back, delighted at how unexpectedly pleasurable the sensation was.

"− gods − put it inside me −" She mewled, feeling that she no longer cared about retaining any remnants of her dignity, her free hand sank into his hair, pulling him close. He grunted loudly into her mouth like an animal throwing himself at her body, her fingers dug into the bare skin of his back, a moan of exertion escaped her throat when immediately the thick tip of his cock began to push against her tight walls.

"− wider −" He exhaled with a grin that was disturbing to say the least as with an impatient, confident thrust he forced her to let him in deeper. She breathed loudly, unable to believe how hard he was stretching her and threw her head back, a drop of sweat running down her long neck.

"− brother −" She whispered, something in the way she said the word made him lose his patience, his length began to slam into her in a fast, brutal rhythm, each time rubbing the spot inside her from where she could see the stars; it seemed to her that everything around her was spinning, the fingers of his hand cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him.

"− no, fucking look at me − look at me and listen to what my cock is doing to this weeping cunt − pathetic −" He hissed out through clenched teeth, as if he was both furious and proud at the same time. She whimpered helplessly, a loud smack echoed around them each time his thighs hit the bare skin of her buttocks, there was something lewd and definitive about the sound, proof of how wrong she was.

"− mghm −" She babbled, feeling like he was going to pierce her, the movements of his hips quick and aggressive, full of desperation and desire, their breaths embarrassingly loud and raptured. They stared at each other with their mouths wide open, as if they couldn't believe in what was happening.

"− what does it feel like, brother? − what does it feel like to fuck your own sister? −" She gasped, heard his surprised sigh at her question, his cock quivered hard inside her, his fingers dug harder into the soft skin of her cheeks, causing her pain.

He was moving so fast inside her that he was hardly slipping out of her, her fleshy walls, all leaking from her moisture, were no longer resisting him.

It seemed to her that he wanted to reply something, but the pleasure took his speech away; he leaned over suddenly and pressed his forehead against hers, panting loudly, his hot breath enveloping her face.

She could smell the masculine scent of his sweat, from which her cunt began to throb around him, her fingers traveled down from his back to his buttocks, stroking them with movements that could be called tender.

"− it feels good −" He whispered, looking at her with a gaze that sent shivers through her, at the same time animalistic, empty and full of something she couldn't name, desire as dark and disturbing as the night around them. The sure, loud, deep thrusts of his hips made her breath get stuck in her throat, she thought with horror, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen, that she was about to come.

"− it feels right −" He muttered and ran his tongue over her lips, something in the way he said those words, in this shameless, lewd gesture, in the way the tip of his fat cock rubbed her again and again at the spot of her greatest pleasure made her melt in front of him.

She involuntarily tilted her head back and closed her eyes, a soft, helpless moan of delight broke from her throat as a wave of wonderful heat and relief shook her body, her walls began to squeeze him, sucking him inside.

"− fuck − fuck-fuck-fuck −" He merely muttered before sighing loudly.

She felt his hot seed spill inside her, filling her, and although she rarely allowed anyone such an honour, she was unable to deny him.

She stroked his naked buttocks with calm movements full of affection, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he continued to thrust into her for a moment longer, looking down at her with his mouth open wide in pleasure.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, and she raised her hand, letting her fingers run over his temple, his cheek and his clearly defined long jaw. She saw him close his eyes for a moment, as if he wanted to remember this moment and this feeling.

"− there is no place for me to rest − no haven where I can take refuge − here is my only true temple −" He gasped in half whisper, as if he were revealing to her some shameful secret that was tormenting him. She swallowed quietly, feeling his body cling to hers, her breasts pressed against his bare, broad chest, his face snuggled into her hot cheek, his soft manhood still throbbed deep inside her.

"− my home −"

_____

General Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@triscy @re-per @diiickbrainn @queenofshinigamis @eponaartemisa @zaldritzosrose @writerloversjm @lauzy87 @targaryenrealnessdarling @briefcollectivepersona @ginarely-blog @lcecgg @an0ther-us3r @blackswxnn

[mothiir]

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it. 

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience. 

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen. 

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath. 

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean. 

And you doubt you will see it. 

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort. 

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.   

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live. 

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before. 

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements. 

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size. 

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place. 

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap. 

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah. 

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor. 

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication. 

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different. 

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety. 

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world. 

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

 Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them. 

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence. 

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity. 

Fascinating. 

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks. 

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge. 

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean. 

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all. 

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs. 

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive  His mercy. 

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap. 

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you. 

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal. 

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up. 

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well. 

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside. 

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book. 

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around. 

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him. 

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin. 

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns. 

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery. 

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

[sleepy-steve]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday Thursday 🧠 🪱

thank you for tagging me @stervrucht 🖤

no pressure tags: @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @stevesbipanic and of course anyone else that would like to ♡

thinking about Steve and Eddie who, after going through rounds of physical therapy after everything, continue to work out together because Steve obviously loves it and loves having a friend to work out with. and Eddie notices the difference in his stamina when he gets back to performing on stage. (and if Eddie likes to watch Steve work out a little bit, and likes Steve coming over to help his form more than a little bit, well that’s his business.) but Steve takes a dance class and shakes up his usual warmup, leaving Eddie with some… thoughts.

***

“Okay, Munson,” Steve says, pulling his arm across his body for a shoulder stretch. “You ready?”

“Ready to be tortured? Always,” Eddie jokes. It was their thing. Eddie acts like he hates being there, but he still shows up every other day to their local gym in Indianapolis. And he won’t ever deny the benefits he’s noticed since starting their exercise regime. He's faster on stage, doesn't get winded near as easily, holding those screaming notes without feeling like his lungs will explode. Little did he know that today his joke would come to be true.

Steve liked most kinds of exercise. He was a sporty guy. He liked the pull and stretch of his muscles, the feeling of accomplishment after achieving a new goal, that delicious soreness the day after a really good workout. But mostly he loved trying new things. He’d give anything half a chance if he thought it might be fun. Which is how he ended up at a dance-aerobics class the week prior, finding himself having a lot of fun, blushing furiously when the women in the class complimented how quickly he picks up the steps.

He went back three more times that week. Part of his enjoyment came from the new warmup he was taught in the class. Steve’s usual warmup consisted of basic stretches and a light jog, covering all bases to ensure he didn’t get injured, but not very exciting.

This, however, was far more enjoyable. Steve found himself sinking deep into stretches he didn't know he had flexibility for, and moving his hips to a beat, ultimately just having way more fun with the warmup. And it was about to become a huge problem for Eddie.

Steve pops his headphones over his ears, the tape deck tucked securely in his shorts pocket. He bends over, inhaling deeply as the song starts, rising up with his hands overhead, exhaling as he rolls his wrists, hips moving side to side with the beat. His already short cropped t-shirt rises, showing off a good amount of his chest. He lets his arms come down, bending over again, feeling the pull in his hamstrings. Gripping his elbows, he lets the top half of his body hang, swinging from side to side, his hamstrings fully stretched out.

Eddie looks up from his own basic stretching, shocked to see Steve fully bent over, because hey, since when was he so flexible? With Metallica blaring through his own headphones, Eddie just stares, completely forgetting where he was at in his warmup.

Steve lets his hands drop, moving to one foot, back to the centre, then the other foot. Ass just up in the air, his shorts way too tight. Eddie swallows. He’d been denying his crush for months at this point, and good god this was not helping.

Rolling his shoulders as he stands up, Steve lets his hands travel down his bare thighs, sinking into a squat with his back arched and head tilted back. Eddie's eyes are wide as he watches those tight little shorts with the little cut-ins on the sides ride up, showing far more of Steve's glorious hairy thighs than Eddie can handle. Steve drops his head forward, hunching his shoulders as he moves back to standing. He repeats the motions, and Eddie wishes he had the strength to pull his stare away from Steve's ass.

Seeing Steve's head tilted back and his back arched is sending Eddie insane. Like, he geninely thinks he might evaporate on the spot if he keeps watching. But he just can't look away.

Turning himself sideways, Steve has one foot stepped out in front of the other, legs perfectly straightened into a triangle shape, bent over his front leg. Just when Eddie thinks he’s about to get up and end his suffering, Steve lowers himself down into a lunge. His little shorts definitely way too small and tight for the movement, Steve lunges back and forth, fingertips resting on the ground on either side of his front foot. Eddie watches as the t-shirt rides up with each lunge, the desire to get his lips and tongue all over Steve's chest overwhelming him.

Shaking himself, Eddie tries to remember which shoulder stretch he was up to. He attempts something close to a stretch, but he can’t be sure he's doing it right, because Steve has lowered himself to the ground, front leg bent and back leg perfectly straight, and is fucking thrusting into the ground. If he were to ask Steve, he’d find out this was a hip flexor stretch. But Eddie’s forgotten how to form words entirely, suddenly imagining nineteen different ways he wants to get dicked down by the man before him.

Eddie suffers in silence, heart racing in his chest, watching as Steve repeats the movements on his other side. He prays that the torture ends soon, that they can just get to the workout, and Eddie can go back to pretending he doesn't want to ride Steve until his thighs give out. But Eddie gets no such luck.

Steve has moved into some kind of triangle position, hands on the ground, legs straight, and of fucking course, his ass in the air. Eddie marvels at how straight the shape is, only for a moment, because then Steve is lifting his heels up and down in turn, and jesus christ those tiny little shorts are just riding up, and Eddie can see a hint of Steve's ass peeking out. His jaw drops. He may actually explode.

Just when Eddie's thinking he can't take much more of this, Steve lowers himself down, knees spread wide, arms stretched out in front of him and head tucked down. A wild and rushed series of thoughts fly across Eddie's mind, all centred around Steve kneeling down in front of him. Eddie needs to get it together quickly.

As Steve brings himself back up to the triangle position, walking his feet to meet his hands and rolling his spine up, shoulders and head rolling back last, he sees Eddie taking off for his warmup jog. Assuming that he probably just took too long with his new warmup, Steve shrugs it off and starts his jog shortly after.

Eddie hits his personal best in several weights that day, desperately trying to expend his excess energy in some way. He barely registers the wins, mind still stuck on Steve and his perfect ass in all those new positions. He almost dissolves on the spot when Steve claps him on the shoulder in congratuations.

At the end of their session, Eddie takes a freezing cold shower and prays for the sweet release of death.

[nxghtstxne]

"What are we?"

Warnings: None

Pairings: Leah Williamson x reader

Words: 2222 (angel number??)

*First Leah fic, still gonna be writing for OBX and stuff so don't worry but I like this now too so I'm also gonna be writing more WOSO stuff, I actually already have a second Leah fic lined up after this one, inspired by this so it'll probably be the same timeline and background and stuff.

You were a forward for the Arsenal women's team, having scored a fair few goals for the team you were popular with the fans. However even after all your time at the club you were still rather quiet and reserved, becoming good friends with Lotte and Viv pretty soon after joining, and of course being friends with Viv meant eventually being friends with Beth and of course Leah. 

Beth and Leah had managed to soon get you to open up around them, the latter of the two quickly realising how her mood instantly lifted whenever you were nearby, finding it hard not to smile at just the thought of you sometimes. Slowly you had found yourself talking to Leah more easily, at first finding her rather stern and slightly intimidating. Now you were excited to tell her about your day or to listen to her talk about all the new songs she had found since you two last spoke. 

Eventually as the season progressed, so did your friendship with the defender, whenever you would score goals, whether they were strong and thought out or a chance you took with your eyes closed, Leah was always one of the last ones to leave the celebration, her hands and arms holding onto you the tightest out of all your teammates. After one particular game changing goal against Liverpool, you were quickly bombarded with hands patting your head and back and shouts of praise being thrown your way, but it was one set of strong arms wrapping around your shoulders that caught your attention; warm breath hitting your cheek as she pressed her chest against your back, her face pressed close to your ear.

 “Y/n that was unbelievable- you're unbelievable, oh my god!” What was surprising though was the quick kiss that she planted on your cheek, squeezing you one last time before running off back into her position. Not that you minded the way her arms felt around your torso when she was jumping in happiness at Arsenal scoring, or how close her face got to yours during that too. In fact you found yourself missing her presence afterwards when she wasn’t close to you. But she was like that with everyone right? Always the supportive vice captain, that’s all it was, is what you told yourself whenever your mind wandered to the what ifs. 

You found yourself asking the same questions during training a few days later, the trainers wanting everyone to pair up in the gym to do some 1v1 work together, you saw the blonde’s head turn your way the second the words left the coaches mouth, you were also about to make your way over to her to pair up before Victoria had grabbed your attention to be her partner instead. For the rest of the exercise you couldn’t help but notice the rather attractive frown on her face the whole time, it not going missed by Lia either; who had paired with Leah after seeing her disappointment at not being with you. Lia couldn’t help but be amused at the situation, throughout the whole time she had known Leah she had never seen her be this jealous or love struck over a girl before. At the end of session, you and Pelova had finished before Leah and Lia did, so you grabbed the blonde’s water bottle and made your way over. As soon as her eyes met yours she was like a completely different person, smiling and laughing at what you were saying, shoulder bumping into yours as you guys grabbed your bags. You both went your separate ways that afternoon, however the way her moods changed earlier that day had been stuck in your mind for the rest of the night. 

Every time you even thought about the possibility that she liked you as much as you liked her, you would get a slight flutter of butterflies in your stomach, eventually having enough of it and deciding to send her a quick message. After that it was hard to find a time where the two of you weren’t messaging each other, or facetiming while getting ready. Naturally this led to you both hanging out a lot more, movie nights, meeting up at little cafes or bars or sometimes going mini golfing or bowling. None of these had been called dates, but the way your hands intertwined casually and the longing looks shared throughout the nights, played on your mind, and unknown to you, Leah thought about them too.

 After a few months of this going on, it was obvious to the two of you that you both liked each other, however there seemed to be something stopping either of you from making the move and making it official, the fear of it not working out and then losing a friend and a good teammate being too strong. Once Leah was able to drive again after her surgery, she would pick you up and drop you off back home, not being too keen on the idea of you walking on your own after late training nights. It took surprisingly less time than you thought for Leah to give up her treasured DJ privileges and let you take control of the music in the car, it didn’t stop her from being overly opinionated about the music you played though. One night after the two of you had been out to an arcade for a few hours, you were sat in the passenger seat, the conversation had since died down into a comfortable silence, street lights lit up the car every few seconds causing you to notice Leah's clenched jaw out of the corner of your eye, a hand gently landed on your right thigh. Thumb stroking over the jeans softly as the tapping of her other hand on the wheel to the beat of the song filled the car, she was nervous you could tell, not wanting to draw attention to her you placed your own hand on top of hers. A silent response that it was okay, and you liked it. It was almost as if that night had opened something between the two of you, now comfortable with holding each other more often, hands in hands, or chests pressed against backs in the comfort of your house or her flat. 

Eventually it started to feel like the two of you were becoming something, knowing each other's schedules, each other’s favourite snacks or drinks to have after a match or at a movie night at each other's houses, the two of you even had some spare clothes and pajamas in a dedicated draw in the other girl’s room. After one particular group dinner at your place, cooking for what felt like half the team, Leah asked to sleep at yours, something that the two of you had done before but it still sent a surge of butterflies through your stomach, an instant smile at the thought of spending alone time with the girl. You quickly agreed and once everyone had helped clean up and left, not even an hour later you both were in lying in your bed, time had gone by pretty fast and before you knew it, you had spent countless hours awake together, talking about almost anything, ignoring the plot of the movie you two put on as it now only served as background noise. 

 Even hours after the two of you said you would be fast asleep, you were lying next to each other, shoulders touching and legs intertwined, giggling and silently laughing at each other’s bad jokes, hands grasping onto arms and heads turning to face each other as the laughter mellowed into giggles. Leah's eyes gently watched you as your hand reached up to tuck her fringe behind her ear, removing it from blocking her eyes. Only to giggle as it once again fell back to where it was, you moved it again, this time keeping your hand where it was against the side of her face; thumb moving up and down against her cheekbone. Her head moved slowly towards yours, nose pressing against yours, eyes holding eye contact, neither of you needed to speak to be able to understand what was being said, with a small nod of your head Leah’s lips were on yours. This was the first night of many that ended in gentle kisses while arms held each other close, waking up in the morning under warm covers with Leah’s long legs hung over your waist, an instant smile at how she even manages to frown in her sleep.

Though it wasn’t long after that first kiss that things started to escalate a little bit more, Leah always holding her hand out for you to take even in front of teammates, you guys had obviously held hands before but the slight fear of it being noticed by someone had always been there. But now it was like neither of you cared, too caught up in your own bubble to notice that people were looking, especially Beth and Katie. They noticed that one time Leah accidentally or not wore one of your hoodies to training, they knew it was yours because it was your favourite- always wearing it or having it in your bag in case. They noticed whenever Leah would make sure you were walking in front of her in crowded places, hands on your waist, her height advantage over you making it easy for her to direct you through the sea of people. They also noticed how not being official would affect the two of you when being single was brought up in conversation or online, with speculation and shipping by fans- or when a stranger would mindlessly flirt with either one of you on a night out.  And so because of this they took it upon themselves to get you both to finally confess your strong feelings to each other and make it official.

Not long after they had discussed their plan with Viv and Lotte, deciding to tag team the two of you and separately have the same talk about confessing your obvious love for each other, reminding you of how down you felt whenever you were reminded that Leah wasn’t yours, and you weren’t Leah's; convincing you and Leah the feelings were obviously there and so it would be stupid and painful to not follow and listen to them. 

That led you to where you are now, sat almost cuddled under a warm blanket on a cold October evening, hands itching to grab a hold of the other but the conversation ahead was making the two of you nervous. Space that was never usually there was present between both your bodies, a random episode of a tv show you’re both watching playing on the tv, the air around not awkward; never awkward with you two, just quietly comfortable but slightly scary. 

“Lee, what are we?” you had asked rather suddenly, your voice almost a whisper. Leah who had been focused on her nail polish, nervously checking it over and over again, stopped and turned to face you, eyebrows pulled down into that very attractive frown that you loved. Her head leaning to rest against her hand, arm perched on the back of the sofa. Copying her movements you turned to face her too, smiling as you reached up to rub a finger along the two lines in between her eyes, reminding her to relax her face; she secretly adored it when you did that, admittedly sometimes frowning on purpose just for you to do it. 

“What do you mean? We’re us, we’re good right? Just the way we are?” Her words had almost made your stomach drop, thinking that now you had definitely read it all wrong and maybe she doesn’t want to make it official or be with you for real. You had to remind yourself what your friends had told you earlier that day as you took a big breath in. 

“Yeah of course we’re good, but it would be good if we were more too, right? Even better maybe, cause then you’d be mine for real… And I would be yours for real, if you wanted.” The second those last words had left your mouth, Leah nodded, humming in agreement with your words.

“Yeah, yeah that would be good. Maybe a little scary but we’ll be alright I reckon.” Laughing towards the end of her words, she took one look at you and then pulled you into a kiss, a gentle, warm kiss like the many you’ve shared before but this one felt more passionate; possessive maybe? At the fact that you were now each other’s, comfortably and happily each other’s.  “So I guess this means no more hiding it?” 

“God shut up!” You laughed and pushed her away before pulling the blanket further up, cuddling back into her side, relieved that the hard part of the conversation was now over. “We were shit at hiding it anyway, pretty sure everyone knew already.” Leah had quietly laughed at your words, wrapping her arms around your upper body, head resting atop yours, forever thankful to their friends for giving them a talking to, because now Leah get’s to fall even more in love with you, and she will love you, sincerely, effortlessly and completely. 

[last-starry-sky]

Simon constantly teases you about how short/small you are. It upsets you, makes you feel singled out, weak, incompetent. Turns out he’s just dying to know how well you can fit him, how big his cock would look next to your hands and feet. Won’t shut up about it during sex either. A dash of mean Simon + his untapped size kink

eeeeee im gonnafuckining explode OKAY FOR REAL I WAS DYING WHEN I SAW THIS. thank u, beautiful, patient anon, for blessing me with this prompt!! I hope I did it justice!

ghost x petite!f!military!reader

(MDNI - NSFW uhhhh grossly inaccurate military stuff, creeper, bully simon :), i’m using “petite” as in “shorter and smaller than the average woman” trying to keep everything as open and vague as possible, oral, deep throating, ghost has a raging size kink, unprotected piv, also this is LONG (5.6k) 💀 i'm sorry!!! skip to the end for smut if that's all you want!❤️) 

It’s been the same fucking comments from your lieutenant all week. Day in, day out and it’s starting to wear a sore spot into your hardened skin. 

“Muzzle up. Arms tired already? ‘s a big rifle for someone your size to carry.”

“Keep pace with the group. Your short legs aren’t their problem.”

“Shoulders back! Chest out! Some’ve y’ need all the height you can get!”

All you can do is grit out a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” and push yourself even harder to keep up with the taller and stronger men and women around you. The massive Brit in charge is running your training group. While you expected this to be hard (your CO hadn’t been mincing words when he pitched it as “advanced”) but you never expected this. 

First of all, from the very beginning, he seemed to have a problem with you. Only you. There were a handful of women in the group, but you were unfortunately the shortest and smallest. Not that it bothered you. You’d spent your whole life this size. You were used to it. It was everyone else, especially the wanna-be, alpha males that flocked to the military like flies, that gave you grief over it.

The second you all lined up off the transport, you could feel his eyes on you. You tried not to stare back while the other Brit, Captain Price, gave a short introductory talk. You hadn’t heard a word of it. He stood there, flanking the captain, in a black, skin tight t shirt, with his obscenely muscled arms crossed over his ridiculously broad chest. A buzzing filled your ears as his black eyes bored into you. His stare so hot and heavy it made you sweat. His eyes were all of his face that he left uncovered, the rest was hidden by a skull mask and balaclava. You tried to ignore him, but you swore you saw the ink on his arm flexing as the captain introduced him: Lt. Ghost.

From the first training exercise, a simple one on one spar, he pulled you of all people from the women’s group to demonstrate on. What could you do? Refuse? He had at least a foot and close to one hundred pounds of muscle on you. You tried not to shake as you squared up at the opposite end of the mat. 

He told you to rush him, to “show him what you got”. Well, you tried. Once he gave signal to start, all you could do was try to fake him out. You ran at him before quickly darting to the side, trying to get behind him using your short stature to your advantage. Unfortunately for you, he was crazy agile for a large guy. He pivoted on his foot, watching you as you tried to fade to his left. You steeled yourself when he caged you in his arms, sweeping your feet off the mat. Your world was a blur until he slammed you roughly down onto the mat. Your breath was knocked from you, your vision spinning. You heard the crowd around you let out a collective “OH”. It took you a moment to realize he had you pinned. Your legs and hands held painfully down with his own. 

“‘sat all y’ got? Givin’ up already?” he grunted out with a gravely laugh while he stared down at you. He leaned down until his chest was pressed to yours, that stupid mask just grazing your face. “Or y’ got some fight left in y’? 

Hell yeah you still had some fight in you. You managed to slip out one leg from under him, jamming your knee quickly into his side. A kidney hit was dirty, you knew that. You wouldn’t dream of doing it in a normal spar, against an evenly matched partner, but he deserved it for picking on you; for picking a woman when he could have easily dominated any of the men in the room. He reacted exactly as you expected: crumpling forward in pain. You didn’t waste a second pulling your hands and legs from his grip. Another cry rang out from the crowd when you rolled out from under him, ready to jump on his back and make the pin.

“Olright, olright,” he said rubbing at his side, sitting up with a grunt before you could pin him. “I yield, y’ cheatin’ lil’ git. Next up.” 

He pointed at one of the other soldiers to come forward and take your place. The man gave you a fist bump as you left the mat and you told him “good luck”. You knew he would need it. When you turned around you saw that Ghost’s gaze had never left you. 

-

You walked back to base on Friday with your blood boiling, failure weighing heavy on your psyche after a long, hot afternoon of sniper training. You had given all you could; had put up with extra hard, extra long training, with comment after comment about your size and strength. 

Shorty. Shrimp. Rifle looks like it weights more than you. Gonna manage that?

Up early, in late everyday, almost too tired to eat and shower by the end. You had a mind to march right into Price’s office and tell him you were leaving that night. You’d made it a week, that was good enough for you. You would rather face hell from your CO back home than endure another hour of this. The second you sat down on your bunk, however, you passed out.

The exhaustion must have snapped something in your brain. You woke up a few hours later groggy and sweaty, your bunk mate snoring away. You were half on your bed with your feet still in your boots. You rolled onto your back with a groan, wiping the dried tears and dust from your cheeks. 

You let your weak arms fall over your face. You felt pathetic. You honestly wanted to just lay on your thin mattress and cry in the dark until the day started. Another day of enduring that British cunt with a superiority complex calling you short and weak, of singling you out in front of your peers, of making you question your career up to this point. He was eroding the very core of your person at this point, and you didn’t know how much long you could take it. 

You let out a sigh and, with more than a little effort, pull your sore, battered body out of bed. What you really needed was to shower, to think this out, and then find Captain Price to talk. No good would come from rushing into a decision in this state. 

You enjoyed your shower. It was nice to have all of the hot water and the whole communal space to yourself. You took your time getting dressed back into your rumbled clothes in the empty locker room. Nothing but the sound of dripping water echoing off the tile around you. 

Leaving the showers, you looked up and down the bare corridors, only enough of the overhead fluorescents left on to avoid a safety hazard. Your hair dripped onto your shoulders while you stood in the center of the hall. Price’s office had to be somewhere around here.

You wandered out of the barracks, down hall after hall of the same, painted block walls and plain tile floors, until you started seeing name plates posted haphazardly on the wooden doors. Your eyes wandered from door to door until you found what you were looking for: a sheet of 8.5x11 paper taped crookedly outside an office with Cpt. Price scrawled across the middle.

You let out a sigh of relief as you brought up your hand to knock on the door. It was almost over. The captain seemed like a reasonable man. He would surely be willing to listen to you, maybe give you some sound advice on whether you were actually cut out for this level of training. Before your hand could land on the door, a gloved hand came out from the shadows of the hall in front of you to rest above yours.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he whispered harshly.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. You closed your eyes in annoyance, balling your hands at your sides. Of fucking course he was here. Right at the last hurdle. Right before you could seek relief from a superior, his superior too. You let out a long breath through your nose before you opened your eyes to face him.

“I came to talk to Captain-” you started speaking with a wavering voice before he cut you off.

“Not in. Not yet, at least. Had a long night.” 

He leaned against the door, starting down at you again. God, he fucking annoyed you. You’d never had a CO that frayed at your nerves like he did. How dare he come off so cool, gripping his oversized biceps with his stupid skeleton gloves. 

You stepped back from the door. “I’ll come back when he’s in then. Sorry-”

“Can help you if you need somethin’” he interrupted you again, casually canting his hips forward, moving his hand to the door handle. 

You shook you head. While you really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you would prefer not ending this with a disciplinary, so you bit your tongue. 

“I don’t need anything from you,” you answered with just a bit of venom.

He heard it, you were sure of it. He clicked the door open, letting it fall open to reveal the dark room inside. 

“No. I think you do, small-stuff.” When you didn’t make a move, just let another angry breath out your nose and furrow your brow deeper, he shifted to the side and pointed inside the room. “In. Now. That’s an order.”

You clenched your teeth and did as you were told. Not that you had an option now. 

-

You walked up to the desk at the back of the room. Price sure did keep his office in a state. Papers and folders were piled across his desk. A landline phone and old desktop computer were shoved to either corner of the desk. More folders and binders piled over the keyboard and hid the keypad of the phone. You heard Ghost’s boots squeak lightly on the tile behind you, then the door shut with a click. Another, soft click followed. He flipped the light switch, illuminating the spot right above you with hazy, yellow light. 

You turned to face the man who’d gone out of his way to made himself your nemesis for the past week. He silently sauntered up to you, stopping behind one of the chairs in front of the desk. You crossed your arms defensively over your chest and tried to make your face placid while he pulled the chair out. He took a seat, well, he tried too. He could barely fit his massive fame in the little chair. It groaned underneath him as he mirrored your pose, arms crossed and legs spread. 

You sat silently staring at each other before he asked, “Well?” with a roll of his shoulders. 

You picked over your words, trying to detangle everything you had thought up in the shower. Ghost bouncing his knee pulled you back to reality. It was like the threatening hiss of a rattlesnake's tail. Better to just get it out than keep him waiting.

“Do you have a problem with me?” you squeaked out, eyes on you boots. The direct route it was, then. 

“What?” he asked, confused.

You looked up at him, exhausted, eyes pleading. “Look, I know I’m short and not as strong as the other guys . . . especially the guys, but the way you talk to me-”

“Don’t have a problem with y’,” he said throwing his arm across the back of the chair, readjusting while he raked his eyes up and down your frumpy form. Probably looking for something to complain about. “If’m bein’ honest-” he started before cutting himself off and turning his head. 

You uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides. “What . . .” you questioned, gesturing with your hands in front of you. “Then why do you-”

He jiggled his knee a few more times before turning back to face you. “Little thing like you,” he said darkly, so deep and low you almost didn’t hear it. He clenched his fingers on his pants as he cleared his throat. “You keep up with the rest’ve ‘em well enough. Ain’t got a problem.”

“Little thing,” you whispered, repeating him sarcastically. 

Ghost groaned at that. Honest to god groaned in front of you, sending a shiver up your spine. You froze as his heavy eyes found their way back to you. 

“Yeah. You sure are,” he said scraping his fingers down his pants. “Spunky, too. Used t’ fightin’ for your place. Like that. Makes me wonder-” he trailed off as his large eyes wandered down from your face to your chest. 

You were shocked. No way. You had to be misinterpreting this. Maybe you were still sunstroked from yesterday, because there was no way you were reading him correctly. 

“Wonder what?” you piped, blush pinching at your cheeks.

“Wonder . . .” he said rocking his head back and forth, trying to tie a sentence together. “Wonder if y’ can be sweet, too.” He let you stew in wide-eyed disbelief for a moment as he gestured at you. “Wonder what you look like underneath all that.” Your stomach clenched as he tilted his hips forward, spreading his legs wider, to palm is cock through his pants. “Wonder if it matches what I’ve imagined.”

You would be lying if it was just your stomach clenching after that shameless display.

It was crazy how it all made sense now. The constant attention. The names. You thought he was being overly hard on you, picking at you, trying to get you to drop out. You rubbed a hand over your heated face. He was a grown man (a large one, too) that was acting like a little boy with a worm on a stick, chasing the girl he liked around the playground. You thought he hated you and all this time he was actually getting off to you. You felt like an absolute moron. 

“Doesn’t have t’ leave this room. If you’re interested,” he said in that deep gravel, still trying to keep himself together. 

You let him sit in silence for a long, tortuous, moment. 

“And if I’m not?” you finally asked. 

He nodded to the door behind him with his head. “Then leave. Talk t’ Price in the morning. No harm.”

“No foul,” you finished his phrase, running your fingers over your bottom lip. 

Silence hung between you for a hot moment in the cold, stale air of the office. You had a hard time believing he would just let you go at this point. Not that you planned to, the danger intrigued you too much to walk away. This line of work had made you a wholly different animal, it’s why you were here. You ran into war zones, battlefields, hostage negotiations, the places others couldn’t run out of fast enough. You’d been dealing with the people that most couldn’t stomach, the ones that couldn’t function in civilian society, for so long that they had worn a place under your skin. This lieutenant, Ghost, he had been in this just as long, if not longer, than you. He had to feel the same. Fuck, he had be worse.     

“What . . . what do you want?” you finally managed to ramble out. 

He let out a rough hum of satisfaction. You hated how you responded to it. You rolled your thighs together and, fuck, you were wet. You let out a small, shuddering breath. You’d gone a week with no praise, no kindness, and now here he was, the big, bully Brit who’d made your life hell practically purring over you. 

He trained his hungry eyes on you and motioned up with a flick of his fingers. “Wanna see ‘em. Don’t even have’t take your shirt off.”

A part of you wondered if this was all a trick as you slowly rucked your t shirt up to expose your stomach. That would track with how your week had gone so far. He was so blatant and open though, gripping the chair beneath him like he was about to launch out of it at a moment’s notice. He groaned as you pulled your shirt up to reveal your plain black sports bra. It was nothing special, standard issue, but it kept you strapped down. Not that you really had all that much to contain. 

He ran his hand over (what you assumed) was his mouth under the balaclava. He waited a moment for you to continue before urging you forward. 

“Come on, love. Don’t get shy. Wanna see ‘em.”

You slipped your fingers underneath the wide band at the bottom, hesitating only a moment before you pulled everything, shirt included, up over your head. You stared down at your chest while you balled your clothes in your hands.

“Not much to see,” you whispered, watching your nipples perk and skin pucker under the AC.

“Fuckin’ hell” was all he said. You dared to look up. “Fuck,” he continued, “Fuckin’ . . . get over’ere. Just fuckin’ dyin’ t’ get my hands on you.”

You dropped your clothes on the floor, closing the few steps between you quickly before falling forward into his grasp. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what this desperate, mountain of a man was about to unleash on you, but fuck did it excite you. Once he had you between his legs, gloved hands scraping up your back and around your waist, testing his fingers as he held you, but he didn’t do anything but look. He stared at you like you were made of glass. 

You stared at him, too. You hadn’t been this close since he’d pinned you on the first day, and you were pretty sure you’d been half-concussed then. You could see where he had eye black painted carefully around his eyes to fill the holes in his mask. You could see his long eyelashes, clumped together with that same oily black paint. It made the whites of his eyes stand out vibrantly. His large dark irises darted back and forth over your chest. You wondered what he was planning, what he was thinking. 

He didn’t leave you wondering for long. He pressed you forward, mouthing at your nipple through the mask. You let out a short whine, pussy clenching as his large hands kneaded at your waist. The feeling was like nothing you’d felt before. The fabric between you muted the translation between his actions and your pleasure. You could feel how eagerly he bit and sucked at you, but you were denied half of it. It made you dig your fingers into his shoulders in frustration.

“Want more?” he said haggardly, pulling off of you. He tugged at your belt, not waiting for an answer. “Then get these off.”

You did your best to undo your belt and pants despite your shaking and moaning while he dove back in, working harder at your other nipple. Once you’d dropped your pants down to your ankles he pulled you forward to step out of them, wedging you into the spread of his legs. You toed out of your shoes and then he kicked everything behind you, your boots banging loudly against the steel desk. You heard papers shift and fall, but couldn’t find a reason to care. He held you, running his gloved hands over your exposed skin while you shivered in font of him in nothing but your panties. 

He palmed his cock again before fumbling around to find his belt. You heard him click it open, the metal jangling as it went slack. 

“On your knees,” he ordered breathlessly. “Wan’ see what that little mouth can do with this.” 

You complied immediately, viciously curious as to what he was packing. If the tent in his pants was any indication, you had your work cut out for you. He popped open the button of his fly and then slowly unzipped. You couldn’t see anymore through his briefs than you had in his pants, but still, you leaned forward. You curled your hands on your knees, biting your lip, willing him to give you permission. 

“Go ahead,” he said giving himself one lazy, squeezing pump.

You put your hands on his inner thighs, right above his knees, testing the waters. When he didn’t say anything, you slid your hands up his legs, a soft, swishing sound following. You stopped at his crotch, pulling yourself forward before tentatively, gently, smoothing up his clothed cock. 

He groaned, covering your hand with his, forcing you to grip his girth. Your thumb just barely met your ring finger. 

“Fuckin’-” was all he could get out before pulling your hand off. 

He used his other hand to pull his dick out before pressing your hand to his hard, burning length. You gave him another pump, feeling how the skin stretched beneath your hand, then squeezing to feel how goddamn rigid he was. The tip of his cock made your mouth water. 

It was crazy. On you knees in front of him like this, you weren’t a competent soldier, a woman who held herself with poise and respect in front of her colleagues. He wasn’t an expertly trained, battle-hardened, special operative of the British Army. You were both human. Both hungry. 

You tipped his cock toward you to lap at the underside of the head. You met his eyes just as you closed your mouth around him, sucking the salt from his slit. He shut his eyes with a groan, letting his head fall back for a moment as he reached his hand up to grip at your skull. He opened his eyes to watch as he slowly bobbed your head down his cock. 

He gripped himself at the base, forcing your mouth to take him until you met his fingers. You did. Just barely, gagging as his head slid against the roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back of your throat. He didn’t let you pull back. Instead, he traced the inside of your lips with his thumb, drool coating his black gloves.

“Lookit’ that,” he groaned as your throat pulsed and burned around him. “Little thing takes it all s’fuckin’ well.”

He let go of your head, letting you pull off of his cock. You stared at it with heavy eyes as your head spun from lack of oxygen, it glistened with your spit in the harsh light. He gave himself another languid stroke, watching you force air into your lungs while you sat practically naked on the floor between his knees. 

“Think you can take it in that little cunt a’yours like that?” he asked, stopping his stroke at the head.

You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. You gave him a slow nod. Any fear or paranoia you had before was long evaporated. You were wet, horny, needy. You needed him to give you something, and if he was going to give you a choice, you could do worse than getting railed until you couldn’t remember your name. You clenched, hands clawing at your thighs, as you watched him pump another stroke up that monster cock of his in front of your face before grunting out his order.

“Get up then. Against the desk.”

You scrambled up to your feet. He followed you, rising quickly from his chair to tower over you, pressing you backwards into the steel desk. Your hands reached out for purchase as he roughly gripped your thighs, throwing you on top of Price’s paper-laden desk. Folders and binders clattered to the floor, papers swirling across the tile as he shoved you down, ass right on the edge. 

He stood between your legs, hips flush to yours, his cock laying across your standard issue panties like a weapon. He pressed the weight of it against your skin with a groan, head spreading precum into your stomach. Quicker than you realized, he reached behind his back, coming back with a knife. It was almost invisible palmed in his large hand, only the tip of the blade winked from the tip of his thumb. With two quick flicks, he cut up the side of your underwear. He slid the knife back to wherever he had taken it from, like it was the most normal thing in the world, before pulling the now useless scrap of fabric from between the press of your bodies. 

He held the scrap of fabric in his hand for a minute, investigating it under the light before tossing it to the floor.

“Really are beggin’ for it, eh?” He said sliding his cock up the seam of your pussy. His easy, fluid movements as he rocked against you answered for you. “Fuckin’ wet just from that?”

You nodded, lacing your legs around his hips, trying to pull him closer. He pressed his hand into your stomach in response, squishing you against the desk hard enough to make you squirm. He pulled away enough to notch the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Needy little fuckin’ thing,” he said with a punch of his hips, nails biting into the soft skin of your stomach as his tip danced perilously on the edge of holding inside you. “Want it so fuckin’ bad? Want this inside y’?” 

He took himself in hand and watched as he pushed inside. You both groaned. You let your head fall against the desk with a dull thunk, eyes shut and legs shaking as he pushed deeper and deeper inside your slick hole. 

“Fuck.” He was breathless for the first time since you had met him. “Fuck are y’ tight. So fuckin’ small. Even gonna fit it all?” He rambled to himself as he took hold of your hips and watched himself fuck slowly in and out of you; hypnotized by the clutch of your greedy pussy pulling him in, resisting as he pulled out. 

You let out a small cry of frustration, tears pricking around your eyes. He was big, but that wasn’t the problem. You had taken your share of dick, you could take him. It was killing you how slow he was. He was lost in his own world, watching his cock slid in and out of you as you lay there silently begging for him to just fuck you already. 

“Quiet,” he whispered with a half-hearted harshness, hand trailing down to your pussy. 

You almost jumped as he began to rub a wide circle around your clit. Your slick barely dulled the rough texture of his glove. You shuddered, clenching around him, whining as he found a rhythm with his thumb and cock. Your clench punched the breath out of him. He fell over you, bracing himself with his arm. You could hear the hollow sound of his breaths behind his mask as he gave up trying to pump into your vice of a pussy. 

He nuzzled the cold plastic of his mask against your ear. “Not gonna’ last long doin’ shit like that,” he grumbled. He held himself up, pulling your face to look at him with a hand under your jaw. “Wha’d’y want?” 

You stared back at him with confusion. 

“Where d’y want it?” he clarified.

If you had a brain cell still functioning, you would have told him to pull out. It was the safer of the options he was giving you. 

But you didn’t. You moaned out, “Fuck. Inside me. Please,” like the absolute whore you had become once he’d whipped his cock out. 

Not one to question, apparently, Ghost was back in position the moment he heard you. He pulled your hips back to meet his, cock punching all the way in until you winced as the head hit your cervix. He took hold of one of your legs, hand running up the length of it, positioning it until it lay unfolded up his chest. He gripped his fingers around your ankle, starting at it as his other hand squeezed your waist.

“Lookit, fuck. Lookit that,” he said as he pistoned into you. You cut off the loud moan that he punched out of you. The change in angle was . . god it was like nothing you’d had before.  

“Like that?” he said, letting your foot dangle on his shoulder while he held your waist with both hands, driving into you mercilessly. 

If you could have answered, you would have spoke truthfully. You were sure. You would have moaned about how good it was, how he was so big and filled you so well. As it was, his powerful thrusts jarred you against the cool metal of the desk too much to do anything more than moan and hold on as more papers flooded the floor. 

“Got y’self off at all this week?” he asked, panting breathlessly.

You shook your head, a small whine of anticipation falling form your lips at the thought.

“Gonna nut just thinkin’ about you cummin’ on my cock,” he mumbled, trailing his hand back to your clit.

You let out a sad whine, bucking into his thrust as he touched you. You were close. So fucking close.

He began to circle your clit like before, finding that delicious rhythm with the pound of his hips that pulled you higher and higher, tighter and tighter, until dazzling sparks lit up your core. You reeled back with a cry, clenching his cock, arching as he worked you through your peak. 

His hand ripped away from you sooner than you’d like. He fell over you, both hands biting into the skin of your hips as he pounded into you as your pussy pulsed, any semblance of cadence or love-making gone as he chased his own high. You dug your fingers into his t shirt. The sweat drenched fabric was almost too slippery to hold on to. 

“Fuck! Too fuckin’ hot ‘n, fuck, tight. Fuck, ‘m gonna-” His weak series of sighs and groans, followed by the distinct feeling of his cock flaring inside you told you what he couldn’t.

He lay over you for a moment, panting as you both caught your breaths. You wondered if he was also stewing in the monumental realization of what the fuck you had both just done. You’d just broken so many rules. So much was at stake. He’d just cum inside a subordinate on his bosses desk, and you didn’t work for the same country. This was going to be a mess. You were sure of it. 

He pulled away from you, pulling himself out with a smothered whine. You crossed your hands over your middle as you watch him zip back up and adjust his mask. It was wild how he was back to normal within seconds. You half expected him to walk out the door and just leave you here like this. At least all of your clothes were here, save your sliced up panties. 

But he didn’t leave. He held out a hand to you, only letting you stare at it dumbly for a minute before he flicked his fingers toward himself, urging you to act. You took his hand and he pulled you up easily. He even let you slump against him after you sat up. You’d forgotten how tired a good lay made you.

Again, you expected him to leave you now that you were conscious and able to dress yourself, maybe leave you with a heavy warning (read: threat) to not talk about this. As you tried to shuffle to the side to try and get off the desk, he stopped you. His hands gripped both of your shoulders suddenly.

“The fuck y’ doin’?” he said, forcing you back in front of him.  

“Getting . . . dressed?” you answered with unease. 

“Funny,” he said with a single, dry, laugh. “You’re a funny lil’ thing, too.”

His hands skimmed down your sides before quickly seizing you by the hips, throwing you over his shoulder like a backpack. You gasped as your stomach landed on his solid shoulder, punching the air from your lungs.

“Think we’re done already?” he said, turning around. 

You watched as the desk, and the messy you had made on and around it, including your scattered clothing, circled back into view, then slipped away. He palmed a whole cheek of your ass in one hand, spreading you open enough for cold air to chill your leaking core, as he stalked toward the door. He probed a finger into your pussy, swirling the cum you felt leaking out across your folds. 

“Got a whole day off, y’know,” he said matter-of-factly as he opened the door. Completely ignoring that he had a naked woman slung over his shoulder like a caveman. “Think we should go back to mine. Relax. See what else that little cunt’ve yours can take.”

[mistercharmandhandsome]

Switching Body with a Hunk: A New Perspective

I like to watch gym enthusiasts flexing their impressive muscles.

I admire them so much and often imagine myself becoming as muscular as they are.

Unfortunately, due to my genetics, it's challenging for me to bulk up despite many years of working out.

Even though I consume a lot of protein and drink shakes, my body mass remains the same.

Sometimes, I wish I could swap body with these guys.

They look so impressive.

One day, while watching the Mr. Hunk show, I noticed that one of the contestants is a gym acquaintance of mine.

We don’t talk much, but I always watch him silently while he’s focused on his exercise.

He is tall and strong, resembling the Asian Dwayne Johnson.

He has a deep voice, and every woman in the gym likes to chat with him.

"Let’s give a big round of applause for contestant number 30, Alex Shu!"

The audience claps welcoming him, but he looks so worried maybe due to stiff competition.

As he introduces himself, I can see him seems to lack confidence.

"Why is he behaving like that? The judge might give him a low evaluation! Wish I could be there and give him the support."

After the introduction, he returns to his original position and stands straight, looking at the camera.

Suddenly I see him making eye contact with me through the TV screen.

His eyes just froze and staring at the camera focusing on him.

I try to look at him again and feel drawn to him.

Suddenly, there’s a blackout with loud thunder sound, and I faint.

When I wake up, I find myself naked in the gym room with no one around.

I quickly grab the black trunk on the floor and put it on.

My heart is racing, and I’m sweating. I can feel my adrenaline is rushing.

I notice a different face in the mirror, but my vision is blurry and I feel disoriented.

I see a mobile phone on the workout bench, so I use it to take a few photos.

As I look through the photos, I realize that I am now in Alex Shu’s body.

I shout, “What the fuck!” I can’t believe I sound just like a deep voice alpha male.

Panicking, I take another look in the mirror.

This time, my vision is clearer, and I see that I’ve transformed into Alex Shu, the impressive guy from the gym.

I try to calm down and understand what happened, but at the same time, I’m thrilled to be in his body.

I examine the new physique, flexing the muscles to see how strong Alex Shu is.

“Hi, Alex! Ready to exercise with me?” One of the attractive women from the gym taps my shoulder.

“Sure, I’m just stretching before we get started,” I reply with a smirk smile.

Then I can feel the bulge under my trunk and I followed the women to the janitor room located behind the gym room.

We started to undress and kissing each other, the women grabbing my new dick and insert into her vagina.

Damn! Alex Shu has such a big dick and the women was moaning like crazy when I throbbing my dick.

Over the past year, I’ve adjusted to my new body.

I continue to train to build my chest and arms, and now I’m the most attractive guy with a six-pack and a muscular build.

I’ve changed careers to become a full-time gym instructor, and my schedule is fully booked.

Many women like to call me “daddy,” and some even volunteer to have special workout with me.

This experience has been incredible, and I don’t regret a moment of it.

[the-midnight-blooms]

​ ᴠɪꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ

pairing: king!choi san x general!reader

AU: historical au, royalty au

word count: 8.5k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Forbidden Love

Choi San.

Borne from the roots of a pious tree, sprung from the ashes of his father's shadow was the Kingdom of Qiān's esteemed Crown Prince, scholar, charming bachelor and skilled swordsman. His name roamed in the villages of foreign nations, where the people believed his rubric was the elixir of eternal strength and beauty. For his mere presence intoxicated weakened souls, harbouring an essence of rebirth within the individuals that sook a replenished health. Though it was merely an old wives tale, Choi San was indeed a potent, renown individual who rose to power after the death of his predecessor: King Choi.

King Choi, on to contrary to his beloved son, was by no means the greatest King to ever rule over the ambitious lands neither was he the poorest. Though, he was the reaction intermediate, used to form something much more powerful. A much more historical ruler ascended to the throne in his wake.

The once coddled prince, who spent his carefree childhood sauntering the seven seas, reading books until the stars blurred into the dawn, playing chess with the strategists, could no longer escape from responsibility. His father's weakened hold on his hand had almost drained the life out of him. Momentarily, he had felt soul meander towards his ancestors; though they had rejected him.

Show them how powerful a King can be.

Hunched over a small desk, in a large tent, sat Lieutenant Seok- Qiān's first female high-ranking officer. With a quill fixed between her nimble fingers and a sore back, she scribbled away at her commanding officers report transcribing his poorly written work for the King. The dim light from the candle swayed in the desolate tent, bending to the will of small wisps of wind that flooded in through the slits between canvas fabric. With a tired sigh, she settled down her pen at last exercising the tense fibres in her muscles. A patter of loud footsteps ascended from outside the tent, her head piqued up as the fabric tore revealing Major Seong, his eyebrows creased in irritation as he stalked towards her.

"Hand me that." Snatching the sheet in front of her, her hands remained hovered in the air repressing the urge to roll her eyes at his short-tempered antics. His stern, hazel eyes peered over the sheet down at her as she stretched out her arms to correct the complacent stiffness. "King San requests your attendance his office. Major Baek will be there too." Momentarily, the Lieutenant felt a pulse of shock run through. The King requests my presence? She wasn’t aware that the esteemed King knew who she was. After all, her superiors had made many attempts to dissolve the rumours of there being a female military official. It didn't occur to her why, surely that was something to be proud of, yes- it defied convention but this could potentially further Qiān's image internationally catalysing the need for society to become modernised. Besides the Royal Army had, historically, suffered from a shortage of its members-if women had to fill the shoes of men then so be it. Unfortunately, her commanding officers did not share her contemporary mindset so she left the advocation for her less passive successor.

"Hurry up or it'll be off with our heads." Major Seong deadpanned, apologising profusely she shot out of her seat grabbing her jacket off the back off the chair before disappearing out of the tent.

Lieutenant Seok dashed through the ostentatious palace walls, her boots smacking against the marble floor heart pounding against her chest. Fixing the lapel of her jacket, she snatched a quick glance at her appearance through the blade of the guard's spear.

Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in.

A slight nod, and the heavy doors to the King's office were heaved open, the crystal white paint of the room blaring in her eyes. At the top, first and foremost sat the King's ebony chair and desk, along the expanse of the wall behind him was a bookcase full of books, the vestigial walls plastered with portraits of the preceding Kings. Large royal blue velvet curtains hung over baroque windows, reminiscent of the crests symbolic metallic silver and deep blue colours. Her own uniform was a navy blue jacket, shoulders padded with an expensive silver beadwork, and a long pleated skirt. Along her breast jacket sat her ribbon rack, adorned with all of the honorary medals she obtained during her service. Elegantly, she strode down the aisle; the King's careful eyes following her as she fell into a deep bow.

"Your Highness." She rose with grace too, hands firmly fixed at her sides, lowering her gaze before the King. "I am Lieutenant Seok." San cocked his head to the side, raising from his seat. Major Baek, the mentor to Seok stood adjacent to the King's desk sending a small sheepish smile, an odd emotion lingering behind it that she could not quite put her finger on. He was an old man, of about late sixties with thinning grey hair and a crinkled smile that stuck on his face throughout his life. He was renown for being the more compassionate of military officials she had ever come across, immediately taking the younger girl under his wing as soon as she stepped foot into the camps.

Being the only female lieutenant was more threatening to the cause than inspiring. Typically, women were not allowed to serve, in the military, unless they were Nurses or Administrators. Despite this, Lieutenant Seok's quick wits and admirable strength had her soaring through the rankings though she hated to admit that her father's occupation as Military Strategist may have been what allowed her to even step foot on the soil, or even what got Major Baek to show her some kindness. They loved to remind her of that. Though he was not the one to get her that far. Hell he had even died before the thought of joining the military had even crossed her mind.

The King rose from his chair, moving to stand in front of his desk waving a stack of papers in hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, she shifted her gaze to Major Baek who only avoided eye contact.

"Here, I have all of Major Seong's reports. Very meticulous, very well-written. Such is what I expect of my men." The pulse of her heart rose, blood rushed through her veins at a palpable speed, clenching her pleated skirts within the tight fist of her sweaty palms. Had he realised that she was the one writing all of his reports? "Except there's a slight problem and I need you to fix it for me." San provoked, she shifted uncomfortably under his hard stare.

"Look at me whilst I speak to you." Her eyes widened, was this King deranged? Who dared to even look into the King's eyes? Tentatively, lifting her chin, she bored into his crescent eyes. His high cheekbones and defined jawline created an intimidating impression, a current of virtue circulated around him as he spoke. His robes accentuated his broad shoulders and cinched waist. "In the Battle of Myeongnyang, by how many men was Admiral Yi Sun-Shin outnumbered?"

"333 to 13." Lieutenant Seok answered before San could blink, he fought back the smirk dancing on his lips.

"In which battle did he die?"

"Battle of Noryang on December 16, 1598."

"Exactly as its written here." San held up the report again, sharing a look with Major Baek that she failed to read. "So when I asked Major Seong, why did he say Pyeongyang?" Oh God. She thought as quickly as she could, reeling her mind through ways to answer the King.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Your Highness." she answered, settling upon the weakest argument one could make.

"He said December 14, 1598. I don't think this is a mistake Lieutenant. Now, I'm not concerned that our military officials don't know our countries history. I should be, but I'm not. This here." He shook the paper as furiously as he could. "Means nothing. But I asked him to recite basic facts from this report and he stuttered like a man with a lisp." Flinching at the King's harsh insult, she fixed her gaze to the ground again realising that the King knew that all along she was writing Major Seong's reports for him, which was one of the biggest crimes one could commit as a member of the Royal Army.

"I could ask you, on the other hand, and you would read this off like it's the back of your hand. Do not lie to me, Lieutenant, have you or have you not been writing Major Seong's reports and carrying out his duties which are significantly above your pay grade?" The King's voice seethed with anger, a large gust of wind emptied into the tense atmosphere as if the wind itself was mirroring his vexation. Once again, she fleeted her gaze back to her mentor who was painfully silent during this assembly. "I asked you, not him."

"Yes." She responded, weakly. "I did, Your Highness." San sighed, dropping the reports on the table with a loud thud. He didn't need to question why, he already knew that despite the fact that she was a particularly hard-working individual committed to carrying out her duties diligently, she was also just a woman- being punished for her sex.

"As you know, every King gets to choose his General. I have to be able to trust that my General can lead me into war and win." He paused, a breath hitched in the night's air. "How does General Seok sound?" Her eyes lit up at the sound of ‘General’ in front of her name, the urge to gasp out and cry was hanging heavy on her tongue. Looking into Major Baek’s eyes, they were full of joy and admiration for his mentee. Prior to this meeting, he had spoken with the King, believing it was time Qiān had elevated their distinguished reputation further through their first ever female General.

"With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, there are many Majors and Lieutenant Colonels who have much more leadership experience and the desired skill set to fill this role. I am not sure if I possess the qualities that you are seeking." Besides, why had he even called her into his office? To humiliate her before giving her the title of General, to prove that even though she would have the power of the military in the palm of her hands-above all King San held a more divine power that only she could dream of?

San saw in both her eyes and her slight discomfort of her face, that it pained her to say such words. Then why did she say them? Was it the fear of being rejected by those who looked down on her? The fear that accepting this esteemed position would exacerbate the conditions she was living in. Men hated powerful women, history made that story known. Though, there was something about the woman before him being by his side, ruling his Royal Army that magnetised him.

“I disagree. You are General Officer Seok’s daughter, who helped us win a number of battles. Before he died, he told me you would win a thousand wars for Qiān.” Major Baek inputted. She always thought that her father had a hyperactive imagination; simply put he said the things he said to motivate his daughter. But her father was never wrong.

Is this not what she always wanted? Was King San not giving it to her on a hot silver platter dish? Yet, did this not mean her hands would be drenched in blood even more than it already was?

“Sacrifices have to be made, pet. In war, you sacrifice your sanity.”

"I accept this position." Falling into another deep bow, she rose as a wilted plant once did when it was blessed with water from the skies after a deserted period. "Thank you, my King. I promise I won't let you down."

General Seok strode down to her office situated in the East Wing of the castle, yet a distance from the King’s quarters. It was usually derelict at this time yet as she walked down she felt the burning stare of a hundred military officials, all jealous of her rank. She recounted the wave of discontentment that spun over the room like a wild fire, all questioning their noble King’s decision. Her mind fixated over the way her name reverberated through the room, a wave of gasps infiltrating the tense air. The officials heads snapping towards her, their mouths gaped.

"Men will never take you seriously if you are too afraid to look them in the eye." Staring at her father from across the chessboard, she bit her lower lip. "Are you afraid of me, my child?" Shaking her head no, she captured his bishop with her rook. With a contented humph, her father got up.

"Then look at me next time, when you have won. Show me that you are more powerful than Generals, wits great enough to be our Queen."

Pushing past the door to The General’s office, the large room was wavering with a warmth, the shut of the door silencing the bustle of movement outside the wall. Bookcases were plastered across the walls of the room, the palace brimmed with profound knowledge each published piece of literature could be found in Qiān's halls. A large mahogany table with a soft leather chair resided by the glass pane windows overlooking the garden. On a much smaller table, in the far corner, sat a chessboard- two chairs on opposite ends. A bundle of ink quilled pens rested above the table, a stack of plain books on the right hand corner. Sighing, she dropped the pile of books in her hand onto the table.

“War is looming over us. Freyr will not rest until they have seized our lands and we will not rest until we have secured ours." Over several generations, from the beginning of time when Kingdoms were forged from molten rock, a foreign tension bloomed between two of the most powerful nations of Earth. For the longest time, Qiān had always been imperilled with the possibility of war; they had just been harmless threats from a King that was too dim to strike against an equally powerful nation that would cause mutually assured destruction. Until now, King Jeong proved one of the more impulsive of Kings from his ancestors. Her kingdom's safety was now at stake and she needed to protect it with her life. "Over the next few weeks we need to prepare for a potential war-” She was cut off by the grumblings of the militia.

"I will not have a woman lead me into a war."

"How pitiful, death awaits for you from the male Generals that have this country running in blood."

"You sound incredibly confident, General, that you'll lose the least number of men." One mocked, the crowd of men let out a taunting laughter only be silenced as San rose from his chair.

"Had I believed we'd conquer this war by a man, would I have not chose him to stand by my side? Do you think me unintelligible of making a wise decision?" A deafening silence punctured her ears, her head dipped under his omnipresence. Did they go reticent out of sheer embarrassment or because they thought that King San would be one to disperse their Kingdom into ashes? Granted, her first assembly as General was a disaster, the uproar from her comrades induced a thumping headache; her forehead hit against her table a long groan escaping from her lips out of sheer exhaustion.

"My, my General-you're going mad already." Hastily, she jerked up her head straightening her posture as the King slumped into the chair opposite her desk. When did he enter?

"Your Highness, should I call for some tea?" San snickered, dimples adorning his cheeks. His heart fluttered slightly at her disorientation he could not put his finger why. Perhaps it was that for the first time, the organised, composed General had been caught off guard by his surprise visit. There was something so domestic about the fact that she was summoning tea for him; he didn’t even get to say ‘No thank you, I’ve had three cups already and it’s one in the evening.’

Certainly, the woman before him was beautiful- he noted that on first sight. He did not know how to feel now that he assigned her the role as his General. The whole world could see her sacred beauty, she was not something for him to lock up in a treasure chest and keep her all to himself. How dare she sway his heart into unchartered seas that San had spent the duration of his life running away from.

“Your Highness, the maids have told me that you haven’t had lunch yet. Perhaps we can have tea another time.” She stood by the doorway, arms folded as if she was his wife scolding him on his lack of appetite.

“First of all, I didn’t come for tea.” Her face heated up in embarrassment; pressed in her palms in realisation that she had jumped to a sudden conclusion. “Secondly, I’m not hungry. I’ll drink your tea anyway.” Huffing, she grabbed the tea tray from the maid thanking her before shutting the door with her foot. She picked up the porcelain teapot, the air fulfilled with the aroma of Jasmine tea; tranquillity succeeded the exhaustion felt by both King and his General.

“Jasmine tea?” San questioned, he preferred green tea with its grassy undertone. Jasmine tea was too floral for him.

“Yes, it’s good for calmness and mental clarity.”

“So that’s your secret, lots of Jasmine tea.” She nodded, placing the teacup in front of him. He sucked in a breath before raising the cup to his lips. Oh, it’s sweet. A lot sweeter than the cups he had been forced to drink as a child.

“I added honey.” The General added, on cue as if she had read his thoughts. “With respect Your Highness, if it wasn’t tea you came for: how can I help you?” He settled down the cup, clearing his throat.

“I excused Major Seong. As of tomorrow morning, he will be a normal civilian working in his father’s farm. He’s best off serving the country in another way.” Her chest heaved in shock, she leaned back in her chair chewing on her lip as she could not help but feel that she was to blame.

“He was still the best of us.” She retorted, after a long, painful silence.

“Not good enough. Otherwise I wouldn’t have dismissed him. Also, I don’t know if Major Baek has told you but he is retiring.” With her elbows perched on the desk, her face rested within her palms.

“Don’t you have anything good to tell me, Your Majesty.” He laughed, shaking his head at her forlorn attitude.

“Call me San.” He retorted, the beauty of his name flew her heart into oblivion. “Tell me something, that reads like poetry.” He blurted, though his claim was abrupt a part of her understood where he came from. Tell me what’s on your mind, he wanted to say.

Tell me what your deepest wish is so that I can fulfil it.

“I believe, in a hundred years time, my successor will be the vessel that tells the people of Qiān that a woman’s rule can be as bold and as true as a man’s.” His eyes narrowed, infatuation settling into his heart, bewitched by his General's moving words. “I will be the woman to win the wars against our enemies. She will be the one to win against society.” A comfortable quietude penetrated the tense atmosphere, San sat still in his chair, afraid to make a sound as he swallowed her words with a heavy heart. For the first time since his father's death, he felt weak. As if he wanted to fight the war, that she was fighting, with her. Her wish was one those that even as omnipotent as he was, he could not fulfil.

"I shall take your leave. Enjoy the office." Smiling, San strode out of the room, his powerful aura remained suspended in the air in his absence.

Within the subsequent weeks General Seok was burdened with bourgeoning responsibility, abetting a series of migraines that not even Jasmine tea could fix. They ranged from completing reports, training soldiers, attending her own training-during the day that was. Then at night, she read books on the Freyr-learning about their language, culture, and then reading upon all of their wars. She managed to find books on previous Generals that served the Freyr Kingdom, noting their battle strategies. She became reserved to her study, papers scrawled across the floor, hooking up drawing pins as she noticed trending schemes. There were multiple different outcomes, like a game of chess. One move by the opponent unravelled up to ten to the power of a hundred and twenty-three potential outcomes, much like war and its soldiers.

"You just started your job and it's already exhausting you." Her mother claimed, as she placed her book on her nightstand. Sat at the foot of her bed, the elderly woman looked at her daughter's tired eyes-witnessing the same determined gaze; once held by her husband.

"I know, a big position only means more responsibility. Besides, I think I've got most things worked out. I have a meeting with the King, tomorrow and then the whole day to myself." Letting out a stifled yawn, she sunk into her cotton sheets hair sprawled across the pillow.

"You've been busy, General." With a single nod, she watched as San drew his eyes down her veraciously detailed report. A pair of round glasses sat at the bridge of his nose, she could not help but notice how they heightened the sharp features of his face. "Your work ethic is incredible, even I don't think I could have done this in the time span you did. You can rest now."

It did not occur to her that she had fallen asleep in the King's office, right in front of His Majesty's eyes. The sight of her tenacity lead his heart to swoon a little. General Seok was a sight to behold, especially with the way the soft afternoon light streamed in through the window, beaming across her face forging a halo. Her hair which was usually straightened and fastened tightly behind her shoulders had become loose from its knot. She breathed gingerly; the strands of hair that fell structurally over her face drifting as the air spun around it. He wanted to outstretch his hand and brush the hair from her face.

"I need tighter security, here." she ordered, pointing to the farming village, the kingdom's most vulnerable district. "If I were the Freyr, I would attack here. It's unscrutinised and connects to the Valley-perfect for pushing equipment and aid through. We need to block any shipment through these borders." The valley connected to the farming village became one of the fundamental ways that the Freyr and Qian people traded over centuries.

Gathered in the War Room, the military officials were all stood around large chestnut table, a map of the world and it's seven seas. Adjacent was a black box, which she recognised as holding pawns, figurines, as well as odd bits of trinkets. The dark walls were plastered with weapons of all sorts, a preview of all the artillery they held in the War Inventory. Despite the spectrality in the thin air, there was an odd sense of comfort to be found here. Something like she could spend the rest of her days trapped within these four walls and she'd be surprisingly at comfort with it.

"If we close the bridge, how will we trade?" Major Baek questioned.

"We can trade at the Centre." Her finger fell over the busiest and the most surveyed port in Qiān. "Let's just tell them it's closed for repair." An influx of complacency infiltrated the room. Her eyes glanced towards San, who was staring intently at the map over her shoulders, with a calculating look.

“We’ll have to have a talk with the foreign diplomats, otherwise good job General.” With a single nod, he left from the room signalling the end of the meeting. All left except Major Baek, sat in front of her, sipping on the Jasmine tea she had called for.

“You’re doing incredibly well, dear. If it’s any reassurance.” A genuine smiled plastered on her, soothing the agitation in her muscles.

“It is. I can’t believe you’re retiring. What was a few more years? I can’t do this without you.”

“You can, you already are. Besides it’s not like I was ever going to become General.” He joked, they shared a small laugh that echoed in the dim light of the War Room, where for the last time: the man who had treated her as if she was his own daughter was soon to be a name written in a history book, his memory lost to the wind.

General Seok found that the women of the palace grew indifferent towards her success for they taunted her with dirty looks as she surpassed them. Their snake like tongues spat venomous rumours, claiming that whenever she entered the King's chambers she was carried with a promiscuous sense of duty. To which this enraged her but there was simply nothing she could do, because they were just rumours; there was no substantial proof that they were rallying against her.

"Here comes the whore." They sang in an undignified manner as she strode down the hallways, a book pressed against her chest. Biting down on her lip so she did not release a snarky remark, she merely ignored them as their giggles venerated through the hallways. Pushing through the doors to his chambers, Seok entered his bedroom finding him sat by the balcony reading a book. Her anger had diminished at the sight of him, following the pout of his pink lips, the crease between his eyes as he revelled the words; the breeze tousled his hair. Within this moment he was no longer the King that ruled over his kingdom with a tight fist and sharp mind but rather an amiable man with a thirst for knowledge. Clearing her throat, his head craned to find her standing by his desk. A strand of hair fell over his dark eyes, he rose from his seat; gaze travelling up and down her body.

“You’re dressed like a bride.” He blurted. My bride. Clearing his throat as his cheeks blushed pink, he stuttered over his words, "Eastern brides traditionally wear red on their weddings days." Handing over the book, she sat herself down on the chair, dazing out of the window. To think of it, why did she always dress so ostentatiously around San? Was it his nobility that intimidated her? Or the need to live up to the King's standards as his General?

"What's wrong?" San chimed. She shook her head, as if there was nothing wrong with herself. Maybe the women were right, she was gnawing at his attention trying to keep him to herself. There was no denying Choi San was beautiful with his sleek dark chair, cut-throat jawline, his angelic eyes, his benefaction. His concern whenever she tired herself, slaving herself over her work. Then came his desire to stand next to her in every meeting, his body pressed close to hers fighting of all of the griping stares as she fought gruellingly to protect their kingdom.

"Nothing, nothing." With a wave of her hand, she brushed him off. He slumped down onto the chair opposite her, chin resting with the palm of his hands cupping the sides of his cheeks.

"Oh its something, something." His crescent eyes peered into hers, she wanted nothing more than to delicately kiss them. Then to drag her lips over the bridge of his nose and then his plump lips. "Is it not your duty to share the people's concerns?"

"No because I am not a member of parliament." She quipped, with a smirk that made him scoff. "My duty is to protect you."

"But you did not protect me from you." He got up from his seat, walking around the table to face her. His hands outstretched towards her face, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear, with his lips dangerously close to her own, she basked in the sight of her King as a hungry soul reaching for the fruits of love to which only she could hand down to him.

“San, what am I to you, if not your general?”

"You are my heart and my soul. You are what keeps me beating, and what brings me back to life every morning. You are everything I want and even more. It is painful to be so in love with you, so tell me you don't love me and free me from this anguish." As if he had knocked the life out of her, her body glissaded under his devotion. How cruel of him to beg her to purge herself of the profound emotions she held for him. Did she not want him too, in all ways whether it may be forbidden?

"We shouldn't do this." Her mutter reached to him through a series of rough, passionate kisses-a fire burning wherever his touch lingered upon her skin.

"Then tell me to stop" But she could not as her hands ran into his hair. Her every scent pulled the strings of his heart, every pulse was hers as their arms circulated around each other in the darkness of his chambers. Every touch felt as if they would never feel again, every sight relished as if they would never see again. Their clandestine marriage of hearts was so potent, it was enough to send them into a drunken haze for eternity.

The Royal Palace was struck with chaos- servants bustling around in desperate attempts to create an illustrious image of decadence, in honour of Qiān's annual banquet held in order to improve international relations. This year it was to celebrate the strong tradesmanship formed between the Qiān and the East. That also included inviting their enemy, Freyr, to maintain an image of agreement to their people. Of course, this enraged her as the Freyr became more hostile, finding multiple ways to pose threats on their country. For all she knew, they could see this as a perfect opportunity to strike as the Qiān would not want to damage foreign relations by keeping a tight security. Having raised this with the other military commanders, they all mocked her by deeming her paranoid.

“I agree.” San’s cold voice bellowed over the War Room. “Our allies may perceive our tightened security as a threat. The Freyr were already adamant to not attend the ball, convincing them was hard enough.”

“Your Highness, this is exactly what they want. We should at least have tighter security at the border and ports.” He shook his head in disagreement, a pang of annoyance jutting through her.

“Stand down, General. You are not a member of parliament.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sunk her head in humiliation. He had never disagreed so bluntly before, if he had ever disagreed: he would raise the point so gently or provide another solution, not outright dissipate her suggestions. Later that day she was huddled up in a chair in her office; finishing up the finality of her report. She was so wrought with exhaustion she wished for some comfort. A pair of arms would soothe the headache from the burden of stress that persisted on her shoulders. As soon as she walked in through the doors to his chambers, he invited her with a look of irritation.

“What do you want?” He snapped, flinching at the harshness of his tone- she rushed forward to hand the report to him. Next time she’d hand it to the Royal Secretariat if he was going to act this way. Turning on her heel, she hurried out of his chambers biting down her quivering lip. Wrapping her arms around herself, as if it would reprimand the damages he inflicted upon her.

Hidden behind a pillar, her head was thrown back-hands pressed over her abdomen in order to soothe the persisting ache residing. San's voice carried out of the room, to which she listened to his manufactured speech which rendered their hearts into submission. General Seok, herself, was clad in an embellished silver dress her ears and neck were bejewelled in a matching set of silver with the infamous General’s sword to her hip. Her eyes peered through the open doors to the ballroom-a sea of fabrics enveloping the white marble ceilings as a cacophony of sounds emptied into the room. Despite its elegance, an ominous feeling was pensile within the humidity, a dark cavern with a haunting soul ready to be unleashed onto the crowd. It was too liable, susceptible to attack.

Something felt off.

At the top through the window, she noticed a glint penetrate through the glass. The silhouette of a sharp blade pointing down in San’s direction as he spread his arms wide summoning the attention of the nobles. Her hand reached for the hilt of the sword, but the figure retreated. Instead, she sought a shadow move closer across the skylines, as soon as he placed one foot on the chandelier, his arrow pointed straight at the King of Qiān. Swiftly, she stole a knife from the nearest guard. His bowstring pulled back. Dashing towards San, she drove his body into the floor as the arrow penetrated through the air, landing less than a foot away from his feet. Chucking the blade into the air, the dagger pierced through the rope holding up the chandelier- the glass sinking in the ground releasing a camaraderie of panicked screams.

Unsheathing her sword, she struck down at him only to strike again, the rim slicing through the surface of his skin. This time, he pounded a harsh blow against her to which the colliding of his weapon against hers created a screech loud enough to bleed ears; the sword in her steadfast grip was growing heavy and acuminating at her tiredness. The attacker stumbled backwards, falling to his knees under her powerful blow. The full length of her blade impaled through his heart, ripping the seams that held his soul together- blood bursting from its banks. A breath hitched in his throat, a loud thud gratified the throne room. Her hands shook as the adversaries screams mimicked the cries emptying into her detached soul; thick scarlet blood painting her fingers as her body roamed through the folds of his dead body. Bingo. Ripping the crest from his body, she threw it at San's feet.

“I want this castle searched for any more intruders.” When the Royal Guards did not move, rage flooded through her. “Now!” She roared, parading out of the room.

Her back slid slowly down the wall of the War Room, tears sliding down her cheeks. Tucking up her knees to her chest- her body wracked as an excruciating wail echoed into the room. General Seok felt the derisive stare of the chess pieces, the maps, the strategy books. What kind of General was she? One who could barely protect her king. They were right. All of them: the nobles, the ministers, officials, the noblewomen and even the servants. A woman was in no position to protect the country, she had spent hours, days and weeks cooped up drawing out plans, playing out schemes in her head, sketching them out like role play over the board. All of that work seemed futile now that the enemy was daring enough to unleash an attack against the King. The painful creak of the door snapped at her attention, she roughly wiped away her tears with her sleeve a harsh stare befalling on her face.

“I thought I told-Your Majesty.” Her rough tone transgressed into a soft voice as she bowed deeply, San rushing into the room.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you?” She shook her head no, avoiding his gaze. “My love, look at me.” Hesitantly, her red eyes bored into his own. Cupping her cheeks, he pressed his lips to her forehead. That was enough to break her walls again. Digging her face into his neck, she erupted into a fit of sobs, her weary body slumping against his robes. His slender fingers pulled out the clip to ease the strident tug of her hair gnawing at her scalp; his hold around her waist tightening.

“I should have listened to you. The faults mine.” Lifting her head she looked at him, mouth parted as if to reason. Placing a finger on her lips, he silenced her. “No- none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have possibly known any of this was going to happen. In fact, you told me this was a possibility and I didn’t listen. It was an uncharacteristic and a foolish attack. General Seok, we have the upper hand now.”

"That's what they want us to think. God, San, my head hurts. I'm struggling. I can't come to terms with what they want."

"For now, you need to rest. You must be exhausted."

"I can't rest. Tomorrow the officials will be at my necks. 'General Seok you never saw this coming, did you?', 'This is why you should leave it to the men.' They won't see how I almost sacrificed my life to save yours, they'll only see the fact that you were endangered in the first place."

"I've warranted a search for the rest of the attackers around our villages too. More royal guards have been posted, security is much tighter. King Jeong seemed unsurprised, but not his son. This was an attack by Freyr. I saw the crest" He ambled towards her, sinking to his knees in front of her. Her breath hitched in her throat, a king kneeling to his servant? Had this man gone mad? His hand drifted towards her cheek, “You need sleep. You’re unwell, my General.”

"Get up, if anyone sees you kneeling before me, it will look nasty for the pair of us." He shook his head.

"I don't think I care." Encasing an arm around her neck and under her knees, he effortlessly lifted her up from the chair. "Don't say anything." he warned, walking to the other end of the room towards the large banner pinned to the wall. Moving the fabric with a few fingers, he grunted twisting the door handle. Leaning against him, her eyes fluttered to a close as he surpassed into the hidden passageway. The next morning, she was prescribed with escorting the Crown Prince of Freyr, Yunho to his carriage. They strode down to the horses in silence, wind brushed against them, left with tired sighs and quiet hums to serenade the airs.

"You are ok, aren't you General?" Nodding gratefully at his compassion, they stood outside his carriage, ready to exchange their final goodbyes. Yunho, himself, despite his incredibly tall stature, and depictable strength, held more altruism in the tip of his finger than his father held in his whole body. In comparison to King Jeong, whose violent tendencies and insatiable appetite for destruction was now the impending cause of his deteriorating health, he was renown for his charity work and advocating for peace instead of war. However, at times she could not help but think he was executing a carefully constructed façade to move the hearts of the Qiān officials. Primarily, herself. For she sought the way that he looked at with the same level of infatuation that San had. "I'd love to get to know you General and I feel as if soon we will be obliged to work more closely together. I know you understand that our countries enmity is a product of egotism, which I hope we can soon come to a conclusion on." Her head nodded slowly, as Yunho have her one last final smile before entering his carriage.

The officials were bashful in the following meeting. A few spoke of an outbreak of a plague, San walking into the meeting late addressing the militia's concern.

"The village is under lockdown?" she questioned.

"Yes, and some villagers were on their way to Freyr too." A thought processed through her mind, vaguely. They needed something against Freyr. Something to make them pay for attacking her Kingdom.

"Nothing is immoral in war, pet." her father beamed at her as she sat in his bedroom reading through his journal. "Don't let emotions cloud your judgement, the second it does? You're as good as dead."

"That's it, Mr Seok! Stop trying to turn our daughter into a tyrant!" Her mother’s cry clamoured into her bedroom. Sharing a smile with her father she turned back to her book.

"What if we sent some of them to Freyr?"

"We can't do that, there'd be an ou-." Her cunning grin censored his reasoning.

"Can we not?" she challenged, the officials all shared a look. "Meeting adjourned." Is this what you meant Father, when you said nothing, in war, was immoral?

Nestling her head in the crook her neck, she sat on his laps staring out into the dusk. Pressing his lips to her cheeks, he breathed her in as if she was oxygen.

“The council is talking about your marriage now, aren’t they?” He hummed in agreement, sadness provoking through her. Was it possible for them to be together for eternity? Could she be both General and Queen? Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, what if his intentions weren’t marriage? What if he wanted a little bit of fun? As if he read her thoughts, he rested a hand upon her cheek to console her.

"I’ll find my way to you, if not I’ll make my way.” But just how would he make his way to her, when he could not even do as much as hold her hand for longer than a minute under the table? How would he do so, when he had to drag her into the nearest empty room to stoop her into a dulcet kiss for a mere second before they played their respective roles again? The sweetest things are forbidden. The things you desired the most are the ones you cannot have. Therefore, did she desire him more than she desired to be great and true? Was it love that she was seeking rather than power and intellect?

It was one or the other. It was San or General. How could the universe make her choose? It was like when she was asked if she preferred her mother or her father. When she was younger she always chose whoever had bowed to her wishes and pleased her the most. Her father-tending to her every need whereas her mother taught her that patience would give you more than what you desired. What was she to do now? She waited, and she became Qiān's acclaimed military official standing next to their eminent King. What would the people think? What would the naval think? They already hated the fact that she ruled over them, but as their Queen no witty remark would slip past her.

“I can make you my wife, right here and right now.” I love you, but I can't have you. "Marry me and let me make you Qiān's most powerful queen."

"San, do you think they like the fact that a woman has to tell them how to win a war? Do you think they'll like me even more when I become their queen? Your duty to this kingdom is to be its face, to unite, create stability between yourself and the people. Mine is to protect."

"You also have a duty to your heart. What does it want?” The booming of their incessant souls prevailed, the strings attached to them, curtailing. His tantalising aura pulled her in, yet the fact that she could not have him drew her away. It hurt that he did not belong to her, having spent the remainder of her life ruled by rationality than emotion, she knew it was better to let go of what she desired.

"It wants you. But we can't always have what we want. We have to live with that San."

"Then I won't marry. This kingdom can die with me, for all I care. After my death they can tear this palace apart. When my ancestors ask me why I broke their legacy, I'll say I fell in love."

"Don't be ridiculo-."

"I am irrevocably in love with you. My heart beats to your name, I'd abdicate-" Her hands pressed up against his lips. Tears rushing to front of her eyes.

I want you, I want you so badly.

"San, you fool.” she sobbed, her hands sliding down his face before settling on his chest.

"Can't you see? I'm a fool for you." He kissed away her tears, slowly inching towards her lips. The taste of it so sweet, so divine, something to get drunk on every night until her soul was too intoxicated to stay alive. “I’d let kingdoms fall for you.”

“We can build this kingdom together, just not as King and Queen. Just as King and General. As it should be.”

“Please. Think, we can make our way to each other, we can make it work. I beg.” Her hold around his neck tightened, he gripped her so tightly as if he would lose her and it seemed that any second now: he would.

“The Freyr have surrendered their threats? They wish to organise a peace treaty?” Her voice rose by an octave with every word as the Major revealed to her the latest political news. “Why wasn’t I informed of this? This is great.”

“Mainly so, King Yunho has requested to meet with you rather than His Majesty.” Once the migrants had reached the Freyr border, unbeknownst of the news of a disease- a sudden epidemic occurred across the nation, the death count inclining exponentially. Freyr’s army depleted significantly with the plague, Qiān locking its borders- keeping the spread of infection on a tight leash. Finally, when the disease had reached the palace- King Jeong became a victim; with his prolonging amenability, his life was taken from him a new ruler acceding to the throne. “I hear he may be visiting soon, after a period of isolation- of course.”

As claimed, Yunho made his way to their kingdom with a restricted access to the palace grounds and movement to prevent the spread of disease. She caught him traipsing across the guest's quarters with white gloved hands and a face mask- to meet with San who wore the same protective dress. Entering the room, the King of Freyr was sealed behind a transparent white fabric. Joining San on the opposite side, she greeted him with a deep bow.

“Your Highness. To what do we owe the pleasure?” The treaty was signed now, the threat of war had been consumed. Was he after something more malicious?

“I was thinking what would be better way for us to create an efficacious partnership than to bind our kingdoms together in matrimony.” She shared a look with San.

“Are you talking about the Freyr Princess, Yeji?" He nodded, dubiously.

"We'll have to think about this prospect, Yunho. Our people will not take lightly to a Freyr Queen." San spoke, his careful words penetrating through Yunho's heart. His way of speaking was hypnotic enough to make his counterpart submit under his command. Through the sheer fabric, a long arm outstretched before hers dragging her body violently towards his.

“I know this was all your doing General Seok. You are a very clever woman and I respect that you will do whatever it takes to defend your country. Do not mistake my lack of maleficence for weakness.” He whispered, before releasing his rough grip on her. Pounding out of the room with his officials on his tail, her ears rung, the sonority of voices calling her name fell deaf to her ears. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, blundering out of the room her palpitating heart pushed into the furnished hallway knocking over porcelain vases.

“General? General Seok!” Her head snapped up from the picturesque map pinned to wood. The naval all scrutinised her from the top of the table where she sat nursing a headache. She couldn’t care how weak they thought of her now. Yunho knew. How did he know? Was there a spy within her troops she did not know? Or was he sharper than she had forseen? The latter brimmed her heart with solicitude.

“Go on, Major Kang. Tell me, I didn’t see that coming. Tell me that I have driven this country into the ground with my wit.” Her noxious tone reached out to them through gritted teeth. For the first time in her life, there was an odd sense of sympathy in the room that wasn’t foreseen before.

“General Geon cried in this very room when he lost his precious battalion to the Freyr in the Valley. In front of us all. We do not care if you ripped your hair out in front of us, we care that you move us forward.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, battling the tears that threatened to leach out of her eyes, her head oscillated. “It’s ok to not know what to do, General.”

“I can’t have the Freyr Princess in this kingdom."

“Then Qiān will be sunken under the sea.” San spoke, a mutter of agreement fulfilled the War Room.

“If we have to shed blood, let’s do it now. Their troops have minimised, we’ve blocked all ways in, they’re still suffering from a chronic disease. If they declare a war, they won’t win.”

“He doesn’t have to declare war now. He can declare war in ten, fifteen, twenty years time. Will we win then?” San argued. Under their heated gaze, the officials left the room leaving their General alone to rally with the King.

"I can't and won't stand here and watch another woman take my place in your heart." Tears pooled at the bay of her eyes. He drew closer to her, pulling her into his chest.

"I'm afraid you have to."

"Sannie, my love. Please." she begged, weakly. He turned his head away. "You can't do this to me." A painful sob escaped from her lips as she sunk to the floor, dragging San down with her. Her cry weakened him, breaking down the exterior of a powerful King that had been fabricated from his coronation.

"If I were to hold you in my arms, in front of them all, that would be all the more reason to let you go. You are my heart and my soul. You are everything that keeps my body moving. But to love you is a sin that would condemn me to eternal damnation."

“I would lose a thousand wars, willingly, if it meant I could have you." she choked out. His lips fell into a pout, as his own tears forged from the ardent fires of his love.

“Anything to win a war, right?” Their heads pressed together, pearly tears staining her supple flesh. “You will always be my queen.” With a final kiss pressed to her forehead, he got up escaping through the door. Her heart entwined between his fingers, blood dripping down the palace walls as they were mercilessly parted by fate.

•••

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DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘seok’ meaning stone

A/N: I decided to remaster the whole thing because I was a bit iffy about the first version, since the first half is different I just didn’t want to edit the older version. lmk if you find this edition better!!!

tagging some folks who read the old version, hope you don’t mind!

tags: @potatos-on-clouds @n0v4t33z @jean-swolo @wooyoungjung99 @yeontaegu @butterflydemons @ajuniceagain @chocosuh

[onabat11e]

i’m yours (lucy bronze x ona batlle)

rating: E for explicit (18+)

warnings: smut, top!ona, bottom!lucy, fingering, cunnilingus

summary: ona finds it fun to wear lucy’s barça jersey. lucy finds it fun to be claimed by ona.

based on this request!

dedicated to @barcaxona for giving me inspo c;

word count: 2.5k

AO3 Link

The door to the bedroom clicked open when Ona walked in sporting a Barça jersey, the shirt fitting slightly oversized. She was wearing a pair of gym shorts, just long enough to be peeking out from the bottom of the jersey. 

Ona was busy reaching up to slide a book back into its place on the top shelf, allowing Lucy’s eyes to skim her body. Suddenly, whatever was on Lucy’s phone was not even the slightest bit interesting because she noticed that it wasn’t just any jersey that Ona was wearing, but her jersey. 

Adventurous eyes continued down Ona’s body and lingered for half a second when Lucy noticed the shirt lifting where Ona was reaching. 

“Mmm, that looks good on you, babe,” Lucy’s eyes fixated on the curve of Ona’s ass sticking out from under the jersey as well as the thickness of her muscular thighs. 

“Yeah, you think so?” Ona smiles, looking over her shoulder at where Lucy was relaxing on the bed. She noticed how Lucy glued her eyes to the lower half of her body, checking her out. 

“Letting everyone know that you’re mine,” Lucy returned her eyes to Ona’s face, a half-smile played on her lips. Ona laughed under her breath and mirrored the expression. 

Lucy and Ona had been hiding their relationship for a while before they decided to turn to a ‘private, but not secret’ approach. It made things easier for the lovebirds, the two unable to keep their eyes off one another, even when the cameras were around. 

“Mmm, I’m yours,” Ona hummed as she turned around to face the bed and swayed her hips as she walked towards Lucy. “And you’re mine,” her voice darkened at the last word. 

Now aware of her heartbeat, Lucy felt a thumping in her chest as she got stared down. Although Lucy had a good few inches of height on Ona, that didn’t matter in the bedroom; Ona could make her feel small - make Lucy feel like her prey. 

“And now it’s my time to claim you,” Ona’s voice dropped, her eyes deepening with lust. Lucy felt a wave of desire spread over her body at Ona’s words. She loved it when Ona took control.

Lucy Bronze was known for being a dominant player, never afraid to throw herself (figuratively and literally) into a match, a ball, or a whole other player. The truth was, with the amount of control she had to exercise in her career - the last thing she wanted was to carry that responsibility into her personal life. 

Regarding the bedroom, Lucy loved nothing more than to give up any control and surrender to her partner’s needs and desires. She couldn’t blame anyone for thinking she would be the opposite, but she was a self-proclaimed pillow princess. 

“Please,” Lucy’s voice was barely above a whisper, Ona’s intense eye contact making her body feel weak. Never taking her eyes off Lucy, Ona climbed onto the bed and lay on her side. She propped herself on one elbow and craned her head down, letting warm breath hit Lucy’s neck. 

“Shh, let me take care of you, baby,” Ona whispered into Lucy’s ear, goosebumps pricking up at the softness of her voice. 

Ona placed one hand on either side of Lucy’s head before leaning in to meet Lucy’s lips. Both women were hungrily trying to deepen their kisses, submitting to each other without a fight. Keen tongues curled together, their moans harmonising as they explored each other's mouths. 

Ona brought a hand to cup Lucy’s face, the pad of her thumb stroking across a sharp jawline before sliding to rest around her neck. The devious hand dipped further to grab Lucy’s chest over her clothing, causing her back to arch into the touch. 

Ona pulls away from the kiss, her teeth tugging on Lucy’s bottom lip as she does so. The two girls pant slightly, and the intensity of their making out is evident on both faces.

“Need this off,” Ona pulled at the hem of Lucy’s t-shirt once more, “Need to see my beautiful girl.” Lucy shyly blushes at the compliment and lets Ona tug the t-shirt over her head, leaving her in her sports bra and sweatpants. 

“You are incredible,” Ona gushes over Lucy’s toned body, a hand resting on Lucy’s collarbone as she leans in to kiss her neck. 

Ona goes to hook her fingers under the Barça jersey to take it off, wanting to match Lucy’s level of undress. Her hands only move a few inches before a voice interrupts the action. 

“Keep it on,” Lucy requested, trying to school her expression into confidence as she reached out to stop Ona’s hands. Seeing that Ona was proud to be hers lit a fire in the pit of her stomach. 

Ona smugly agreed, the corner of her mouth twitching up as her hands dropped the material to return to Lucy’s chest. Her hand slipped under the bottom of Lucy’s sports bra, eagerly pulling the material over her head. 

Whether it be from the temperature change or the stimulation, Lucy’s nipples were now hard and begging for attention. Ona moved to cup over the newly exposed flesh, letting her palms graze over the tips of Lucy’s nipples. 

A muscle in Ona’s jaw feathers as she smirks, her head dipping towards Lucy’s chest. Their eyes locked onto each other as Ona licked her lips and made a show of licking around a nipple.

Staggered breaths echo in the room, Lucy’s body pushing up into the feeling of Ona’s mouth on her. Lucy tried to stifle her moans as Ona pulled away, her teeth tugging on the sensitive tissue.

Ona kissed across Lucy’s chest before taking a patch of skin between her lips, increasing the suction against the skin for a few seconds and then soothing it with slow, flat licks. Ona admired the quickly reddening skin before she repeated the action. 

Ona and Lucy’s favourite thing was to leave marks on one another that only they'd know about, a secret message for only them: ‘I’m yours; you’re mine’. The most common area of choice was each other's chests, close enough to the nipple that they’d always be covered. 

Soft fingers stroked down Lucy’s abs, the muscles tightening under the touch of Ona’s hands. Before Lucy knew it, Ona was tugging her sweatpants down, her body subconsciously lifting from the bed to help Ona remove them.

“My baby is so needy for me, huh?” Ona cups a hand over Lucy’s underwear, feeling the warmth of her arousal through the material. Hips thrust up, trying to grind against anything. 

“I need you,” Lucy begged, her voice weakening at the pressure of Ona looking at her. Lucy’s pelvis chased after the touch of Ona’s hand, desperate for more. Desperate for her. 

“I’m right here,” Ona knew what Lucy meant, but she wanted to hear the words, needed to hear Lucy beg to be fucked. 

“Please, baby,” Lucy’s voice cracked as Ona’s hands played with the waistband of her underwear. Ona raised an eyebrow, the smirk playing at the side of her mouth again. 

That damn smirk will be the death of Lucy, she thinks.  

“Be more specific,” Ona pulls her hand away from Lucy, causing a frustrated whine and a release of air to leave her mouth. Lucy clenched her jaw and took a deep breath through her nose to compose herself before forcing the words out of herself. 

“Just touch me,” Lucy says in almost a whisper, too busy thinking about the intensity of the throbbing between her legs and how much she needed Ona to do something about it. 

“Good girl,” Ona let her hand go under the waistband to run a finger through the pooling wetness, causing Lucy’s head to fall back against the pillow. And, God, she was already embarrassingly worked up from Ona’s voice, Ona’s words, Ona’s expressions. Everything Ona. 

Ona takes pride in breaking down the tough exterior Lucy puts on, using her hands to make the older woman whine and beg for more, using her hands to make the woman entirely fall apart under her touch. 

“I wanna watch you as you cum on my fingers. Think you can do that for me?” She spoke down to Lucy. And maybe it’s the eye contact. Maybe it’s from the low pitch of Ona’s voice. But Lucy doesn’t think she could muster an answer if she tried. 

The slight movement of Lucy’s nod, bottom lip between her teeth, is enough for Ona. Ona doesn’t even bother to pull down Lucy’s underwear properly, her hand tucked between Lucy and the fabric.

Fingers rub up and down Lucy’s heat before they target her clit with teasingly slow circles. Ona loved to watch Lucy’s body come alive under her touch. All the small details: her burrowed eyebrow, jaw going slack, eyes rolling back. She loved to see and hear how she made Lucy feel. 

Lucy’s neck and shoulder are covered in warm kisses as Ona continues to rub at her clit, taking small breaks to dip into her entrance and collect slick heat on her fingertips. 

“Your pussy is so wet for me, isn’t it, baby?” Lucy turns her head into the pillow, a red blush burning her cheeks. “So needy to get fucked like the good girl you are.”

A finger gets pushed in, and Ona can feel the low vibration in Lucy’s chest as she groans at the new sensation. Ona continued to push in further, her fingertips pushing against Lucy’s soft spot and pressing into it. 

“You look so hot right now, taking my fingers,” Ona’s lips brush against Lucy’s neck, her body shuddering from the gentle contact.  

Another finger slipped into Lucy, and the stretch of her quivering pussy around them drove Ona crazy, increasing the speed of her arm pushing into Lucy. Ona whispered sweet nothings into Lucy’s ear as she continued the unrelenting motions of fucking Lucy. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Lucy groaned, body jerking into the tempo of Ona’s fingers. The coil in her stomach impossibly tightened further as Ona mumbled Spanish against her neck. Moans got choked out, and Lucy didn’t know if she could hold back much longer. 

Lucy’s orgasm hits her hard, Ona’s teeth scraping the sensitive skin of her neck as she falls apart, cumming around Ona’s fingers. Ona curls her fingers faster in Lucy’s pulsating wetness, pushing her through her orgasm. 

Once Lucy had come down from her high, Ona removed her fingers slowly and pulled her hand up to her lips. 

Lucy could barely hold in the whine when Ona licked the two fingers before sucking them into her mouth to clean off Lucy’s wetness. Ona nearly growled at the taste of Lucy on her fingers, a desire to primally devour Lucy kicking in. 

“God, you’re addictive,” she said after pulling the digits from her mouth. “I think I need another taste,” Ona kisses Lucy's décolletage again, moving past her breasts and abdomen. As much as Ona wanted to take her time and worship every inch of Lucy’s body, she needed to taste her. 

Ona positioned herself between Lucy’s legs, parting them and bending them at the knee. Warm brown eyes looked up through eyelashes to meet Lucy’s stare, her nimble fingers finding their place around Lucy’s underwear. 

Lucy’s pussy was glistening with need - it might just be the most beautiful thing Ona had ever seen. Lucy’s arousal was begging to be consumed, begging to be taken by Ona. 

Using the spare hair tie on her wrist, Ona threw her hair up into a bun, stray hairs poking out. Desire and need filled Lucy’s eyes, her body coming alive under Ona’s gaze. Ona kissed over Lucy’s thighs, her path leading up to where Lucy’s cum was still shining on her inner thighs. 

“Please, I’m still sensitive,” Lucy almost begs, feeling Ona’s lips placing lingering kisses leading closer and closer to her core. 

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Ona winks, kissing Lucy's body and nipping at the delicate skin. She licks at Lucy’s inner thigh before leaving another cleverly hidden mark mere inches from where Lucy was aching for Ona’s mouth. 

“Ready?” The breath from Ona’s words against Lucy’s sensitive cunt made her twitch and ache for Ona’s mouth on her. Lucy’s hand reached down for Ona, intertwining their fingers. Another whine and a nod from Lucy gave Ona the go-ahead. 

Lucy’s body jolts as Ona’s mouth makes contact with her. Her tongue is coated in Lucy’s arousal as she licks up her folds, taking in everything that Lucy is giving to her. 

It could almost be too much, Lucy thinks. Ona’s mouth lightly suctioned onto her whilst her tongue circled her clit. 

Lucy looks down to see Ona between her legs, her head dipped, back arched with her hips in the air. Lucy could see her name, ‘Bronze 15’, written across Ona’s back. She almost prematurely falls apart again right there just from the sight of it. Just from thinking about how Ona is hers and how Ona’s hot mouth is absolutely devouring her pussy right now. 

The grip Lucy had on Ona’s hand tightened - Ona could tell that Lucy was getting close again. Ona placed her other hand flat onto Lucy’s lower abdomen, applying a weight to pin her down to the bed and stop her hips from rocking up.

Ona keeps playing with Lucy’s clit, making quick darts to her entrance to lap up Lucy’s arousal as her core tightens and twitches from Ona’s tongue. 

“Please, baby. I’m so close,” Lucy whined, hips trying to drive against the weight of Ona holding her down. The action just caused Ona to double down, lips sucking on Lucy’s clit once more, her tongue licking wildly across it as she worked to push Lucy into her next orgasm. 

Toes curled, thighs tensed, and breaths shuddered as the pleasure took over Lucy’s body. Between Lucy’s teeth were her fingers, the moan getting choked back as Ona continued to lick at her. Ona messily lapped up Lucy’s cum, letting out breathy laughs as Lucy twitched through the aftershocks. 

Laughs got mixed with whines as Lucy pushed Ona’s head away, not being able to withstand the overstimulation of Ona teasing her with more touches. 

Ona gives in and stops playing with Lucy, sitting back on her heels between Lucy’s legs. Lucy is an absolute vision. Beads of sweat scattered her forehead, the constellation of red marks around her nipples. Ona wonders how she got so lucky that this woman, this beauty, is hers. 

When Lucy managed to open her eyes again, Ona had moved back to be beside her in bed. Lucy can taste herself on Ona’s lips when she leans in for a kiss. It’s hot, and if she wasn’t so far gone already, she might have begged to be fucked again. 

Ona opened her arms, allowing Lucy to shuffle closer into her and rest on Ona’s chest. 

“I’m yours,” Ona said as she kissed Lucy’s forehead. “I’m yours,” Lucy echoed, snuggling her head closer to Ona.

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Part 2 of the one shot.

Warning. Smut!

Yandere Norman Nordstrom x Younger Female Reader

Kidnapping and obsessive love.

Romance. Women loves romance. Norm smiled at the thought of you blushing and giggling. Maybe if he goes to the store and gets some fresh red roses. He doesn't use candles since he doesn't really care about perfume scented air much. So, he should get some too at the arts and crafts store.

Watermelon or strawberry scented candles. Both would be nice. Nodding in determination, Norm sat inside his Lamborghini and then suddenly an emergency alert came from his cell phone. Out of fear, it showed you running away from the mansion as you destroyed the bathroom window. All his windows were bullet proof except the window in the bathrooms because sometimes his security dogs would jump over them to come inside the mansion.

You slick cunning cock!

Gritting his straight teeth in anger, Norm drove as fast as he could while watching his cellphone screen. You were running across his large front garden so you can reach his neighbor's mansion.

He can make it. He then realized how dark it was and that the full moon gave him advantage to spot you from the distance.

Ungrateful bitch. He didn't rape you or hit you minus the times you attacked him. Like biting his tongue when he was trying to French kiss you. Or when you kneed him in the balls. Ouch. That Fuckin' hurt. It didn't hurt as much as the pain inside his chest. You broke his heart again.

You collapsed on your knees from all the running. Tch. Pathetic Norm thought. You were so damn spoiled and weak that you never exercised unlike him. You were not averagely healthy or athletic. He doesn't need his car. Norm turned off his car and jumped out and ran at full speed.

"Huh?" You looked over your delicate and frail shoulder to see your kidnapper! How did he find out?

You tried to get up but he tackled your lithe and supple body hard against the grass floor hard. You tried to scream but suddenly, he slapped you!

You yelped in pain and then stared up to see his handsome face looking at you in anger.

You clutched your face despite making the pain worse. You froze your resistance and then silently sobbed. You didn't want to make him more mad by crying loud so you tried to hide your hiccups but it was no use

Norm's beautiful blue eyes widened in shock. He stared at the back of his hand in disbelief. He hit a woman and not only that. The woman he loved.

He watched in pity as you slumped and didn't fight back as you cradled your injured cheek. If he wasn't sure ashamed of his harshness he would have thought of you trying to be quiet from crying oddly cute.

But, now he felt regret. Without a word, he slung you over his muscular shoulder like a sack of potatoes and you didn't kick or wiggled like the previous times you ran away but was captured.

You gave up.

And he knew.

He didn't mean to break your spirit. But, you were so scared to give him a chance. That was all he wanted.

He went to the entrance of his mansion greenhouse at the center of his front yard garden. He kicked the door open and slammed you down on the floor to sit on your ass. You hissed in pain.

You looked up to see his powerful figure fuming and looking down on you. "Why?" He hissed through his teeth. "I gave you all my love yet you reject me. Why do you resist me? I'd die for you."

Your lips trembled in fear. Norm wasn't having it. He clenched his jaw.

"Why!?" He roared.

You flinched. "I..." You hiccuped and felt tears down your beautiful sculpted cheekbones. "I can't love someone I fear."

You saw that your words hurt him. A Navy Seal was wounded by a weak and spoiled lady like yourself. How strange.

"You don't get it, do you?" Norm's voice cracked as he looked away for a second and then you saw his saddened expression. Your heart burned at the sight.

"I love you, Dammit!" He punched the glass wall of the greenhouse. You yelped. You saw the glass shatter and his fist bloodied. "My life was better before I realized you exist. You ruined my life!"

You sniffed. "I am sorry, Norm." You looked at the ground.

Norm sighed in exhaustion. He then crouched down on one knee to your level and grabbed your chin gently despite smearing your chin with his blood from his injured fist.

You blinked in curiosity. He smiled a little as he unbuttoned his shirt. You couldn't help but stare. His top body was carved like Roman sculptors of Ancient Greek Gods. Ares especially. The God of war.

Holy shit.

You ogled. Norm liked that look on you. He knew you were getting horny. But his body was not all he had to offer you.

There across his chest was bold calligraphy letters of your name. How long was it there?

He did all this for you? He was serious about you.

He grabbed your hand gently and placed it over his heart.

It was dominant and strong like his body and personality.

"I can't control the pace of my heart whenever I think of you. Pity me at least." He pleaded you with large puppy blue eyes.

You felt your womanhood wetten and your throat dry. Is this love?

Norm was waiting for your response. To his surprise and pleasure you leaned your beautiful face close to his pink dry lips.

"Same." You whispered.

Norm couldn't believe his ears. This was a dream come true. You kissed him. Holy shit.

Without a second, Norm kissed back with fever and he grabbed your head and lashed his tongue inside your mouth.

"You're mine now." He ripped your nightgown off. Surrounded by plants in the open air being watched by the full moon was a fairy tale where you lost your first time.

After done, Norm carried you bridal style to the bedroom he shared with you and while you were spent, he drove to the emergency room for stitches.

[aonungsmate]

Map of Stars

Aged up!Neteyam x Mate!Reader  [Word count: 1.6k]

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, Back praise, unnecessary words bc y/n is smitten fr, body worship, implied smut, size kink if you squint, overstimulation [This goes without saying, minors dni]

You like holding onto Neteyam whether on his shoulders, around his waist, his toned arms, but most especially his back.  You loved how his lean back presses against you, tight muscles flexing every now and then, never failing to jostle the fluttering feeling in your stomach. Neteyam however, was oblivious to your growing affinity towards his back.  He’s the sharpest warrior there is.  He knows when a sturmbeest would appear at a certain hotspot.  He knows where the fresh fruits are.  But  this?  This,  he does not know. Not that he would care. If anything, he'd be more than flattered, that even the simplest things on him you would find endearing.  He certainly notices your behavior around him when those feelings resurface though.  He loves how your ears would suddenly turn downwards, slowly turning leaning more into the purple spectrum, indicating that you were flustered.  Your tail would suddenly start swishing a bit faster, its end becoming more and more noticeable as it moves unconsciously.  

So, when Neteyam saw you doing it once when he was helping his brother remove the saddles from the ikran, he was set on finding out which particular part of him makes you all putty in his presence.  First, he tried pinning it on his arms.  He has trained for years, effortlessly making it a routine to do various hand exercises to improve his aim, practicing weaving with his sisters, and lifting supplies for the clan, making his biceps more toned, making it one of the first things the women in the clan would coo at. He has tried  showing off to you countless times, purposely shooting better at practice when you were around, making sure that you were seeing his taut muscles as he pulled his arm backwards to aim.  At dinnertime, he would reach from behind you, making his forearm slightly graze your shoulder.  To no avail, you would only smile at him endearingly, face slightly reddening from the contact, but it’s definitely not the reaction he was trying to find.  

Neteyam loves everything  about you.  But he was just a man.  He wants to see you melt before him, baring your everything at him.  He longs to witness you offer yourself as his and his only.  

Neteyam never considered himself as a selfish person.  Growing up he has only known to give and sacrifice for his siblings, dedicating his whole being to please his parents, the people around him, always aiming to prove himself as the future olo’eyktan.  But as his pupils rapidly enlarged at the sight of you squirming beneath him, your three fingered hands raking along his back, your eyes hooded with overwhelming arousal, all he can think of is to take take take.  

“Neteyam–!  Slow down–ah!” you pleaded, eyes slowly rolling back at the feeling of his muscles flex beneath your fingertips.  You didn’t even realize you were crying until your mate swiped a stray tear on your cheek, dipping towards you to rub his nose against your left cheek, his hand stroking your queue, making you arch your back, meeting his chest halfway.  As if to add fuel to fire, he tugged at his queue, forming tsaheylu between you, burying you in massive waves of emotion.  Love.  Desire.  Lust.  Fondness.  Worship.  Ardor.  Everything came to you in a roller, making you quiver at the feeling, chanting out his name so loud some might mistake it for a ritual,  a sacrament of lascivious want for your mate’s back.  

You were too swamped with pleasure your hands have fallen on the mats, gripping at nothing as Neteyam thrusted at you faster and faster, never getting tired of maneuvering his hips forward and backwards, pulling back until only his tip was inside of you, then moving oh so deep back into you, giving you endless jolts of pleasure.  You rolled your hips upwards to try and match his pace, only proving to you that you can’t catch up to his tempo as he outruns you by digging his member brisker into you.  He groans at your ear, slipping from his  positioned palms, almost failing to stop himself from falling flat into you, his elbows acting as cushion from his unexpected collapse from too much delectation.  From the new angle, he catches your lower lip between his teeth, playfully biting it then smashes his lips against yours, deepening it with a delve of his tongue on yours.  He moans as you reciprocate by licking against his tongue, decelerating his thrusts to match how slowly he detaches mouth from yours, a string of saliva appearing from between you.  

It was endlessly torturous as it was tremendously pleasing to you, that he would go  from slow to fast then rapid to sluggish, continuously building the impending knot in your stomach.  “Oh my Eywa–!  Neteyam-” you exclaim as he once again consumes you by plunging into you harder rhythmically.  He grabs your hand, guiding it on his back as he rammed into you.  You whine in realization as he makes you scour through his rear muscles, feeling them twitch at your hand’s mercy, experimentally pressing through the plush of them with Neteyam muttering a curse as he impossibly quickened his pace.  You were seeing stars when he gave you three of his hardest thrusts, your arms pulling him closer to  you, making him nestle against the dip of your collar.  You sob against his shoulder as you feel yourself let go, your slick covering the entirety of his member.  

“Hahh–”  He breathes, his warmth seeping through, filling you with his seed, never stopping his languid thrusts, his eyes almost went black when he sees himself inside you, his shaft plunging inside you lazily, a dent on your stomach visible.  You pull his head into you, kissing him with wild abandon.  This takes you back to  your first night as mates.  You were on his back, being carried by him to the tree of  souls  after you hurt your ankle out of sheer excitement when the day he would choose you has come.  Your courting was well known in the village.  The people knew that the two of you have loved each other for a long long time.  

That night was also the reason why you have come to love the way his back would dip into a perfect semi-arch that leads to the most alluring tail you have ever seen.   The way his back pressed into your chest, firm muscles shifting every now  and then, it was so so attractive.  So when your beloved pulled out from you, you could not help but pull him closer to you, only you shifted him onto his stomach, your eyes seemingly forming into hearts as they lay gaze on his freckled back, the bluest stripes adorning it.  Your eyes droop into a mesmerized look, thinking just how beautiful Neteyam is.  You could be presented with every eligible man in the whole world but not one of them would hold a candle to your Neteyam.  

Neteyam shifted his neck slightly to see what you were up to, chest slightly heaving at the exhaustion starting to seep through.  He was about to ask what was  wrong when his eyes  widened in realization.  You were practically melting his back into a  puddle with how lovingly your amber eyes were stuck onto him.  

“I see,” he chuckles, voice slightly raspy.  He folds his arms beneath his head, acting as a pillow to make himself comfortable, knowing how much time you will spend giving his back attention.  Yawne does that very well, in his opinion.  You gently put open mouthed kisses on his back, a beautiful map of stars that you have come to love, giving each bioluminescent freckle attention, doing your best to remember which spots struck the most reaction.  Neteyam jutted his hips onto the flooring after you suckled on a certain area of his back just a few  centimeters away from his tail.  Eywa, he exclaimed.  You started working your way up, licking him from the dip of his spine, moaning obscenely as you did it, your hips rocking against his tail, its incessant flickering creating a friction against your womanhood.  

A  familiar buildup has Neteyam breathe a sigh, groaning as he feels your wetness against his back, your nose nuzzling against his braids.  You kneaded the knots on his back, eyes rolling back at the feel of his muscles rippling against your palms, tearing a loud moan from you as your mind blanked out for almost a minute with how unexpected your release came.  Neteyam gasped your name as he himself let go of the tightening in him, releasing a sputter of his semen against the ground, his right hand shakily reaching behind him almost tangling with the connected queues, and finally came in contact with your sex as he massaged through the bundle of nerves, helping you through your  release.  You squirted against his back, making your breath hitch when you felt his left hand rub your bottom against him, stroking it in a circular motion.

“Neteyam, I love you–!”  You scream, continuing to whimper his name, "Neteyam, Neteyam Neteyam—Haah.." your voice fades as you run out of breath from overstimulation, tickling his ears as you did so. 

As soon  as he felt your heartbeat slow down, he shifted onto his back to guide you into a cuddling position.  Deciding how close he needed you, he lifted you up to put you quite literally on him, an appreciative sigh coming from you.  You pressed a kiss on his cheek, then went back to nuzzle against his neck, mumbling an i love you, so so much my mate.  It was not too long until your soft snores reached his ears.  He chuckles at the sight, his arms wounding around your waist, his tail protectively wrapping itself around your thigh, with yours unconsciously doing the same to him.  He smirked at his new discovery, the cogs inside him starting to run through ideas where he can exploit this to tease you, perhaps score another passionate night with you, as the two of you go beyond your experiences, showering each other with love and intense desire.

[nenelonomh]

how to reduce acne (and what is acne)

acne is a skin condition that occurs when hair follicles become clogged with oil and dead skin cells. it typically results in whiteheads, blackheads or pimples that can appear on the face, forehead, chest, upper back and shoulders. acne is most prevalent among teens but can affect people of all ages. several factors contribute to acne, such as excess oil production, buildup of dead skin cells, bacterial growth and inflammation.

acne is not inherently 'bad' but it is a source of discomfort for many people. while acne itself is not a bad thing, it can lead to potential complications if not managed properly, such as scarring or emotional distress.

when reading this post, it is important to remember that everyone's skin is different and what works for one person may not work for another. i'd like to add that i am not a dermatologist, and this post is written with my own experience in mind as well as research online.

reducing acne involves a combination of skincare practices and lifestyle adjustments. here are some recommended actions:

properly wash your face cleanse your face twice daily to remove excess oil, sweat and dirt. some common face washing mistakes include using the wrong cleanser, over-washing your face, under-washing your face, the wrong water temperature and using a dirty washcloth. don't worry if this all seems confusing, here's a post on how to properly wash your face.

know your skin type use products suitable for your skin type only--oily, dry, combination or sensitive. you can find this out by visiting a dermatologist or (alternatively) researching the skin types and seeing which best matches your skin.

moisturise moisturiser curbs dryness, which balances oil production in your face and therefore helps to prevent acne. choose a non-comedogenic moisturiser to not clog your pores.

consider over-the-counter treatments think about acne treatments with ingredients like benzoyl peroxide or salicylic acid.

stay hydrated drink plenty of water to maintain skin hydration. good hydration helps to maintain skin elasticity, supports the skin's protective functions and prevents sunburn, sensitivity and oiliness. women should drink about 2.7L of fluids every day (including water, other beverages and food).

limit makeup use minimal makeup and ensure that it is non-comedogenic. don't stop wearing makeup if it is something you enjoy, however, try to limit it in acne-strong areas.

don't touch your face this is a big one, and yet so many people do it. keep your hands away from your face to prevent the spread of bacteria. seriously, you use your hands for so much--you don't want the germs of everything you've touched on your face.

limit sun exposure protect your skin with appropriate sunscreen. and remember to re-apply! limiting sun exposure also reduces skin cancer risk. balance is key, though, because the sun is necessary for vitamin d production and maintaining circadian rhythms.

exercise regularly physical activity can help reduce stress, which may contribute to acne.

enjoy a healthy diet eating a well-balanced diet can support skin health. consider reducing dairy and high glycemic foods. a diet with a low glycemic index may help balance hormone levels, which is the same effect when insulin spikes occur less. essential nutrients promote skin health and help to repair and maintain the skin barrier.

invest in stress management find ways to reduce stress, such as journaling or going for a walk. stress can worsen acne. this is because, under stress, the body's healing process slows down, meaning acne can take longer to heal and become more severe. stress hormones can also increase oil production, leading to clogged pores.

(images are from pinterest)