#but it's never half as precise or half as quick as these small things are
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Ëââ§ê°á skin â chuuya nakahara
đđđđđ¶đđ. chuuya's acting different⊠but you brush it off and don't think anything of it.
đžđđđđđđđ. fluff, suggestive but sfw, f!reader, domestic life, established relationship, implied dubcon, open ending, horror/mystery elements, wc: 2.5k
đđđđđ. i'm a bit nervous to see how this will be received, so pls reblog or drop a comment if you enjoy <3
part of my summerween series !
the scent of freshly brewed coffee and your favorite breakfast food are the first things that you smell when you wake up. for a few moments, you think itâs a dream â whenâs the last time chuuya cooked this early in the morning? you half expect to walk out there and wake up again later, finding that youâd never opened your eyes at all.
but when you roll out of bed, tug a robe over your shoulders, chuuya is there, a presence larger than life, almost, standing in front of the stove, and you are undeniably awake.
you wrinkle your eyebrows together, glancing at the plates scattered across the counter. in your two years of marriage, this is the first that youâve seen such a display. chuuya isnât a morning person, he never has been, and usually something quick is enough to settle his stomach for a while.
âchuuya?â you asked, sitting at the table, his back still turned to you. heâs fully dressed, hair falling in loose waves over his shoulders, burning brighter from the sun filtering in through the window. âwhat are you doing?âÂ
your husband turns, smiling at you over his shoulder. as always, it takes your breath away. he is so handsome, sometimes, it makes you forget yourself. âcanât i cook for my beautiful wife?â he asks, sliding a cup of coffee to you on the tabletop.Â
you smile, as his hands graze your temple, brushing your hair behind your ear. âyou never cook breakfast. you donât like it.â besides, this is far too much for two people to enjoy.
he laughs, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then the small, confused wrinkle between your eyes. it slips away as you sit up straighter, capture his lips with your own, tasting the coffee on his mouth.
âbut you do,â chuuya says.
youâre honestly indifferent towards breakfast, but you let it slide, tucking your chin into your hand as you watch him work away. if he wants to do something nice, youâre not going to stop him. âwerenât you supposed to leave for a job this morning?âÂ
chuuya shrugs, âiâm reassigned, i guess the boss wanted to send akutagawa instead. iâll be staying in the city for this one, so you wonât get the chance to miss me.âÂ
it makes sense now, why he had so generously made you breakfast. you stand, taking a longer sip of your coffee, before going to wrap your arms around his stomach, smell the hot food that wafts from behind him. âoh, so you had some time to kill?â you tease, running your hands across his abdomen. âand you decided to cook instead of doing⊠something else?âÂ
your fingers trace a pattern around the zipper of his jeans, which are steadily growing tighter. chuuya grabs your wrist, tugs your hands away with a pointed look. âyes,â he says, through his teeth. âand youâre making it difficult.âÂ
you lazily grin back, pressing one last kiss to his jawline before grabbing your coffee again, and standing beside him at the counter.Â
chuuya cooks with a precision that youâre not sure youâve ever seen before, delicately measuring each ingredient, tapping them into the bowls and pans. usually, he goes by his own instincts, and while he is by no means a great cook, he pulls things together in a way that only he could do. now, though, he seems almost uncertain, like heâs silently praying that everything will turn out alright.
âchuuya?â you ask, watching him carefully. his face contorts strangely as he looks over at you, but then it clears up, and he smiles, looking just as warm as he did the moment you walked into the room.Â
âyeah, baby?âÂ
you want to ask him if heâs feeling alrightâbut that would shatter the mood, wouldnât it? the serene morning bliss that has settled between you, as it so rarely seems to anymore. and itâs a blessing, not to have to watch him walk out that door and put himself in danger, able to spend more time with you.Â
shaking your head, you smile, and kiss him on the cheek softly. ânever mind. i love you.âÂ
âlove you too.â he says it back immediately, which is also a little unlike your husband. there is always a pause before, like heâs not sure heâs allowed to maintain this sort of affection, like itâll be taken away if he dares to speak the truth. he cherishes the love he has for you in that tiny pause, before relinquishing it, shoulders only relaxing when he sees you standing there, safe and sound.Â
but itâs been years since youâve been together. youâre married, settled down â as settled as he can be as a mafia executive. perhaps heâs just relaxed into the fact that your love is eternal, and he's more confident in the notion that it wonât be taken away from him.Â
the rest of the morning passes quickly, when you and chuuya find yourselves back into bed, mouths still tasting of coffee, the windows open just enough to clear out the smell of sweat between you, and the pans that have not fully been scrubbed.Â
at some point, you feel asleep, and you wake back up, overheated from the sheets tucked closely to your naked body. the sunlight filtering in through the glass is worse than metal of a furnace. your hair sticks to your scalp, and you spend the next half hour in the shower, dreading the looming months of summer and the heat that comes with it.
although thereâs plenty of things for you to do while chuuyaâs gone, you donât feel like doing much of anything. just one of those days, you reason, even if itâs hard to rationalize that, when chuuyaâs out there risking his life, and youâre inside, mindlessly scrolling through your phone and the picking up books you canât bring yourself to read.
itâs a blur of a day, between very slowly making your way through the pile of laundry youâd forgotten to fold, and cleaning the sheets that had been washed just a few days earlier. chuuya returns, and suddenly, your foul mood caves into something much more pleasant, that pit in your stomach dissipating.Â
you still worry about him, constantly, even though you know heâs chuuya nakahara, and there are very few things on this earth that can challenge him. still, heâs your husbandâyou canât help it.
chuuya kisses you as he returns, smiling into it, his fingers curling into the hair behind your ears.Â
âi can make dinner tonight,â you say, even though you donât really feel like it. but he sees right through it, just like you knew he would. you canât hide much from him.Â
âitâs okay. iâll pick something up. know you havenât been feeling up to it this week.âÂ
you smile and kiss the palm of his hand, the leather of his glove cool against your mouth. how nice it is to be so loved by him, to be seen, for even the simplest of signs. âokay. thanks.âÂ
he nods, leaves to retreat into the bedroom and change his dirtied shirt into a clean one. itâs then, that you notice heâs laid his coat across the back of one of your chairs â unusual, for him to wear it so far into the house.Â
you furrow your brow and pick it up, planning on hanging it on the rack by the door. but you notice, then, that itâs an older one, different from the coat he normally wears. the designer is the same, but thereâs a hole in the pocket, which tells you he didnât care enough to have it fixed.Â
an odd feeling twists itself inside you again. a bout of paranoia, likely. thatâs all, isnât it? youâre just having an off day, an off week, and youâre projecting that onto your husband, for no reason at all.Â
a sigh escapes you, and you shake your head, simply hanging it back up on the coat rack, when you notice his hat isnât there either.Â
you frown, glancing back over your shoulder to the chair, the rest of the room. chuuya hadnât been wearing it when heâd walked in, and you canât remember seeing it on the rack before he left this morning.Â
which was odd. chuuya never went anywhere without it.
you jump, a vibration pulling you out of your thoughts, your cell phone ringing, buzzing on the table right by the doorway. itâs chuuyaâs name flashing across the screen, a photo of him bright under the glass.
âhello?â
âhey, baby.âÂ
you release a breath at the sound of chuuyaâs voice. it instantly relaxes you, even though you, really, have no reason to be so alarmed.
your shoulders sink down, the tension draining from your body, and you smile instead, amused that heâs calling you from just one room over. the affectionate name twists your stomach up in butterflies and knots, and you roll your eyes. âhi, chuuya.âÂ
âyou have time to talk right now?âÂ
âi suppose.âÂ
âyou suppose,â chuuya replies, snorting. âand here i thought youâd be happier to hear from me. i was about to apologize for not calling you earlier and everything.âÂ
thatâs a weird thing to say, you think. âchuuya, you know, you didnât need to call. you couldâve just walked back in here.âÂ
thereâs a pause on the other end, a muffled sound in the background, like heâs getting out of a car. âwhat do you mean?âÂ
âi mean you couldâve just walked back in here.â
he doesnât seem to understand, and fakes a laugh. âvery funny.â thereâs a voice on the other end, and chuuya says something to the sound, before turning his attention back to you on the phone. your brow furrows, eyes drifting over to the door. âanyway, i only have a few minutes, butââ
 âchuuya,â you say, feeling a tiny rush of fear swallow you. something is wrong. thereâs no one in your house besides you and chuuya, and heâs been in your bedroom for minutes. you turn back around, facing the front door. "where are you?âÂ
âhuh? iâm in osaka, remember? i told you about the entire thing last night.â he sighs, something between irritation and amused fondness. âwe had a pretty long conversation about it.âÂ
âosaka?â you repeat. âbutâi just saw you. just a few minutes ago. just this morningâ
thereâs silence on the other end of the line, as chuuya breathes, gathers his thoughts. you can tell, even within a second, that heâs either trying not to panic, or let his confusion give way to anger. âno, you didnât. i left early this morning, you were still sleepingââ
âwho are you talking to?âÂ
you freeze. it comes from chuuya, but the chuuya thatâs behind you, not the one youâre talking to on the phone. thereâs a pinched look on his face as you turn, pretending like nothing is wrong. a guarded expression that wasnât there before.Â
your mind goes blank as you stare at him, mouth growing dry. âiââ
âsay dazai,â chuuya says through the static of the phone. youâre not sure how he heard the imposter at all, but it settles you, snapping you back into action.
âdazai?â you nearly spit.
itâs not often you chat with dazai, of all people, on the phone. youâre not particularly close. but itâs a good call by chuuya. dazai wouldnât be keeping tabs on the port mafia memberâs whereabouts, wouldnât know that chuuya was out of town, and akutagawa was never reassigned. but heâs still dangerous. still someone that could be a threat to whoever is pretending to be your husband.
âdazai," you continue, recovering from your questioning response smoothly. "can i call you back later?â
chuuya speaks to you the other line, playing along. âiâm going to call someone to come over there. pretend like nothingâs wrong. everything will be okay.âÂ
you feel tears prick the back of your eyes â you donât want chuuya to hang up, but if the fake chuuya finds out you know, it could be an even worse outcome.Â
âokay. got it. i'll call you tomorrow then.âÂ
âi love you.â
you resist the urge to answer the sentiment, and hang up the phone.Â
the fake chuuya stares back at you, as intently as you stare at him, neither of you blinking as you put your phone back into your pocket.
âwhat did dazai want?â he asks, standing straight, his back tense as you take a step forward.Â
there are a lot of weapons hidden around this houseâchuuya has more than a handful of enemies, and wants to be prepared in case they ever find where he lives. where you live.Â
youâd thought it overkill. now, youâre grateful to have at least a fighting chance; if you can only get to the pistol that he keeps in the closet, at the end of the hallway.Â
âheâs working on a case. thought i might have some intel. i told him iâd look over the details tomorrow.âÂ
âi see.â chuuya â not chuuya, you remind yourself, even though heâs wearing his face â nods. he watches you walk closer the closet door, eyes darting between the handle and your body. his eyes flash.Â
âyou know,â he says, crisply, stopping you in your tracks. âi thought the phone might cause some issues. shouldâve blocked the number this morning. amateur mistake on my part.â
âwhat do you mean?â
âi mean your husband called, didnât he? the real one.â not chuuya smiles, but itâs ugly, almost as if itâs contorting, melting off his face. âyou know heâs been gone all morning. it wasnât him who made you breakfast, took you to bed after.âÂ
nausea fills your gut, and you look away, swallowing down the disgust that you feel. you canât think about that. not now.Â
âalthough, you wouldnât have known by the way i touched you, would you? how i knew exactly what you enjoy. i have every one of chuuyaâs memories now. i know all about him, all about you.â he takes a long stride. youâre both just a pace away from the door, from the gun. if he has any of chuuyaâs strength, youâll loseâyouâre no match for that kind of power.Â
you just need to hold him off, long enough for whoever chuuya sends over to help you.Â
âand also,â the fake chuuya continues lazily, a laugh clipping at the end of his words. âi know about the gun youâre looking for.â
thereâs a dark grin on his face that propels you into action. you lunge towards the closet door, throwing it open, and chuuya lets you. he laughs darkly, doesnât make any attempt to stop you from fumbling around the inside of closet for a gun that he put there. it doesnât take you long to figure out why.
the gun isnât there.
thank you so much for reading! â€ïž title and inspiration come from ep 1.06 of supernatural- tag list: @little-miss-chaoss @erebus-et-eigengrau @soleelia @k0z3me
#chuuya x you#chuuya nakahara#bsd x reader#bsd x you#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya nakahara x you#chuuya x fem!reader#chuuya#bsd#bungo stray dogs#xoxo rylie đ à§â ËïœĄâ#chuuya fluff#chuuya x gn reader#chuuya nakahara x gn!reader#chuuya nakahara x fem!reader#chuuya x y/n#nakahara chuuya x reader#bsd imagines#bsd fanfic#xoxo rylie đ â ËïœĄâ
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Warnings: smut, masterbation, send nudes, quick mention of breeding
Sequel to: Think of Me When You Cum Later
Almost an entire day passed without a word from you. Smug as he could fucking be, Simon was certain that it had everything to do with his little impromptu video he sent keeping your hands far to busy to type and God did that fuel him with a new secret passion; perhaps heâd have to send you another before he got back, just to be sure that you were a complete goddamn mess for him when you came to pick him up from base.
If he was really lucky and did his job right youâd have to pull over on the ride home just so he could fuck your brains out in the back seat of your car, so needy you wouldnât be able to wait the short ride back to his place. Youâd both have those window panes fogged up real fucking quick.
But there was one thing the self-assured military man forgot about and that was that you were never one to let him go empty handed. The moment Simon had sent his bit of personal porn for your enjoyment, he should have known that you would not want him to miss out on something special for himself; he needed to see with his own two eyes just how much you needed him. And since he had only made that ache worse for you, he had to have a bit of it back.
It was only fair after all.
So eventually once you were able to clear your head and calm your raging heartbeat, you got to work plotting. It had to be a cinematic masterpiece, something so good that he would definitely have to save for private viewings over and over again whenever he was away; you never did anything half-assed and since it was for him it had to be perfect.
The day had been uneventful and that gave ample time for Simonâs devious mind to wander back to you, wondering how many times youâd viewed that spicy clip and how absolutely soaked your panties were from it. Something about the silence from his phone only led him to fantasize about you being nothing more than a puddle in the middle of his bed, legs shaking from how many times youâd cum.
God, to be a fly on the wall he would have given anything.
BZZâŠBZZâŠ
As if prompted by his thoughts alone, his phone buzzed to life as he sat in his bunk wiling away the hours until sleep finally decided to take over. He pulled small rectangle out of his bag that lay beside his bed with a cocky grin plastered to his lips, ready to read the long string of texts about how his distraction was more than satisfactory. The older phone that Simon liked to take into the field didnât allow him to preview messages before he opened them, so he had no idea what awaited inside until he clicked the icon; his jaw nearly hit the floor and he had to immediately look around him to make sure that there was no one skulking about that could possibly catch a glimpse of his screen.
This was for him and him alone.
It was a picture⊠not what he was expecting, but he should have known better after his little stunt that you were bound to do something like this. The message directly underneath it read: âShit, baby, I canât seem to stop watching your video. Look what youâre doing to me.â
Nearly choking on his saliva, his heart stopped and forcefully restarted in his chest at the glory of image before his eyes. Goddamn he could not pull his sight away; you had to have gone to a lot of trouble to set this all up, but fuck was it worth it just so that he could see you like this.
There you were spread eagle across his bed, completely naked save for the singular hair tie dangling from your wrist that had become a staple of your everyday attire. Your hand was precisely placed between your thighs, fingers clearly buried in that juicy cunt of yours. Head fallen back, presumably eyes shut tight, tits up with your nipples hard, goddamn you were the prettiest fucking picture he had ever fucking seen.
He was falling head over heels all over again.
The pressure of his cock straining harshly against the zipper of his pants became incredibly painful all of a sudden and he rushed to undo the restraining fabric in a hurry; such a visceral effect that you always seemed to produce in him no matter how many times he saw you bare. Pulling the waistband open he lay there with nothing but his boxers to keep him covered.
It had been a long minute since your body was available for his viewing pleasure and he sucked every last drop of that photo down, transfixed as if he had been put under hypnosis. Eyes scanning every inch of that tiny picture glaring back at him through the darkness, the ache in his chest grew as did the heat so that even though his shirt was off he was still boiling to the touch; fuck he needed you so bad it was agony. There was no lie when Simon had said he was desperate to make you cum, he would give anything to feel you writhe beneath him right now, body burning as he put all his focus into making you slip over the edge as many times as humanly possibly.
Whatever he had to do, whatever sin he had to commit that would get him to you fast enough, he would in an instant just to ride straight to hell between those luscious thighs.
Satisfying your temptation was worth the damnation.
How much time had passed since he become consumed by your image he didnât know, but now there was something on his phone that was beginning to download. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears as he waited on baited breath, barely moving a muscle in anticipation for whatever it was you had sent him. Auburn eyes were boring holes into his phone as he watched that slow fucking progress bar inch its way forward at a turtles pace; Christ, it was going to make him drop dead from the excited expectation of what was to come once it was done.
BZZ... BZZâŠ
Finally, after what felt like a fucking eternity, the damned thing was finished and ready for him. A video was what waited for his viewing pleasure, slightly longer than the one he had sent the night before. With shaky, unsteady hands Simon dived head first for his headphones in his bag without a second thought, nearly ripping the canvas apart trying to pry them out as fast as his hands would allow. Shoving the buds into his ears as his pulse raced through his veins, he pushed play...
And his blood pressure shot through the goddamn roof.
âAhh, SimonâŠâ your breathy moan hit his ears first and his brain flat-lined as he nearly came just from just the sound of your sweet tone calling out his name. How long had it been since he had heard you mewling his name in the throws of passion? So damn long it should have been a crime.
The way you had the camera set up he could see it all, the perfect goddamn angle as if he were sitting in the room with you, watching as you touched yourself. Why the ever loving fuck could he not reach through the screen and get to you? That was the worst part of it all; he desperately needed to be the one to make you produce all those pretty sounds.
âFuck, Simon, I miss you so much,â you continued, your body jerking as your fingers continued to dance around your clit, your toes curling around the sheets. âIâve been so empty it hurts⊠need you to fill me full again baby. Reach that ache deep inside that I canât seem to get. Itâs only getting worse without you.â
Simonâs cock throbbed forcefully, pressing harshly against his lower abdomen as the video continued to play; it felt as if he might burst just from the sudden rush of blood to that beastly appendage. Swallowing down a stray groan that threatened to escape his lips and give him away, he nearly gagged on it just to keep it down, but fuck did he want to let loose. He was being consumed by his desire: skin on fire, eyes transfixed on your gorgeous rocking form, mouth agape as he breathed heavy, he took a hold of his engorged member and pulled it free from his boxers before he began to stroke the length; there was no way he could sit here and watch you like this without touching himself.
Back on the screen, your legs were jerking sporadically as you pictured Simon there with you, pumping in and out of you with all that he had. âNeed your fat fucking cock to stretch me out good,â you whimpered pathetically, using all that pent up frustration to aid in your performance; it was torment. âOh God baby, I need it so badâŠcanât take it.â
Fuck it hurt to hear your need and not be able to do a damned thing about it right then and there. He swore to himself that by the time he finally got his hand around those curves he was gonna fill you so full that your pussy wouldn't know what to do without him inside you.
Simon hissed under his breath as his grip tightened around his dripping, aching cock, rapid strokes gaining speed so as to perfectly match your rhythm just so that he could trick his brain into imagining himself pumping in and out of your tight, wet cunt. It paled in comparison to the real thing because there was no replicating how you felt wrapped around him, but it would do for now. Together you both worked yourselves on opposite sides of the screen, just trying your hardest to ease the torturous longing.âŠas if fucking each other across the space between you.
You were completely losing yourself in the moment, unable to hold back all those needs that had been put aside as he was gone. The image of Simon touching himself to the thought of you, his words sounding so desperate, played over in your mind as you worked yourself and you could not stop the way it made you feel, the yearning need for him to completely and utterly wreck your body to the point that even the idea of being with anyone else would never be able to come close to what he could give.
âShit Simon, I wantâŠ
I wantâŠ" you had to say it, it was gonna come out anywayâŠ
"I want you to breed me,â you said stammered out the plea as your free hand massaged over your breasts. That warmth was building, rising in the pit of your stomach as you said those forbidden words aloud. âI need you to breed me good Simon, make sure Iâm ruined for anyone else. Oh God, please, baby. I need it, I need you.â
Christ that was his fucking kryptonite, his Achilles heel, the one thing is the whole wide world that could stop him dead in his tracks and bring him to his proverbial knees. The minute those delicious words exited your mouth, there was no stopping his ecstasy from overwhelming him to the point that he could he was gone.
Oh he was gonna make sure that sweet little cunt had his name written all fucking over it.
Nope that was it, what little straggling bit of sanity he had left had flown and he could not hold back the pressure any longer from reaching its peak and violently throwing him off the ledge. With a strenuous grunt that echoed in his chest and a few hard tuggs up and down his shaft he came with such force that his body shook his entire cot as he stroked out every last bit of milky white fluid from the tip. His cum coating his lower abdomen, getting caught in the sparse bit of hair the covered the area was making a mess, but he didnât care; the euphoria currently surging through his veins like electricity clouded any negative thoughts.
The sound of your orgasm your mewls as your rocketed through you played into his ears, the perfect soundtrack to finish out the rest of his own pleasure. You fell back against the mattress, chest heaving with exhausted breaths as your legs shook and relaxed stretched out as the video finished.
Fuck, he was gonna need a cigarette after that, his body still vibrating with the sheer intensity of it all.
BZZâŠBZZâŠ
The phone vibrated one last time, a final text to send him off into the night.
âI hope it was just as good for you as it was for me,â it said, followed by a sneaky winky face. âSleep tight.â
If he thought he was missing you before, but that was nothing compared to now. It was overwhelming the need he had to have you making those sounds for him again. You had better be ready to getting the car cleaned and detailed because there was no way you werenât going to be pinned down in the back seat after that oneâŠbecause you had just made that ache so much worse.
Part 3:
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#ghost cod#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost mw2#cod mw2#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simin ghost riley#simon smut#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost#ghost smut
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Can I ask for a Yeosang x reader where he follows her after concert and wants to take her on a date( she's a fan) and so on the date someone spills a sticky drink so he takes her back to the hotel and let's her shower but brings her clothes and it's gets smutty from when she walks out in just his shirt and panties
[ËËË ÂŽËË] spilled
â„ đđđđđđ: Yeosang
†đđđđđđđ: fem!fan!reader x idol!yeosang
†đđđđ: imagine (smut)
†đđđđđđđđđđđđ: strangers to lovers, fan x idol au
.á.áđđđđđđđđ.á.á: 18+/smut/suggestive content, MDNI!!! manual sex, unprotected sex, m & f receiving
†đđđđđđđ: Her bias asking Y/N out after the concert was definitely not her plan, but she was more than happy that this was how her evening was going. On the date someone accidentally spills a drink on her dress. Yeosang takes her to his hotel to take a shower, but things take a quick turn after she walks out wearing only his t-shirt.
†đ/đ: 2.8k
†đ/đ: I hope you like how it turned out! it might be a bit rushed in some parts but I tried my best :3 I'm working on all of you guy's requests so be a bit patient please, writing takes a lot of time sometimes.
if you have any ideas or wishes let me know, requests are open
here's my [đđđđđđđđđđ]!
[đđđđđđđ] here!
[about me] + [guidelines]!
Thousands of fans had gathered under the vast canopy of the stadium, their excitement palpable as the night sky darkened above them. The stage stood like a gleaming fortress of lights and screens, a beacon of anticipation that drew everyoneâs eyes forward. You stood near the bottom of the stage, your heart pounding as you waited patiently for Ateezâs performance to begin.
The venue was enormous, a cavernous space that hummed with the collective energy of fans whose anticipation filled every corner. The walls seemed to vibrate with the echoes of chatter and excitement, creating an atmosphere that was both electrifying and overwhelming. Clutched tightly in your hand was your prized possessionâa VIP pass that had cost you a small fortune, but promised an evening you would never forget. Your heart drummed in your chest, its rhythm growing louder with every passing second.
Finally, the lights dimmed, and the crowdâs chatter transformed into a deafening roar of cheers. The giant screens flickered to life, casting their glow over the darkened stadium, and the members of Ateez emerged from the shadows, their faces a blend of fierce determination and playful smiles. The beat dropped, and the crowd surged forward like a tidal wave, sweeping you along with it.
Your gaze locked onto Yeosang, your bias, as he took his place in the spotlight. He was a visionâevery movement precise, every note flawless. His warm brown eyes scanned the crowd, and for a brief, electrifying moment, they met yours. Time seemed to freeze as he held your gaze, and in that instant, it felt as if he had reached out and touched you, making a silent promise that would soon be kept.
After the concert, as the crowd began to disperse, the adrenaline still thrummed in your veins. You lingered, watching as fans slowly made their way out of the venue, your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Then, in a moment that seemed too surreal to be true, you saw Yeosang making his way through the throngs of fans, his eyes searching. It was a daring move, one that could have easily gone unnoticed, but the universe had other plans.
He spotted you standing alone amid the remnants of the concertâdiscarded merchandise, half-eaten snacks, and empty water bottles scattered across the floor. He approached with the confident stride of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, his presence magnetic.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice cutting through the lingering noise of the stadium like a gentle caress. "Would you like to go out for dinner with me?"
You blinked, your mind struggling to process what was happening. Did Yeosang, the idol you had admired from afar, just ask you out?
"Are you serious?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.
A soft chuckle escaped Yeosangâs lips, his smile widening as he noticed the flush spreading across your cheeks.
"I know itâs sudden," he admitted, his tone warm and sincere. "But Iâve been wanting to get to know you better. Tonight felt... different."
Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could think twice, you nodded, your nerves giving way to a flutter of excitement. "Yes, Iâd love to."
His smile deepened, and he extended his hand toward you, his fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. "Great," he said, his voice laced with anticipation."Come with me."
With your hand in his, Yeosang led you through the backstage maze to a waiting car. The ride to the restaurant was a blur, filled with nervous laughter and stolen glances. The tension in the car was thick, but it was a tension that felt charged with possibility. Every time you caught his eye, your heart skipped a beat.
The restaurant he brought you to was a hidden gem, tucked away from the bustling city streets. It was the kind of place where stars dined in peace, shielded from prying eyes by the cozy, intimate atmosphere. As you were seated at a candlelit table in a secluded corner, you couldnât help but marvel at the surreal nature of the evening.
The food was exquisite, each dish more delicious than the last, but it was the conversation that truly captivated you. Yeosang was attentive, his gaze never leaving yours as he asked about your life, your dreams, and your aspirations.
"So," he said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes full of genuine curiosity, "whatâs something youâve always wanted to do but never had the chance to?" Caught off guard by the question, you paused, considering your answer.
"Iâve always wanted to travel," you confessed. "Thereâs so much of the world I havenât seen yet." A thoughtful smile played on his lips. "Where would you go first?" You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you at his interest.
"Maybe Europe," you said. "Italy, specifically. The history, the culture, the food... Itâs been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember." "Sounds like a perfect destination," Yeosang said, his voice laced with admiration.
"Iâve been there a couple of times for work, but Iâd love to go back just to explore, to really experience it." His gaze softened as he added, "Maybe one day we could go together."
The implication of his words made your heart race. After some more talking you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, but fate played a cruel trick. As you stood to leave, someone bumped into you, sending their drink splashing down the front of your dress. You gasped, the sudden coldness of the liquid soaking through the fabric and embarrassment flooded your senses.
"Oh no," you muttered, your cheeks burning as you tried to dab at the stain with a napkin. But the damage was done, and the wetness seeped into the delicate material of your dress.
Yeosangâs reaction was immediate and comforting. "Hey, donât worry about it," he said, his voice full of reassurance. Without a momentâs hesitation, he added, "Letâs get you cleaned up. My hotel is just around the corner. You can shower and change there."
Your heart raced with a mix of gratitude and nerves. "Are you sure? I donât want to be a bother." "Itâs no bother at all," he replied with a gentle smile. "Come on, I insist."
The ride to his hotel was short, but the tension between you two had grown, now tinged with a different kind of anticipation. As you walked through the hotel lobby, his hand on the small of your back, you could feel the heat of his touch, a silent promise of what was to come.
In the plush surroundings of his suite, Yeosang handed you a towel and a change of clothesâa simple, oversized shirt. "You can use the shower," he said, his voice low and intimate as he gestured toward the bathroom. "Take your time."
You nodded, offering him a shy smile as you retreated into the bathroom. The steamy embrace of the shower was a welcome relief, washing away the stickiness of the spilled drink and the lingering nerves. The warmth of the water soothed you, but it also heightened your awareness of the situationâof the man waiting for you just outside the door.
When you emerged, wrapped in his shirt and only your panties, the soft fabric clinging to your damp skin, you found Yeosang standing by the window, gazing out at the city below. He turned as you entered the room, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you in his clothes.
"You look beautiful," he murmured, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on your bare legs and the curve of your hips.Your breath hitched as he reached out, his hand tracing the outline of your shoulder. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent a shiver down your spine. "Yeosang..." you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.
His fingers trailed down your arm, his gaze never leaving yours. "Iâve wanted this all night," he admitted, his voice thick with need. "But I didnât want to rush you."
"I donât want you to stop," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest. The honesty of your words seemed to ignite something in him, and before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both tender and demanding.
The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as he guided you toward the bed. You tumbled onto the soft sheets, the fabric of your shirts the only barrier between your heated bodies. His hands roamed over you, exploring every curve, every inch of your skin as if memorizing it. He kissed along your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and leaving behind a trail of marks that would remind you of this night for days to come.
As his hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, you felt his fingers brush against your stomach, sending a ripple of pleasure through you. He paused, looking into your eyes as he pushed the fabric higher, revealing more of your body. "Youâre stunning," he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he took in the sight of you.
A blush crept up your neck, warmth spreading through your body as you felt his gaze, heavy with desire. "Mhm~ Yeosang..." you breathed, your voice laced with need.
He responded with a slow, sensual kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before delving deeper. His hand traveled up your torso, fingers finding your nipples, already hardened with anticipation. He teased them gently, his touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
You gasped into his mouth, your back arching off the bed as his fingers worked their magic. The fabric of your panties grew damp with your desire and you could feel his hardness pressing against your thigh, a silent reminder of the pleasure yet to come. The anticipation was unbearable, a delicious agony that left you trembling beneath his touch.
Yeosangâs lips moved from your mouth to your jawline, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your neck. He nipped at your collarbone, each gentle bite sending a new wave of heat coursing through your veins. His hands were everywhereâroaming across your chest, sliding down your sides, exploring the curves of your body as if committing every detail to memory.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze locked onto yours as he slipped the oversized shirt off your shoulders, revealing your bare skin to the cool air of the room. His eyes darkened with desire as they raked over your exposed form, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. "Youâre breathtaking," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
Before you could respond, he kissed you again, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for doubt about what he wanted. His hand trailed down your stomach, his fingers brushing teasingly over your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. You moaned into his mouth, your hips instinctively rising to meet his touch, desperate for more.
He didnât rush. Instead, he took his time, savoring every sound you made, every tremble that passed through you as he continued to tease you. His fingertips circled your clit with a gentle, maddening touch that left you on the edge, your body aching for release. When he finally slid two fingers inside you, your eyes rolled back with satisfaction, the feeling of being filled up felt so good.
He looked down at you, watching how you frowned as he slid his fingers in and out of your aching cunt. His fingers curled up, applying pressure against your walls, which almost made you cum already. But it wasn't until his pumps became deeper that you felt close to releasing. Yeosang started to hit your good spot over and over, the knot in your stomach tightening.
You shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your cries filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that echoed off the walls. But Yeosang wasnât finished. He continued to kiss you, to touch you, his voice a soft murmur in your ear, whispering sweet nothings that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers pumped in and out of you continuosly, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge once more.
"Fuckâ" you groaned, feeling how the pleasure build up again, his fingers knuckle deep inside your hole. "It feels good, doesn't it?" he asked, but from the way you clenched around him, he knew that you liked it. "Let go for me," he coaxed, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers moved faster, deeper, building you up again. "I want to feel you cum."
His words, combined with the relentless pleasure he was giving you, pushed you over the edge a second time. You came with his name on your lips, a cry of pure ecstasy that left you trembling beneath him. Your body tightened around his fingers, the sensation so intense it left you breathless.
As you lay there, panting, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Yeosang withdrew his fingers, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He stripped off his own clothes with a speed that made you smile, the urgency of his movements betraying his own need.
His cock stood at attention, hard and ready, and your heart skipped a beat as you took in the sight of him, fully revealed for the first time. He climbed onto the bed, his body covering yours, his skin warm against yours as he settled between your legs. He kissed you deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his fingers, leaving you breathless once more.
When he finally slid inside you, the feeling was almost overwhelming. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. Yeosang groaned, his breath hitching as he felt you tighten around him.
The rhythm you found together was instinctive, each thrust perfectly aligned with your bodyâs needs. His cock brushed against your good spot with every movement, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you see stars. The world around you blurred, leaving only the two of you, moving together in perfect harmony.
Yeosangâs lips never stopped moving, kissing every inch of you, leaving a trail of hickeys on your skin like a secret map only you could trace later. His hands were everywhereâexploring, caressing, claiming you as his own. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust brought you closer to the edge, until you were teetering on the brink, your body trembling with the force of the pleasure building inside you.
"Yeosang," you gasped, your voice breathless as you felt yourself nearing your peak once more. "Iâm so close."
He responded with a low groan, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more deliberate as he chased his own release. "Let go," he urged, his voice rough with need. "I want to make you cum so good."
His words were the final push you needed. With a cry of his name, you came, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. The sensation of you clenching around him was too much for Yeosang and with a final, deep thrust, he followed you over the edge, his release warm as he filled you.
The two of you lay there, tangled in the sheets, your hearts racing in sync with each otherâs, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweatâa heady perfume that seemed to seal the bond between you. The silence that followed was filled with contentment, a quiet peace that wrapped around you both like a warm blanket.
After a moment, Yeosang gently pulled out, and you felt the loss of him immediately. But before you could protest, he was already moving, retrieving a soft cloth to clean you up with a tenderness that made your heart swell.
"Thank you," you whispered, your voice soft as he wiped the remnants of your combined liquids from your skin.
He smiled down at you, his eyes filled with warmth as he discarded the cloth and returned to your side, pulling you into his arms. "No need to thank me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Just holding you like this is enough."
You snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek as you drifted off to sleep, the events of the night playing over in your mind like a beautiful, surreal dream.
As you fell into a deep, contented slumber, Yeosang held you close, lost in his own thoughts of tonight's events.
#đâ Û« .đđ atzaurora#ateez#yeosang#imagine#smut#atiny#ateez atiny#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez imagines#ateez x reader#ateez scenarios#ateez smut#kpop smut#ateez yeosang#kpop bg#kpop fanfic#kpop boys#kpop#kpop imagines#kang yeosang
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ă sanguine ă
a world in which haku shota has known you longer than you have known yourself.
read the teaser here.
pairing: vampire!shota x human!reader
wc: around 6k
genre: soulmates, forbidden romance, angst, SMUT, MDNI
warnings: murder, dubcon, blindfolding, there is a lot of angst, very slight breeding/crying, perpetuation of suicidal thoughts. if you are not in the headspace to read this, please don't. also pls forgive any small spelling/grammar mistakes!! the spelling might be regional the grammar is not LOL
a/n: day 4 of piwontober is here!!!!! this fic is honestly my baby đ i birthed this thing over the course of almost 20 days. the specific soulmate rules this steals from are from the otome game bewitching sinners. there is some other influence in this work, some you will most definitely recognize. special thank you to @strawberry-seob for beta reading this for me extremely last minute, you're a champ, my midnight brain thanks you for dealing with all my little mistakes. đ€
in loving memory of juyogf/348kg.
(they didn't die they just got sussed </3)
Above all to protect you.
Although you don't know it, you are being watched. The night air is crisp, a subtle breeze ruffling your hair, while smoke billows from your mouth and nose. âOne of life's finest coping mechanisms,â you sigh, your blond companion nodding in agreement.
And my favorite modern amenity, Shota chuckles, arm moving to wrap around your shoulders, âRight behind Tiktok doomscrolling.â
Warmth fills you, despite the air suddenly chilling, âThank you for walking me home, Sho.â
Shota courted youâas he called itâhis infatuation steady, exhilarating, even comforting at times. You couldn't deny he seemed⊠almost obsessed with you. He knew everything about you without much effort on his part.
âAny time, darling. I like knowing you're home safe.â He presses a quick kiss to your cheek, swiping your vape from you, âPlus, it means I get an extra half hour with the love of my life.â
If only, Shota blinks quickly, eyes narrowing at the figure just out of your view. âIt's still really sweet of you, Sho. I love you.â
The weight of those words in his mind have him smiling without realizing it. Despite his touch being just slightly too rough, you're as relaxed as ever, his hands feeling familiar in ways your mind can't put its finger on. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches your follower staring him down. Right. He's been on this mission for far too long. Shota inhales deeply, âI love you too.â
Falling in love with Shota is like second nature to both of you. Over all spans of time, you fall for him harder and harder. He holds your hands in his with a tenderness familiar to you, yet new every time. His eyes are so earnest. They hold your gaze like a blanket, always observant, always full of a sadness you can't quite place. Shota resents that he's the only one who has to carry this knowledge.
âYou haven't eaten in a while.â You stroke his hair. Your hands spread warmth like fire everywhere they touch. He tries his best to remain present, in the moment, but his mind strays.
âIt's okay.â His eyes are so far away.
You reach out to him, your fingers entwining with his. And though you don't know why, a feeling of complete hopelessness washes over you when his red eyes gaze deeply into yours. You pick your brain for the right words to say, worried that blunt language will cause him to pull away.
âAt least- have a little, itâll clear your mind?â
He shakes his head, âI love you. Iâll be fine.â
âI love you too, Sho.â
Sometimes it isn't about the words, but about hearing them back.
Shota nuzzles his face into your neck. He inhales deeply. Your blood always smells so sweet to him. The way you relax into his touch breaks his heart. Hands find their way up your spine, across your waist, squeezing your flesh in short bursts.
âTake whatever you need from me.â You don't understand his hesitation. He's always precise with his feeding, never letting himself get past the point of a little hungry. You trust him, he trusts you. Or at the very least, you think he does.
âAre you sure?â Shotaâs fangs hover above your jugular, your eyes shining in the dim lights of his apartment. This isn't the first time you have been here, and despite what he knows is about to happen, he's sure it won't be the last.
âIâm sure, I promise, please take what you need from me.â Your voice is almost needy. His nails dig into your sides, eyes squeezing shut. If only he could forget everything else but this moment. If only he could turn back the clock, and be your lifelong lover, instead of being the reason your life isn't long to begin with.
âI will, precious. I love you.â
There's an unfamiliar sting when his fangs dig into you. His eyes flutter closed, holding you to him like you might disappear. He swallows, thick with your life in his mouth.
Shota is thankful that the vampiric part of his brain turns off any part of him that views you as more than just prey. He is your hunter. Your executor. Your lifelong nemesis. He feels you begin to weakly thrash in his arms, a mere whisper of his name snapping him out of his stupor. Iâm sorry, he swallows you whole.
Iâm sorry.
Your body goes limp. Slowly, you become just like him: A corpse.
Love became greed and erased itself.
Shotaâs eyes are closed, fist wrapped tightly around his length. In his mind's eye is your face. He hasn't had the privilege of seeing you when you cum, and that's what he imagines every time he gets off. He thinks of your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, his name nothing more than a quiet cry, your body milking him for all he's worth.
He thinks of you in his apartment, begging him to take what he needs from you. Your eyes that shone so brightly whenever you saw him. But alas, he is home, and not in that dingy little apartment he keeps for you.
His high approaches quickly, wrist cramping with exertion, if only he knew how you would feel. If only he had you once, so he could keep the memory for all time.
âShota, his majesty needs you!â Three sharp raps on his door signal Jongseobâs arrival.
âIâll be there in a second!â he nearly growls, tossing the covers off and putting on some slacks. His hands flatten his hair, eyes flicking to his mirror to make sure he looks presentable. He adjusts his belt, hoping he doesnât look freshly blue-balled, âDid he say what he wants?â
Jongseobâs face as the door swings open is all Shota needs to see. His face falls into a grimace.
âYou know, you'd think after all this time whatever being does this would have mercy on her.â Jongseob has always had more empathy than his Majesty, despite being his younger brother. âI mean, being lured to slaughter in every life must take i-â
âQuiet,â Shota grumbles, pushing past his brother and swinging open the doors to the throne room. His capelet hugs his shoulders when he bows, âYour Majesty.â
âMy most beloved brother, it's good to see you.â Theo sits with perfect posture, crown perched atop his auburn hair. He peers down at Shota with an air of entitlement; As if he's just a vessel, and not a faithful family member.
âLikewise, your majesty. The prince-â Theo cuts him off with a wave of his hand. His eyes are piercing in ways Shota will never understand, his power undeniable while in his presence.
âIâm sure you know what I need, Shota. Take care of it.â
âCan't we just-â, Shota clears his throat, stepping forward tentatively, âTurn her? I mean, it's been so many years, I just-â
Theo stares intently at his younger brother. His eyes are full of authority, of a disturbing finality.
âDon't be silly, brother. You will perform your duty.â
Where did that terrible curse come from?
Shota finds you with ease thanks to the bond he shares with Theo. That, and heâs been chasing your scent for so long he could recognize you anywhere. Tonight, he's trespassing at a concert he doesn't have a ticket for. He's thankful for his vampirism in this atmosphere: it makes you so easy to spot at the barricade. He snakes through the crowd, his eyes honed in on you; a true hunter stalking his prey. The opening dialogue heâs prepared for you two to have about the boy group on stage is fresh in his mindâbut you turn to him, your eyes staring at him with an emotion he hasn't seen before; a rarity, for him. He opens his mouth.
Then youâre gone.
There was something on that boy's face. A certain millennium old sorrow that you shouldn't be able to recognize. Itâs etched into your mind, that beautiful face of his. You remember the silliest things, like his teeth, that he's your age, his roots were grown out. Clearly, youâre just lonely. But maybeâand only maybeâthereâs something about him. An old soul, perhaps. Your thoughts are infested with him. So much so, that itâs a miracle you look up from your phone long enough to spot him on your train. Was this your fated love?
Has the universe finally shown mercy on your poor, lonely self?
You cast many nervous glances at the boy, who seems disgruntled. Heâs bundled up in many layers to compensate for the incoming norâeaster, the visible part of his cheeks stained pink. Itâs time to be brave.
Who inflicted this cruel punishment?
Shota sits bundled up on the subway. He's all too familiar with the route you take, electing to disguise himself so perhaps⊠you won't walk away from him again. Ever since your last encounter, the heart he never knew he had has been hurting him. He lies awake at night, unable to rest, thinking of the look on your face when you saw him. After much pondering, he realized he knew that expression: fear. Itâs been so long since you feared him.
âCan I sit here?â
He's scared it's all a dream. Your smiling face, encased by a halo of fluorescent train lights. A lesser man wouldn't think of you as an angel.
âAh, yes, of course-â He fumbles to scoot over just a tad, so you don't have to press yourself into him to sit with him.
âYou're really pretty.â Your face lights up into the smile he's missed so dearly. Even though you come back changed in every life, your smile is always the same to him. âSorry! Thatâs probably weird to hear, I didnât mean it in a bad way!â
âThank you, um, your smile-â The flush that tints his cheeks is foreign to him. Shota feels almost⊠excited. Whatâs happening is a gift from the gods. Your puppylike tendencies bleed through the walls heâs built since he last held you. When he gets off the subway, he finds himself walking with newfound purpose. Your number is scrawled onto his palm.
The fate that I devoted my life to; How could I forget?
Empty. Is there anything in Haku Shotaâs life that is fully under his control? Is there even one instance where he isn't at the beck and call of another?
It makes him mean, to be so out of his own control. To wake up every day, and only be awake to the detriment of someone else. Itâs slowly rotting away at his soul.
Not that there's much left of his soul, anyway.
And maybe Jongseob was the boy who saved his life, as well as the boy he still protected with his life. But Shota finds no enjoyment in this groundhog day he's found himself in. He curls in on himself, his mind racing. Everything is so loud.
Many days, he hopes he will finally be put out of his misery. His heart is twisting, turning, writhing, a mass of muscle and taut tissue, his lungs contracting and constricting, airways tight, so small he feels like he canât even swallow his saliva, which is so thick and heavy in his mouth â if he could just breathe.
He grits his teeth, thoughts moving so fast he doesn't remember what heâs supposed to beâjust that he is. His eyes are closed, shutting out another sense to keep up with, his whole body pulled tight with emotion like a marionette at the whims of his own consciousness.
Twitching. He can feel his body twitching every few seconds, uncontrollable and minute. He is in his head. With every thought that races through, one keeps looping as if desperate to be heard and to be seen: I donât belong, Iâm not happy.
A terrible oversimplification of his current plight, the thought manages to ease the onslaught of activity, condensing his thoughts down to his emotions. Does he feel anything? Has the numbness faded, causing him to stumble?
Trials and tribulations are commonplace for any person of his age, though certain anomalies of the mind can alter even the most simplistic emotion into a monster of its own merit.
Perhaps, this life isnât meant for him.
It has made him happy. He has been good, and loved. He is good and loved.
But it isnât for him. He canât feel anything at all. Most of the time, heâs apathetic, with exception to sharp bursts of emotions. This isnât a life he wants to live.
(He wants to live for you.)
Doomed. That is how he feels. The perfect descriptor for someone as cynical and apathetic as him.
The feeling leaves his mouth bitter, a smile displaying his outermost wants. Itâs alarmingly easy to fake it. His own happiness is nothing but a facade. To him or to everyone?
Much of the time, being left to his own thoughts and opinions is what coerces his most vulnerable emotions out. It discomforts him, feeling the things he tries so hard to hide bubble up to the surface in undeniable agony. His heart, once hidden, emerges from its cocoon to try and blossom again.
If only.
But life is much more complex than these feelings of inadequacy. Even if he doesn't believe it.
âPull yourself together, Shota.â Jongseobâs voice echoes in his empty apartment. He didnât know who else to call.
âI wish I could feel normal again,â Shota whispers into the phone. He feels white hot shame course through him, and he regrets saying anything at all.
âIf you felt normal, we wouldn't still be friends.â He laughs. Shota wonders how his friend could feel so light.
âMaybe we would be, but Iâd be dead.â Dead might be better than this.
A forlorn silence falls over his room after he hangs up on his best friend. He closes his eyes, all of his memories a watercolor sketch of emotions. He has to end things between you two.
Your blood is still warm when he wipes it off his chin with a handkerchief. He knows Keeho will be there at any moment to clean everything up for him, and then Theo will want to celebrate. The cold air bites at Shotaâs cheeks. It's like the universe is punishing him for his act of unkindness. He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets. When did I put on a coat?
There's one orange street lamp on his block. Did I ever notice how her smile was like the sun?
A car speeds by him dangerously close, the occupants seeming to watch him. Do I love her?
His phone lights up, a cheerful ringtone startling him. They don't have to know where Iâm staying tonight.
The aftermath is always the worst part.
âSorry, my roommate has a strict no boys policy.â You laugh, praying he buys the excuse. Really, it's not that Intak won't let you spend alone time with boys; it's that he won't let you spend alone time with this boy. Something about a bad vibe.
âI miss you,â he coughs, âWhen we aren't together, I miss you.â
Your stomach does a little summersault. A pretty boy misses you when you aren't with him.
âIâll.. talk to him, maybe he'll relent because we're just friends-â
âI want to be more. Than just friends, with you.â Shota gauges your reaction for 30 long and agonizing seconds. He watches the cogs turn in your brain, realization setting in. Then, there's that beautiful smile of yours. If only he could feel this warm all the time.
âOh thank god, I thought I was just delusional!â Your fingers entwine with his, and a flash of something akin to recognition passes across your face.
Convincing Intak to let Shota over was an ordeal you were sufficiently blindsided by. Perhaps there was more to the story of why he doesn't want you with him, but if he won't tell you⊠it's no longer your concern.
That's what you tell yourself when you sneak the boy into your room, anyways. You feel completely safe with him. Completely at ease. So much so, that when he lays you back on your bed, dick heavy between your thighs; you relax and let him have his way with you.
âHave you ever done this before?â His voice is soft. His hands caress your body with reverence.
You shake your head. You feel his fingers slowly drag up your thigh, his body pushing your legs apart with his descent between your thighs.
âGonna prep you, it'll feel good.â He presses a quick kiss to your clit over your panties. He takes his sweet time ridding you of them, sucking and licking at your clit. A sharp pain has your eyes snapping open.
âSho, hurts.â
He soothes it with a kiss, murmuring âgood girlâ into your cunt. He looks at you from beneath his lashes for approval.
âShota, your eyes-â You gasp out, hands tugging impatiently on his hair. His tongue pokes slightly out of his mouth, chin covered in slick.
âDon't worry about it, baby,â he mumbles into your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses right back to where you needed him most.
âNo- Sho-â You try to push him away, but his hands grab yours, âQuiet.â
He hums into your clit, pressing his fingers in to curl right up into that spot you love so much.
âSho, stop-â The pitch of your voice is electric. The stuff of dreams, for him.
âNo. You will cum for me.â His ministrations get more aggressive, more motivated. He sucks on your clit far too painfully for your liking, but it only gets you closer.
âSho- Shota, fuck-â His eyes lock onto yours as you cum all over his face, before your head lolls back, lungs gasping for air.
He holds you close to him after, pressing gentle kisses all over your exposed chest and neck. He mumbles something you don't quite catch between the blood rush in your ears. All you can think about is how safe you feel with him. And maybe, there's a little voice in the back of your head that says you love him.
âDon't do that to me again,â you whine, clinging to him in the afterglow of your orgasm, âYou really scared me for a sec.â
âSorry, precious. I get a little mean when Iâm desperate.â His voice is a pitch lower than usual, and it sends heat back between your thighs. He's still hard against you.
âDon't bite your lip at me like that,â he groans, manhandling you into his lap, âYou're the one who said to stop, baby.â
His eyes are heady, dilated with lust. It's a gaze that has you stricken. The only reply you can muster comes out as a soft whine, âJust- make love to me, Sho.â
Fate is in my hands again.
You try to brush off the undeniable red you saw in your loverâs eyes a mere 3 weeks ago. He sneaks into your shared apartment far too many times, just to kiss on you and love on you. It's almost as if the sorrowful boy you met in the park all those months ago has been replaced by someone⊠happier.
The months fly by between the two of you, and even Intak seems to warm up to the idea of Shota sticking around. (Yes, there were many long nights of bickering when he found out you were sneaking him in.)
âShota, Iâm not so sure.â Black silk is cool against your eyelidsâone of your boyfriend's many ideas to spice up your private time.
âIt'll be okay, baby. Trust me.â He kisses your lips, then your cheeks, then your nose. You feel the bed dip with his weight, his eternally cold body pressing against your own.
âI trust you,â you breathe out, his lips ghosting against your own. You feel a sharp prick by your collarbone, followed by his tongue. âSoul?â
That blessed nickname you've given him. Your heart and Soul.
âIâm here, baby, Iâm here.â
There's emphasis on dialogue in your sex life. At Shotaâs insistence, of course. He loves listening to you whine and cry for him.
You're confused. Left completely in the dark, until you feel his dick dragging through your sticky folds. Without prep? Is the only question in your head, feeling the throb of him. You need him so badly.
âSho-â you gasp out.
âIâve got you.â
Right. He's got you. Always.
His hand wraps around your neck, applying light pressure just to test. Just to see where your limits are.
âN-No, Sho-â You weakly grab at him, not fussing, but still trying to pull him off of you. He feels your wrist go slack when he angles his hips up at just the right spot.
âYou go so dumb for me so easily, precious.â Shota whimpers. His mouth falls open, eyes going hazy with pleasure, âChrist, Iâm gonna cum.â
âInside, please.â You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him ever deeper. You feel so good he can hardly breathe, squeezing around him like a vice. He's embarrassed by how quickly he always cums with you, but you never seem to mind. Afterwards you're always smug, teasing, almost mean.
âOkay, baby, anything for you.â He breathes out, thumbing at your clit. He tries to pick up the pace, but the grip you have on him is too tight, so he settles for grinding into your precious cunt.
âI love you, Shota, I love you.â You cry, kicking and shaking with pleasure, your whole body convulsing. He moans your name in a tone that's downright debaucherous. He's nestled so deep inside you, hand pushing your leg up further. He feels himself hit a wall within you, and you let out a sob. âSorry, sorry, fuck.âÂ
I grew up in an eternity that will soon belong to you.
The ways in which Shota loves you are carnal. All this time, he's viewed the countless years upon years you've spent together as something out of his control. When really, he has all the control. All the power. Shota decides that in this life, the only way to keep you alive is to sever his proximity to you. The only way to protect you, as he so dearly desires, is for him to disappear. Watch over from afar. Maybe then, Theo won't hunt you like an animal.Â
But he knows it's nothing more than a pipedream. And in disobeying his king, there's more than just a high probability that he'll never see you again. All these years spent pining after you, chasing you down, getting to know every version of you the universe has to offer; and he will finally die. He will finally get what he's always wanted, as is the price for your life.
May 25th, 1967
Feelings grow, morph, and change overtime. What was initially anxiousness at the thought of us talking has turned into anticipation. I hope we will meet again. I can prepare, but I will not remember. I can pretend to shield my emotions, but it's too late. I like you, plain and simple. I like you. I cannot wax poetic like this, I simply like you. You are a small comfort, a being I can rely on, someone I want to cherish and savor like fine wine. I think about arguments, and fierce letters, and sharp kisses and bites. I think about a confession on your lips, late nights by candlelight spent sitting too close for just enemies, just friends, just anything. I think about bringing you trinkets, books, scraps of literature I cannot admit to writing myself. I think about cooking together and laughing together. I think about how awful your cooking could be, and eating it all anyways because you made it for me. I think about reading together in silence, waking up to leaning against you, something you might never let me do. I like you. I cannot stand it. I ache for you to the point of nausea; mere words will not encompass it. Iâm learning you, and tracing my fingers along the ridges of your soul again and again and again. It inspires hunger, insatiable hunger, blunt teeth tearing through threads of time and storing them in the maw, savoring them; Swirling them around, feeling each individual thread snap and break, swallowing even as the ends scratch my throat, and swallowing some more, asking for more, needing more to remember to reread to rethink to reanalyze to cherish and destroy and love and hate and hunger for more always more never less always enough never full. The hunger subdues, declines, takes its teeth out of me but not its claws, always threatening, always wanting. Wanting, wanting, wanting like it deserves to. I want to avoid, not be a moth drawn to flame, drawn to certain death, I want to allow myself to stop thinking stop being stop wanting but the need grows the want grows the anticipation and desire to connect and to be it fills and snakes and squeezes my heart andâ I need to be restrained and unwanting and alone again so I cannot feel anything or anyone. So I cannot taste the breeze, the ashes, the sea, the stars. If only to feel you, and to feel you on the curve of the wind's fingers, caressing and cooling and soothing and peaceful. I wish that peace was me and I was peace but the feeling of duty, of punishment, of praise, it requires chaos, it requires not a moment of simple and singular silence. In you I feel silence, I become silence, I conform, I become too much, I feel nothing, I feel everythingâI want you. And this wretched heart won't let me stop. Every time I open my eyes I'm attacked with memories of you, ghosts of love and adoration flipping through my eyes in seconds and I just feel you as my breath and my echo, the words I speak, and the air I breathe. I can feel you in my hands, in my laugh, in everything I do. You are my world, my lover, my friend, the nostalgia in my tea and the memories I have yet to make everything, everything always you. Even now I can't untangle the cord of our souls, what are the chances you remember? Very little, I'm afraid. I will never speak to you of thisâI don't want to, and I'm scared, but my godsâif I would not tear down the heavens for you, then love is just a concept. I would still become destroyer of the heavens, hell's purveyor of punishment, all if it, if only for you.
Shota
October 31st, 1992
The problem is that I want to be wanted too, so what am I doing so wrong? I find it hard to form lasting connections as quickly as others, am I just not enough? What makes me so inadequate? What makes me so wrong?
Why canât I love and be loved as others are? Why is that so hard? Iâve always struggled with connecting with people. Something about my humanness, or lack thereof. One of my favorite quotes is this: âWe accept the love we think we deserve.âÂ
I know I donât deserve much, but thatâs⊠Not necessarily the problem here. How can I accept love Iâm not given? How is it that people whoâre supposed to have a strong bond with me, bond with other people more? Am I simply unlovable?Â
What mark is there that ties me to them? If one of us leaves, our connection is simply lost to the wind. I suppose the ephemeral nature of my existence bleeds out into my relationships. I suppose that is the âwrongâ within me.Â
I miss you. You are in the moon that washes over me. You are in every tender morning. You are in the weeds I uproot. You are bamboo, invasive to my land. You are in everything I am.
Thank you for listening. I know you always will.
ShotaÂ
December 25th, 2016
Everything that is "mine" has been stripped away from me.
People are
a hand
a heart
a hundred little things
slipping, just out of reach
away
Kind regards,
Shota
February 15th, 2023
My life and love have lost their luster.
and I, my gilded glow.Â
My darling is made of stars.
My darling cannot see me from afar.
For what separates the stars from the Earth?
What stops them from moving ever closer, ever nearer, from loving the land below?Â
Death, my dear heart.
The stars we see are dead,Â
and thus
I, too, am loving a dead thing.
You wouldn't like the person I've become. And I won't blame you. I don't like who I've become either.Â
Sincerely yours,
Shota
January 19th, 2024
I have much to say, yet no way to say it properly. I guess I will start with something I will never say again: I miss you.
My feelings alone are not enough to be the catalyst of a relationship, yet when I think about the few sweet words youâve gifted to me I consider it may be enough.Â
I know you. And truly, the more I think I do, the more Iâm aware I donât. I wonder what kind of person would steal your heart. Someone with gentle hands, soft words, the epitome of kindness? Yet cruel in their own way, when provoked? I am nothing like that. The jagged edges of my splintered heart are just that; jagged edges. I am not callous, but at times I find myself wanting to be what people believe me to be. That is to say, I want to become an unthinkable beast.Â
Unthinkable beasts donât cry for a lover theyâve never had though, do they.Â
The thought of you arouses such anguish within me, my heart. I think you would despise this pet name. My heart, my heart, my poor, beating heart. Bitter blue, dancing flame, stormy rose. You get prettier as you age. Like a fine wine, or an expensive cologne.Â
Itâs not that I havenât thought of you as a lover, but that I havenât allowed myself to. It hurts. Worse than I believed it would.Â
It hurts. It really does. I donât even know why anymore. Is it because I am unloved by you? Is it because Iâm scared of truly losing you? Am I so selfish that I want you back with no regard for your safety? I am, and I am not. I wish I could distract myself from you again.Â
I want to be with you. I want to love you without doubt. I want to think of you and crave your presence without hurt. I want you, I want you, I want you, I want you.
Humans are such complex little creatures. Somehow, after reading all of Shotaâs letters, you're more determined than ever to love him. His letters, his final gift of closure to you, they infuriate you.
Who is he to decide your fate?
Who is he to decide you're better off without him around?
It's a gut feeling that has you running to his apartment. Your chest aches from the cold air and exertion. Your feet only carry you faster. You've never had a soulmate.Â
Across all those decades, you've never known what it's like. You were never able to understand the nauseating love others feel for someone else. You fell in love, but you never felt in love.Â
Not until Shota.
You knew from the start: For you, there was only ever him. There is no soul more perfect, no heart more understandingâit is him for you. You pray to whatever god exists that he's still in Seoul.
Your hands shake while you fumble with the set of keys he gave you. The lock clicks, and you burst through, hoping to find a light on.Â
But all that remains is silence. Cold and daunting.
You let out a hollow laugh to yourself. Tears prick the corners of your vision, then a scream bubbles up and into the back of your throat.
A pair of glowing red eyes stare back at you.Â
Unlike your belovedâs eyes, that always adored you, these eyes are callous. They pierce through your very soul.
There's an imperceptible flinch on their end that has you stumbling back slowly. Your heart thrums violently in your ears, begging you to turn back, begging you to move or do anything to fight against your now oncoming demise.Â
âHe made a mistake.â It breathes in your direction, moonlight streaming through an open window.Â
You take a small step back, and it takes one forward.
âI am here to fix it.âÂ
It lunges forward, hands snaking around your throat, smashing your head onto the tile below.
âShota!âÂ
In your freshly fogged brain, all you can think of is him.Â
He loves you.
He'll come.Â
âShota, help!âÂ
There's a deep throbbing in your chest. A fear stronger than your own grips you, your body finally listening and fighting for you. Black dots line your vision, your lungs burning in an agonizing pain you know to associate with death.Â
And then the pressure is gone.
âI'm not good at this whole emotions thing.â A steady beeping sound fills the sterile room where you lay.Â
âI don't even know where to begin telling you everything that's happened,â Shota swallows down his anxiety, warmth blooming in his chest. Your eyes flutter open to meet his.
âI should come clean to you.â Your voice has a rasp to it, throat completely dry from your days asleep, âI haven't been entirely honest.â
Your stare bores through him like acid. He feels your heart rate pick up before modern technology even dares.
âI⊠Iâve been seeing things. Myself. I don't know when it started, but shortly after I met you, she started appearing- first just occasionally, then the closer we got, the more I saw her. And then I started having these weird dreams about you⊠they felt like memories. I thought I was going crazy.
Shota, my whole life Iâve felt like no one would ever love me. Everyone had their soulmate, and I had no one. My parents didn't love me, I had trouble making friends, I felt no drive to ever⊠be anyone. And then I met you. You just got me. I finally thought: I don't need a soulmate. You never mentioned anything about a soulmate, you didn't seem interested at allâand then one day it just clicked. I felt like you were a part of me.Â
That night, when I went to your apartment, it was her. Me? Iâm not sure, but she has my face. I still don'tâŠâÂ
You blink back tears. Shota holds your shaking hands in his. There's the boy you fell in love with. Soft hands, slow movements, love you've never felt with anyone else.
âYour soulmate is- Sorry, was, my brother. We're not related by blood, but by a familial bond forged when we were both children. I don't expect you to know anything about vampires, or what happens when they're soulmates with a human, but when a vampire is soulmates with a human they become mortal from the moment the two meet. Theo fought for many, many years to become the vampire king. He led wars, lost almost his entire family, and became the âmonsterâ he is today. I am of the opinion that he always envisioned a soulmate as powerful as him. And when he first saw you all those years ago, he didn't see the strength within youâonly the vessel. I- I don't wanna get into it still, Iâm not ready, but- when I was younger, I hated you. To me, you were just another obstacle in Theoâs way. He wanted you gone. My best friend was the one who would've done it if I didn't. I don't know what happened, you read the letters, I fell. I fell for you.âÂ
âSomewhere along the way, I think I fell for you too.â Your voice is as quiet as a pin drop. He looks at you, warmth and something else just beyond his soulful eyes. His lips curl into a beautiful smile, the first you've seen in this lifetime.
It's my fate
To dedicate myself to you.
taglist: @tkooooop, @haolovre, @jiungsdaisy, @jmclouds
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Headcanon: Sanemi Shinazugawa with a Thunder Hashira S/O
Sanemiâs intense, no-nonsense personality fits perfectly with a Thunder Hashira S/O, whose own electric energy matches his ferocity in battle. Both are known for their aggressive fighting styles, and together, theyâre a storm of power, lightning and wind clashing in perfect, chaotic harmony.
Sanemi is drawn to his Thunder Hashira S/O because of their explosive nature. He admires their speed and precision, and how they can strike down demons with lightning-fast attacks. Their agility in combat fascinates himâthereâs something about watching them dart through the battlefield like a bolt of lightning that makes his heart race.
Their fights are a sight to behold. Sanemiâs wind techniques whip through the air in tandem with his S/Oâs lightning strikes, creating a tempest of raw power that tears through even the toughest demons. The mix of wind and thunder is both destructive and awe-inspiring, leaving behind scorched ground and shattered enemies in their wake.
While theyâre both hot-headed and intense, Sanemi and his S/O often butt heads due to their similarly fiery temperaments. Arguments can get loud and heated, especially when they disagree on tactics or how to handle a situation. However, they never hold grudges for long, knowing that their shared passion only makes them stronger as a couple.
Despite his rough exterior, Sanemi deeply respects his Thunder Hashira S/Oâs strength. Heâs the first to compliment their speed, precision, and unwavering determination, though his compliments are usually gruff and unpolished. When he says things like, âYouâre not half-bad,â they know itâs his way of saying he thinks theyâre incredible.
His S/O knows how to handle Sanemiâs brash personality. They donât let his tough demeanor get to them and are one of the few people who can match his energy without backing down. When Sanemi gets too aggressive or stubborn, they call him out with equal intensity, which Sanemi secretly loves. He appreciates having someone whoâs not afraid to stand up to him.
Despite the constant intensity between them, Sanemi and his S/O have a deep connection. Their passion for fighting demons and protecting others bonds them, and though they donât often express their feelings with words, their actions say everything. Whether itâs the way Sanemi fights alongside them without hesitation or the way they watch his back during missions, they trust each other completely.
Sanemi has a soft spot for his S/Oâs quick wit and sarcastic sense of humor. He might pretend to be annoyed when they tease him, but he actually loves it. Their playful banter is one of the rare things that can lighten his usually serious mood.
Even though Sanemi is fiercely independent, he finds comfort in knowing that his Thunder Hashira S/O is by his side. When they fight together, he doesnât have to worry about them; he knows they can handle themselves. This mutual trust allows them to push each other to new limits, making them an unstoppable force.
While Sanemi isnât the most outwardly affectionate person, his Thunder Hashira S/O knows he cares deeply. He shows his love through his actionsâbandaging their wounds after a fight, giving them his cloak when theyâre cold, or standing silently beside them after a tough mission. Itâs in these small gestures that Sanemiâs protective nature shines through.
Together, theyâre a powerful, unstoppable duo. Sanemiâs wind techniques and his S/Oâs thunder strikes create a deadly combination that leaves no room for hesitation. Their shared intensity fuels their relationship, and though they may clash at times, they both know that they make each other stronger, both in battle and in life.
.
.
.
Masterlist
#kny sanemi#sanemi shinazugawa x reader#sanemi shinazugawa#sanemi x reader#demon slayer sanemi#demon Slayer#kny shinazugawa#demon slayer shinazugawa#shinazugawa x reader#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer#kny
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F8
(i had written this in june and forgot to post it. after seeing you guys agree a lot with this post about isekaid reader i just had to put it out there)
What if Tav is conscious of the quick saves and the F8s, but not the rest of the team ? What if they remember every moment where their adventure companions stood on the very precipice of death or on the extreme of it ended up soulless, laying on the ground like a bag of cold limbs, deprived of any life ?Â
What if they used F8s in the hopes that somehow, on the next try, no companions would receive a critical hit that would bring them to the abominable sight of matte eyes, missing the glint of light that shines when oneâs spirit still remains ?
Perhaps then someone else could replace one of your companions in the group? Perhaps by using Withers' hirelings you could prevent the others from being affected?
Imagine one night after a long day,, youâre by yourself next to the campfire for the long rest.
The stars have been piercing the black sky like pins in the web of night for a long time now, and it's your turn to keep watch.
Everything was quiet, so quiet, too quiet. It was a sharp contrast between the little crackles of the fire taking hot splinters into the air, and the raging storm of your mind.
Your eyes are immersed in the flames, as if they alone held the precious strategy that would allow you to overcome the horror of the many deaths you wanted to prevent.
You consider the strategy you might employ for the next day. Maybe start with a small bomb? No, if the range is missed it could cause more area damage than necessary.Â
Maybe throw a bottle of grease to slow them down? Except that if any sparks flew, it could get complicated.
Then maybe shoot an arrow of many targets...Â
âCan't find sleep ?
You could have expected any of the companions. But the one who came to see you was Karlach.
âNo.â you replied simply, without taking your eyes off the fire.
âWhatâs on your mind soldier ? Youâve been⊠absent minded today.â
Absent minded was a euphemism.
You had seen up close all of your companions nearing the party wipe, more than a half of them on the ground trying to get their death saving throws as the rest of the party barely had any health remaining.
And out of the few dialogue options you had for her tonight, between them all, was :Â
[PERSUASION] Nothing, itâs a bit of a personal matter, youâd find it very boring.
The rest of the options were either too rude for your taste, or would ultimately lead you to unveil of the true reason you were here. You knew that, it wasnât the first time you were having this conversation.
The dice to roll was 15, and you had no guidance to get from Shadowheart, nor friends from Wyll. Barely a good bonus, youâd have to deal with it.
The first roll was a miserable 4, luckily for you, you had as many points of inspiration. The second roll was a 10.Â
Maybe you should embrace it and tell her ? you thought.
The next was a 7, and the one after was a 14.Â
Was the game really pushing you to reveal your situation?
Your last roll came, a natural 1.
âCome on, you know so much about all of us at camp !â she said as she sat down next to you. âLet us know more about you.â
You weren't surprised that it was Karlach who came to talk to you. You'd seen the video of Karlach breaking the fourth wall a while back, before you were transported into the game. But it intrigued you, why should she come at this precise moment of rumination.
âI just wonder... why can't the past just die?â you say, turning to her.
âI guess because sometimes you gotta kill the past yourself ? Or something like that, I donât know, probably something wise about it. I could ask Gale if you want ? Iâm sure heâd bounce on the occasion to talk about something that requires his intelligence!â
âNo please, donât get him up.â
Gale would ask too many questions, too many right questions, and would never get away from the subject. This was the last thing you needed at the moment.
âWhy do you wonder that ? Something from your past chasing you ? I could take care of that.â
âI doubt you could.â you scoffed.
âOh come on, thereâs nothing that can surmount us.â
You observed her for a moment, her undying joy and energy feeling so natural. How could it feel so natural ?
âYouâre not real.â
The sentence came out of your mouth, dialogue options all gone and unneeded.
She frowned, confused as the joy that inhabited her calmed down.
âWhat ?â
âYouâre not real,â you repeated, the emotions twisting your throat.
âWhat do you mean ?â
A sort of panic slowly took hold of her as a heavy rumble echoed in the distance, like thunder.
âYou remember all these memories, you feel all of these emotions.â
The rumbling grew louder, the ground beginning to tremble.Â
âYour anger, your joy, your sadness.â
The camp floor cracked, Karlach standing up suddenly.
âNone of them really belong to you.â
Beams of green light passed through the fissures of the cracked floor.
âBecause you're not real.â
Your eyes landed on Withers, his gaze urging you to do the right thing.
âF8.â
A moment passed, and before long you were back in front of the campfire.
Back with your thoughts, with your torments, with heavy choices.Â
They can't know, at least not yet.
______________
i wrote this while listening to this and gosh it matches so well
#bg3#bg3 x reader#tavrem#bg3 x tav#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#baldurâs gate 3#baldurs gate 3 x reader
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TICCI TOBY RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS!! I'm an absolute sucker for this men. Maybe put smth like first kiss here or sum like I love how ppl make first kiss headcanons. TYSM!!
OMFG YES PLEASE!! I also absolutely love headcanons for first kisses ^^
Characters Included: Toby and Reader.
Small Warnings: mental illness, bone-breaking, tics, stuttering, very rapid change of personality and/or mood, hallucinations, violent fits of rage, kisses, hugs and a swear word.
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RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS
If you managed to have a relationship with Toby: my sincerest congratulations!
Toby is a guy with big trust issues;
As soon as you arrive at the mansion he will most likely be suspicious of you;
Don't be too mean to him for this, it's the voices in his head that make him doubt about everything;
But when do you enter in a relationship with him? Oh, dear God...
He'll absolutely be the sweetest guy (if he's not yandere/if he doesn't have a fit of rage);
He will bring you small gifts such as: flowers, stones that he finds particularly cute or even deer antlers, why not?
All things he finds during missions/walks;
I can't get it out of my head that he will take you to look at the stars on the roof of the mansion and, I confirm that he will;
There is a possibility that, when he realizes that he is losing control, he warns you;
Not that you wouldn't have noticed, I mean, his tics and stuttering will begin to increase;
But it's so nice that he does this;
If Toby isn't yandere I don't imagine him as a toxic person;
If he REALLY cares about you, he'll only forget your birthday, but our boy here has a lot to think about;
But please, remind him of your birthday!
He will gladly give you a gift although late, he'll find the time for sure!!
FIRST KISS HEADCANONS
At first, it will be difficult for the two of you to have physical contact such as cuddle sessions;
Especially because Toby will be nervous;
Given his particularly difficult past both at school and at home, he has never had a romantic relationship with anyone;
So he is totally inexperienced;
(please don't laugh at him);
Precisely because he doesn't have any kind of experience, he will be very stiff the first few times you see him and run to hug him;
His tics will increase slightly;
As time passes, he notices that your pats, hugs, and kisses on his forehead/nose/head calm him down enough;
And he gets quite curious about how your lips would feel on his;
But Toby wouldn't admit it!
He doesn't want to ruin his first and very good relationship because he becomes impatient;
He also cares a lot about you;
But, when does the first kiss happen?
I'm pretty sure you'll start the kiss, Toby wouldn't know where to start or how to approach you;
He'll be absolutely red in the face, he didn't expect it at all and it was magnificent;
Toby will remain quite rigid even at that moment and, to give he his space, you'll probably decide to take a step back from him;
He watches you for a few seconds before dragging you into a bear-hug and kissing you again;
Then the cuddles begin;
Most likely, a few days after this event, he would ask you to kiss him again and/or if he can kiss you;
He'll ask you to teach him how to kiss for sure, and he's actually a quick learner ^^
The stars shone in the dark blue sky, sending Toby calm and serenity. It had been a difficult day and he was very happy to rest and do the thing he liked the most with his favorite person next to him. You.
He was so focused on stargazing that Toby didn't even notice that your focus was on his face.
You smile at the sight of his chocolate eyes lit up by the light of the stars. You and Toby had been a couple for a year and a half and it had been the best choice of your life, really. You loved everything about him: the way he hugged you, listened to you with a lot of attention, his little gifts from the forest for you, everything. However, you didn't think you were doing enough: Toby deserved the best and all the love he could get.
You knew about his past and the traumas and insecurities it had created for him. So you knew what the next step was for your relationship.
"Toby..." his name comes out beautifully from your lips and the boy can't help but look at you. His eyes light up when he sees your face: beautiful, smiling and brighter than all the stars in the sky. His heart melts. He's about to say a few words when his melted heart loses a beat. Your lips on his stop all thoughts. You're so close to him that the only scent he can smell is your own.
But before he knew it, you had already distanced yourself from him. Did he really forget to kiss you back? Fuck...
You were just going to ask him if he was okay but his long, thin but still strong arms pull you into a really big hug. Your head is pushed against his chest and you can clearly feel his heart speeding increase.
"I'm-I'm sorry... I-I've never kissed s-someone be-before..." his breathing increases slightly, you can feel it from his frequent exhales and inhales. "Shhhh... it's all right, you know it's not your fault, Toby." You tried to comfort him, you didn't want this to be a time to remind him of his social shortcomings. It seems to work and you lift your face from Toby's chest to meet his eyes.
A shy smile appears on his lips before bringing them closer to yours. This time he starts the kiss, and it's the best thing in the world. Giggles start pouring out of both your throat and his as you two continue to kiss, and Toby can't help but think about how lucky he is to have you by his side.
Ok... What the hell did I just write? I mean it's my first time writing a prop, if you can call it that :')
I hope it didn't come out a crap :'3
âĄ
#creepypasta headcanon#creepy pasta#creepypasta ticci toby#creepypasta x reader#ticci toby x reader#relationship#realtionship headcanons#first kiss#ticci toby#ticci toby first kiss
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@dreamsaremywords posted a dope prompt for a Clexa Mandalorian AU a while ago, and I own enough Star Wars RPG books for it to be embarrassing, so of course I had to write something. Please enjoy this meet-ugly between a moody bounty hunter and a reckless idiot. Title from a Perturbator-song that I was listening to on repeat when writing this.
She Moves Like a Knife
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Clarke thinks as she blinks furiously to clear the blood from her vision. Her helmet took the brunt of it, but thereâs definitely a cut on her forehead, sending rivulets of crimson streaming down and directly into her left eye.
She hadnât seen the shock baton coming before it literally hit her over the head, and though her armor ensured the electricity coursing through it wouldnât send her into a spasming pile on the ground, the impact still fucking hurt.
âFucking Cartel dicks,â Clarke mutters, readjusting the grip on her blaster. Sheâs a long way from Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa both, but the Hutt Cartelâs slimy tendrils are longer. And though she doesnât speak much Dosh, in-between the harsh hissing syllables from the Trandoshans, she hears the name âCholtaâ repeated a few times.
Sheâs not going to let these amateurs take her anywhere, and especially not to some Hutt Cartel Lord who decided to put a bounty on her for no other reason than, in Clarkeâs opinion, to be a real fucking asshole. Canât even let her subtly loiter at a cantina in peace.
Another volley of blaster fire chips away at the makeshift cover, and she knows the durasteel crate she threw herself behind after kicking her initial assailant in the face isnât gonna hold much longer. She chances a quick peek out of cover, managing to get eyes on all three of them. Theyâre all holed up behind the half-oval that makes up the cantinaâs bar, a far more fortified position than what Clarke is working with. But⊠These older cantinas have their quirks, and her helmetâs HUD is still doing its job despite the impact, indicating the small fuel tank hooked up to the drink dispensing system. Clarke grins, happy to have her hunch confirmed.
Thankfully, everyone else had fled once the shooting started, so thereâs no collateral other than structural to worry about.
Probably.
Itâs gonna take a couple of shots to break through the plating, and Clarke is once again immensely grateful she managed to ditch the E-11 and its shitty accuracy as soon as she hit Elrood. As a manufacturing planet, it had a thriving black market filled with various things that went âmissingâ from its gargantuan factories, and it hadnât been hard to talk her way in, though she had obviously opted to forego her armor for that particular excursion. The Rodian manufactured heavy carbine sheâd traded for had cost her both the E-11 and two thermal detonators, plus a couple of credits on top, but it was more than worth it for the upgraded precision, plus the extremely satisfying thump-noise it made when fired. Clarke has never been much for subtlety anyway.
To drive that point home, Clarke takes a deep breath, holds it, and pops out from behind her cover. Ignoring the shot that whizzes a little bit too close to her head, she follows the tracking on her HUD and finds the most vulnerable part of the tank easily. She exhales and pulls the trigger once, twice, keeping her wrists tense and elbows locked to manage the stronger recoil. Both shots are good, hitting in almost exactly the same place, and the three mercenaries have no time to react as the tank ignites and a fireball engulfs them.
The ensuing blast is probably the final nail in the coffin for the already beat-down cantina, and Clarke dives for a nearby window as the force of the explosion starts making the walls around her creak ominously. Thereâs screams from her would-be captors as theyâre caught in the flames, but Clarke spares them no sympathy as she tucks and rolls, kicking up sand as she leaps to her feet and starts sprinting.
The air is scorching hot at this time of day, with Elroodâs arid climate and two suns quickly making Clarkeâs armor feel like a sweltering cage, its bright white color not doing much to alleviate it. The commotion and ensuing explosion has drawn a crowd, even here in the slummier part of the planet. Clarke grits her teeth and pulls the long, raggedy cloak tighter around her, despite the heat.
Itâs really no place for a lone figure clad in Stormtrooper armor to be seen.
She knows she needs to find her way off-planet soon, because even though Elrood isnât under Imperial control, sheâs seen a few of their ships coming and going from the modest spaceport lately, and though itâs unlikely that theyâre here specifically for her, itâs still getting a little too concerning to ignore.
She makes it back to the little abandoned hovel sheâd found on the outskirts of the slums, and as soon as she slams the door behind her, she wrenches the helmet from her head, wincing a little bit as the coagulated blood makes it stick to her skin for a moment.
âEugh,â she grimaces as she sees the mess inside the helmet. Sheâs gonna need to clean that out somehow. Not to mention she has to take care of the cut on her forehead. She heaves a sigh and drags her feet through the little two-room building, throwing the helmet and her carbine onto the bed as she passes it.
Despite its state of disrepair, the house is very much livable. It stands in the middle of a little cluster of three other houses of similar shape and size, and Clarkeâs assumption is that it housed factory workers, once upon a time, based on the logo still emblazoned on the doors. When sheâd tried to look up the name of the company, however, sheâd found nothing. Most likely, the company had been bankrupted, and its houses left behind. The other three houses were stripped bare, and itâs anyoneâs guess why one of them still held its furniture, but Clarke isnât complaining. The bed, though obviously cheap, is miles better than anything sheâs ever slept on. Certainly much better than the shitty beds back at the Imperial barracks. Thereâs even a little table, and a chair, and a washroom with a sink, hooked up to a water tank outside. It had been dry when Clarke first got there, but figuring out how it worked hadnât been hard, and sheâd bartered two barrels of water from the nearby cantina to fill it up.
Unfortunately, that cantina is the same one she blew up today.
âNothing good lasts foreverâŠâ Clarke mutters to herself in the cloudy mirror. She turns the sink on and leans down, cupping her hands under the faucet to gather water before splashing it against her face to get rid of the blood. She does this twice and tries to move quickly; she canât afford to waste water now that she doesnât know when sheâll get more, andâ
Something cold presses against the back of her neck. Clarkeâs hands immediately shoot out to the sides and stay there.
âUp. Slowly,â a voice says, distorted as if filtering through the voice-box on a helmet much like her own. Clarke curses inwardly, realizing this is it, theyâve found her. âKeep your arms just like that.â
As the voice commands, Clarke slowly comes back up, straightening at the waist first, then her neck. She mournfully glances down at the water thatâs disappearing into the sink from the still open faucet, then looks up into the mirror.
And realizes that the person who has the muzzle of a blaster pressed against her neck isnât who she thinks at all; because itâs not the Imperials come to haul her ass back to the nearest base to beat the shit out of her and put her right back into a squadron.
Itâs worse.
âMandalorian,â she hisses, lips pulling back into a snarl as she sees the all-too recognizable helmet shape, and the silver gleam of beskar plating.
The helmeted head tilts, and Clarke swears she can read amusement despite the lack of facial features. âStormtrooper,â the voice retorts calmly.
âIâm not a fucking Stormtrooper,â Clarke bites out.
âThatâs funny.â The hand not holding the blaster raises and a padded knuckle raps against her shoulder guard once, mockingly. âBecause I think you might be.â
Clarke tips her chin up and stares down her foe, hoping her glare is hitting wherever the eyes might be. âI found this. Took it off some idiot I killed.â
âBeing an idiot must be contagious, then, because only an idiot would voluntarily run around in that if they are, indeed, not a fucking Stormtrooper.â
Clarke opens her mouth, but whatever sheâs about to say is drowned out by a rapid burst of blaster fire, and both of them immediately whirl away from each other, pressing flat against the wall by the door, each on either side of the opening.
âOh come on!â Clarke shouts as she spots the very thing she was expecting when she was first accosted in her bathroom; that all to familiar white armor, as well as a gray uniform.
âOf course you have backup,â the Mandalorian grumbles, stowing the sidearm blaster and trading it for a much more formidable rifle hanging from their back, something surprisingly sleek though altogether vicious looking.Â
âSurround the house! Weâve found the deserter!â
Clarke canât help but feel a surge of vindication as the Mandalorianâs helmet snaps to look at her, and she grins, despite herself. âFucking told you.â
âGreat. Just an idiot.â
Deciding that doesnât really qualify for a response, Clarke sets her eyes on the carbine still leaning against her bed. âCover me,â she says, and absolutely does not wait for any kind of confirmation before she dives through the doorway, towards the bed and her carbine.Â
Perhaps unsurprisingly, no covering fire is provided, though Clarke manages to snatch the carbine from the bed and drop into a low crouch behind the bed frame in spite of the uselessness of her new not-quite companion.Â
Undeterred, Clarke blindly fires a few shots over her shoulder, ignoring the painful jolt of the carbineâs kickback from firing one-handed as she glares back at the faceless figure. "Some help you are! I thought Mandalorians were good at fighting!" Clarke complains, and squeezes the trigger a few more times for good measure. A yelp of pain tells her she might have gotten in a lucky hit, and there's more shouting from outside as the sound of the small unit regrouping can be heard. It buys her enough time to scramble back to her original position, next to the Mandalorian that seems perfectly content to let Clarke do all the hard work around here.
Fuck, and the fucking sink is still running.
Having grown up around faceless comrades, heads encased in white plastoid for the majority of their time spent together, Clarke is plenty used to relying on body language to discern emotion. Which is why it's so frustrating that she can't quite seem to get a read on this person, no, this woman, Clarke is pretty sure. Normally, she's not so bothered by not being able to see someone's eyes, hell, she prefers it most of the time. But now, she is irked by the fact that she has no idea where this annoyingly cocky bounty hunter is looking.
"And why would I help you, exactly?" The Mandalorian drawls. "You're clearly more trouble than you're worth."
Clarke grits her teeth at the unexpected ice-cold rush that courses through her chest and down into her stomach at the words. It's certainly not the first time she's heard almost this exact phrase, and while there's absolutely no reason it should hit her so hard, coming from a perfect stranger that had a blaster to her head a few minutes ago and knows absolutely nothing about her, it triggers painful memories, starkly reminding her of just why she's even on the run in the first place. All the things she's done that still weren't enough.
She fights down the unease and fixes the Mandalorian with an unimpressed look. "That officer out there has already reported back that a Mandalorian has been seen with me. Even if you leave me to get captured, you'll be a loose end, and the Empire does not leave loose ends. They'll start flagging ships in the spaceport looking for yours, and haul you in without a second thought. You're not getting off this planet now."
There is a subtle flex in the gloved hands where they wrap around the blaster rifle. The tiniest crack in the wall. Clarke is almost certain that they are now staring each other down, heedless of the smattering of blaster fire and shouting from outside.
"This isn't making me less tempted to shoot you," the Mandalorian says finally, and Clarke tips her chin up defiantly, feeling victory within her grasp.
"That'd make you the idiot then, because you need me. If you want to get past their sensors, you need someone who knows how to fool them. I do."
There's a beat of silence. Then two. Then, without any warning, the Mandalorian surges out of cover and has kicked open the front door and is in the middle of the fray faster than Clarke can blink. Clarke watches, jaw slack, as she moves forward, completely ignoring the hail of blaster fire that goes completely wide. With a powerful roll of one shoulder, the carbine in her hands is hefted and then three precise shots ring out, ventilating three Stormtrooper helmets in short order.
Without a second's hesitation, the Mandalorian strides towards the last man standing; the officer who is now fumbling for the small blaster sidearm he has forgone from drawing in favor of yelling orders instead. He stumbles backwards just as the Mandalorian raises her arm, and two wires shoot out from the grappling device strapped to her wrist.
With a sharp yank of her arm and a show of strength that Clarke was wholly unprepared for, the officer is pulled through the air and collides with an awaiting fist. The crack of a beskar reinforced gauntlet against his jaw echoes off the walls, and he slumps like a bag of space debris.
A high-pitched whistling noise, the wires retract back into the wrist grapple, and the helmeted head turns to look directly at Clarke as the carbine is smoothly exchanged for the sidearm again, and Clarke feels the eyes on her as two shots are fired directly into the unconscious officer's chest.
There is absolute silence for several moments as they stare at each other. Clarke has no idea what the face underneath that helmet is doing, and she honestly isnât sure what expression her own face is wearing at the moment. Thereâs a non-zero chance itâs some form of wide-eyed awe.
Still. They canât stand here staring at each other.
âWhereâs your ship?â Clarke asks, with more courage than sheâs feeling.
Heaving a full-body sigh, the Mandalorian steps over the dead officer. âCâmon. But if you bleed all over my seats weâre gonna have a problem.â
#clexa#clexa fanfic#thanks again for letting me yoink this prompt!#also does it count as a clexa fic if i legit never mention lexa's name even once?#it's her under the helmet i swear#they're gonna tell each other their names at some point for sure
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The Mighty Handyman
Kinktober Day 7: Blowjob
Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Naâvi!Reader
Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Oral (male receiving), Deepthroating, Cum swallowing, Slight nipple play, Slight dirty talk
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: I've missed 2 prompts so far . . . but at least this one's on time!
Summary: Things have just kept going wrong for you during the last week. Luckily, Neteyam is always around and always willing to help you out. If only you knew how to properly thank him for all his hard work.
Translations:
Tewng - Loincloth
Tanhi - star, bioluminescent freckle
Yawne - Beloved
Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)
The week starts out like shit.
Youâre hunting a yerik, a large buck thatâs going to feed a respectable amount of people at the nightâs communal dinner. Itâs in your sights, head bent low as it nibbles on a golden flower just to the left in the small clearing. The bow in your hand is steady, pulled taunt and ready to fire. With a deep breath, you release the string, but the arrow never reaches the yerik. Instead, the upper limb of your bow snaps in half just as you release it, the arrow flying way to the right and falling short of the animal. The yerikâs head snaps up at the cracking sound and you curse as it quickly turns to run only to be stopped in its tracks by another arrow cutting through the air and piercing its chest with expert precision.
Your gaze flies to where the arrow came from and from the cover of vast foliage appears none other than Neteyam Sully. Beautiful, smart, capable, your crush since forever, Neteyam Sully. His steps are quick as he approaches the dying animal and you canât help how your mouth and eyes are stuck wide open in shock as he kneels next to the yerik, reciting a prayer to Eywa.Â
He turns to you as you walk towards him, a small smile on his face as he greets you with the respectful âI see youâ hand gesture.
âI heard your bow snap,â he says, eyes sliding down to the broken weapon still held in your hand. âYou worked hard to track this buck and I didnât want you to lose your hunt. I hope youâre not angry with me for taking your kill.â
Your heart races at his words and the way his amber eyes shine in the sunlight of the clearing. Eywa, he looks so fucking good just standing there in his hunterâs clothes, cummerbund wrapped proudly around his lean torso and arm and leg guards covering his strong forearms and calves.Â
Your eyes flick back to his and you clear my throat, face heating up at being caught staring. âOh, yeah, no. Iâm-Iâm glad you got it.â
âItâs a good kill,â he says, attaching his bow to his back and crouching down to grab onto the animal. âIt will feed many of the People tonight. You should be proud. Iâll help you bring it back to the village, yes?â
Your brows furrow, feet shuffling awkwardly against the soft grass. âWhy are you acting as though itâs my kill?â
âIt is yours,â Neteyam says. He hauls the large animal over his shoulder, grunting with effort. âIt was not my intention to take your kill. You tracked it and it would have been your arrow that pierced it had your bow not broken. You deserve it.â
âIt wouldnât feel right,â You say, voice tight. âYou killed it, you deserve the recognition.âÂ
A quiet hum sounds from the back of his throat, gaze fixed on you as he adjusts the animal into a more comfortable position. Your heart just about leaps out of your chest when he leans forward and nudges your shoulder with his.Â
âA combined effort then,â he relents, beginning to walk towards the village. He shoots a goofy and devastatingly handsome grin at you over his shoulder. âOur kill. Together,âÂ
Oh, Eywa. Have mercy.Â
There are moments when you think Neteyam might like you back. Things he does that make it seem like the idea is possible: like when he seems to reserve little secret smiles during group hunts just for you, or the way your name rolls off his tongue, voice soft and low like syrup, like he takes great care in saying it.
Or moments like this when he says out of the box shit like âOur kill. Together,â like heâs purposefully trying to give you heart palpitations.Â
âIt is a shame about your bow,â he continues, as if he has no idea heâs just rendered you completely stupid thinking about every other thing youâve already imagined doing with (or to) him. âI can help you carve a new one, if youâd like?âÂ
Mercy! Please, Great Mother, mercy!
He does help you carve a new bow, deft hands working diligently as they manipulate the wood into the shape he wants. His voice is low and soothing, caressing your eardrums as he describes what heâs doing, fingers pausing from where theyâre pressing his blade up to the wood to point to the upper limb, the long digits dragging gently up and down the wood there.  Â
And honestly? You have no idea what heâs even been saying. If he wants you to listen, he should put his damn hands away.Â
âCarving it this way instead of the normal way makes for stronger limbs, you see?âÂ
âMhm,â
His fingers wrap around the top of the bow and stay there. Itâs only when they donât move for a while that you snap out of your daze and find his gorgeous face smirking at you.Â
âY/n, are you listening to me?â
âFuck, oops! Sorry, yes. I mean yes. I meanâuh, no?â
He chuckles, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. âShame on you,âÂ
You let out a shaky laugh, thankful that heâs not angry for you basically wasting his time when he was trying to teach you something useful.Â
âSorry,â You say again, carefully taking the bow from his hands. âIâm just tired. Thank you for the bow, Neteyam. Itâs really beautiful.â
âDonât be sorry. Iâm always happy to help you, y/n,âÂ
And fuck, if that isnât the most earnest thing youâve ever heard. You know he means it, and you try to remind yourself that he would say it to anyone - he is the future Oloâeyktan after all. But heâs looking at you when he says it, not anyone else, and the blush that creeps on your cheeks canât be helped. And neither can the small smile that plays on your lips as you squeak out a tiny, high pitched âthanksâ.
The rest of the week is more of the same. Problem after problem that are just minor inconveniences more than anything, but they still send you into fits of exasperation all the same.Â
Especially since Neteyam is there for them all.
When you trip over a hidden root on your way to the communal dinner with a basket of fruit in your hands sending all the cleaned fruit, basket, and yourself flying to the ground; Neteyam is there, wide eyes filled with concern as he pulls you up and makes sure youâre okay before helping you regather the fruit with a teasing âYou know, if you didnât want to carry the basket to dinner, all you had to do was tell me and I would have carried it for you. You didnât have to throw it.â
And when you stumble into Moâatâs tent, knee bleeding and scraped up from a game of tag with your younger sister gone wrong; Neteyam is already there, mid conversation with his grandmother. He respectfully waves off his grandmother when she goes to put down the stone bowl she's using to crush herbs and grabs the premade ointment from off a shelf.Â
âI can tend to her, Grandmother,â he says, moving to sit in front of you.Â
His fingers are gentle as they apply the healing paste to your wound. The cuts arenât deep, just the usual scrapes and bruises one gets when falling to the ground. But the ointment stings, and you canât help but flinch despite his considerate touch. You try to distract yourself by listening to the deep timbre of his voice as he coos at you and tells you that youâre doing such a good job.Â
And then yesterday, you just about died from embarrassment.
You had been working on a new beaded top for a while now. A new intricate design you were trying out but couldnât seem to figure out how to properly tie it off to secure it. But it was beautiful and as much as you wanted to save it for a special occasion, you were dying to wear it. So when you finished it, you immediately threw it on, intending on just walking around the village to see how it felt and if anything needed to be adjusted.Â
The end of your top came in the form of your best friend, Yena. Sheâs admiring the beading, looking with her fingers because sheâs incapable of just examining something with her eyes, when Neteyam shows up. Heâs in the process of taking off his cummerbund when he spots you two, a smile curling on his lips in greeting. Yena goes to pull her hand back to wave at him, but her bracelet gets caught on the beads of your top and snaps the whole thing apart when she yanks her hand away too fast.Â
The beads go flying and the whole top unravels around you and falls to the ground. With a horrified squeal, you wrap your arms around your chest tightly, panicked eyes darting between Yena and Neteyamâs wide, shocked eyes as they stare back at you, frozen.Â
Neteyam is the first to move. He steps behind you and wraps his cummerbund around your front, tying it tightly in the back so that it covers your chest. Itâs not perfect, the makeshift top is not enough to fully cover your breasts, but it's enough that you donât have to worry about a nip slip on your way home.Â
You canât look at him, embarrassment rushing through every fiber of your being, and you run, hightailing it home with your tail between your legs and Neteyamâs battle band pressed tightly against your tits.
All of this leads you here, to the current problem at hand: the broken support post in your hut.
The storm last night had been brutal and, despite the cover of the canopy above, many huts in the village still took damage. Yours included.
Itâs not all bad though, you think, your eyes glued to the way Neteyamâs back muscles contract and shift under his cobalt skin as he lifts the partial beam replacement in place. You bite your lip as your eyes trail down the smooth canvas of his back. His shoulders are broad and strong and you just know that he could toss you around like a ragdoll if he wanted to. Your eyes trail down lower, over the line his very lickable spine, and falling to his tapered waist. His tail swishes slightly as he works, back and forth, and you follow the movement, almost hypnotized, and thoughts of Neteyam wrapping that tail around your thigh as he fucks into you invade your mind without permission.Â
âOkay,â Neteyam says suddenly, pulling you out of your trance. He pats the temporary beam a few times, admiring his work. âThat should do it for now. At least until the new beam is crafted for you,â
He turns to you and you plaster a quick smile on your face, trying to not be too obvious about the fact that you were just checking him out and having fantasies of him railing you through the floor.Â
âGreat! Thanks so much, Neteyam. You donât know how much I appreciate this,âÂ
âOf course,â he says. âIâm always here to help you, y/n.â
âYeah,â You say, softly. âIâve noticed.â
âSo,â Neteyam says, eyes darting around the rest of your hut, seemingly looking for something. âAnything else I can help you with? Anything else broken? I mean, if youâre going to drop anything or get scrapped up again, now is the time.â
You laugh, pushing at his shoulder. âStoooop! Donât make fun of me,â
He chuckles, returning your shove good-naturedly with one of his own. âItâs easy with all thatâs happened to you this past week,â
And he looks so gorgeous just standing there, eyes alight with mirth, lips twisting into a playful smile, fangs poking slightly into his bottom lip. You want your own fangs to take their place, you want to capture his lip between your own and suck on the plump flesh until heâs moaning in your mouth. You want to feel him hard against you, hips pressing into yours with the clear evidence of his desire for you. And in that moment, the air is suddenly too thick - the heat of his hand still on your shoulder feels like fire as it soaks into your skin and spreads through your entire body.Â
Neteyamâs smile is gone now, eyes intense as they stare back into your own, and it's almost impossible to believe that he isnât feeling the same insane pull towards you too. For a crazy moment, you're sure heâs going to kiss you, but then he drops his hand from your shoulder and steps back.
âWell, if thereâs anything else I can help you with, you know where to find me, yes?âÂ
You watch, feeling sick, as he gives you a friendly nod and makes his way towards the front of your tent. The word erupts from your throat before you can even think about what youâre doing, desperate sounding and louder than you would have ever wanted.
âWAIT!â
Neteyam freezes, hand reached out for the entrance flap, and he turns to look back at you, confused.
âS-sorry,â You stutter. You step closer to him, heart in your throat. âI just-- I just wanted to thank you. For all youâve done for me, you know?â
Neteyamâs eyes soften. âOh, no problem, y/n,â
âSo will you let me?â
His brows furrow. âLet you what?â
You step closer still, so close until you are nose to nose, and his eyes widen, the yellow of his irises rapidly disappearing as they get swallowed up by his pupils as he stares back.Â
Your lips just barely brush against his. âLet me thank you,âÂ
Neteyam lets out a harsh breath as you drop to your knees. Eywa does not pick favorites, youâve heard it said many times before. She holds all her children in her heart equally. But it's clear as you look up at Neteyamâs visage, that everyone else has lied to you. The Great Mother does indeed have favorites, and Neteyam is her most prized creation. And this is where you belong: on your knees before him and worshiping him.
Your hands creep up the outside of his thighs, caressing the toned muscles and feeling how they flex and tense under your gentle touch. Neteyamâs stomach is taut, dipping slightly as his breathing shudders above you. He doesnât know what to do with his hands. They stay clenched at his sides, twitching occasionally as if they want to move but donât know where. And heâs looking down on you, clearly nervous but also in awe, as if you yourself are one of Eywaâs favorites and heâs currently the one being blessed.Â
You grin deviously, confidence flooding through you at the confirmation that you had been right - he does like you. Wants you.
Your fingers play at the band of his tewng as you look up at him through your lashes, mouth inches from his growing bulge, so close he can feel your hot breath on it as you speak. âCan I, Teyam?â
âOh, Great Mother,â he breathes, punched out like the words hurt him. âPlease. Please, y/n,â
You press a gentle kiss to his abdomen and untie the strings holding up his tewng. Itâs like unwrapping the best present ever as it falls to the ground, revealing his gorgeous cock - long and hard as it slaps against his belly.
Your mouth waters at the sight and you donât hesitate to press your lips to his frenulum, kissing the hard length reverently and smiling at the way Neteyam gasps. Your hands find their place on Neteyamâs hips again, holding him steady as you nuzzle your face against his cock and feel how it twitches against your cheek.
âItâs so big,â You hear yourself saying. âYou carry this around all day long?â
Neteyam lets out an aborted sound at your joke that turns into a whine as you run your soft lips up and down his length, teasing him with just the softest of touches. You press another kiss to the underside of his cock and one of his hands finds its way to the back of your head, cradling it gently.
âPlease, y/n,â he whispers. âPlease put your mouth on me.â
Obviously, you have no choice but to oblige him. Your head dips down and your tongue runs a wet stripe up the entire length of his cock. Your moan echoes his and you can feel how wet youâre getting in your own tewng at the feel of his hard, hot skin on your tongue. Your tongue traces along the darker stripes decorating his length, lavishing attention on each one, not wanting to leave any unexplored, and your lips press devotedly to each and every tanhi you pass. In the back of your mind, you're a little sad this isnât happening outside in the forest, under the glow of the moonlight where the little bioluminescent freckles can shine brightly against your tongue.Â
Neteyamâs hand curls in your braids and holds you still, keeping you from your exploration, while the other hand guides his cock down so the head brushes against your lips.Â
âOh, Iâm sorry,â You giggle, tasting the drops of precum that smeared against your lips. âWas I not going fast enough for you?â
âYouâre such a tease,â he says, eyes wild.
His cock slips between your lips and your eyes slip shut as his long, hot length invades your waiting mouth. It starts out sweet as Neteyam slides his cock inside, inch by glorious inch, dragging it against your tongue. He makes it about half way before he pulls out to the tip, letting you suckle on the mushroom head for a moment, the taste of his precum exploding on your tongue, before pushing back in.Â
He guides your head in the rhythm he likes, a gentle back and forth along his length, occasionally slipping in another inch until you feel his cock hitting the back of your throat with each pass. You hum around him at the feeling and look up at him, desperately asking with your eyes for more.
âHah-fuck,â he curses, rapturous expression on his face as he stares down at you. âFuck, youâre so pretty.â
His confession unleashes a warmth in your chest and your brows furrow in concentration, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder around his cock. He groans louder, hand tightening into a fist in your hair and you moan around his length at the pleasurable sting.Â
âT-take off your top,â he begs. âTake it off. Please, y/n. Please take it off.â
You bob your head faster as you reach behind you for the string of your top. With a few practiced movements, the top is loosened and you let it fall to the floor, revealing your breasts to Neteyam for the second time that week.
âOh, Eywa,â he moans, eyes locked on your perky breasts. You cup them in your palms and press them together, looking up at him through hooded lids. You squeeze your nipples between your thumbs and pointer fingers, imagining that your fingers are his. Youâve thought about it so many times, how his hands would feel on you. His hands are so beautiful, long fingers that you know would just play with you perfectly, teasing and tormenting the hard buds until you were a puddle of tears and arousal under him.Â
He presses his cock deeper into your mouth and you gag, loud and wet around him, loving the way he whimpers as though heâs dying just from the sound alone. You try to take more of him in, pressing against him harder and trying to open your throat, wanting to feel your nose press against his soft skin.
âYouâre so perfect,â he says, breathless. âSo perfect for me, yawne. Shit!âÂ
Your nose hits its desired mark, pressing snuggly against the warm skin of his pelvis. His cock is buried in your throat now and you canât breathe, canât do anything except gaze up at him through your tears and see what you're sure is a literal god in front of you.Â
âLoved seeing your tits yesterday,â he tells you, voice gravelly. âTheyâre so beautiful. Hated having to help cover them up.âÂ
You try to groan at his words, the sound cut off by the large intrusion in your throat. You pull back, needing air, but your lips stay connected to his cock by a thick strand of saliva. He whines at the loss, but you make it up to him by dragging your tongue up the soaked underside of his cock before taking him back in your mouth, sucking greedily on the hard flesh like the worldâs best tasting lollipop.Â
âYouâre so perfect,â he breathes again. âFeels so good, yawne. So much better than I ever could have imagined,â His cock throbs against your tongue. âThe Great Mother is blessing me for my good deeds.â
You nod quickly, hands reaching up to grip his thighs as you take him back in your throat. He moans loudly, thighs shaking under your hold, both hands fisting in your hair to keep you still, hips finally moving on their own to fuck your face.Â
You gag again, choking on his cock, saliva dribbling down your chin and his balls, and you're dying - dying the most perfect death in existence and thereâs no other way you would rather go out than by choking on Neteyamâs perfect cock.Â
And then heâs gone again, cock dripping and twitching as he gasps for breath. âGonna cum, y/n. Where...?â
âCum for me, Teyam,â You pant, chest heaving. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking firmly. Your tongue lulls out of your mouth just in front of the tip, a clear invitation.Â
âFuck, fuck fuck,â he moans. He cums explosively, thick white ropes shooting out from the purple tip and landing on your tongue, coating your tastebuds. Your eyes roll back into your head as you swallow it up, relishing in his taste and leaning in to run your tongue along the sensitive head just to get every single last drop.
He falls to his knees in front of you, panting and shaking as the aftershocks rock through him. He cradles your face, his blissed out eyes meeting your teary ones before he pulls you into a kiss.
Your lips dance together like theyâve been doing it forever, like they know each other, a sensual press of give and take that leaves you both breathless. He lowers you to the ground gently and hovers over you.
âSo,â he starts, voice low and husky. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. âWhat else can I help you with? Tell me, paskalin. Put me to work.â
**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!
#lunaskinktober2023#neteyam x reader#neteyam smut#neteyam x na'vi!reader#neteyam x female reader#taliewrites
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looks just like an angel (Armand/Daniel, 1/1)
Summary:
The man in the chairâwho Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collarâlooks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes. âHello,â the priests greets him. âWelcome.â âUm,â Daniel says. âHi.â â The drug den Daniel wakes up in after his encounter with Louis and Armand gets busted, and Armand decides to pretend to be the priest at his court-ordered N.A. meetings. Thatâs it. Thatâs the fic.
Pairing: M/M, Armand/Daniel Molloy (Devil's Minion) Rating: E WC: 5,555
Itâs 9:52 in the morning. Danielâs mouth tastes like he ate roadkill for breakfast and his head is pounding so loud he wants to tell it to come back with a warrant. Across from him sits his probation officer, whose name heâs pretty sure is Sarah, wielding a kind expression and a notepad that contains a quick summary of Danielâs many sins.
So far, he likes Sarah. Sarah is nice. Sarah is telling him how sheâs going to get him through this without it destroying his entire life. Well, she hasnât used those precise words, exactly, but Daniel has been able to glean the gist of itâsheâs been saying things like âfirst offenseâ and âdismiss the chargesâ and it has all vaguely sounded like it might not screw everything up for him forever.
So thatâs something, at least.
âOf course, pretrial diversion does come with some requirements on your end,â Probably-Sarah is saying, with a look of what appears to be genuine concern on her face. Maybe sheâs a good liar, but Daniel thinks thereâs a chance she actually cares about the dumb hungover kid whoâs half-sitting, half-melting in her office chair. âYouâll need to start attending NAâNarcotics Anonymous, that isâand weâre going to administer periodic drug tests to make sure youâre keeping clean.â
Christ, heâs such an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot whoâs just lucky to not be dead right now. His innards churn miserably in agreement with that thought, and Daniel hopes that theyâre at the tail end of this pretrial check-in thingy. He really doesnât want to throw up on this nice ladyâs carpet.
Sarah continues, âBut if you hold up your end of the bargain, then Iâll hold up mine.â She smiles at him, apparently oblivious to the imminently-threatening hostage situation that is Danielâs stomach right now. Itâs kind of sweet, though; she looks like she really believes heâs gonna make it through this program. Like she thinks he could maybe be somebody someday.
A bright young reporter with a point of view.
âAnd if all goes well, then after your probationary period is up, youâll never have to see me again.â She tilts her head at him, and sure, itâs condescending. But, like, in the nice way moms are sometimes. âLetâs try to make sure that happens, yeah?â She passes him a stack of papers that repeat all of the information she just gave him verbally, which Daniel is grateful for, because itâs been challenging to try to pay attention when his insides are so valiantly attempting to become his outsides. âIâll see you two weeks from now.â
Daniel nods and hurries out of the room, right as the hostage situation devolves into a massacre with no survivors. He swallows against the gastric acid and bits of egg that are currently attempting to escape his throat and rushes to the single-stall bathroom down the hall, sending a prayer of thanks to every higher power he can think of that itâs unoccupied. By some small miracle, he manages to keep his shit together until he is on his knees in front of the toilet, at which point everything heâs put in his body for the past week unceremoniously comes back out.
Idly, he wonders how many public bathrooms heâs done this in by now, how many times he has been in this same stupid situationâhis mouth and nose hovering above a filthy fucking toilet seat thatâs touched the asses of God knows how many strangersâas the choices from the night before come back to haunt him like an ex-lover after a bad breakup.
Too many, he thinks. Definitely too many.
He looks down at where the informational materials are still crumpled in his left fist, pastel-colored pamphlets with titles like Self-Acceptance and Am I An Addict?, and thinks he could probably use a break from living like this. Thinks maybe this wonât be such a bad thing if it leads to him finally getting clean.
After all, it sure as hell canât get any worse.
***
Two nights later, Daniel arrives at the church closest to where heâs staying in the Castro, which the Welcome to Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet told him hosts meetings three nights a week. Our Lady of Most Holy and Ardent Redemptions, or whatever. He doesnât actually remember, but heâs sure it was something like that: all overwrought and Catholic, a name thatâs meant to imply you have to absolve yourself for the crime of being born.
As he walks through the vestibule, heâs surprised to find it utterly abandoned, blanketed in a thick layer of silence that clings to the dusty pews and eggshell-colored walls like a film. Itâs eerie, almost, this conspicuous absence of lifeâif it werenât for the printed-out sign attached to the back of the pulpit that reads NA meeting downstairs in Rosary Room!, heâd assume heâd gone to the wrong place entirely. As it is, he wanders around the nave with a vague sense of unease until he finds the stairs to the basement, then follows the unsettlingly-cheery instructions of yet more signs until he reaches one that says NA Meeting here!!! taped to a mahogany door.
For a moment, he has the absurd impulse to knock, as if heâs intruding on something he shouldnât be. He shakes himself out of it and opens the door.
Inside, there isnât much to look at: a handful of low bookshelves pressed snugly against the wall, a long table with a coffee pot and an unopened box of donuts, and seven or eight folding chairs arranged in a circle.
Only one of them is occupied.
The man in the chairâwho Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collarâlooks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes.
âHello,â the priests greets him. âWelcome.â
âUm,â Daniel says. âHi.â
âIt would seem you are our only attendee for this evening.â A sheepish little laugh rumbles out from the priestâs chest as he adds, âI suppose sobriety is not so much in vogue these days.â He has an accent, Daniel notes, like maybe he emigrated from England but was somewhere else before that. The way it squeezes around his vowels is dimly familiar.
âGuess not,â Daniel agrees, casting a sideways glance at all of the empty chairs. The poor attendance doesnât bode great for the overall well-being of the Castroâs citizenry, he reckons; itâs certainly not because they donât need to be here. âIsnât NA supposed to be group therapy? Is it still gonna...work?â
The priest chuckles softly again, a light exhalation of air to break the stillness in the room. âYes, though it appears our session will perhaps be a touch more intimate than most. I hope you donât mind a bit of individualized attention.â His eyes sparkle, almost seem to shine, as he gestures for Daniel to take the seat across from him. âPlease, sit. Iâm Father Armand.â
He does. âDaniel.â
âItâs nice to meet you, Daniel,â Father Armand says sweetly, and wow, he has really thick eyelashes. So thick and dark that Daniel wonders briefly whether heâs wearing mascaraâthough he isnât sure whether priests are allowed to do that. âWhat brings you to Narcotics Anonymous?â
âUm.â He stutters, flushed and awkward with the weight of Father Armandâs undivided attention. âThis is the part where Iâm supposed to say Iâm an addict, right?â
âItâs just us, Daniel,â the other man replies, in a low and conspiratorial whisper. Like the two of them are getting away with something, like this is a part of an inside joke theyâve shared for years. âYou may say whatever youâd like.â
âWhat if I donât want to say anything?â
âThatâs fine, too,â Father Armand answers easily, a reassuring smile on his face. âThough we might not make much progress on the issues that brought you here if we sit in silence.â
âFair enough,â Daniel says. âAll right, I guess Iâm here because a court ordered it. Iâd really rather not be.â
âThis is not the outcome youâd have wanted, then, but perhaps it is the one you need.â And, warm and friendly as he is trying to be, the priestâs stare seems to cut straight through him, right down to the ugly things inside him that he endeavors to hide. It is wildly discomforting. âAn intervention from a higher power, of sorts.â
âNot how Iâd put it, personally,â Daniel says, simultaneously bemused and on-edge. He scratches an itch on his forehead. âMore like an intervention from the SFPD.â
âEven the SFPD answers to God, Daniel.â
âO-kay.â Unsurprisingly, the fatalistic religious bullshit is not doing much to set Daniel at ease in this situation. âBut yeah. Iâm, uh. Here because I got busted. In a drug den.â
âWhat were you doing in a drug den?â
âWell.â Daniel blinks at him. âDrugs, mostly.â
âYes, that much is obvious,â Father Armand says, waving a gloved hand dismissively. âBut what compelled you to the drug den in the first place?â Then, before Daniel can answer, he continues, âDonât say âdrugsâ again.â
Daniel was definitely about to say âdrugsâ again. âIâm not sure what youâre looking for here, man,â he answers instead, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally. âI like getting high. Not a lot more to it.â
âThereâs always more to it,â the priest replies, sage-like and frustratingly stoic. âWhether we want to admit to it or not.â
âOrrr,â he drawls the single syllable out sarcastically, âmaybe itâs just not worth telling. I was there because I wanted to do drugs and I got caught, dude.â
Father Armand hums thoughtfully. âSurely something in the evening must have led you there, though.â
âI donât really remember,â Daniel says, and heâs maybe starting to lose his patience a little. âProbably on account of being radically high.â
âYou canât recall anything about the evening other than its conclusion?â In the dim lighting of the basement, the priestâs expression is difficult to read.
He frowns. âI mightâve met a guy at a bar, before. I think I was at Polynesian Maryâs, maybe?â
âDo you meet guys at bars often, Daniel?â
Immediately, he tenses, a frisson of indignation alighting in his gut at the priestâs thinly-veiled judgment.
âWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?â He probably shouldâve known better than to expect anything approaching compassion or understanding from the Catholic fucking Church. Lesson learned for next timeâmaybe the Episcopalians are running NA somewhere in the city.
âI meant no offense, Daniel,â Father Armand says, voice calm and composed in stark contrast to Danielâs rising indignation. âIâm just inquiring as to your habits, to get a sense of where you could benefit from some lifestyle changes.â
âOh, and Iâm sure whatever you think Iâm doing with these men is high on that list, right? This is the Castro, dude. Fuck you.â
âYou have quite a lot of anger,â the priest comments dryly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as though heâs inspecting Daniel. âIs that what drives you to use?â
Is that what makes you fascinating?
âNo, seriously, dude: fuck you. Iâm not putting up with this shit.â He stands to leave, but Father Armand reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can, his grip unexpectedly steely.
âA reminder, Daniel, that your participation in this process is necessary if you wish to avoid jail time,â he says, still smiling that same, infuriating smile.
Daniel stops in his tracks. âMaybe not. Iâll work something out with my P.O., Iâllââ
âYes, Sarah, was it?â Father Armand asks. âI wonder how she would react to news of your resistance to the process.â
âYouââ
âIâm only here to help, Daniel,â the priest interrupts with an infuriatingly placid smile. âNow, are you intending to cooperate, or shall I go ahead and inform Sarah of your refusal to participate?â He gestures once more for Daniel to sit, his expression replete with a cool smugness. Begrudgingly, Daniel complies.
âFuckingâwhatever, fine.â He closes his eyes and exhales noisily through his nose, trying to will himself into a state of calm. When he opens them again, the priest is staring at him expectantly. âI guess I use because I...I get bored.â
âBored of what?â
âI dunno, dude.â He shrugs. âSobriety. Life. Everything.â
Father Armand leans in even closer. âInteresting.â
âIf you say so, man.â Daniel rolls his eyes. âMostly itâs just tedious. I mean, all of it.â
âHow so?â There is nothing but apparent sincerity in the question, which makes Danielâs shoulders relax a fraction.
âItâs the same shit every day, isnât it? Wake up, go to work, eat dinner, watch TV, over and over until you die,â he says, and the priest nods along as he speaks attentively. âAt least drugs break up the monotony a little.â
The unnamed malaise you feel on Sunday afternoons.
âSure,â Father Armand agrees breezily, his eyes never straying from Danielâs. âIf you do them once in a while, maybe. But theyâve become part of your routine, havenât they?â
Daniel crosses his arms belligerently. âYou donât know me, man. Youâre not my fuckinâ friend.â
âIâm not here to be your friend, Daniel,â Father Armand replies, tone clipped and succinct; annoyed, almost. But then, more delicately, he adds, âIâm here to help you get better. The first step is admitting you have a problem, no?â
âI guess.â Daniel slumps back in his seat, running a hand over his face in exasperation. âAll right, so letâs say I have a problem. What next?â
âThe next step is coming to believe in a power greater than yourself.â The priestâs hands are clasped together, his thumbs twiddling idly as he speaks, âOne that is capable of delivering you from your illness.â
âSo, what,â Daniel deadpans. âIâve gotta convert to Catholicism?â
âIf youâre so inclined,â Father Armand responds wryly, as if heâs privy to some great secret that eludes the poor, ailing addict. Daniel wonders in that moment how old the other man is. He canât have too many years on Daniel, surely, but he seems so much older that itâs almost a little unnerving. âHowever, it could be anything, really; your love for your family, your will to live. It could even be me, if you wanted.â
He says it like itâs meant to be another bad joke, but something about it brings Daniel up short. Like heâs not really joking at all, actually. âYou could be my higher power?â he asks flatly, unsettled and using a fair amount of bluster to cover it. âIsnât that sort of sacrilegious?â
âIâm not suggesting you pray to me; Iâm suggesting you allow me to carry some of the pain that troubles you. To share in the weight of the dreary mundanities that lead you to use.â The priestâs eyes bore into his, his tone soft and reassuring. âI assure you, Daniel, God will have nothing to say about it.â
âWhy would you want to do that?â
Father Armand smiles. âI want to help you. Is that so difficult to believe?â
And it is, really. But despite his misgivingsâpractically against his willâa sense of calm washes over Daniel at the sound of the priestâs voice; the crash of a wave lapping gently at a shoreline, soothing the impotent swell of restless irritation that has been building inside of him since he first sat down. All of that rage, those years and years of tiresome anger, snuffed out as easily as the flickering light of a candle. With nothing more than a few words, Father Armand has taken the heft of that burden from him, as effortlessly as if Daniel had handed it over to him willingly.
Rest, now.
Maybe he wouldnât mind so much after all, he thinksâputting the confusing knot of chaos inside of him into someone elseâs hands. Maybe it would be nice to give his will over to something greater than himself.
âOkay,â Daniel hears himself saying, as though from a great distance. Heâs hardly even aware heâs speaking. âOkay. It can be you.â
Rest.
Father Armand beams at him then, and Daniel realizes for the first time how beautiful he is; he looks just like an angel in a Renaissance painting, like a portrait of a martyred saint. His eyes seem less brown, now, closer to the rich and vibrant glow of an ember. Of course Daniel can trust him. Of course.
âExcellent,â he says, and his hands extend to clasp around one of Danielâs. The leather over his skin is cold. âYou are safe with me, Daniel.â
Rest.
Mutely, Daniel nods. The part of him that wishes to object is so quickly subdued, as if smothered by an insistent hand.
âNow,â Father Armand begins, the dingy gold of the basement lights glistening off of his teeth, âyouâre going to tell me about what happened before the drug den. What do you remember, Daniel?â
Iâm the quiet youâve been longing for.
As the unspoken words pierce through the veil of his cognition, Daniel jerks like a sleeper agent awakened. In between one moment and the next, his mind is inundated with lurid images of an apartment, the apartment he was in before he wound up in the den: a manâif he can even be called a manâwho looks so much like the priest is hovering over Daniel, whispering devastating kindnesses into his ear until the fight slowly drains from his body. He tries to hold onto the shape of them, to remember what it was that happened, but the flashes slip through his fingers as easily as soap bubbles off of a dinner plate. As he reaches for them, grasps at them, a pressure builds in the base of his skull like a low roll of thunder, and a scream tears through his shaking body. He cannot hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he can feel it, feel it rattle his chest and reverberate in his bones. It is agony, unending and complete. It is torture.
The only comfort through all of it is the weight of Father Armandâs hand around his own.
âIt hurts,â Daniel whines, instinctively trying to shy away from the throbbing fissure in his head by leaning further into Father Armandâs touch. Tears prick the corners of his eyes like pins.
âDoes it?â the priest asks, voice steady and still like the face of a mountain. âGood. Pain is your bodyâs way of telling you to avoid something. If it hurts, move away from it.â
Daniel sobs, and the next thing he knows he is on the ground, having fallen off of his chair; the hard press of the floor underneath him is the only thing holding him up. âPlease,â he begs, not really sure what it is heâs asking for.
A cool finger crooks under his chin to tilt his head up. Through his swimming vision, Daniel sees Father Armand looking down at him. âDo you want me to make it stop?â
âYes,â he breathes, his body curling up into the fetal position like a dying cockroach. âPlease.â
The priest frowns, dispassionate. âWhat would you do for it? What would you give?â
I could be on my knees in a second.
Another burst of pain blossoms underneath Danielâs eyes and he winces, cries out. âAnything,â he promises, his fingers reaching out to clutch at the leg of Father Armandâs trousers. âIâd give anything.â
âWould you give me money, Daniel?â
He nods enthusiastically even as the motion of it only exacerbates his anguish. âYeah,â he says, âeverything I have.â
âHmm,â the priest hums. His expression as he watches Daniel is calculating, frigid. Slowly, he lifts one Doc Marten-booted foot to rest on Danielâs chest. âWould you give me your obedience?â
Instinctively, Danielâs spine straightens under the weight of his heel, the firm way it presses down on him a strange but poignant comfort in his addled state. The feeling it grants him is not quite relief, but it is something adjacent to it, something that loosens the tightly-wound tangle of anxiety that squeezes his lungs. He craves more of it. âYes.â
âYes what, Daniel?â
He swallows roughly. âYes, Father.â
Lowly, the priest murmurs, âGood boy.â He runs his tongue over his teeth, his gaze growing half-lidded and hungry. âAsk me what you can do for me, Daniel.â
A shudder runs through him, sharp and electric. His mouth tastes of ozone. âWhat can I do for you, Father?â
The priest grins at him, then, wicked and predatory. âWorship me.â
The words echo around Danielâs mind like a hollow room, silencing all other thought. Silencing the terrible cacophony that has been threatening to rend his very self in two. He squirms with the ecstasy of itâthe unparalleled bliss of reprieveâmewling his acquiescence to the priestâs demand.
He can feel Father Armandâs pleasure at his submission trickling like a leaky faucet down his spine. âDo you feel that, Daniel?â he asks, as calmly as if he were asking about the weather.
Tears are still streaming down Danielâs cheeks; his nose is stuffed and snotty from crying. âYes, Father,â he croaks.
âThat is solace, my dear boy,â the priest tells him, unwavering and impassive. âI have given it to you, and I can take it away from you just as easily.â
At the thought of the pain returning, a fierce panic slices through Daniel, hot and pointed as a knife in his guts. âNo,â he moans, his bottom lip quivering as he stares at Father Armand. âPlease donât.â
The boot presses down harder, pinning him to the yellowed carpet. âYou forget yourself, Daniel,â the priest replies.
He whimpers and corrects himself: âPlease donât, Father.â
âThatâs better,â Father Armand says with a mean twist of his lips. âTell me: where is your place?â
And Daniel has played this role before, knows the script by heart. Could recite it in his sleep if he had to. âBeneath you, Father.â
The priest grinds his heel into Danielâs sternum, then, wrenching a pitiful cry from between the boyâs lips. It hurts, of course, but in a different way than before; this isnât the horror of his soul being cracked in half and poured over the ground. This is a familiar pain, a welcome one, one that Daniel arches up into like a cat stretching its back.
âDo you like that, Daniel?â Father Armand asks, a trace of amusement coloring his voice. âDo you like it when I hurt you?â
Wordlessly, Daniel nods, because he does. He always has. Heâs always pining to feel something, anything. Whatever it takes if it means not being bored.
âSay it.â
âI like it,â Daniel wheezes, forcing the words out from underneath the weight on his chest. âI like when you hurt me, Father.â
âGreedy, arenât you?â the priest purrs, half-aroused and half-contemptuous.
âYes.â Daniel hisses, his fingers clawing into the carpet as his body curves to accommodateâto seek outâthe press of Father Armandâs heavy boot. He doesnât know whatâs wrong with him, that he wants this after everything thatâs happened today (the past week, some distant part of his mind whispers), but he does. Maybe he simply craves the release of oblivion after teetering over the edge of it. âYes, Father.â
âI could make you feel good, too. If I felt like it.â He lifts his foot a fraction of an inch, enough to make Danielâs lungs expand gratefully where theyâve been compressed. Then, slowly, he drags the toe of his boot down, down, down to where the boy is hard and aching in his jeans. He runs his instep along the shameful bulge that presses against Danielâs zipper, pressing just lightly enough to tease. To threaten. âDo you want me to make you feel good?â
Daniel moans, a needful, pathetic little sound that makes Father Armand snarl. âI do, Father.â
âDo you think you deserve that, Daniel?â His boot pushes down a bit harder, and Daniel writhes into it, gasps at the delicious torment of the priestâs brutality.
âNo, Father.â
âBeg for it, then.â Even though Danielâs eyes are screwed shut, he can feel the burning weight of the other manâs stare boring into him. His boot steps harder still. âBeg for me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.â
Daniel wants to reply, knows that he needs to reply, but he canât; his mouth is too occupied with crying out, held captive as he is in a state of delirium.
âPathetic,â Father Armand spits at him. âMust I speak for you now, too?â
He can do nothing more than nod, than accept the fate he has been dealt at the hands of this cruel master.
âYou want me to fuck you.â It isnât a question; rather, the priest speaks flatly, clinically, down at the boy he has pinned. âYou want me to bury my tongue in your ass until your voice gives out from screaming and then fill you to the point of breaking, is that right?â
The words are torn directly from Danielâs thoughts as though Father Armand heard them uttered aloud. As though he can read the twisted desires playing on repeat in Danielâs mind as plainly as thumbing through a childrenâs picture book. The noise Daniel makes isnât so much language as one of desperation distilled.
The boot lifts off of his chest, suddenly. âStand.â
Daniel does, albeit slowly and on shaky legs that threaten to buckle from underneath him.
Father Armand smiles. âGood boy.â He gestures with his chin in the direction of the table, still covered in untouched donuts and cold coffee. âBend over. And drop your pants.â
Sweating and trembling, Daniel feels more of a mess now than he did the day he awoke from his bender. Like the screws holding him together have been loosened and he is the lightest touch away from falling to pieces. Nevertheless, he complies, bracing himself on his elbows as he awaits further instruction.
âYouâve been insolent,â Father Armand comments as he slowly comes to stand behind Daniel. He runs the fingertips of one gloved hand over the swell of the boyâs ass. âDonât you think you deserve to be disciplined for that?â
And Daniel is still beyond the point of language, so all he can manage is a thin, reedy little moan. Internally, he is only capable of thinking the word please on a recursive loop.
Thereâs a rush of air, then, followed by the sharp sting of Father Armandâs leather-covered palm striking one cheek. Daniel sucks in a harsh breath, an involuntary inhalation somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp. He gets almost no break before he is being hit again, then again, over and over until he can feel the blood rising to the skin from the burst capillaries. Almost as if from another room, he can hear himself crying out. Although the soles of his feet are rooted to the church carpet, he feels as though his consciousness has abandoned his body to wander elsewhere. The pain is practically transcendent in its savage persistence, the only thing anchoring him to this material plane the rhythmic pulse of the blood rushing to his cock.
Father Armand is relentless, and Daniel wonders whether he is going to be punished past the point where he can no longer withstand it. Until suddenly, the abuse stops, and the priest instead permits his cool fingers to trace over the damaged skin. His touch is surprisingly gentle, laced with a fragile sort of reverence; Daniel can hear the rustling of fabric as the priest crouches down, as if seeking out a better angle from which to admire his own handiwork.
âBeautiful,â he murmurs, spreading Danielâs ass open, the word ghosting feather-light over the sensitive flesh. Daniel whines, restless with the effort of keeping himself still against the overwhelming urge to arch into the contact. âWhat a beautiful little thing you are.â
The praise wrenches a strangled cry from Danielâs throat, wanton and depraved. He wishes he still possessed the ability to speak, wishes he could beg for Father Armand to please, please fuck him now. Beg the priest to make him full, to try and satisfy the yearning cavern inside of him.
Heâd do anything to not be so fucking hungry.
The priest laughs as though he knows precisely what Daniel is thinking and then, with no warning, he is blowing a teasing breath over Danielâs hole.
The boy nearly screams, his mind still running on the frantic hamster wheel of please, please, please, please, pleaseâ
Father Armand interrupts that train of thought by dragging the flat of his tongue over the skin that his breath just kissed, carefully unraveling what little remains of Danielâs sentience until all that is left in its place is a moaning, bestial creature. A thing composed entirely of impulse, the only thing he understands at this point being what it means to want.
Instinctively, Daniel tries to grind back into the sensation, but the priest does not allow it, his leather-clad hold on Daniel wrought in immovable iron. At the denial, Daniel merely whimpers, no longer able to beg with anything other than his body and sincerely running the risk of going mad with need.
Patience, Daniel, he hears Father Armand admonish, as if from a stereo system inside of his head while the priest licks over him once more. He doesnât even question it, really, content to assume that the universe is fracturing around him and that reality itself is simply splintering. It certainly feels that way, with how Father Armandâs tongue writes filthy love poems into his skin, with how he fucks into Daniel just enough to torture.
It is not unlike he is drowning, stranded in the middle of a vast ocean and being pulled under by the grasping appendages of the monsters below. He is overcome with a pleasure too fathomless to name, one that threatens to steal the air from his lungs and fill them with something more volatile and fluid. Itâs exquisite. He needs it to stop. He never wants it to stop.
Again, Daniel hears the priestâs voice inside of his mind. So very needy, arenât you? Filled to the brim with unrealized desire, aching for anything that might scratch the persistent itch deep within you.
The words seem to strip him bare, to peel back his skin and the viscera that holds him together until all of his nerves are exposed to Father Armandâs touch. At this point, he is cognizant only of the places where the two of them connect, the world zeroed in like a pinhole on the press of the priestâs tongue against his ass. He has no self outside of this point of contact, he thinks, and he doesnât care at all. Canât imagine caring about anything else ever again.
He keens, his hips attempting to roll back once more. This time, Father Armand lets him, allows Daniel to ride his tongue in the way he so desperately craves, and he gasps with the relief of it, his face buried in the crook of his arm as he thrusts backwards to where the priestâs mouth is waiting for him.
Then, one of Father Armandâs hands snakes around to grip Daniel in his fist, and it only takes a few strokes before the feeling of it swells into a feverish crescendo, before Daniel is twitching and spilling messily over the priestâs fingers.
Good boy, Father Armand says, tongue still deep in Danielâs ass as he works him through the spasming aftershocks. Now, I need you to do something for me.
Daniel slumps onto the table, barely able to hold himself up, and nods limply. Anything. Heâd do anything.
Stay still, Daniel.
Father Armandâs mouth moves to lavish a hot, wet kiss to where Danielâs pulse pounds in his thigh, his teeth scraping delicately over the skin there. Then, there is the sensation of ice piercing his arteries, of numb and cold and bad and wrong.
The world begins to grow dim around the edges. The last thing Daniel remembers thinking before it all goes dark is, Please donât kill me.
***
When Daniel awakens in his apartment the next morning, he has a bruise on his butt the size of an apple, a killer headache, and a voicemail on his answering machine:
Hey Daniel, this is Sandra. I was wondering why you missed your first N.A. meeting last night; Father Reynolds said you didnât show. If you need help getting to them, let me know and Iâll help you work something out. Either way, try not to let it happen again, okay?
As he listens to his P.O.âwho is apparently not named Sarahâspeak, a lot of conflicting thoughts occur to him at once. Most of them are confused, disoriented, wondering what the fuck happened last night and who the fuck Father Armand really was.
But perhaps the loudest of all of them is the realization that that part of him that is so constantly reaching, so constantly starving, is finally contented.
For the first time he can remember, he is satisfied.
#armandaniel#iwtv#iwtv 2022#daniel molloy#devil's minion#iwtv armand#armand x daniel#devils minion#my fic
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Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 25
This and previous chapters are also on AO3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
âTen minutes Ms Luthor.â
Lena acknowledged the warning with a nod, and skimmed through her note cards one more time before heading to wait by the stage door, Jess following at her heels.
It was the final event on their tour schedule before they flew back to National City tomorrow morning, and it was a big one. Representatives from just about every newspaper and media station in the state and beyond would be there, ready to spread the word about the emissions converter far beyond the realms of tech and business executives to (hopefully) inspire the hearts and minds of the public on a global scale.
It was understandable therefore that when her phone rang with six and a half minutes to go until she was due to step out onto that stage, she didnât pay it much attention.
Lena got dozens of phone calls most days, and while the majority of them were important matters demanding the attention of L-Corpâs CEO, very few were anything that couldnât wait a couple of hours, especially during a major press event. Still, just to be safe she had given her phone to Jess and asked her to answer and triage anything that came through, and give her any urgent messages. There were only two numbers that she had told Jess to hand over to her directly, and the owners of both knew her itinerary for the week and would never dream of calling her right now unless there was a serious emergency, so it was safe enough to ignore-
âMs Luthor, Iâm sorry but itâs one of your priority numbers. What would you like me to do?â
Lenaâs attention snapped to Jess, and she held out her hand for the phone.
Alex.
Oh well, she had probably just got her times mixed up, and thought that the press event was just ending, rather than just starting. She glanced at the time â still six minutes to go before she was due on stage, she could make this quick.
âAlex, this isnât really a good time, can I call you back in a couple of hours?â
âLenaâŠâ
Alexâs voice sounded strange. Choked up and shaky, and nothing like her usual self. Adrenaline surged through Lenaâs system and she clutched her phone, her mind instantly leaping to worst case scenarios.
âWhat is it?â
âItâs Kara.â
Lena closed her eyes.
Of course it was Kara.
âShe got picked up by our ambulance diversion alert about half an hour ago, and now sheâs in the med bay. Sheâs stable, butâŠâ
Alex broke off with another small, strangled sound, and Lenaâs stomach twisted.
âWhat happened to her?â
âI donât know. She was unconscious when they brought her in, and she hasnât woken up yet. Apparently someone found her in an alley looking pretty badly beaten up and called 911, but no one saw what actually happened. Lena... can you come?â
Lena glanced over at the stage door and the assembled stakeholders, journalists and investors she knew were waiting beyond it, then turned her back on them all.
âIâm still out of town, but I can be there within a couple of hours. Less if you can arrange clearance for my helicopter to land directly on the DEO helipad.â
âConsider it done. Iâll have someone waiting to meet you there.â
âSee you soon.â
Lena terminated the call.
She allowed herself precisely four seconds to feel the wave of emotions the news had brought on:
Shock.
Terror.
Grief.
Fury.
Then on the fifth second she put them aside, and turned her focus entirely on what she needed to do next.
âJess, weâre going to have to cancel. I have to leave.â
Her assistant gaped at her, shaking her head in disbelief.
âCancel? Ms Luthor, we canât. Youâre due on stage in four minutes. Everyoneâs here, everyoneâs waiting. If we cancel now the whole launch will be impacted â thereâs been so much build up, and we wonât be able to reschedule, not with the same reach we have now.â
Lena wanted to scream that she didnât care, because the woman she loved was currently unconscious and if things took a turn for the worst and she wasnât there, she would never forgive herself. But she knew that Jess was right. Cancelling now would put a black mark on L-Corpâs reputation that would be hard to overcome, and would doubtless irreparably damage several important client relationships. She couldnât cancel.
But she couldnât stay either.
âOkay⊠okay, youâre right. So... what if you did the speech?â
âMe?? But Iâm not a scientist, Iâm just your assistant, I canât do it!â Jess protested.
âI know. Iâm sorry to put this on you, and I wouldnât if there was any other option, but there isnât time to get anyone else here and brief them. Youâve been practising this speech with me for days, you know it as well as I do by this point, and youâd have the notes. There are some expected questions and answers on the back, but if anyone asks something you donât know the answer to just explain youâre here filling in due to an unavoidable emergency and donât know all the details, but that we will gather any questions and answer them in a press release within the week. And of course youâll have Raj and Amanda to do the actual product demonstration so you wonât be alone up there.â
âBut what would I tell everyone when they ask why youâre not here?â
âTell them I have a burst appendix and had to go to hospital.â
Jessâs eyes widened in alarm, looking her up and down as if wondering whether she should be dialing 911.
âDO you have a burst appendix?â
âNo. But I promise you this is as much of an emergency as if I did, and itâs easier to explain.â
Jess swallowed hard, looking pale beneath her layer of foundation.
âMs Luthor I want to help you but Iâm really not sure I can do thisâŠâ
Lena put her hands on her assistantâs shoulders and looked into her eyes, trying to steady the desperate tremble in her hands to convey rock-solid confidence in her proposed plan.
âOkay. Jess, I know Iâm asking a lot of you and this is not in your job description. If you really donât feel you can do the speech then thatâs fine, Iâll just cancel and take the hit on the launch. But if you can do this for me, you will get a twenty thousand dollar bonus before the week is up, a ten percent ongoing pay rise, and my undying gratitude.â
It was a lavish promise, but likely only a fraction of the amount it could cost L-Corp if she cancelled the whole event, and right now money was the last thing Lena cared about.
Jess bit her lip, then Lena felt her shoulders straighten under her hands, resolve stiffening her spine.
â⊠So I guess Iâm making a speech.â
She let out a breath.
âThank you Jess. Seriously, thank you. I donât know what Iâd do without you. Okay, I have to go.â
âGood luck Ms Luthor.â
âPeople who have done me favours this huge call me Lena.â
Jess smiled faintly at her and nodded.
âGood luck⊠Lena.â
âGood luck to you too Jess.â
And then she ran.
The journey in the helicopter was agonising, but at least she knew that with every wumph of the rotor she was getting closer to National City and the DEO. For once she didnât even think about the possibility of crashing. All she thought about was Kara, and what the hell had happened to her to leave her beaten and unconscious in an alley.
Whoever had done this she hoped it had been worth it for them, because Lena was going to track them down, and if Kara didnât come out of this one hundred percent recovered she was going to kill them. Slowly.
She was about 30 minutes out when she got a text from Alex:
Alex: Sheâs awake
Relief swept through her, and Lena read the short text five or six more times to convince herself that it was really real and she wasnât just seeing what she hoped to see. She wanted to grill Alex for more details of exactly how Kara was and what had happened to her, but she clenched her hands into fists to quell the urge to type out her string of questions.
If Kara had only just woken up she would need some time before they started interrogating her, and Alex would want to focus on her sister right now.
Lena would get her turn.
Still, she kept her fists clenched tightly for the remainder of the journey against the temptation, so that by the time she arrived she had tiny, crescent shaped gouges across each palm.
As soon as they touched down she was out and running again, the agent who had been sent to meet her barely keeping up as she dashed past him to the elevator. Now she was so close she found every second of delay unbearable.
The interminable time it seemed to take for the elevator door to close.
The slow descent through the layers of the DEO building that made her want to dash out and take the stairs instead, even though she knew logically that standing still in an elevator would get her to the med bay faster than her own legs could.
But she wasnât moving, and that left too much space for her to imagine what would be waiting for her when she finally arrived.
Kara, beaten and bruised and barely conscious.
Kara vomiting blood onto her sheets from internal injuries that her body would never normally have been capable of sustaining.
Kara relapsing from a brain bleed and seizing, or slipping into a coma.
Kara broken and in pain andâŠ
At long last the doors opened and Lena burst into the med bay at a run, to find-
Kara, sitting propped up against several pillows, one leg in plaster, a bandaged wrist, and a large white dressing pad on her forehead. Her face was scraped and a little swollen, but she seemed fully alert, and the worst of Lenaâs worst case scenarios unravelled and evaporated as she moved swiftly to her bed side.
âKara! Oh thank god. Kara.â
It was all she could manage as she drank Kara in, reassuring herself once and for all that she was alive, and alert, and showing no immediately obvious adverse affects from being knocked out.
âLena, hey! You came to see me! You didnât have to do that, arenât you meant to be giving a big speech right now?â
âNever mind my speech. Are you alright? Kara, what happened? Did someone do this to you? Who do I need to kill.â
Kara chuckled, clearly not taking the question as seriously as Lena had meant it.
âNo, no Iâm fine honestly. Nobody did anything to me, I just-â
She glanced up at Lena and bit her lip, then winced when her teeth met the split, swollen skin there.
âOuch! I keep forgetting about that.â
âKara, you just what?â
âI just⊠fell.â
âYou fell.â
âYep!â
âDown the stairs?â
âNot exactlyâŠâ
Kara wriggled awkwardly against her pillows, as if she thought she might be able to hide from Lenaâs stern gaze if she burrowed down deep enough.
âYouâre not allowed to be mad at me when Iâm hurt, okay? Alex already gave me the lecture.â
Lena absolutely did not agree to that. She folded her arms and used her very best do-not-mess-with-me tone.
âKara Danvers, what did you do? Did you try abseiling by yourself? You promised you would wait until weâd done the safety research!â
âI wasnât abseiling!â
âReally?â
âReally really.â
But Kara didnât quite meet her gaze, and Lenaâs eyes narrowed in suspicion.
âSo what were you doing?â
âI just⊠well, I happened to see this video of a guy doing parkour on Youtube, and I thought it looked really fun. I just wanted to try it, it was going really well and I was so sure I could make the jump between those two buildings. It wasnât even that big of a gap!â
âYou- are you seriously telling me that you got hurt because you literally jumped off a roof. For fun. Without any kind of harness. Iâm not missing a subtlety here.â
âUm⊠maybe a little bit?â
Lena sat down on the hard plastic chair at the bedside, her legs suddenly unable to support her own weight any longer, and took hold of Karaâs uninjured hand. How was it that she had made Kara promise not to abseil on her own, only for her to do something even more dangerous by essentially doing the same thing but without the rope?
âKara. Please. For the sake of my blood pressure, please promise me, no more extreme sports that donât involve a proper safety harness and a qualified instructor.â
Kara grimaced.
âParkourâs not really extreme extreme.â
âKARA.â
âOkaaaay. Itâs not like Iâll be up to jumping off any buildings for while anyway â itâs going to be weeks before the plaster comes off. Iâm going to lose my mind.â
Lena relaxed a little at the promise, and allowed her expression to soften from stern to sympathetic, though she still couldnât quite take in the fact that the beating she had been so sure had happened all the way here was actually entirely self inflicted.
âGood. Itâs going to take at least that long for me to recover from the shock of you almost dying because you âsaw a guy do it on Youtubeâ. You almost gave me a heart attack.â
âIâm sorryâŠâ
The apology sounded so genuinely woebegone that Lena didnât have the heart to stay angry with Kara, despite the fact that she richly deserved it (she jumped off a roof. For fun). She sighed, and stroked a consoling thumb across the back of her hand.
âYou wonât lose your mind. You might be stuck in one place for a while, but Iâm sure we can find other ways to keep you entertained while youâre recovering. Iâll help you.â
Kara brightened instantly.
âDoes that mean youâll do karaoke with me?â
âWhat? No!â
âPleease? We can do a duet. It would make me feel better.â
She was giving Lena a full on puppy dog eyes look now, complete with as much of a pout as she could manage with a swollen lip and gravel-grazed cheek, and even though adrenaline was still coursing through her system and she absolutely shouldnât be this easily won over after the shock Kara had given her, Lena couldnât help laughing.
âI know exactly what youâre doing, and yet somehow it still works. I will think about it.â
Kara grinned.
âYay! Oh this is going to be so much fun.â
âI didnât say yes!â
âYes you did.â
And, well, she wasnât wrong. It looked like Lena was going to be taking part in karaoke night.
She could practically feel the entire Luthor line turning in their graves.
âOkay, okay, you have exacted all the promises from me that youâre getting for right now. What do you feel like doing next? I think I still have a pack of cards in my purse if you want to play a game, or I could probably find a laptop we can borrow to watch netflix. Or do you need to sleep? Are you hungry?â
âA game sounds nice. And if youâre offering I could go for some jello. Thatâs what people always eat in hospital shows, and being here is making me crave it even if this isnât a proper hospital.â
âAlright, Iâll be right back.â
Lena touched her lips briefly to the uncovered part of Karaâs forehead in a quick kiss that she hoped might just about pass for platonic, then slipped out the room to find Alex waiting for her in the hallway.
Her friend looked pale and haggard, as if she had been awake for two days straight, even though it had only been a few hours at most since Kara had been hurt. She looked almost worse than Kara did, and about how Lena herself felt.
âShe told you what happened?â Alex asked.
âYes. I canât believe she did that.â
âItâs a bad sign, isnât it?â
Lena glanced back at the closed med bay door and beckoned Alex away down the corridor. Kara might have lost access to her super hearing, but she still had sharp ears, and there was no point taking chances. Even once they were well out of range of any possibility of being overheard, she kept her voice low.
âItâs not good. Without powers itâs sheer luck that a fall like that didnât kill her, and even that wasnât enough to overcome the fear barrier and let her fly. If she canât break through it even to save her own life, Iâm not sure she will for anything.â
All the time they had been working together to get Karaâs Supergirl memories back Lena had never seen Alex break down, but now tears spilled down her cheeks and she let out a shaky sob.
âFuck.â
Physical affection between them was mostly limited to the odd shoulder squeeze interspersed with minor acts of violence, but at the sight of her tears Lena pulled Alex into a tight hug without a second thought.
âHey, itâs okay! Karaâs going to be fine, and weâll work this out. Lex may be a devious shit, but you and I can beat him, I know we can. We just need to find a way to give Kara more help to face her fears than we have been so far. We can do this Alex.â
Alex hugged her back, hard, and allowed herself a few hearty sobs against Lenaâs blazer before straightening up and wiping her eyes.
âYouâre right, we are a kick ass team. Iâm really glad youâre here Lena, I donât know how Iâd get through this without you. Whatever happens, you belong here now, you know? You always will. Even after all this is over.â
Lena felt a warm glow at Alexâs words, and hoped that she was right. She wanted to belong with them. But she wiped her own eyes quickly, and tried to stay practical â it was what they both needed right now.
âSo Iâve been thinking about whatâs going to happen when Karaâs ready to leave the med bay. With a sprained wrist and a broken leg, sheâs not going to be able to manage by herself for a while.â
âOh, yeah, well I figured Iâd go and stay at her place for a bit. Weâll drive each other nuts, but itâll be fine. We lived together as teenagers without killing each other.â
âYes, thatâs one option. Or⊠Kara could come and stay with me.â
âWait, seriously? Donât you think that might be too much for you given⊠you knowâŠâ
Alex made a vague gesture that Lena knew was somehow meant to encompass her unspoken feelings for Kara, Project Atlantis, their complicated history, and the more recent hiccup over William and his investigation.
â...everything?â
âI can handle it. Besides, it makes the most sense. Karaâs apartment has all those stairs, sheâd be practically trapped in her own home once she made it up there, and yours only has one bed, plus thereâs Kelly to think of. I have a private elevator to the penthouse and a spare bedroom, and anyway, my job allows much more flexibility to work from home than yours does, so I can be there with her 24/7 until sheâs well enough to start doing some things for herself.â
âI⊠yeah. Yeah, if Karaâs on board that does sound like a good solution. Thanks Lena.â
âOf course. Now, next problem: do you have any idea where I could get hold of some jello around here?â
#supercorp#kara danvers#lena luthor#supercorp fanfic#my fic#kara x lena#supergirl fanfiction#multi chapter fic#Forgotten Not Forgiven
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Pros & cons of laboratory mishaps (Pt.1)
Dottore x Fem! Reader (NSFW in future)
I've tried to keep reader as vague as possible, but she's bisexual (for the fem segment) and her hair is longer than Dottore's. Also uses a dendro delusion.
A/N: Does anyone whose into Genshin also have an interest in BBC's Merlin? Because the whole premise of this fic is the troupe of 'magically feeling each other's touches' that is common over there griping me by the throat and shouting 'Dottore'. This part is also mainly intro stuff since Tumblr has a word limit... But I'm posting the smaller second bit with this anyways :)
If there was one thing your time at the Fatui had taught you, it was that you could never anticipate what life would throw at you. When youâd first signed up (mostly out of necessity) and were given a shiny new dendro delusion you couldâve never predicted that it would lead to becoming close with the infamous second harbinger. And yet here you were, regularly meeting with either Dottore himself or one of his many segments to have various tests taken to try and work out why your delusion didnât drain your life force no matter how much you used it. And more importantly, how to replicate this âflukeâ youâd experienced. It was once such routine meeting that set off a chain of events so bizarre, youâre sure only those involved would believe, a chain that led to perhaps the most confusing relationship status one could have.
Ever since youâd discovered that your delusion didnât drain your life force like they did your comrades youâd been transferred from being a generic recruit serving under whoever had menial tasks at any particular time to working pretty much directly under Lord Dottore himself. At first the decision terrified you, youâd heard the other new recruitsâ gossip about how theyâd prefer to work under any harbinger but Dottore and the horror stories many brought back whenever someone was unlucky enough to be assigned to the rare instance of Dottore needing a recruitâs help, or more accurately Dottoreâs assistants requesting extra help. Youâd never been lucky (Or unlucky) enough to have experienced such things firsthand, but itâs all that you could think of as you nervously made your way through the basement level of Zapolyarny Palace with your pathetically small duffle bag of belongings.
Despite your concerns your first meeting with the harbinger went quite well, or rather what youâd at first assumed was the harbinger and later learnt was in fact a segment, Beta to be precise. Beta was the most ânormalâ of the bunch, having the most social awareness and least extreme emotions. For the first week you only ever saw Beta, and whenever there wasnât a need for any samples from you, you were pretty much free to do what you liked. As long as you kept up your training to continue to monitor how your delusion reacted to increasing strength.
And that was the routine you settled into happily, spending at least half a day everyday training and stopping by the lab pretty much every other day for someone to take some blood or stick some sensors on you and monitor various things. At first you only ever delt with Beta, and that was fine since the rumors could very well be true about the ârealâ Dottore and you were happy to stay in your bubble with the relatively nice segment. After a few weeks though you were introduced to another segment. This one was more like what youâd feared, Deltaâs mood changed as quick as the snow pelted the palaces windows, and the moon-like mask he wore only served to exaggerate his crazed smiles and intense eyes. Still, Delta wasnât unbearable, and you soon worked out that playing to his ego was a guaranteed way to make any encounter with him almost pleasant.
The next segment you met was on accident, after you went out to the training grounds later in the day than you normally would due to a snowstorm. You were met with a small child with a familiar mop of mint blue hair and distinct glowing earring sitting in the snow making a crude snowman. The young segment couldnât be any older than 10 years old and watched you train intently. After youâd finished and were sitting on a bench to enjoy the gardens while you caught your breath he approached you slowly, introducing himself as Epsilon and bombarding you with questions about your delusion and fighting style, having heard about your unique situation from the other segments. From then on Epsilon had decided he liked you, and often watched you train, eventually convincing you to become an informal mother figure for him, which you were hesitant to do since who knows what the actual Dottore would think of it, but Epsilon was persuasive, and you never heard anything after he started regularly spending time in your small quarters with you.
After Epsilon you met the last few segments all at once, due to them all being in the lab when youâd gone in for your weekly blood test. There were four segments milling around the lab, doing various things and you took a moment to observe them as you tried to decide who you were supposed to be asking to take your blood. There was a segment dressed in a outfit clearly reminiscent of the Sumeru Akademiyaâs scholars robes, who you later learned was Alpha, a similar looking segment with more travelling style gear called Gamma, a tall segment noticeably much older than the rest with a distinct beaked mask over his eyes and a very complicated looking outfit called Omega and the last one made you do a double take, it was a woman (a quite beautiful woman your bisexual heart told you) but still clearly a segment who you learnt was called Xi. Omega had taken your blood that day and mentioned something in passing about âPrimeâ who you assumed was the real Dottore wanting to meet you himself at some stage. His words made you worried, but not as much as when you first learnt youâd be working under him, after all Omega was supposedly the closest in age to Dottore and he was nice enough, if a bit awkward at actually conversing with you on personal level, and you were sure he wouldnât be worse than Delta, who over time had come to tolerate you, bestowing you with the very friendly nickname of his âfavourite test subjectâ.
The day you met Dottore youâd had no time to mentally or physically prepare yourself, having been expecting to see Beta or Alpha youâd trudged down to the lab in your pyjamas after waking up late due to a headache. Swinging the lab door open without really looking inside you only realized something was different when no one scolded you for wearing your pyjama shirt into the lab, since apparently it was more difficult for them to pull the sleeves up enough to draw blood since it was so thick and had nice long sleeves. Glancing around the lab to see where the segments were only to realize there were none and instead at the desk in the centre of the lab, the one none of the segments ever used was unmistakably the real Dottore. He was leaned over the desk writing something, and his hair was mostly similar to Omegaâs just a bit longer and quite messy. He wore a long lab coat, and it was fully buttoned up so you couldnât make out what he was wearing underneath, but as you approached slowly he looked up and noticed you making you freeze for a second before forcing yourself to continue approaching. As you stopped just in front of his desk he gave you a quick once over, and you cursed yourself for not bothering to change into more presentable clothing, you may have gotten comfortable with the segments but this was the actual harbinger! And your first meeting at that. To your relief though he doesnât comment nor seem to have any reaction to your clothing choice, just motioning you over to a stool and silently drawing the few vials that was always taken for analysis. Afterwards though he spoke to you for the first time, his voice recognizable as similar to the segments, but also completely unique. âI intend to move on to testing the effects of some potions on yourself and your delusion. I expect you to prepare yourself to make observations round the clock when the time comes.â He says, his voice smooth, but noticeably tired. You nod quickly, not wanting to annoy the harbinger and he dismisses you, letting you hurry out of the lab and continue with your day.
#dottore x reader#dottore x fem!reader#dottore x y/n#genshin x reader#dottore x you#genshin dottore#il dottore#genshin imagines#genshin impact
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Despite Your Flaws: Vergil x G/N Reader
SUMMARY: Vergil and you are spending a soft moment together; one where Vergil asks a question that has been on his mind since V defeated Urizen.
BEGINNING NOTES: I wrote this while listening to âOur Happy Endingâ from Buddy Simulator 1984 (I'll link it below). I highly suggest reading this while listening to it. The song helps set the tone; plus there are no words so it doesnât mess with your reading (at least thatâs how my brain works lmao) and it's short. Quick reminder: Check my H/Cs for what Vergil is wearing--you can find it through the AO3 link below. đȘđ âŹđȘđ ⏠Vergil x G/N Reader Fluff Not angst per se, but kinda sad Short and cute; at least I think so anyway
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     The room was quiet except for the faint baroque-style music coming from the record player. In the middle of the room on the queen size mattress were two people; the eldest son of Sparda and you, his beloved muse. The pair were leaning up ever so slightly against the headboard; Vergil had a book in hand while you were studying the former.
     It was the first time in a long time that the both of you took a day off to yourselves; one that was only about relaxing and indulging in each otherâs warmth. No training. No paperwork. Nothing. Just the two of you intertwined in one anotherâs limbs.
     An unintentional quiet delighted hum emanated from you as you mindlessly traced Vergilâs tattoos; something you used to do quite often with V. However, when compared to V, tracing the complete manâs skin was different.Â
     He is more muscular than V. Vergilâs skin is much warmer and rougher to the touch; the divots and seemingly random scarring that adorned the pallid skin only added to the sensation. Despite them being the same person, their reactions were almost opposites; V would seemingly melt into your touch, while Vergil tends to flinch and pull away from your soft touches--which you'd never hold against the tormented man, but it was still different.Â
     âI do not understand why you do that,â Vergil sighed as he watched your hand travel up his forearm.
     You looked up at him with a raised brow, âDo what?â
     A soft thump came from his book as he shut it, focusing on the conversation, âTrace those.â
     It wasnât surprising that Vergil disliked his tattoos, not only because of the painful memories that spawned them but because of the man who adorned them before.
   You gently traced down one of the larger lines, âI donât really have a reason,â your fingers ghosted the back side of his hand and down his knuckles, âDo you want me to stop?â
     Vergil set his cheek against the top of your head and grabbed your hand, âMay I ask you something?â
     âSure.â
     âDo you wish I was-â his brow twitched at his thoughts, âwas still him?â
     A small sad frown pulled the corners of your lips down, âWhat? Who do you mean?â
     âV.â
     You shook your head gently, âNo,â your fingers tightened around his, âI like having the entire person; not just half.â
     Vergil stared down at the intertwinement of your hands, âAre you⊠sure..?â
     âOf course,â you got up and moved to sit on his lap, wanting a better view of your lover, âWhy would I want anyone else?â
     âV was much kinder to you,â his eyes avoided yours, âHe was more personable⊠V was raw unfiltered humanity; why wouldnât you want that?â
     âBecause,â you gently pulled one of his hands to your lips and kissed his knuckles, whispering softly, âI prefer a man with flaws rather than one who is perfect; if they are perfect, they cannot improve, cannot change. Flaws are what makes someone human, Vergil.â
     He shook his head ânoâ and looked at you with a furrowed brow, âThat doesnât make sense; V was precisely all of my humanity, how could he not have been human?â
     You gave him a soft comforting smile, âJust because something is labeled as one thing doesnât mean that it fits said category; you are a prime example.â
     âHow so?â
     Your smile widened, âOne could label you as a fickle evil man, while all I see is a man who was hurting, who needed help and couldnât find any; someone who acted out of pure emotion. A man who needed to be cared and loved for.â
     Silence fell back over the room as Vergil mulled over his thoughts and shook his head.Â
     âBut why do you care for me? After everything that I am responsible for causing? Why wouldnât you want someone free of those sins?â Vergilâs face was that of curiosity but his voice had an underlying sadness.
     You gently placed your palm on his cheek, rubbing it with your thumb, âBecause you deserve it. Because I fell in love with Vergil; both halves of you.â
     He scoffed and turned away from you and your palm.
     âI mean it,â you took your other hand and used it to turn his gaze back to you, holding both sides of his face in your hands, âDespite everything, you still deserve to be loved, to be cared about; no matter what. You are a sweet and loving man, Vergil. I wouldnât trade you for V, for Urizen, even for the world itself. You mean more than anything else ever has to me, my dear. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth if that is what you wished. I could die tomorrow and I wouldnât regret a single moment spent with you; only that I couldnât spend more of my time with you.â
     Vergil turned his gaze down a bit, blinking slowly, âThat is a dangerous mindset; one that could be taken advantage of, you know that? How do you know that I wonât do so?â
     âI trust you,â you smiled warmly and paused for a moment in thought before smiling wider, â âFor Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dressâ.â
     The blue devil smiled and turned his gaze back to you, âHave you forgotten that I am half-devil?â
     âNot in the slightest, in fact,â you squirmed closer to him, placing your forehead against his, âI can hear a loud purring from him.â
     Embarrassment spread across Vergilâs face, âYou are hearing things.â
     You decided to ignore his comment, âYou know, I like hearing you purr, Vergil. It lets me know that youâre happy, at least to some extent, and thatâs all I want; for you to be happy.â
     âWith you my love,â Vergil placed a gentle sweet kiss on your lips, âI am in pure bliss.â
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ENDING NOTES: I have been working on a smutty Vergil fic and needed a break so I just wanted something short, cute, and soft. Also for more context: Vergil will never admit it but he sees/saw V as the "better" half of him. Urizen was a powerful brute but that's not what Vergil wants to be; sure he wants power but a warrior without knowledge is worthless in a fight. đ đ đ Hope y'all enjoyed reading and thanks for the support! It truly means a lot to me after all the other fandoms I've been in; ones where it is so toxic that I never shared my stories or art, so it's nice to have a kind community like the DMC one ;)))
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Link for song: Our Happy Ending: Buddy Simulator 1984
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If you like this please consider checking this on my AO3. There are extra chapters and my H/Cs over there, so please consider checking them out! Comments, Likes/Kudos, and shares are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!! :)))
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#devil may cry vergil#dmc vergil#devil may cry 5#devil may cry#Vergil x reader#vergil x g/n reader#vergil x male reader#vergil x female reader#oneshot#reposted from AO3#fluff#Vergil at the core is a soft man who needs a hug#you cannot convince me otherwise#I just wanted some cute Vergil stuff#Youtube
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Kinktober Day 19: Feet
Rating: R-18+
Word Count: 4965
Warnings: one instance of gendered language, the rest is gender neutral, foot fetish, foot job, toe licking, some angst for spice, reader is implied to have had a bad/abusive past but nothing is specifically mentioned in that regard
A/N: sorry I got so sidetracked for a minute there efvkefkeke but I'm back to finish these Kinktober prompts at last lol
â
Youâre halfway through the door, tray of tea and afternoon snacks in hand, when you come to an abrupt, china rattling halt just over the threshold. That you very nearly send scalding hot liquid splashing across the floor doesnât even seem to register in that moment as you incredulously widen your eyes at the back of Baizhuâs head. Youâd expected to find the chair in front of his desk empty and the bed soundly occupied but â a quick, surreptitious glance at the neatly straightened sheets assures you youâre not imagining things, and you had in fact walked in on the exact opposite.Â
What was he thinking?
âDoctor?â You call over, soft and politely tentative.Â
He doesnât even have the grace to act surprised at being caught, nor does he turn to look at you, and just keeps writing in the heavy ledger spread open before him without pause.Â
âAh, is it that time already?â He says over his shoulder in that always pleasant tone. âI thought I still had a chance to get a bit more work done before you came back and shackled me to my bed again.âÂ
âThatâs not funny.â You sigh in defeat and shuffle further inside to come up alongside him at the desk.Â
Standing there for a moment, you just watch him scribble away, dip his brush in the ink and carefully touch it to paper again before continuing on with nary a sign of interruption in the flowing script. You couldnât quite make out what it said though â not because his penmanship was bad or anything. It was all clean and precise, and nearly perfectly balanced across the sheet but you didnât know how to read half of the complicated characters, having never been taught more than a few of them. Baizhu was actively trying to rectify that but, well. You hadnât quite made it that far yet.Â
At last, you draw a pointed breath when he still wonât stop long enough to look up and actually acknowledge you. âWhat are you doing, doctor? You should be resting. You know that.âÂ
âYes, yes, Iâm well aware youâre concerned about me overexerting myself and I do appreciate the care.â He chuckles softly, pausing to dip the long handled brush into the inkwell again. âBut a tiny bit of inventory isnât going to kill me, dear. I promise.âÂ
âInventory?â You echo him in confusion. âHow are you able to do that without looking in the storeroom or whatâs stocked in the pharmacy?âÂ
Finally bringing his head up to offer you a small, gentle smile, Baizhu gestures somewhat vaguely at the room at large. âThis is both my home and my livelihood, isnât it? One would find me quite lacking if I wasnât even aware of what inventory moves quickly and what lingers for a while. Itâs not too difficult to estimate the daily needs of the pharmacy based on my years of previous experience keeping everything running as it should.âÂ
You were undoubtedly impressed by that, your brows lifting in surprise and something not unlike awe, and yet you still find yourself saying, âBut what if something has suddenly changed and your estimates arenât correct?â
Noising a brief sound of consideration, Baizhu lifts his unoccupied hand to thoughtfully touch the backs of his knuckles to his chin. âHm, changed in what way? If there was a sudden influx of sick people all suffering from the same symptoms and, therefore, requiring the same kind of medicine, I certainly would have heard about it and could easily make the proper adjustments.âÂ
âBut ⊠I donât know, what if someone was stealing from you?â
He blinks at that as he slowly glances up at you again. The tiny little smile that pulls at his mouth promptly makes you flush under his ever watchful eye. âOh? And have you been helping yourself to my herbs, dear girl?âÂ
âN - no, of course not! I wouldnât even think to do something like that!â
Chuckling, he serenely turns back to the ledger again. âI know you wouldnât. I was only teasing you a little bit.âÂ
Trying not to pout and failing rather miserably at it, you turn your head away from him only to spot Changsheng curled up in a tight coil on the far windowsill, sunning herself in the mid morning sun. Well, at least that explained her suspicious lack of commentary thus far. Stamping down the urge to heave yet another sigh, you shuffle forward to place the tray on the corner of the desk. There wasnât any use in trying to argue the matter further. Baizhu always had a ready answer on hand no matter what you questioned him about, and his need for bedrest was no different from the inventory in that regard.
âWould you care to sit with me for a while?âÂ
Your head comes up halfway through the motion of turning to leave, but his attention remains focused on what heâs writing. Perhaps you would have found it a bit off putting if only you were not quite so familiar with the doctor's usual habits and peculiarities. If he was asking you a question like that then it probably meant he was keen on having the company ⊠or perhaps he just missed having Changsheng hanging off his neck. Not that you could exactly crawl on top of him and take her spot or anything but the sentiment was still a nice one, wasnât it?Â
âYou wouldnât find it too distracting to have me hovering around you, doctor?â
âOf course not, dear. Having you around is always such a pleasure.âÂ
Even the teasing tone in his voice is not enough to keep the smile off your face. Your initial misgivings are long forgotten now as you step behind his chair over to the other side of the desk where you eagerly hop up to perch on the ledge. Laughing under his breath, Baizhu reaches over to briefly dip the brush in ink yet again and then continues on with his work. Content just to be sharing his space with him like this, you watch on for what feels like a lifetime. It was always like that, though. You could have sat with him in complete silence all day and never gotten bored of looking at him.Â
But it doesnât last forever, and your skin tingles warmly when he eventually slides his free hand over to lightly touch yours where itâs braced atop the desk. Itâs an idle gesture, one that he doesnât seem to give much thought considering the way his brush just keeps flicking over the blocky characters without even a moment's pause. If you didnât know any better you would have almost thought it a subconscious action. Something his fingers felt compelled to do for no other reason than the close proximity of another person.Â
You were just as familiar with this part of him as his stubborn refusal to heed the warnings of others, however, so you allow your fingertips to brush over his palm. It was nice being able to share such quiet amity with him, and you suspected he felt much the same way as you did. A simple comfort.Â
âThere,â He finally sets the brush aside some minutes later with a satisfied exhale. âThat should just about do it, I believe. Iâll just have to double check everything is as it should be once Iâm allowed back into the pharmacy again.âÂ
âDoctor Baizhu,â You canât quite keep the soft inflection out of your voice now. âI already told you those jokes arenât funny. Weâre not holding you hostage or anything like that âŠâÂ
His elegant shoulders softly shake as he turns that fond look on you again. âI know youâre not, dear. But the way you and Gui act itâs like you think Iâm going to shatter at the first upset though. You know Iâm more resilient than that, donât you?âÂ
Frowning, you shift your attention down to your lap. Sometimes you werenât so sure about that ⊠but before you can figure out how to articulate that in a way that wouldnât make you sound like an anxious mother hen (an ironic role reversal if there ever was one) Baizhu brings his hand up to rest across your knee. He gives it a brief squeeze that makes your pulse quicken, and you find yourself slowly glancing up from under the fall of your lashes.Â
âYour heart is very much in the right place and I do appreciate it.â He tells you with perfect sincerity now. âI have no intention of admitting defeat so easily though. There are still many things I need to see to in this world before I can even think about crossing over to the next ⊠teaching you how to read and write is right at the top of that list, for starters.âÂ
Your cheeks burn in shame and deep felt mortification alike. Baizhu had taken you in off the streets even when every shred of common sense should have dictated that it wasnât a good idea to do so. Even Changshengâs initial sass and uncertainty hadnât been enough to dissuade him from it though, so you knew he wasnât saying such things from a place of malice or discontent. He seemed to genuinely want the best for you â and thatâs why you donât protest when he runs his hand lower to comfortingly caress over your calf.Â
âThereâs nothing to be embarrassed about.â He assures you with a gentle pat. âYouâve already made commendable progress in just the short amount of time weâve been working on it. Iâm very proud of you, you know.âÂ
You squirm, growing increasingly more flustered the more he not only talks but also touches you with that gentle familiarity. âThank you, doctor. But ⊠I'm just not sure how I can repay you for everything.âÂ
That wasnât entirely true. You did have one idea.Â
But you were always hesitant to instigate these sorts of encounters with him, mainly because regardless of how many times you went through the motions together Baizhu never sought you out himself. It was always you doing the pursuing, coming on to him and offering up thanks the only way you really knew how. He seemed perfectly willing once things got started so you didnât necessarily think it was a matter of him not wanting to share the intimacy of a lover with you, but it did make you doubt yourself just a little bit.Â
Even now the brush of his fingers on your leg remains innocent and unassuming as if the thought of where else this might otherwise lead had never even crossed his mind and he was perfectly content with simply appreciating the warmth of your skin against his. You werenât sure if it was a result of him being so used to Changshengâs near constant presence around his neck that made him this comfortable with casual touching or if he was just like this naturally, but he seemed not to want for anything more than that. Were you possibly overstepping some unspoken boundary when you laid yourself bare at his feet? Was he perhaps too polite and kind to tell you ânoâ even if he really didnât want it?Â
You truly had no idea. Baizhu was so unlike anyone else youâd ever met that you really couldnât make sense of him sometimes. The inventory, the way he refused to take care of himself amidst taking care of everyone else, the touching, his insistence that you should know how to read and write ⊠he truly was an enigma.Â
âYou neednât worry yourself about unnecessary things like that.â He tells you, and the affectionately gentle tone in his lilting voice just further throws you into turmoil. âI didnât invite you into my home with the expectation of receiving anything in return so no thanks are necessary. Just keep doing your best every day and Iâll be perfectly content with that.âÂ
And isnât that precisely why he deserved to be on the receiving end of such favors?Â
Stealing another quick look at the far windowsill, you confirm that Changsheng is still softly snoozing away before shifting on top of the desk to fully face him. Baizhu tips his head in question, looking totally unawares, and it almost gives you pause. Itâs a little hard to shake the feeling that perhaps you were the bad guy here, like maybe you were the one taking advantage of him, but ⊠surely that wasnât the case, right? If he didnât want it he would have said so, wouldnât he?Â
You feel uncharacteristically shy, almost sheepish as you curl your leg up and brush the ankle against his thigh in clear suggestion. His expression promptly settles into a neutral look of understanding. He doesnât show any signs of being pleased or excited by it, but he also doesnât look repulsed by your advances either. Just accepting. Of you, of this â archons, even when he wasnât teasing you he was still the most difficult and confusing man youâd ever known.Â
âThis isnât something you need to do for me. You must know by now that Iâll be perfectly fine without it.âÂ
Face warming with what you think is probably shame, you nod in understanding. âI do, but ⊠Iâd like to make you feel good, if thatâs okay.âÂ
Drawing a stitled breath that makes his narrow shoulders rise and then fall when he lets it out on a slow exhale, Baizhu loosely curls his fingers around your calf. Drags them lower to give your ankle a reassuring squeeze and then further down to nudge off your slipper. It hits the floor with a near silent flop against the hardwood, and then heâs cupping the heel of your foot in his palm. Gently lifting it to chest level, he bends to press a chaste kiss to your toes.Â
âYouâre very kind to me, dear, but I hope you donât think I expect such favors from you just for providing you with a roof over your head.â He murmurs, and you give your head a shake this time.Â
âThatâs not it. I know you donât. I just want to be able to do something for you in return âŠâ And this was the only thing you knew how to do with any amount of skill. You were neither a scholar nor talented in any trade. You couldnât read or write. Some days it felt like you struggled just to serve the tea properly.Â
But this was something you had plenty of experience in and you liked to think you did it well. That doesnât exactly disperse the niggling thought in the back of your mind that tells you youâre somehow forcing yourself on the doctor, that you were coercing or forcing him to give in. Thereâs a certain amount of guilt that comes with this, on your part at least, but you canât quite seem to find the resolve to stop doing it.Â
And Baizhu does give in, though not without an almost sad, barely noticeable softening of his strange burnished gold eyes. Still cradling your foot in his hand, he presses his mouth to the sensitive pad this time to make your toes flex at the ticklish feeling before lowering your leg. You watch him carefully direct it to his lap and a dull thrill races through you when the weight of him through his pants meets the arch. Using both hands now, he takes a moment to just fondle over the extremity and massage his fingers into your skin. An unexpected shudder dances up your spine when he locates a particularly tender spot that seems to bleed some of the tension from your body when he presses on it.Â
Of all the things youâd expected to have to do for him this one had been relatively low on your list. Liking feet did not appear to be so strange or unheard of in the grander scheme, but you canât quite decide how you actually felt about him using only this part of you to get off. Certainly other areas would make him feel even better â your mouth, at least, but he always kept his attention on your feet instead. That embarrasses you a bit too, if you were being honest, but the way he softly sighs in budding arousal stops you from pressing the matter.Â
If this was what made him feel good then you would happily give that to him.Â
âYour skin has gotten even softer since the last time,â He murmurs, clearly pleased by that. âThose herb scrubs are doing wonders to reverse the damage done before you came here. It really is a shame you had to struggle so much just to survive.âÂ
âItâs okay, since I donât have to do those things anymore.â And you intended to keep it that way, no matter the cost or what it took. Baizhu had given you a new life, a new purpose for existing, so of course you would want to repay him. It was only natural, right?Â
When he smiles it picks up the edge of sadness you can just make out in his eyes, but his voice remains soft and even toned. âAre you certain about this? I know you always seem eager to please but âŠâÂ
âIâm sure. You enjoy it, donât you?â Pointedly curling your toes to nudge them against the faint bulge under your foot, you keenly observe the way his dark lashes give a slight flutter in response. He stirs underneath you, becoming more pronounced. A little thicker. But still, he doesnât immediately jump at the chance.Â
âI do. More than Iâd like to admit, if Iâm being honest.â His fingers tracing over the jut of your ankle bone, Baizhu regards you in quiet contemplation for a long moment before drawing a careful breath. âThank you for having me in this way, dear. I donât exactly have the time to cultivate many relationships, and taking on a lover seems ⊠ill advised, given my condition. As long as you understand that there is a limit to what I can give you in return, I have no qualms about it.âÂ
Your stomach sinks. So that was it then, wasnât it? His hesitancy didnât stem from a lack of wanting but wary caution when his own mortality always at the forefront of his mind, dictating all of his decisions. What he could do, what he would allow himself to do, how much he would comfortably let another person in. That was the crux.Â
Perhaps you should have felt bad about chipping away at his self erected defenses to end up at this point where he was openly admitting it to you, but somehow you just really donât.Â
You feel emboldened, in fact, and you gently rub the pad of your foot over him with a fresh spike of courage searing your veins. Baizhu hums a low sound in response and lets his eyes slip shut for a moment, just basking in the sensation. It was vindicating, in a way. Knowing it wasnât a problem with you or the burden youâd been carrying when you came to him. The fact heâd held out this long â no doubt wanting to avoid any further exploitation â was a testament to his strength of will, but he was still human. He was still a man with all the hardwired urges and impulses of any other.Â
Just as youâd thought, then. You really were the only one who could take care of him in this way.Â
Directing your foot a little lower down, you take a moment to gently nudge at and tease the weight of his ballsack between his legs. You can see the growing tent in his pants now, straining up just above your toes. He looses a shuddering breath and slowly rolls his hips forward to grind himself on you. A sense of reluctance still remains, you can see it in the tense set of his shoulders, but that doesnât quite stop him from acting on it.Â
âYouâve already done so much for me, doctor Baizhu.â You whisper into the suddenly static air. âLet me do something for you now.âÂ
Hissing a low sound of wanting, he tips his face down to watch your foot slide up the now rigid length of his cock. A glossy strand of hair slips forward to hang over his shoulder, matching the crystal bauble that dangles off his glasses. It swings softly at the motion, drawing your attention to it for a brief stretch, but his attention remains locked on what youâre doing in his lap. You can tell he wants to, so you reach up a little higher to toe at the sash around his waist.Â
âUntie this for me?âÂ
Baizhu hesitates only for as long as it takes you to blink, and then heâs stiffly bringing his hands up to tug at the knot. It comes loose with a near silent slither, not unlike one that Changsheng would make, and you dart your eyes up to make sure she was still where youâd last seen her. It didnât look like sheâd so much as moved since youâd entered the room some time ago though. Hopefully she really was fast asleep over there in the warm sun or she at least had the sense to keep pretending to be. The doctor wasnât afforded many opportunities like this, and you knew heâd put an end to it immediately if she alerted him.Â
But for now at least, he makes quick work of getting his soft pants pushed down enough to allow his cock to spring up between the two of you. A hot pulse of wanting spears through you at the sight, your desire to do more with it than simply rub your feet on it almost overpowering your higher functioning mind. But you pointedly stay on track, and lift your leg to press that stiff length against his flat stomach. Using this to brace against, you start to rub the pad of your foot up and down, up and down the silky underside of him.Â
Moaning very softly, Baizhu leans back in his chair to watch as if in transfixed silence. The light blanket he had resting over his shoulders fans out slightly with the shift, and you dare to scoot a little further over on the desk so that youâre sitting almost directly in front of him now. The soft rustle of movement settles back into silence again, interspersed only by the occasional chirp of a bird outside the window or the distant sounds of city life beyond. Lifting your eyes, you look Baizhu in the face.Â
To your surprise, heâs looking back at you.Â
âThank you.â Is all he says, and the hushed tone of arousal in those two simple words makes your blood boil. Oh, how you wanted him to be yours so badly.Â
âYou neednât thank me, doctor.â You murmur as you fan your toes out over the head of his cock and knead them down into the glans. It makes his chest hitch, his golden gaze taking on a far away, almost dreamy quality.Â
Quickly, you bring your other foot up and snatch the slipper off that one too. You donât even register the sound of it hitting the floor as you press in on the base to massage both ends of him at the same time. A faltering groan slips out of delicately parted lips, and he tips his head back to sigh up at the ceiling in appreciation.Â
Itâs a bit awkward like this, but you soon find a steady rhythm that has your feet moving over him in tandem while he sedately rolls his hips forward to fuck himself on the pads, arches and toes. Just as every other time itâs escalated to this, Baizhu shows no visible signs of uncertainty now and, in fact, heâs actually quite open about how much heâs enjoying it. You can see the deep rise and fall of his chest gradually become more pronounced, the muscles in his stomach flexing tight with each slow motion grind against your feet. Heâs beautiful like this. Even more so than he usually is, and you idly wonder if he would allow himself to express his pleasure more vocally if it was just the two of you. No employees or snakes, or zombie children to potentially alert and interrupt the moment.Â
Maybe if you did well enough he would let you find out some day.Â
âAre you sure this is enough?â You finally venture to ask when his straining cock pulses eagerly under your toes. It was no exaggeration to say that you would have given him anything he wanted, no matter how strange or demeaning it may have been, but he only gives his head a distracted shake.Â
âYes, dear, just like this is fine. More than fine, actually.â Drawing a shuddering breath, Baizhu brings his attention back down as he lifts a hand up to grasp your topmost foot. He takes a moment to covetously squeeze it, feeling along the skin before carefully guiding it towards his chest once again. âI donât think Iâm in any position to ask for more anyway, but this is plenty. Iâm afraid I canât seem to get enough of these cute toes of yours as it is.âÂ
Your heart stutters a beat when he bends his head over your captured limb and instead of leaving it at just the kiss he reverently presses into the toes, he opens his mouth to lick over the thin layer of skin as well. The sensation makes you jolt, especially when he drags his tongue between the first two digits to attack the sensitive webbing inside. You seethe and try very hard not to yank your foot away when it tickles almost enough to make you squeal. Baizhu doesnât appear all that concerned about it though, and he merely peers up at you from over the rim of his glasses. Watching your reaction, or perhaps gauging how much you could take before you couldnât reasonably keep your voice in check any longer. Either way, heâd never taken it quite this far before and you had no idea what to make of it.Â
Not the fact he was doing it at all or the startling revelation that comes with it. You hadnât expected the space between your toes to be this sensitive, and you shudder despite yourself.Â
âD - doctor âŠ!âÂ
He lets out a low sound of pleasure, warm breath puffing against damp skin as he reaches over with the opposite hand to grasp the foot still keeping his cock pinned. Fondling over it, he maintains his eye contact with you when he swipes his tongue between your toes a second time, and you really do almost recoil. Youâd never felt anything quite like it before. Soft and warm, and squishy, and you really werenât sure how you felt about it wriggling over your toes like that.Â
Pulling in a quiet gasp, you clutch the edge of the desk in a death grip while he grinds his throbbing cock against one foot and licks at the other. His breathing was quickly turning ragged, his cheeks a little flushed. It makes your head spin to see him like that, but somehow the borderline ticklish sensation of his tongue almost manages to distract you from it.Â
If he ever put his mouth on the spot between your legs like that âŠÂ
âOhh, goodness,â Panting, Baizhu hunches forward over your legs with a full bodied shudder. The motion of his hips falters for a split second and then morphs into something a bit more urgent. More needy. His cock stiffly works back and forth, back and forth across the soft arch of your foot, along the pad and up to nudge your toes before dragging back down again.Â
Itâs not hard to imagine him rutting inside your body this way, and it pulls a low moan from the back of your throat. The sound seems to tip him over the edge and, brows knitting in deeply felt pleasure, he presses his mouth firm against the bottom of the foot heâs still clasping, hissing against the skin. His sputtering length gives a muted twitch. You can feel the dull, subsequent contractions that follow as it pumps out a thin jet of creamy fluid to coat your extremity, and then another. He goes still with one final spurt, issuing a frazzled, sensitive moan that quietly trails off into nothing.Â
The resounding silence is almost too much for you to bear.Â
âIâm sorry,â He wheezes at length, once heâs calmed his breathing down some. âI seem to have made quite a mess.â
âItâs alright.â Trying to keep your voice pleasantly even, you curl your toes down into the softening cock to lightly massage it. âAs long as you feel good thatâs all that matters. Iâm just glad I can do something for you âŠâÂ
Releasing a stilted exhale, he gingerly straightens up in his chair. You donât miss the vague grimace that crosses his lovely face when he sees the sticky evidence of your illicit activities, and Baizhu softly tuts as he reaches into a pocket to withdraw a dainty handkerchief. He uses it to wipe up the clumpy mess with another soft word of apology, his hands gentle where they touch. Looking at him like that, bent over your feet and sincerely apologizing for something youâd talked him into doing, you once again find yourself being hit with a strange sense of guilt. It was only natural to want to thank him with such favors ⊠wasnât it?Â
So then why did you feel like youâd done something wrong?
â
Crossposted: here
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I'm kinda sad cuz I relapsed, so. TW: for...semi graphic self harm? And negative thoughts?
Picked to the Bone
It started small. That's how things usually did, something miniscule, like a tumor missed during an X-ray scan until it was too late.
It was meaningless in the thought Aiden had given to it, that was to say, none at all. A scratch, a white line of raw skin. A baby cut, a scrapped knee. You had to pinch around it so it'd bleed.
He hadn't even been looking to hurt himself, that first time, it was just- curiosity.
There was the before, and the after. Before that, he could always say, no matter how bad it got, no matter how many days he decomposed in bed, no matter how long he didn't eat anything but ramen that he'd always puke back up, no matter how much urine soaked through his mattress, at least he could say that he wasn't one of those people. Attention seekers.
And then there was after. He couldn't take it back. Even invisible, he knew the mark was etched into his skin. It was a weakness.
There was a kind of release in it, though. He'd forever be that kind of person, so why not indulge himself?
Self-hatred is not innate, you must learn it, and she is a cruel teacher. But he'd always been a dedicated student. He was good at dealing with pain, graduated to styro swiftly. Spongy and white and soft under his knife, blood bubbling and staining the sink. His scars were raised skin, rough like a melon rind, made him want to open them all over again.
It was the easiest way to feel alive.
When Ben moved in, he didn't quite have the time, the privacy, not even half the urge to keep up. If Ben walked in on him bleeding on the bathroom floor, blade behind his back, he never said anything. Sat on his haunches and patched him as best as he could, red seeping through gauze.
They had matching wrists, the same scars. Blood brothers.
Oh, and when he met her. There was nothing better, nothing that could replicate the precise feeling she induced in him. Her hair was red, beautiful. Not like his eyes, not like his blood.
But it wasn't enough. He'd never dare to push her, and this was the poorest of substitutes, but it'd had to suffice for now.
He held the tip of the blade against his vein, felt it pulse against the metal.
Hate yourself, loathe yourself, despise yourself, and then you can do it.
He truly deserved this.
He could've been quick, plunge the knife and slash it, but an honest abhorrence made you want to suffer. He sank the blade into flesh, yielding easily, grit his teeth so hard it felt like they'd break.
It was done. Picked to the bone.
His breath shuddered, heartbeat roaring in his ears, made his eyelids twitch. Everything reminded him of being alive.
He heard his phone buzz, loud against the porcelain of the sink top, saw it light up like a beacon in the darkness.
He leaned forward, body heavy. The smell of copper flooding his nose. His hand was still shaking when he grabbed it, the weight of it in his palm pulling him back to reality.
Ash <3: hey. can i come over
He looked at his arm, tried to estimate how long it would take to wash away the blood, bandage it. He wanted to see her soon.
Aiden: sure! let me clean up :)
#sbg#school bus graveyard#sbg (webtoon)#school bus graveyard webtoon#aiden clark#tw self harm#tw self destructive behavior#tw cutting#mmm...i dont feel that good rn...maybe ill delete it later.#ben clark#for a little bit#ashlyn banner#for a little bit too
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Oh oh um ask game um I wanna learn more about Salmo-san, I know thereâs an intended air of mystery around him but⊠Iâve been super curious about him and there isnât much information around him⊠grizzco cloneâŠ
uhhhh (I might send another ask if I got the numbers wrong.)
13 15 25 26 and 34â all for Salmo-San.
SALMO-SAN ASKER? Never thought Iâd see the day⊠(also, Iâm including 14, only because I had it typed out before I realized you wrote 15.)
13. what languages do they speak? how fluently?
Heâs fluent in Salesgal, Octarian, (especially Octarians with a western dialect) Inklish, and English and Spanish.
14. are they any good with numbers?
Incredibly, his work uses to be mostly numbers, nowadays, heâs mostly overseeing work that needs to be done and investigating areas of concern.
15. how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?
He lives alone. I think he had siblings? Itâs been so long he doesnât remember nor does it matter now.
25. How good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?
Salmo-San has incredibly bad eye sight, to the point his eyes hardly even function, heâs practically blind, but because his other senses are so incredibly keen, many people donât seem to realize he is.
26. how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?
Salmo-San is incredibly large and clunky, heâs heavy and the floor shakes every time he steps, but heâs quick and almost raptor-esque in a sense, he slithers towards and away from enemies and can bite and rend things into pieces without trying too hard. Heâs incredibly quick and things get destroyed in his path. In fact, Tartar is destroyed because Salmo-San claws through the ceiling and chomps him in half, before slinking sway with a formal company apology and payment for any mental damages the event may have caused. Though, moving with intent is unprofessional, and he settles for slow controlled steps, hands firmly behind his back or set rigidly on his desk, everything he does is with such precise and thought out movement it almost seems inhuman.
34. how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.
âIncredibly work oriented and lucky person⊠with the single goal of providing a hospital environment for every species that suffers and thrives within the growing tides.â
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