#but its always been an itch to find out what the other part of it was

[hederasgarden]

Under the Influence - Part 1

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to a drug that forces you to grapple with its unforeseen consequences. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 3.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, biting, angst and other untagged themes.  A/N: Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for holding my hand through this and Becca for beta’ing!

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Henry Cavill Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet. The usual hum of activity in the bullpen is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. You may have indulged in a daydream or two about Clark just like this, but none of them ever involved so much paperwork.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He offers you a wiry smile that you return, struck once again by just how handsome he looks. He makes it all too easy to have a crush on him, even though you know it wouldn’t go anywhere.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands. 

Despite shedding his suit jacket earlier, and the way his tie is slightly askew, he still manages to look annoyingly chipper despite the late hour. You lean back to pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting. 

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall. 

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so heavily redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration, resting your forehead on your arms until Clark returns, bringing the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee with him. 

You accept the mug with a smile but quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Bet you're regretting volunteering for this assignment now,” Clark says. 

“Not for a moment,” you reply. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout.

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, resting his hands on his hips as he surveys the cluttered table strewn with file boxes and paper.  “It really has,” he agrees. 

When Perry called for a volunteer from the pool of junior editors to help with an expose on Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the opportunity and not just because Clark was the writer assigned to the story. Most of your days were spent copyediting stories and arguing about AP style. You were just itching for some hands-on research experience, although neither of you expected the thread Clark pulled to unravel so quickly or so thoroughly. 

What started as an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings rapidly evolved into something far more unsettling. Salvation Pharmaceuticals’ R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their drugs had horrible side effects, particularly the latter which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis.

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Based on the sheer number of boxes they sent it was clear the company hoped to overwhelm you with an avalanche of data and make it difficult to find what you needed. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met. If anyone was going to get to the bottom of the story it was him. 

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs. 

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging your feet on the carpet. Clark pulls you to the edge of the room, and you lean into him, desperately trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers twitching and spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You stare at him, bewildered. “Why would the dust be in there?”

“I don’t know. But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Do you feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation. 

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip.

You step away from him, feeling your body buzz with embarrassment. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you even realize it. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right — the powder could be affecting you. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there a protocol for dealing with mysterious powders?” It’s difficult to think straight when your body feels like a furnace. “Clark?” You question.

His nostrils flare but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time seems to progress in strange lurches and lulls as you wait for Clark to return. You’re not sure how long he’s gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating — a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed.

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The last thing you want to do is reveal your stupid little crush on him.

“God, it’s hot,” you muttered, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. You wish you could strip off your dress and melt into the floor. 

“Here.” Clark’s voice is closer than you expect.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your lower back but let him turn you around to face him. He presses a glass of cool water to your lips, and you grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish your mouth feels dry and your throat itches. 

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them, but Clark stops you with a gentle hand on yours. Embarrassment rushes under your skin, and you draw back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug.”

“Why aren’t you affected?” You question. “You seem fine.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says almost absently only to freeze a second later. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled. “The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

Your hand falls limply to your side as you watch him. Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack. A dark red flush creeps up his cheeks, making the skin around his eyes glow faintly. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he grits out.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Clark barely takes a step towards the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Oh,” you whimper, terrified as your mind recalls the adverse event report for the truth serum with perfect clarity. 

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. He kneels in front of you and his expression mirrors your anguish.

“Clark….”

“I know,” he says quietly. His hands hover at your shoulder for a moment before he finally helps turn you on your back.

None of this feels real; it’s like a twisted wish gone wrong.

“Help me, please,” you cry, the words escaping in broken sobs. You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind, fueling your terror. You don’t want to die.

Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pain in your core pulses and builds. The ache in the body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill. 

“Please.” Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. 

“I’m going to help you.” He says, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you. Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined this. 

When another cramp leaves you panting and desperate you grit out a pained, “Yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, gently but firmly pulling your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark pins you to the floor easily. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up to expose your simple black underwear. The sight seems to transfix him and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own. 

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head his glasses fall down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you sob. “Fuck me, please.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the part that's still you, is horrified by your words. You’ve never spoken to anyone like that, let alone a colleague or the man you have a crush on. But you know with a terrifying certainty that if he doesn’t fuck you, you’ll both die. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh. He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind.

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction. 

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp, throwing your head back as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans and his thumb moves faster. 

“More, oh god I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside. 

The stretch of them both burns but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. Your orgasm is almost painful and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel. 

When it passes you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

“Clark.” You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…” 

You can’t even force yourself to say it now that you’re back in your right mind. Clark shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, and he looks pained. 

“We should —” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him. 

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You push at his shoulder, but he doesn’t relent. His hands travel up and down your sides and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire. 

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy and gasping for breath.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants and you look up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but without your permission, you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. It’s red and weeping. Your cunt aches, and you toss your head side to side, trying to dispel the pain. 

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up between your thighs. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, god, it hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from Clark’s lips and brings you back to the moment. “You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleed into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him. 

Above you, his handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it. 

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of desperate pleas spills from your lips. 

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrap over tender flesh and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything. Guilt and horror fill your body like sand, weighing you down. 

Clark groans and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips has turned painful and your insides feel raw. You push at his shoulder but he doesn’t even seem to notice, hitching your leg over his waist to push himself deeper. 

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.” Then his teeth sink into your neck and he finally stills. 

Tears leak from the corner of your eyes as your breath comes in short little sobs, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, slipping out of you with a quiet exhale. You can’t stifle your whimper of pain and his gaze jumps to you. For a moment you stare at each other and the silence is deafening. Then he passes a trembling hand over his lips and rocks back, moving to his feet in a fluid motion. He turns from you to tuck himself away and runs a hand through his curls. 

You sit up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest while you hold the fabric of your dress together in an attempt to give yourself some dignity. It’s almost laughable after what just happened. Clark says your name and you stare at his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation, you take it and he pulls you to your feet. When he drops his jacket over your shoulders you feel a swell of gratitude. You let him guide you to a chair, wincing when you sit. Everything feels raw and tender. 

He clears his throat. “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say numbly. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

You want to tell him it’s okay, that it’s not his fault, but the words catch in your throat. All you get out is his name. Nothing about this is okay. How could it be? 

You wait together, Clark standing half a step ahead of you while you stare at his broad shoulders, lost in thought. He’s the one to greet the men and women in hazmat suits. You don’t catch everything he says, but his eyes drift back to you as he speaks. Before long, you’re separated, and the last image you hold onto is his hair tousled from your fingers and his wrinkled, untucked shirt.

From there, everything becomes a blur; moments merge into a disjointed sequence — being herded into a decontamination shower, the uncomfortable scratch of paper scrubs against your sensitive skin, a distressing medical exam, and then the questions. Endless questions bring back the haze of disjointed memories you’re struggling to process.

By the time you’re allowed to leave, the first rays of light filter through the windows of the bullpen. You watch the soft golden glow and listen to the faint chirping of birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as it always does, but you feel disconnected from it all until you step into the elevator and turn to find Clark standing there.

He halts the doors from closing, his sad, mournful eyes meeting yours. A powerful wave of emotion rises in your throat as the weight of his guilt and your embarrassment settles inside you like a stone. There’s so much you want to say, so much that needs to be said, but it’s overshadowed by a deep ache in your chest. You feel so lost and unsure, terrified about what lies ahead that tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. 

Clark exhales softly and steps back, but just before the doors close, he whispers your name. In that moment, everything else fades away — it’s just you, him, and all the unspoken words that linger between you.

Then, he’s gone and you’re left utterly alone. 

♡

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[loud-whistling-yes]

you can be both demigirl and whatever gender you found that fits. we're transmasc and also a trans man and also nonbinary and our gender identity is tied exclusively to our pronouns. Do whatever!

I literally have no idea how to respond to this ask like a normal person but yes,,, thank you,,, this helped a lot

[0bticeo]

welcome to the show!

summary: vox sends you as a spy to the hazbin hotel. alastor decides to give him a show.

tw: voyeurism, biting, blood play, fingering, valentino mentioned. english isn't my mother tongue.

you're thrown in hell - quite literally. the fall from purgatory and its beasts was long, arduous, and painful.

you've led an ordinary life. woken up. worked. slept. repeatead. same old decaying matter as everything else. you didn't think too much of it, of course not. you were twenty something and rising slowly, steadily in your company as an esteemed lawyer. memento mori didn't ring a bell. maybe it should've.

now you're in hell, and you're burning with sheer, unbridled rage, because how dare they throw you in there? (you're all in hell for a reason. all of you, fangs and bad intentions bare to the world.)

you take up your old job at vox tech. lawyer for a corrupt company. old habits die harder than you do. there, there's the thrill of probing the opposing companies and sinking your fangs into them, corrupt little fox with a too wide smile on your face.

what you gather is this: velvette's sense of fashion involves too much purple, valentino is the embodiment of everything you hate and vox... vox is obsessed with the radio demon. he's disappeared not too long after being asked to join the vees. you'd know, you're the one who wrote the contract he refused to sign. bastard.

could've been fine, really. but they work you to the bone and treat you as little less than a glorified secretary. when valentino throws the cup of coffee you brought him to a board meeting with the other executives of the company, you slam the door on your way out and don't look back.

it goes like this: you've been in hell for a while, and you're done playing the part of the sinner. so you tell charlie morningstar when she greets you at the hazbin hotel.

she accepts you, welcomes you with, out of all things, a song. too much trouble for dear old you.

"nonsense! everyone deserves to be given their rightful importance!"

that one hit close home.

you don't have the time to thank her before she's introducing you to the staff and the rest of the hotel.

vaggie, staring you down with a suspicious eye, fingers itching to reach for her spear. ah. an angel. fascinating.

angel dust. you have to thank him for being here. after you murder him for calling you an enticing little vixen and winking at you.

husker. former overlord. sold his soul to the radio demon in a bad game of poker.

your hair stand at the back of your neck. static crackles in the air. your ear twitches. alastor's entered the game.

"alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure my dear!"

he brings your gloved hand to his lips. even through the thin leather, you can feel the warmth of his breath, the press of his teeth like a warning.

his grin deepens when you introduce yourself in turn. a glimmer of recognition flashes in his eye.

shit.

**

you've always liked to cook. there's something about the glimmering edge of a knife cutting thin slices of meat that appeases you. tonight, you crave some rabbit.

somewhere in the kitchen, the clock ticks the minutes away, time bleeding out. doesn't matter when you have eternity to atone for your sins. 

the watch at your wrist flashes. 2:37. of course, insomnia had to follow you down to hell. it served you at voxtech, back when you were pouring over contracts and meaningless paperwork.

you make your way towards the fridge, hoping to god you'll find something to satiate your appetite.

"ah, feeling peckish my dear?"

you startle.

alastor.

you turn, back facing the counter, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. there he is, slithering out of darkness, a spectre in red. you wonder if it's a reminder of the blood he's shed.

"what do you want?" you snarl.

he laughs, static buzzing in your ears. you blink. when your eyes open, he's inches away from your face, craning your neck towards him - he's tall, that fucker.

"why so aggressive, little vixen?"

his fingers dip down your shoulder, down your arm, until they close on your wrist. his teeth press against the bracelet of your watch, scraping the skin beneath, drawing a drop of blood. the screen glows, a faint blue light in the penumbra of the kitchen.

your breath catches in your throat. he's gorgeous, blue light draped over his hair like threads of moonlight.

he hums, the vibration settling low in your gut.

"i just want a little taste..."

you shiver at that. at the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, consume you whole. at the way his tongue presses on the cut, lapping at the blood. you tense, biting back a soft, needy little sound.

his leg pushes your thighs apart. you don't realise you've been humping against the warmth of him until his hand settles on your hip, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

"behave, little spy."

you laugh at that, baring your throat.

"was it really that obvious?"

he hums, clawed finger trailing down the column of your flesh, pressing against the jugular. he can feel your pulse, staccato little thing beating wildly as you look up at him, lips parted with want.

his smile stretches, impossibly wide.

"vox wouldn't have let his precious little lawyer go." his claws tap against your watch. "and i'd be a fool not to get a taste."

he kisses you. he kisses you, teeth nipping at your mouth until you can feel static against your tongue, until you arch your back against him. you whine, claws digging in his shirt, eager for more. of course, he pulls away. bastard.

"patience, my dear. all good things come to those who wait."

you scoff.

"because seven years and s'more weren't enough?"

a pause. his lips trail down your throat.

"i suppose that's fair."

he bites you, teeth sinking at the junction of your throat and shoulder. you keen, a breathless moan of his name as you feel him grind against you. you shouldn't let this happen. shouldn't revel in the warmth of him, body going limp in his grasp. shouldn't drag his hand towards your aching core, let him press his fingers against your slit and chuckle at how wet you are. you can't let him finger you on the kitchen's counter, can't mewl like a wanton whore.

you do.

you do, his name like a prayer on your lips, hips stuttering, desperate for release. you feel him against you, lapping at your flesh like a starved hound. when he lets you go, there's a spider-web thin string of blood connecting him to your shoulder.

the sight of him takes your breath away.

there he is, eyes half lidded, looking at you. there he is, blood, your blood, dripping down his lips, his chin.

he leans closer, watching you, the way your shiver at his every touch, as his free hand digs in the tender skin of your breast and sinks into the flesh.

oh.

something snaps in you - you're on fire, head thrown back in a silent cry of his name.

on your wrist, the watch flashes blue. alastor grasps your wrist in his hand, bringing it up. it's easy for vox to see you. you, disheveled, red fur a mess of sweat and blood, panting, cheek pressed against alastor's chest. you, nightgown hiked up to your hips. you, legs wrapped around alastor's waist, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans as he drills his cock into you.

vox groans at the sight, pants growing too tight.

the radio demon smiles.

"hope you enjoyed the show, old pal!"

[gladiatorcunt]

FIND YOUR LOVE | CORIOLANUS SNOW

summary: modern!coriolanus snow thoughts

cw: crack treated seriously vibes, typical coryo warnings, possessiveness/obsessive behavior, piss kink mention, period blood mention, spit kink mention, slight impact play mention, coryo and reader both have double majors because they’re overachievers, plus sized reader implications, drake mention, reader has bunny teeth & hip dips & glasses, talks of carving letters into skin, spying mention, overstimulation mention, images used in social media elements are not an exact represtation of the reader’s gender or image & are more about the vibes, “wife” usage but he’d feminize you no matter what, implications of sejanus playing the long game, 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.4k

requests are open (read the rules first <3)

block & move on if uncomfortable.

do not repost or translate!!

Unaware rich kid because while a tragedy did happen in the family (his mother dying in childbirth according to his politician father who was later assassinated) nothing happened to really set them back to square one like in canon. He never really has had to claw himself back to the top, he’s just always been on a steady elevator ride to it.

Clumsy in the beginning in the way that he tries to be intimidating. He’s never had to starve so how can he understand its usefulness as a weapon?

Meets scholarship student double major classics and archaeology (minor in philosophy) reader who has only ever struggled.

The type to violently beat someone to near death on a whim and smirk as he’s escorted out of the police station with apologies because his family’s amazing team of lawyers were called.

Definitely part of some Saltburn ass family where you visit and you’re just like “what the fuck?” the things the 1% normalize (there are rumors of his family being cannibals back in the day, they might be a crime family, his high school principal fucked his mom AND his dad) never cease to disturb and confuse you but the gardens are very nice!

Strolls with you through them to seem romantic but also to brag about his family on your second date that he insisted be at his house (he was kind enough to let your first be at his family’s vacation house in the south of France)

Piss kink (creaks the bathroom door open to hold your hand or he leans against the door and stares you down if you take too long), period sex (more the type to eat you out on your period though) spit sharing and smearing, etc. Because of his carefully manufactured image, when he’s in love he just wants to completely let go and be gross and have that he accepted by the person be loves (plus it scratches the possessive itch in his brain by marking you and knowing you’d be too embarrassed to do it with anybody else)

Really only hand spanks you when you’re actively fucking and he’s so caught up in it all, he just grips the flesh of your ass and furiously jiggles it in his hands in between brisk strikes of his open palms and gets caught on your hole accidentally, it gets to the point where you’d want him to hit harder even if you thought you wouldn’t be into it because it’s just so unintentionally teasing.

Unlike the stereotypes, wouldn’t really be into drinking (other than wine because he thinks he’s above the beer drinking peasants) or drugs (other than the occasional line of cocaine 🤭) thinks keeping a clear head while you’re doing evil plotting is important. Typical white college rich boy hypocrisy (keeps you away from it though, even weed because it can kill your brain cells and he likes his bunny smart.)

He WILL carve his full government name onto you like a womb tattoo if you answer his texts 5 seconds after he expects you too. You CANNOT play with him.

Asked you out by leaving a bouquet of roses on your desk every morning with a note like “these are my grandma’am’s roses, and their beauty could only remind me of you 🥺🥹” (he threatened your roommate to deliver them and made sure they did thanks to the hidden camera he also had them put in)

Double major Political Science and Latin, minor in Philosophy but he likes ancient/older philosophy more. #1 “um actually 🤓👆” offender (hell is hot but his body runs ice cold, so he does not care <3) someone says they like philosophy and he goes “name three philosophers other than Nietzsche and Camus. I bet you’re the type to read Kafka too huh? whore.” (/j)

So hot though like modern Coryo has the curls but a touch shaggier. Everyone on campus turns their phones to the side and takes “discreet” pictures and makes those whisper posts like “need me an unhinged crazy jealous psycho possessive bf” but they’re not you so that wish will never come true :)

Say you’re going to McDonald’s, and he will kill you (if you’re from the south and you try to feed him anything traditional you’re used to, his charcuterie board and caviar eating ass will implode)

Another student in class asks you to borrow a pencil & his brain genuinely goes haywire so without looking he sends them the “let’s play a little game I made” TikTok (by the time you look back at him, he’s warmly smiling as he makes sure you see his hand sliding up his thigh)

If you think you’re working after getting your degree (he could’ve made you drop out, be grateful you get to spend more time together this way) then you’ve got a big storm coming (hope you can accept being baby trapped mwah)

He’s your little chihuahua named sparkles that bites people.

Emotional drake listener

The type where if you 99.7% (he will allow some wiggle room) give into his delusion and insanity, it’s nothing but smooth sailing (for you) and sex would still be passionate but never rough. Sometimes he slips a bit, but you just get more family heirloom jewelry and 5 billion sessions of oral as apologies.

On the swim team and runs track (somehow still looks hot no matter what doing those sports, wants you lick all the sweat off his body after he’s done. (he’d do that for you.) has a private yacht and does polo with Sejanus.

You once sat down, opened a package of cabbage leaves and went to town & Coryo knew in that moment that love is not a choice, it’s a curse.

Buys you mountains of clothes (the softest sweaters or the tightest evening wear because he loves how nothing about your body is hidden from him and one of his favorite ways to wind down is to soothe the marks left by the tight clothes digging into the chub of your tummy with his tongue) also loves how much bigger your thighs get when they spread out as you straddle him in one of his buttons up that reaches just under your ass.

Has a garage full of classic cars that he fucks you in and takes you on drives in.

(Insp. by that one video) fucks you on your stomach while cradling your jaw and when he’s done, he’s kissing down your back and all over your ass while hold a hand on the back of your neck. Eats you out upside-down kneeling straight up on the bed, the skin of your thighs spilling between his fingers as he grips them and nearly bends you in half. You don’t really ride him because he uses you like a fleshlight.

Tits guy no matter the size, prefers jerking off over them and covering them in cum over a boob job.

He won’t let you out in it, but you can be his bunny for Halloween since your front teeth remind him of a bunny, he already has the ears and tail waiting for you. That tweet where it’s like “okay everybody my bf’s about to walk in you all have to clap or I’m blowing this whole fucking building up” but that’s him when it comes to you.

Canon era snow is a girl dad, but modern snow is a boy dad, I fear.

Met you when you had just finished checking into your dorm, you were scrambling all over the place and without looking you bumped into the it boy of the school. His hands suddenly curved like shackles around your hips, his fingers subconsciously stroking your hip dips being the only reason you both didn’t careen to the floor from the collision.

“You should be more careful, wouldn’t want you to get a nasty bruise now, would we?” said with an unreadable yet playful tone and a snake’s smile, lips slightly curled up in the corners and a little too many teeth showing to feel truly comforted. His tongue flicks over his canines for a split second.

Smells like Maison Francis Kurkdijan’s baccarat rouge 540 (buzzcut Coryo gives Dior Sauvage vibes)

Matching airpod max sets and lets you put little bows on his.

Impeccable cable management, phone wirelessly charging on the nightstand or kitchen counter until it’s at 100% and doesn’t charge it again until it’s at 1%

Teaches you how to swim if you don’t know how, with a hand curled under your neck and another under your thigh to help you float. But has no problem just lounging with your back on his chest on the deck of his yacht or laying his head on your chest while you read together on the private beach he booked during your trip.

Slowly fingers you while making out with you and massaging your throat with his other hand. His chunky rings make clanging sounds against your pussy, and he smiles into your lips when you whine. He rests his forehead against yours & slowly spits in your mouth when it falls open as he makes you cum over and over until you’re too tired to leave the apartment he bought for the two of you.

Jiggles your tummy rolls when you’re fucking but sometimes, he’ll just casually bite them, loves laying his head on your stomach and when you sleep. He likes to have a firm grip on the chub of your tummy. He also just plays with it, pulls it, and kneads it but occasionally he’ll gently smack it.

NUTS ON YOUR STRETCH MARKS LIKE HE’S ICING A CINNAMON ROLL

Anyway, his grandma’am owns a fleet of flower shops across the country as well as managing the snow family’s gardens, and luckily enough the one closest to campus was hiring when you enrolled!

Pisces sun Capricorn rising Aries mars, stay strong.

Has to look you in the eyes or he can’t cum.

Always keeps glasses cleaner and a microfiber cloth on him so the second he sees you rub your eyes in frustration because you can’t see through them anymore (because in your mind that would somehow fix it) and reach to grab them off your face, he’s snaking his hand out and snatching them up. He doesn’t even give then back to you; he tenderly tucks your hair behind your ears and slowly slides them back on your face. literally booping the center of them with a grin. Also has your custom designed glasses case (with his initials) in one of his bag’s front pockets.

You asked him to buy you the Gojo skin in Fortnite and he grumbled “you already have my information.” But in his mind, he’s like “what does he have that i don’t?” 💀 (he’ll lose his mind when he finds out you like Geto more). Will play with you on a team consisting of the two of you and Sejanus. (so, he can keep an eye on you two)

Has very pretty cum, pearly and so thick you get jump scared when it leaks out because your pussy tries to weakly clench to keep it inside and it just pushes through. Cums less often but when he does its huge continuous loads, humps against whatever part of you he can like a dog and lays his head on your chest.

You could almost argue he likes anal more than anything else. When he eats you out, you run an extremely high risk of him “getting lost” and starting to eat out your other hole. When his dick slips out, he makes you watch while he slaps it against your clit and drags it through your slick to teasingly act like he’s going to push it into your ass.

Kisses his camera when you fall asleep on facetime if you’re apart from each other. wipes his lips afterwards though for sanitary reasons.

For sure the type to go overboard when someone says they want honest advice. Then when they’re on the verge of tears and he’s made everything worse, he goes “that’s just me though, who am I to judge yk? take it with a grain of salt.”

Museum dates but he’s pointing at depictions of goddesses and saying, “that’s you.”

Will drop kick those annoying Sephora kids if you need a certain product that they’re going after.

Y’all are battling for who has more products, your bathroom so is huge but every time you move something’s always falling off the double vanity sink.

If you need an inhaler or an EpiPen or anything like that, he’ll always have one on him. when you need it, his reaction is so fast you almost can’t see it and he tries to hide how his hands shake slightly even if the attack you're dealing with is more minor.

You could tell him you hate coconut and when you go on your fancy little dates to 5 stars restaurants, if your plate has even the tiniest hint of coconut, he’s sending that back with the harshest glare on his face imaginable (“They asked for no pickles!” *Gunshots* vibes)

Gets jealous of fictional characters, you show the slightest interest in a man who’s literally not real and his eye nearly falls out from how much it twitches.

The possessive bf coded TikTok trends you’d make him do would go crazy though like the nails on his dick through his pants one, any princess treatment one, any one where you’re dancing and he has to cover you, “hey daddy” & other text ones.

Alarms every five minutes, not only for him but he wants to be awake at the same time as you for a bit before you have to go your separate ways during the day. (kisses your temple when you slump against him while you try to wake up)

“What’s up, Petal?”

“What’s up, Coryo?”

While he acts like he’s been doing you a favor all this time, he would get you that engagement ring that has a spike going through the finger bone in it, and he would get a matching one <3.

Double penetration with a dildo that’s a replica of his cock 😻😽

Closet bi (childhood crush on Sejanus, who btw has been eyeing you too much for his liking lately.)

Scars on his back from An Incident. shaved his head and dropped out of school for a bit but it wasn’t hard for his family to get him back in

Gives you the worst side eye when you ask him to play Roblox total drama island with you but when Sejanus offers, he’s galloping to his pc (he absolutely kills it, like he’s undefeated and he’s not afraid to bully whatever kids are in the game)

Vibes:

a/n: this is lowkey so cringe but i am free. i hate him (i'd tell him i love him on the first date.) will definitely do more with this verse but have this brainrot for now. hope you enjoyed anyway! btw i'll actually be opening comissions next month. so i'd really appreciate it if y'all would keep that in mind! talk to me about modern coryo or any version of coryo lol.

[saradika]

— invisible string

din djarin x vaguely force sensitive!reader

rated e - 1.7k

tags: divergent timeline, soulmate!au, takes place across season 1 & 2, missed connections, the Razor Crest lives, PiV, marking, creampie, magical elements

a/n: for the TS Challenge by @beskarandblasters! This was so fun, thanks so much for hosting this event! 💖 I was so excited to get this song & character

There's something about him, this man.

Deep down, it feels as if a string is tied around something vital inside you. A piece of you that you cannot live without, twined with its match inside him. Like the path you've taken has always led to this moment, this meeting.

You feel as if you are always out of step.

Too early. And then somehow - just a little bit too late.

As if you've missed something crucial. A prickle on the back of your neck. Eyes scanning the crowds of people as you weave through cities - looking for someone.

As to whom, though - you're never quite sure.

You think it's always been there. A similar sort of feeling that flickers when you're in danger. That was something you had cultivated. Manipulated into a force you can wield. A push and pull, an aid - when you need it. Something you draw from often, during your days as a smuggler.

But you're not sure what to do with this.

The feeling is pushed down on Nevarro.

Contacted for a job, one that had been easy enough. Your goods exchanged in a dingy cantina - a shipment of stolen fuel cells furtively traded to an irritated man that went by Karga. Your eyebrows raised at the charred hole in the man's fine clothes - a half-hearted wonder at how the man was still standing.

The Imperial credits he offers you do not get you far. He's unable to offer you a puck - his trade was in bounty hunting, not smuggling. You're not sure if you'd take one, and the cells are enough to keep his crew afloat for a while. A dead-end for now, but you think - not always.

After, your ship drifts along an unseen track.

To Tatooine this time. A big job for the Hutts that takes you two weeks. Days in the sun spent waiting for the payments to transfer to your account, and so in the meantime - you tinker.

Trading your way up. A broken blaster fixed, exchanged for ship parts. The parts installed, the labor paid for with two, beat-up old speeders.

Only to sell them both to a cocky hot-shot bounty hunter for double their value - his over-blown self-confidence eclipsing the fact that you were absolutely swindling him.

It’s not your problem.

Though here, you can't help but feel the urge to linger. An itch beneath your skin, as if you've missed something, again.

You ignore it. Trading up one more time - swapping Mos Eisley for the sea. The choppy waters of Trask washing away the grit and sand that clings to your skin.

There's always work to be found here - deals to make with the Quarren and Mon Calamari. Those days spent at the inn, with lunches of warm homemade chowder and wrapped in chunky-knit sweaters.

Eyes snagging on a couple that often sits together at lunch. Their features frog-like, affection clear in their soft chatter, the slow blink of their large, black eyes. You imagine it to be a stolen moment - meeting up in the afternoon, too eager to wait until evening to see each other.

It’s nice.

It follows you, back to your room.

You think about them later - the obvious connection. A bone-deep urge to find another that matches a part of you. Something you've never had.

Somehow you know it’s out there.

But it's not time.

The next day, your ship takes off again.

There's a feeling deep down that for once, you're right where you need to be.

Your path is not guided by a job. Something spinning inside your chest like the point of a compass, your fingers keying coordinates with a mind of their own.

It's not a sea. Not a desert. Not a growing town, slowly rebuilding.

You're taken to a forest. The trees are unlike those you've seen - stretching tall and thin towards the sky. Their leaves sparse, but still filling the space with the sheer number.

There's a village - but you're drawn away from the tall walls. There's nothing inside that you seek. Drawn back to the trees you had seen from above. There's no tracks for you to follow, it's only your own boots pressed into the earth.

But you still go out, day after day.

It's on the third day, as you sit by the edge of a clear, shallow pool, that you hear the crack of branches under boots.

It should frighten you… but it doesn't.

It feels like an inevitability.

Your head turns, and there's a man there. His limbs encased in armor of shining beskar. A Mandalorian, you realize, when your eyes meet the dark visor that bisects his helmet.

"It's you." The words are a flat buzz, through his helmet. Unsurprised, somehow. Just as you are.

And it's him.

There's something about him, this man.

Deep down, it feels as if a string is tied around something vital inside you. A piece of you that you cannot live without, twined with its match inside him. Like the path you've taken has always led to this moment, this meeting.

You're not sure what that something is...

But think you are finally ready to find out.

His touch is familiar, though you've never known it. Much like everything else, it feels almost destined.

You know he feels it too. A slow circling dance, the weight of his eyes following you from behind the visor. That string inside no longer feels like a leash, but instead - a lifeline.

Finally being able to acknowledge that he has been what you've been orbiting around this whole time. Easing that ever-present ache of loneliness that had always followed you.

For some time, he had thought you would be the one to train Grogu. That perhaps this had been the reason why the fates had pushed you together.

You had tried, and failed. That part of you still too raw, too unfashioned. It lived inside you, but it was something you had been unable to teach another. How could you, when you did not even know the word for what it was?

And as time passed, you realized deep down that you were truly meant to be here now. Not for the before.

An aid at first, of course. You had gone with him to Tython. Traded in your ship, and traveled on the Slave 1. Had faced death by his side, staring into the black chrome of the Dark Troopers.

Had grieved with him, after.

You think this had been your place all along.

This liminal space, in those months that follow.

Giving him something to grab onto. Fingers sinking into flesh, your back hitting the mattress as he follows.

It’s dark, in the belly of his ship. With anyone else your senses would be screaming, a ringing alarm.

But you’ve come to know each room, fingers tracing the cold metal. From the walls, to the bunk, to him - the tips slipping under to tug at the fastenings of his armor.

He is quiet, like he often is now. But you can feel the heat that rolls off him in waves. The harsh buzz of his breath through the vocoder, before the light cuts out completely.

Before it’s just him and you.

His knees nudge your thighs wider. Pressing into muscle and flesh, forcing them up and apart. Your fingers twist in his curls, angling your mouth up to meet the kiss that is all teeth and tongue.

Fingers dip down, thick and calloused. Parting you, nudging inside to where you’re wet and waiting. Pumping deep with his thumb pressed snug against the button of your clit - leaving you dizzy and clenching and wondering if he just knew, as well.

You think he did. He does.

And when he works himself inside you, you finally feel full. Ripping a sound from each of you - his rough and swallowed, yours a broken murmur of his name.

Something else given in the dark, on another night akin to this. Pieces of himself peeled back and gifted, only to be carefully wrapped up and buried deep.

The pound of his hips itches at something you’ve been missing. Those hands tugging at your hips, pulling you to meet each harsh thrust. Fingers slipping down to swirl against you again - a spark rising each time you fit together, building swiftly to an inferno.

“Din,” You breathe, as something heavy flickers inside you, just out of reach, “Stars, please. Don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” It’s a low oath, as his cock grinds deep, “I’ve waited too long for you, cyare.”

He wrenches it from you, setting you ablaze. Your is cry loud in the tiny room as you come undone. The wild swirl of your senses narrowing down, until it’s just him. Din’s mouth against your neck, warm breath and teeth nipping marks into your skin - the pleasure flowing from you in pulsing waves, sinking into him.

Making him follow, no more than a dozen thrusts later. A gritted, bitten-back moan of your own name, before his hips are stuttering. Giving back what you passed to him, his cock throbbing inside you, buried deep.

Where he stays, until he’s gone soft. A pang of loss shuddering through you when he slips from between your thighs - expecting him to return to his own bunk.

To leave you, again.

But the mattress dips, next to you. The space narrow, a short sigh when you wiggle too much trying to get comfortable. Hands hooking around your wrists, hauling your hips over his. Settling you down on top of him.

And in the dark - he stays.

“Should have met you on Tatooine,” Din tells you later that night, unbidden. Letting your legs twine with his, thighs parted to make room for you. “I didn’t know it was you. If I had-”

His words end abruptly, hanging. Both of you thinking about all those moments when time hadn’t lined up. The synchronicity of your movements, just barely nudged out of time.

Both there, during that same moment. If you had stayed another day, maybe that would have been your meeting.

But you had left early, and he had came late.

“We’re here now.” You tell him, chin pressing against his chest. Eyes finding his in the dark, though you cannot see. “Isn’t that enough?”

There’s the brush of his hand along your spine - knuckles, and then fingertips as they unfurl.

“Yes.”

It is enough, for now.

You’re not sure if it’s forever. If, for some reason, you’ll be forced to part again. But tonight, you’re not worried.

Because, if you were to reach inside yourself and pluck that golden string right now - letting it thrum…

You think that he would feel it, too.

thanks so much for reading!! 💖

cyare - beloved

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / a/b/o dynamics / cisfem!reader

contrary to popular, old-fashioned belief, alphas and omegas can be friends.

long gone are those times of wilful ignorance, the use of nature as an excuse for shitty behaviour —well, i'm an alpha, see, so i really can't help trying to shove my hand up your skirt, so—

most people are chill nowadays, you like to think — like to being the key phrase. sure, you get the occasional tradomega trying to tell you that you need to dive into your divine feminine and serve your alpha as god intended — and you've definitely been on the receiving side of some ticking biological clock rhetoric, for sure, by snot-nosed alphas with not even a single yen to their name — but it is what it is.

all of this to say that: when sero hanta is guts deep in you, it's completely platonic. completely. cute. casual. nowadays, no hair-brained ideas of marriage or monogamy or commitment accompany your coupling — it’s animal instinct, dirty and intense and slick and hot, scratching a biological itch, and that’s it.

you really lucked out on your choice of partner, too. sero’s an alpha, yes, but not in the derogatory sense. he doesn't get pissed when he smells other alphas on you, like a territorial dog; doesn't tell you that you should be settled down, already, with a household of pups to manage at 25 years of age; doesn't push and prod when you work long hours and devote most of your time to your career. he's funny, and goofy, and tall, and lean, and — and, well, his hair is floppy and inky black, and when he's hunched over you, sweat dripping onto your collarbone from his pointed nose, his cheeks flush the cutest shade of pink…

ahem. anyways.

while there are many omegas that are no doubt stronger than you when it comes to heats, forgoing human contact in favour of 700-odd pounds of silicone, you're part of the large majority that would rather shack up with somebody real. you're not knocking it, of course! your sock drawer is testament to the fact that you love your silicone, really, but there's just something about a person. all heat and skin-to-skin, sticky and nasty in a way that leaves you more satisfied than anything else.

and sero — with his kind eyes and goofy smile (and skintight hero suit) — is not only more than willing to help you through your heats, but have you enjoy them. not an easy feat when your insides are tying themselves up in knots between orgasms, but by god does he do it. something about his hips... something about the way he bows his head to your shoulder, grinding long and slow into you, hips pressed flush to hips. his lips brushing against your skin when he groans, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back. you're not sure if you should be jealous of his obvious sexual experience, or just grateful that you get to be on the receiving end of it.

there is, of course, the obvious romantic connotations of it all. you’re not stupid enough to completely ignore it; after all, heats are these romanticised, coming-of-age-esque happenings, the plot of most early 2000 rom-coms and bad pornos. cute omega roommate forgets her suppressants and goes into heat! real alpha-omega love-making guaranteed!

but its not like that, because hanta is hanta and you are you. you’re like sharkboy and lavagirl. or fireboy and watergirl. whichever pairing fits the dynamic better — you’ve always been the hothead between you two.

“that’s a really shitty idea,” a friend warns you. she’d caught you with your scarf undone, baring the hickies that hanta had left on you to the world — an embarrassing result of the occasional non-heat trysts you’d find yourself caught up in. you couldn’t even blame the heat hormones for the way you’d almost mauled him, but a girl simply has needs! “i’m telling you, casual heat sex never works. trust me.”

but it works for you and hanta, right? because no matter how much you fight, how much you disagree, how much you chastise him for putting himself directly in the line of fire — on live tv, no less! — it all melts away in a pile of blankets and pillows. no matter how deep his cock drives in you, no matter how his teeth scrape your scent glands and have your toes curling against his back, it all ends up the same — slumped in front of the tv, lazily lounging on your phone while he boots up his nintendo 64 to kick ganondorf’s ass for the billionth time.

(and it doesn’t matter that sero isn’t seeing anyone else — it doesn’t matter that he’s deleted his dating apps, or that you keep the pillow he sleeps on when he comes over so that you can scent it when he’s gone. it doesn’t matter that he reminds you to take your anxiety meds — you know, omegas are 44% more likely to have GAD than the average person? — or that he remembers how you take your tea, coffee, and pho. these are things you’d do with any friend, of course.)

it’s cute. casual. not at all romantic, so surely you shouldn’t think twice about leaving a toothbrush at his place. and what harm could a set of pyjamas do? and you could always do with an extra pair of socks, and your skincare, and perhaps an extra phone charger…?

[alphajocklover]

InstaJock: Details and Settings

I’ve mentioned before, in passing, about the inner workings of the InstaJock app. I always mention the basics: that the app instantly transforms anyone who uses it into a ripped jock the second they finish setting up their account. No mess, no fuss, one moment they’re a nerd, the next they’re a total fucking stud. It’s nice because it’s simple and easy. But… there’s more to it than just that. Today we’re going to go into the more complicated parts of the app.

A lot of people wonder why the nerds that get invited to the app accept the invitations at all. Sure, some of them are overjoyed at the idea of turning into manly jock bros, but there have to be some nerds who prefer to stay as their geeky selves or who don’t trust the suspicious app that they can barely find any mention of on the internet. The thing is that the people who get the invitation are just… compelled to accept it. Some can hold out longer than others, but eventually the app becomes an itch they have to scratch and they end up joining the growing number of InstaJock studs.

Another thing is that InstaJock can do a little more than just jockify the user. To be fair that is its main function, and it's the most impressive one, but as I’ve mentioned before you can alter things more specifically by changing your profile or adjusting the apps settings. With a few changes you can change your history so that you’ve always been a jock. You can change what type of jock you become by choosing from a list of presets, or even change more specific things about yourself. Take this new InstaJock user for example. He made a couple of quick adjustments on his user profile and suddenly he wasn’t a white nerd anymore, nor had he ever been. Everyone remembered him as the dumb alpha asian jock he now was.

The more I learn about InstaJock the more impressed, frightened, and admittedly horny I get. I might try it myself someday…

**hey there again! My 6th post today! I’m feeling real creative lately I guess. A friend of mine in my dms expressed a love of Asian jock tfs so I figured it’d be fun to do a little more race play. Hope you enjoy!**

[euphoricfilter]

domestic daydreams:

[cheese sandwiches at the park tomorrow]

pairing: influencer! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || established relationship || non-idol au ||

summary: a window into the life of jeon jungkook

word count: 1.2k

tags/ warnings: just lots and lots of fluff its sickening

notes: am slightly tempted to turn this into a mini series because there's so much to talk about...

where you can find all my other stuff!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

Jungkook thinks both you and himself had always been connected by the delicate knots of the red string of fate. Possibly a constrictor knot, because it only ever seemed to grow tighter with every moment you spent together, impossible to untie as your souls start to intertwine and lives mingle into one.

His ever-growing infatuation with you, evident to his online audience.

Because he had no issue showing you off, talking about you in videos and sharing you with the wider world. He thinks it must be a tingly sort of satisfaction he gets, knowing that no matter how many faceless people love you, he will forever love you more. No matter how many people compliment you with how pretty you are, comments flooded with praise for your mere existence, he will forever appreciate you the most. Your entire being a precious little thing that he has sewn into his fragile human heart, yours forever to keep.

He knows he’s able to touch you in ways no one else can. He knows he’s able to wake up to you each morning, press soft lips to soft skin, warm under calloused hands as eye lashes tickle tender skin as the sun leaks through the curtains. Each passing moment peacefully quiet until you murmur his name, fingers pressing into his skin as you pull him closer for a kiss.

He’d started posting online only months before meeting you, a little creative outlet to get rid of that itch of not taking media, but rather choosing game design. A subject he loved dearly, though desperate to visualise his life through moving image and all the cool things that come with that.

And during the months of you talking, his presence online slowly started to take off. What had once been only a creative outlet morphing into such a huge part of his life. Something he had wanted to keep from you for so long, a little whisper in his brain worried it would send you running. With some of the comments he received, dms from both men and women alike, he wasn’t exactly sure how to bring it up to you.

And he knows in hindsight it was a silly little worry because you loved every part of him. Loved that he shared little parts of his life with so many people. Passions clipped into videos, well-loved equipment laying around his apartment, something so wholly Jungkook you found yourself beaming whenever he would get the tripod out to film himself cooking, or planning a design for an assignment, or just little clips of nature when the both of you go on walks.

Because what had once been a video diary for Jungkook had slowly become a video diary for you too, perfectly crafted memories that you find yourself watching when you’re alone. Always so hard to keep the smile off your face as you see how happy you are. Because that’s what Jungkook makes you; incredibly happy.

You watch as he tries to balance his phone against a bag of pasta neither of you had wanted to put away the night before, chin resting on the palm of your hand as you watch him struggle.

“Why don’t you get the tripod?” you murmur, catching his attention.

Jungkook turns to look at you, eyes a little wide, “Because I just want to film me making our lunch” he tells you.

“Besides—” he continues, “that would mean I have to go into the bedroom, and I don’t feel like being apart from you today” he says as he turns back to his phone, fiddling around with the settings a little so the light from the kitchen window wouldn’t look so harsh.

Your lips quirk up into a smile, toes curling into the floor.

“I would come with you” you sit up a little straighter, catching a glimpse of his face on the screen of his phone, “we could even hold hands too”

Jungkook pauses, hands pressing into the counter as he narrows his eyes at you over his shoulder, “Are you patronising me?”

Your nose scrunches up at that, “No” you start, “just so you know, I love holding your hand”

He hums, “Well then I guess you’re lucky… I like holding your hand too”

“Oh—” your eyes widen, “It’s gonna fall”

Jungkook winces when his phone tips forward, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he lifts it back up again.

You push the chair away from the table, slipping your own phone out of your pocket, laying it flat against the counter so his will stop slipping.

“Thank you, baby” he leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, face only an inches away from yours when he decides it isn’t enough and presses a firm kiss to your lips too.

“Now,” he nods, “let’s make us lunch”

You push yourself to sit on the counter by his phone as he hits record, smiling up at you as he starts talking.

“Me and Y/n went shopping earlier and saw this new cheese I wanted to try, so I’m gonna make us sandwiches for lunch” he says, pulling the chopping board closer to himself as he pulls the drawer open to get a knife.

“Cucumber” he shows the camera, quick as he cuts it up, “and today we’re having tomatoes, but none for the pretty girl because she doesn’t like them” he explains, showing off the produce his dad had been growing in their garden, proud smile on his face as he hands you a slice of cucumber to eat while he finishes preparing lunch.

You slip off the counter when he calls you over, hesitant to step in frame and see yourself on camera. Jungkook steps a little closer to you, arms slipping out of frame to hold your hands as he looks down at you, so much adoration in his eyes.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes” he whispers, already knowing where your hesitation stems from, “always such a pretty little thing”

You glance over at the camera, video still recording, “Jungkook… your video” you murmur.

“Doesn’t matter” he shakes his head, “you know you don’t have to be in it if you don’t want to” he tells you, “Whatever you’re comfortable with, yeah?”

“We could film something tomorrow” you say, “we should go to that park again, maybe have a picnic?”

His lips quirk up into a smile, “I’d like that” he nods, “And if this cheese is any good, we can make even better sandwiches”

“Good point” you nod, “I’ll have to take you up on that offer if you make a solid lunch today” you step away from him, eyeing the finished sandwich sat on the chopping board.

“I always make the best lunches” he tells you, reaching into a cupboard for two plates.

“Our favourite girl doesn’t want to be on camera today” Jungkook mumbles, mouth half full of food as he looks at himself before glancing at you on the opposite side of the table, “But what’s the verdict, baby?”

You chew, nodding as you give him a thumbs up, Jungkook returning the gesture as his eyes curl up into a smile.

“Love you” he swallows.

“Love you too” you pucker your lips, watching as he leans over the table to press a kiss to your lips.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life in the City 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: A brief reprieve from the snakish prince.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You nurse your glass of wine. You're not much of a drinker, you mostly brought it for Melanie. Despite her agitation, she seems to be enjoying it. She snuggles up to Clark as you sit awkwardly at the other end of the couch.

You really shouldn't be here. The longer you sit in silence and pretend to care about the movie, the more you think of leaving. You definitely crashed their party and they're not being very subtle.

You reach for a handful of popcorn to busy yourself. The crunch blocks out Melanie's shameless whispers. She doesn't get much back but she doesn't give up. You can't find an exit plan that isn't completely obvious.

Finally, she quiets down upon getting a grunt from Clark. She nestles against him and rests her head on his shoulder as he drapes an arm over her. You can't help the pang of loneliness. You're not jealous, it's just been a while since you had someone to snuggle aside from your stuffed hippo.

You sit back as you swallow down the last of the kernels with a swig of wine. You put the wine glass on the glass coaster Melanie kept reminding you of. As the evening sets in, the room is only lit with the glow of the television. The haze of colours and alcohol itches on your eyelids.

You yawn and plant your elbow on the armrest, leaning into it as you tilt your head. Your lashes close, only for a moment before you twitch. You feel a tickle on your hip. You lift your head slightly and peer down from the corner of your vision.

Is he... touching you? Maybe it's a mistake or he doesn't realise he's doing it. You freeze, mortified. You should clear your throat or move or something...

You can't. His fingertips brush down your thigh and back up it, lingering just along the curve of your ass. You reach for your wine and he rescinds his hand, curling his arm around Melanie as she gives a delighted moan.

What was that? You're overthinking this. He probably thought it was her. Somehow. You're not sure. He's a nice guy, a stranger still, he wouldn't just touch you.

You drain the last of your wine and stand up, "just gonna pop into the bathroom."

"Whatever," Melanie dismisses as she rubs Clark's chest. 

You don't look at him but you swear you can feel his gaze on you. You circle around the back of the couch and find your way to the bathroom. You close yourself in and shake the jitters from your nerves.

You're tired and you don't know if it even happened. You've been drinking and maybe just maybe you're a little tipsy. Well, at least the movie is almost done. You can try to catch the last bus or turn in for the night if Melanie lets you have the couch.

You get yourself together and go back out. As you near the couch, Melanie and Clark quickly part, their sloppy kiss ending in a pop. You try not to give away your discomfort and resume your seat, pressing yourself against the armrest as small as you can.

"I'm getting tired, sweetie," Melanie whines.

"The movie's not done," his voice is rocky and low.

"I've seen it," she pouts.

"Well, I haven't. If you want to lay down, I'll be in when it's over," he says coolly but not unkindly.

"You can finish it tomorrow," she simpers.

"Hon, you got a friend here," he reminds her, "don't be rude."

He looks at you and sends you a smile you barely glimpse as you shy away.

"I never even invited her," she hisses under her breath.

"Go to bed, Mel," he retorts, his timbre steady, "you've had too much wine."

"I haven't had enough," she snarls.

"Honey," he softens his tone, "remember what we talked about."

She's quiet as she stares at him. You can only see the back of her head. She sniffs and leans in to kiss his cheek, "sure, sweetie, I'll be in bed..." she stands, tickling his jawline, "waiting for you.”

You give a sheepish ‘good night’ but she doesn't answer, or even look your way. You dip your chin down, embarrassed by her indifference and turn your focus back to the television. Well, not much longer and you can hide in the dark and wait for morning.

Clark bends forward to take the bowl of popcorn off the table. He sits back and offers you some as he sidles a bit closer. You shake your hand and murmur, “no thanks.” All the salt and butter is already curdling in your tummy.

He shoves a few kernels in his mouth and chews as he watches the screen. You don't enjoy it as much now. Your nostalgia sears away as the tension rises between you and him. The kiss that should be a resolution is suddenly awkward and cringe worthy.

“So,” he swallows, “how long have you known Melanie?”

His voice is like thunder in the lull. You rub your arm, his shadow lurking at the edge of your eye line as you keep your head straight. You clear your throat, “for a while… since high school.”

“Oh, wow, she never mentioned you,” he says, “what's that like ten years or something.”

“About that,” you answer. 

“I mean, don't know why it wouldn't have come up. A friend who brings snacks? That's the best kind,” he puts the popcorn down and grabs one of the coloured napkins to wipe his fingertips.

“Um, I stayed… back in our hometown. Went to school in the next city but lived at home so… just moved here to see what it's really like,” you shrug.

“Oh, just got here? How are you liking it?”

“It's… blurry,” you chuckle nervously. Didn't he want to see the end? He's talking over the whole thing.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he stretches his arm across the back of the couch as he reclines. He sets his knees wide as his hand rests just behind your head. “I grew up on a farm. When I got here, I was so lost.”

“A farm?”

“Oh, yeah, big wake up call, but there's not much fodder for journalism in a field,” he snorts.

“Right, you're a journalist?”

“Sure am, with The Daily Planet. Little magazine you may have heard of.”

You blanch and nearly slap yourself, “Daily Planet? Clark… Kent?”

“Ha, so you've heard of me.”

“Yeah, uh, I…” you pause. He's older than you expected but you're not surprised. Melanie always had a type. “I wrote a review of your work in my undergrad.”

“You did?” He sounds amused as he leans a bit closer.

“Sure, well, we had to choose a contemporary writer…”

“I'm flattered. You did journalism?”

“Not exactly, it was just one class,” you wilt into the armrest.

“So what do you do?”

“Well, not what I studied,” you sigh, “I work a desk job. Data analysis.”

“Riveting stuff,” he kids and nudges you playfully when you don't laugh. “You know, Mel never mentioned she grew up in a small town. She always just seemed like she was from around here.”

“Uh, yeah, well, she hated the place so…” you scratch your chin as the hest crawls up your face. “How long have you and her, er, been dating?”

“Well, three months officially. Before were were just ‘having fun’,”he brings his hands up to curl his fingers in quotation, “that's what she called it anyway.”

“Oh, well uh, she seems to really like you,” you utter dumbly.

“Yeah, I think so,” his smirk is laced in his tone.

The room goes completely quiet and suddenly the drum track begins. You watch the credits roll as Clark faces the television. He laughs, “oops, guess I wasn't paying attention.”

He drags his arm from the back of the couch as he stands, his hand grazing your shoulder. He stretches and you notice the hem of his shirt lift, a peek of his muscled stomach above the elastic of his sweatpants. You quickly dart your eyes in the other direction. 

“I should… go check on her, but can I get you anything? Water? Help dilute the wine?” He offers.

“Er, well, no, I can get some myself. I’d hate to infringe–”

“Well, I wouldn’t ask if it was a problem,” he says.

“Really, it’s fine, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

He nods and glances towards the hall, “you know, it didn’t bother me having you here. I’m sorry about her.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I know she forgot. She’s done it to me too. Before we were… official,” he says the last word with punctuated syllables.

“Oh, I’m sorry–”

“See, it’s not that hard to apologise so, I’ll make sure she does,” he interjects, “and I’ll let you settle down. It’s late and I’m sure you’re exhausted. Coming all the way here after work. You really went out of your way and I had a great night. Thanks.”

“Er, yeah, sure,” you murmur, “thanks for… joining in.”

He reluctantly leaves you as you watch him with bated breath. You’re so frigging awkward. You wait until you hear the bedroom door shut before you get up, taking the wine glass with you.

You go to the kitchen and rinse out the glass, refilling it with fresh water. You bring it back to the living room and move a pillow against the armrest, pulling down the fluffy throw onto the cushions. You shut off the television and tuck yourself in, the blanket too short, even for you.

What a lame Friday night. You could’ve had more fun alone.

🌆

It takes a bit for you to even feel tired. Your body is achy and sore but your mind is racing. Finally, you manage to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. You roll over to face the back of the couch and nestle into the pillow. You yawn as you feel yourself drifting.

A high pitch leaks into your ears. You twitch and your lashes flutter. It’s just the pipes or a siren somewhere in the distance. The city sure is loud. You hear it again, something more akin to a squeak.

You shift onto your back as your stomach tingles. You cover your face with your arm and try to ignore the irritating sound but it just doesn’t stop. Your eyes snap open as you rip your arm off your head, realising what it is.

The soft low growls in return, the steady tap against the wall… it’s not the pipes or a siren. It’s Melanie. And Clark. They’re… 

You flip the pillow over your head and bend your arm around it, blocking out the noise. Just when you think you can’t get any lower. You’ve been there before. The third wheel, the wing woman. High school was just you standing against the wall as Melanie made out with boys at a party you weren’t even invited to.

Maybe things haven’t changed that much. Maybe it’s that you didn’t see what was right in front of you. The one friend you thought you had, forgets you just like everyone else. This whole thing was a mistake. Moving to the city just so you can be her tag-along.

You wallow in your self-pity and sink down into your unconscious. The world slips away from you as your dreams ripples with muddy colours. You feel as if you're floating, bobbing on soft waves, disoriented and dazed.

You wake to the clink of glass. You groan as your head aches, the cushions stiff and unforgiving. Your neck is knotted just above your shoulders. You rub your cheek and stay as you are, still under the pillow as you get your bearings. You remember where you are and cling to the dregs of sleep in your eye.

Cool air tinges your skin, your leg hooked over the blanket. You hug the crumpled throw as the night seeps icily though your pajamas. The thin short set speckled in the little red hearts offer little warmth. You reach back to pull the shorts to your thigh as it rides up and tilt onto your back.

As you do, you sense a shadow over you. You peek under the slits of your eyelids and see a figure standing just a few feet from the other end of the couch. Long breaths blow into the air. It’s too large to be Melanie. It’s him. Is he watching you?

You can’t move. You’re paralysed in horror. Why is he just standing there? Goosebumps raise on your skin. You feel a whisper against your hip where he touched you earlier. It just can’t be that. He’s too nice.

You don’t know what to do so you close your eyes and lay completely still. You measure your breath as you wait. There’s a soft thunk as he sets down a glass on the table by the armrest and walks up the side of the couch.

Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move…

He tugs on the throw and spreads it over you as best he can. His fingers drag up your arm and he lingers, stroking your cheek as you resist the urge to pull away. He lets out a low growl and lumbers away, swiping up his glass as he goes.

You let your eyes open and catch a glimpse of his silhouette. His back is bare and thickly corded. The moonlight limns his muscles just before he disappears into the hall. You shudder as you release the heavy breath from your chest.

The bedroom door snaps shut as you clutch the blanket tight. It starts again. Melanie’s moans, Clark’s grunts, and the knocking of the bed frame. Quicker than before, almost furious. You just want this night to end.

[babsisbakery]

Long awaited entry

Leila Ouahabi x reader Part 1

Warning: pure smut (gagging and eating out, the rest will be in part 2)

Gif pun intended

Leila is driving you crazy, her hand being too close to your core all night. Inching closer to where you desperately needed her. Her other hand disappears under your shirt. Touching your delicate skin. Her touch is sending goosebumps all over your body. 

You want her, no you need her. She has been driving you nuts all night. Whispering dirty things into your ear. How much she wanted to touch your pretty pussy and destroy it for anyone else. Your mind is foggy, all you could think about was leila fucking you brainless. Her hand itches higher, reaching its destination. Playing slightly with your boobs. Grabbing and knitting them. Your mouth hangs open as you let her do whatever she desires with you. It felt so good to have her touch you. She begins to draw circles on your nipples. After all she was teasing you. But you needed her to truly fuck you. To give you more. To ravish you as she always did. You are her good girl so you know you had to be a bit more patient and you'd get what you wished. Sensing your eagerness she removes your shirt. Both her hands are playing with your nipples. She is giving you her undivided attention. Peppering kisses along your neck, which started of softly but became the cause of your future hickeys. Everyone would know you were hers and hers alone. Licking your neck and collarbone she makes a stop at your ear. “Mi amor are you gonna behave tonight?” “Yes mommy, i will behave just please touch me.” “Oh my desperate baby, where do you want me to touch you? Hmm” your brain isn't working properly, her breath on your neck while she bit into your earlobe and continues to twist and circle your sensitive hard nipples. “Pleasee i need you”. “Mi vida use your words you are a big girl after all” she whispers into your ear. She knows what you want but where would be the fun if she isn’t torturing you to tell her what you needed her to do. “Mommy please, I'm so wet, please eat me out” “See that wasn't that hard, such a good girl for your mommy.”

“Let’s see if you’re really as wet as you’re saying babygirl” one of her hands leaves their place and travels slowly down to your pants. When her hand reaches your zipper she waits for permission, even if she senses your need she still wants to make sure you were 100 percent on board. You simply nod as you aren't able to answer verbally. She is simply too close to your aching cunt. Her hand slips into your trousers, feeling a big damp spot on your underwear. Lightly pressing against your clit. You let out a quiet moan. That only spurs her on more. “You didn't lie, so wet. Is this all for me?”  “All for you mommy, only for you.” a smirk forms on your girlfriend's face, that's exactly what she wanted to hear.. ”Mi amor lay down” she says in a commanding tone, you knew not to disobey or you’d get punished. You could be bratty but you are far too horny to get edged more often than you desired. The movie playing in the background long forgotten as you lay down. Your girlfriend takes off your pants and bra, her own shirt is tossing across the bedroom. 

She stops her actions to admire your body, positioning herself on top of you. Kissing you with such passion and lust. Your brain starts to get nice and fuzzy. It would be complete mush by the end of your nightly activities. Leila’s hand is yet again at your tits. This woman loves your boobs, it was noticeable every day. Her thumb and index finger squishing your nipple, drawing moans out of you. She doesn't waste a second to glide her tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch inside. As she pulls away a string of saliva is still connecting you. You chase her mouth but without success as she has already moved on to your neck. Sucking harshly to hear your pretty noises. She doesn't need to undergo a scooby doo mystery search party to find your pulse point, knowing your body like the back of her hand. First she licks over it, light suction which progresses more and more. Finally she brings her teeth into the game. Running over your skin, biting into you. But not enough to draw blood only to increase your pleasure. Your wetness is increasing rapidly to the point that your panties are ruined. They begin to cover your bare thighs. Her tongue soothes the sensitive spot as she finishes with her treatment on your pulse point. “More, please more” “Be patient baby, you will get more in a few moments.” With that you shut your eyes, focusing on Leila’s actions.

Moving over your collarbone she proceeds to your cleavage. She takes her time to give both your breasts equal attention. Her mouth waters at your erect nipples, blowing cold air onto them. Your hands make fast motion to reach her hair, miserably trying to pull her into you, to feel her mouth devour you. Eventually she starts to nip at your nipples, a slight tug with her teeth. Directly after she soothes it by licking over it but her movements become harsher. “ Oh Leila, so good, don't stop.” As she hears her name she stops. “What did you just call me?” Shit. “Mommy, I'm sorry. Please forgive me mommy.” Of course she knows it wasn't on purpose but she still feels the need to punish you. But the pleading look in your eyes stops her. The punishment had to wait til later, she kinda deserved it by how her hand was teasing you all night. So she let it go for now. “It’s alright amor but next time I won't be so forgiving.” Stroking your cheek softly, easing your nerves. Leaning your head into her palm you don't sense Leila’s further movement. Suddenly her lips wrap around one of them and she sucks, the tip of her tongue continuing its ministration. You arch your back, you’ve never felt such immense pleasure during sex, only with Leila. You whimper a faint “Mommy pleaseeee” So incredibly needy, as if it was December all over again after NNN, which your girlfriend insisted on participating in. A whole month without sex felt like a violation against human rights.

She ignores your plea, providing the same treatment to your other nipple. Her right hand itching down. Running her fingers over your lingerie. It’s profusely wetter by now. Pure desire is evident. Friction alone isn’t enough, her fingers only going up and down over your pussy lips. Trying to get more, you buckle your hips. Before you even feel the slightest sense of satisfaction, her hands are holding you down. Her expertise movements on your breasts cease. “Nuh uh baby, if you try this again… You would leave me no other choice than to restrict you. And you don't want that right?” “No mommy, I just really need you.” The answer satisfies her enough as she gives your tit one final harsh lick. Pressing kisses along your stomach.

Reaching your covered pussy she places a kiss on it. She pulls your underwear with her teeth down. This particular action looks so damn attractive, god your craving for her only grows each second. Finally you’re naked. As Leila crawls slowly to your aching cunt, her eyes focus you. As if a predator hunting its prey. Zeroing in on your dripping pussy she spreads your thighs and holds them apart. Leila licks her lips after all she is about to have a full course meal and there will be no leftovers. Almost cautious, she takes her first lick. Moaning by the taste of you. An irresistible flavor. She dives in, not able to hold off much longer.  Letting her tongue collect some of your delicious nectar. Taking long stripes from your unstretched hole to your clit, running through your folds. She decides it's time to focus on the long awaited entry. Her tongue plays with your entrance, circling it but not yet entering. The tip of her tongue makes the first step. Prodding into you carefully. There isn't much resistance. Starting to push in more she launches into eating you out. Now her whole tongue is inside of you, it's heavenly. Your walls fit perfectly around her curled tongue. Her movement is precise, she knows exactly where to position her licks for you to feel the most pleasure. Picking up the pace she moves in and out faster, trying to reach as deep as she can. She puts her hands on your ass, squeezing it and pulling it towards her face. By doing this her tongue somehow is even deeper in your cunt. From our mouth come unholy moans. Back arched profusely. You throw your head back as her thumb works on your clit while she still devours you. Leila even makes slurping noises due to your immense wetness, trying to have it all.

Tongue moving in and out in calculated moves, the curl is such a divine addition. Muttering incoherent words. Hands holding onto your girlfriend’s hair. Her curls continue on as she presses harder against your bud. Oh how she could simply eat you out forever. As you near your release she halts. Your thighs are quivering minimally but enough for Leila to notice. Left with no stimulation you grumble and whimper. “Mommy why did you stop? I was so close.” “I know you were close, that's why I stopped, baby, now don't complain or you won't come at all tonight.”

Suddenly her index finger enters you. Simultaneously, kitten licks your pulsing clit. Her maneuvers mirror her eating ice cream. You melt, like the ice cream, under her touch. A second finger makes its way inside you. Of course there is no need for lube, even the sheets are covered in your slick. 

As she blissfully continues to stretch you out she gently bites your clit, giving it a little tug. You don’t stop moaning. The tug makes your head spin. Both of her fingers are now completely engulfed by your walls. She feels your walls throbbing for more. “Oh god, mommy.” you repeat this phrase in different variations until Leila decides enough is enough. Can't you be quiet for a second as she enjoyed your juices? Normally she would get spurred on by your whines but today she just wanted to eat you out peacefully, training was too exhausting with her teammates shouting left and right. To stop your noises she collects some of your slick with her unoccupied hand, shoving it into your mouth gagging you. “Suck them, can you taste yourself? So good right mi amor.” You can only nod your head. But that doesnt satisfy your girlfriend. “I asked you a question, answer me.” You try your best to answer her with her fingers shoved deep into your mouth “Es mowwy, zo good.” Leila deciphers your words. “Such a good girl for me.” you give her a bashful smile and with that she goes back to pay attention to your clit. Sucking and tugging on it as if the world would end soon. 

Her fingers shove in deeper in both holes. Salvia runs down your chin and cheeks, you look like a godforsaken mess but pretty in her eyes because only she can achieve that. Your gags spur her even more on. The defender curls her fingers hitting your g-spot phenomenally. All of a sudden she builds up an inhuman pace, going in and out. Hand entirely covered by your juices. The suction on your clit also gets more ferocious. Your orgasm approaches quickly. “I’m about to cum, can I please cum?” you ask in despair, barely audible thanks to her fingers. She shakes her head, not stopping or slowing down her actions. Instead she groans into you, sending vibrations to your throbbing clit. This alone almost makes you come undone but you try to focus until she gives you permission. Leila is definitely smirking devilishly on the inside. Taking her fingers out of your mouth, she drags your lower lip downwards with her thumb. She may not want to hear your complaints but she for sure isn't missing out on you moaning her name while you cum. “I'm about to cum, please let me cum.” A hum from Leila is sufficient. With a few final strokes and rough licks you fall off the edge. Legs trembling, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and her name falling off your lips like a mantra. The neighbors will surely complain tomorrow about the noise but that's a problem for the future.

Leila keeps her pace, prolonging your orgasm as much as she can. Riding it out till you feel overstimulated and too sensitive. In desperation you try to close your legs but your girlfriend has other plans. Pulling out she holds your thighs, pushing them apart. Moreover she goes down on you. “Don't worry baby, let me clean up some of the mess you made. God it's everywhere.” she chuckles, head disappearing between your legs again and she got to work.

While you come down from your high, Leila does a wonderful job in cleaning you up. She is very careful with her licks, which make you horny again. As she finishes her work, she rises from bed and goes over to your shared dresser. You can't really get a look at what she's doing. Leila seemingly gets something out of it. When she turns around a massive smirk is plastered on her face. In her right hand she holds a double sided strap, she walks back to you. Her left hand hides behind her back. “Are you ready for round two gorgeous?” she asks with an unconvincing innocent smile.

to be continued....

[lovequartz]

to feel the same.

❁ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x fiancee!reader

❁ genre: fluff

❁ warnings: mention of blood + injury

❁ word count: 1.3k

❁ winter passed and spring came, you're a flower with green leaves and raindrops

❁ notes: this is dedicated to the lovely @jenowithjaem who gave me the inspo behind this piece, thank you <3

you are fixing your hair when you hear your mother call your name. her voice traveling from the front of the house through the open door of your bedroom. you quickly pin a few front pieces and smooth your skirt down before hurrying off to your mother’s side.

she’s standing with the entry door open, and beams when she sees you, “wonwoo is here!” she practically giggles.

in the time wonwoo has been taking to court you, he's been coming by your house more and more often lately. the two of you have been taking walks in the early evening, which was the reason you were fixing yourself earlier. 

“you don’t have to announce his presence every time,” you whine softly as you grab her arm. turning to peek out the door, you smile as wonwoo’s eyes meet yours. he looks handsome as always, but today his glasses are tucked into the breast pocket of his lovely navy blue shirt. 

“good evening,” he says, grinning when he hears you return his greeting in a much more quiet tone, “are you ready? or should i wait a bit longer?” 

you give him an apologetic look, “give me just one minute? i’ll grab my shoes.”

he nods in understanding before you mother gets his attention once more.

“are you sure you don’t want to come in? you know our home is your home after all,” you hear your mother say as you scurry off to find your footwear.

a little later you and wonwoo wave to your mother as she slides the door shut, your arm tucked safely into the crook of his elbow as the two of you make your way down the road. the temperature is lovely and there’s a warm breeze rustling through the trees and their leaves. you wonder if someone like you is allowed to feel this giddy, to be able to bask in the sun’s glow and wonwoo’s simple presence beside you. 

soon all your strolling takes the two of you to the small creek nestled just behind the persimmon orchard, the current a touch fast due to the heavy rain last night. wonwoo grips your hand in his as the two of you meander down the creekbank. a quick movement catches your eye and you spot a small frog near the water’s edge. you gasp before pointing it out to the man next to you.

“wonwoo look! it's a frog,” you say, letting go of his hand to see if you can catch the small friend. it does a tentative hop but surprisingly allows you to scoop it up into your hand, your palm underneath it. 

its little head peeks out from under the arch of your thumb, and you cradle it gently before lifting it to your beau’s eye level. 

wonwoo has a small smile on his face as he brings his own hands to hover just under yours, in case the frog decides to make a leap for it. “indeed it is.”

the two of you coddle the small creature for a few moments more before you eventually set him back on the ground. your hands are muddy so you swish them around in the water of the creek before brushing away an itch at your cheek and standing. 

when you turn to wonwoo he has a look in his eye you can’t quite place, and a smirk tugging at his lips. 

confusion paints your features as you say; “what?”

the man chuckles lightly before stepping closer to you and rubbing his thumb across your cheek, the finger brushing the very bottom of your scar. “i think you managed to get some dirt on your face while you were cleaning your hands.” 

a small twinge of embarrassment flushes through you but you can only continue to stare at wonwoo and mumble a small “oh.”

he hums, looking rather pleased as he continues to touch your face. thumb gently running the line of your scar. part of you wants to flinch away but the other part of you wants to indulge in wonwoo’s attention and affections. so stay still you do.

“you never told me,” his soft voice breaks the silence between the two of you, “how you got it.”

you breathe out a sigh, fingers coming up to curl around the hand that touches your face. “let’s keep walking, i’ll tell you as we do.”

winter age 8 

the winter’s chill bites at your bare fingers, not as cold as it was the previous day but still brisk. your sister had run up ahead of you, her boot marks disturbing the freshly fallen snow as she traverses through the neat rows of persimmon trees. your parents had allowed both of you to meander around outside until dinner was ready, your mother had just begun feeding the stove wood when you’d left. so you and your sister decided that it would be the perfect time to play with the kite your uncle had gifted the two of you a few weeks ago.

“not so far!” you shout to your sister as she continues to trek forward, the kite still sailing high in the wind above your heads. 

“it keeps falling!” she shouts back, “i’m trying to get it to stay up!” 

as her pace slows the both of you watch the kite circle around from a particularly strong gust before it starts descending quickly. 

“see, it's coming down!” the frustration is clear in her voice. 

eventually, the kite lands between the branches of one of the persimmon trees, and your sister tries tugging it free to no avail. 

“you’re gonna rip it! one of us is gonna have to climb to get it,” you say when you finally catch up to her. 

“its gonna have to be you,” she says immediately.

you turn to look at her, protests already ready on your tongue. 

“i’m wearing my new skirt, mother will have my HEAD if i tear it. besides, you’re wearing trousers and you’re smaller so it’ll be easier for you to get up there.” she says before you can get a word in edgewise. 

you sigh heavily, accepting your already decided fate, “fine.”

it doesn’t take you long before you’re able to reach the branches where the kite is wedged. however, due to their height you have to stand up on the branch you’re perched on. carefully, you make your way to your feet, heart pounding as you reach above you. your fingers brush against the fabric of the kite’s side and you lift just a bit onto your toes for a little extra reach. the next thing you know you feel your left foot slip, and all you can hear is your own scream followed by your sister’s.

a dull pain starts to radiate from your back, and you realize you’re on the ground. the left side of your face feels cold, and you wipe at it, thinking you must have snow stuck there from the fall, but when you pull your hand away it is covered in blood. you stare at it blankly before your eyes meet your sister’s who stands over you unmoving, a look of pure horror twisting her features. 

her face is the last thing you remember before everything went black. 

“she said she thought i died,” you say with a chuckle, “she ran screaming to get my parents, and everyone was pretty shook up before they were told i was going to be fine.” your fingers brush against the skin of your cheek.

“i got treated like a princess for the whole week after. my sister was beside herself with guilt, but she knows it wasn’t really her fault. it was a series of unfortunate accidents that ended with my face being the poor victim of a sharp branch.” 

wonwoo looks pensive, his fingers squeezing yours. “poor girl, it must’ve hurt at the time.” 

you immediately feel flustered at his words, stunned into silence as the two of you look at each other. 

“well, just a bit,” you reply, “it was worse when it was healing, it took everything in little eight year old me not to pick at the scab.”

wonwoo hums, lifting the hand in his to press his lips against the back of it. 

“thank you for sharing with me, i’m happy i get to know more about you.” 

❁ notes: thank you always for reading! all these recent works from me have been an honor to write so thank you once again love u all

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned. 

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard. 

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers. 

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm. 

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling. 

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight. 

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked." 

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute." 

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards. 

"Did you just say that I look like shit?" 

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time. 

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath. 

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant. 

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size. 

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush. 

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins: 

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices." 

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle. 

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled. 

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

[too-much-tma-stuff]

As Long as we can Hold On (Part 20)

Previous | Masterpost

tw: descriptions of violence, gun violence, gore

It was bitter sweet to return home after the week away, mostly to return to the Gotham weather and constant overcast skies. Danny would miss the stars, even though he was very glad to be home and to hit the streets and patrol their haunt again making sure that everything had gone alright in their absence. Everything seemed calm but Danny had a bad feeling and his gut instincts were usually pretty good, something was off. Whatever it was he was sure he would find out soon since they had a meeting scheduled with their various lieutenants and  other people of note the next day just in case them being missing for a week had inspired any… ideas. 

The next monthly meeting with their lieutenants and dealers was in two days so there was no point bumping it up. That gave them a couple of nights to settle in and to do a couple more low-key patrols to sooth Danny’s anxiety about potential issues in their haunt that always reared its head when they were away for more than an overnight. It soothed his restless spirit to confirm their haunt and nest were still as they had left them. The first night back in their bed, after a patrol, Danny just couldn’t stop purring snuggled against Jason’s chest, feeling the very edge of responding hum even as Jason teased him about it.

Danny slept well tucked in his own bed and his lover's arms, and by the time they had to meet with their subordinates Danny felt settled in his own skin again though something still itched at the back of his mind. He and Jason got to the meeting location, one of the warehouses that had been set up as a sort of boardroom, first and were there to greet people as they came in. Once everyone was settled in their assigned seats, in various stages of ready for a professional meeting with a folder of papers, and sulking with their feet on the table, Red Hood and Hyena went to stand at the head of the table. 

“Alright I want everyone’s reports,” Red Hood said, his voice distorted and almost inhuman through the modulator. “And don’t leave anything out, I have eyes everywhere so I probably already know.” 

Before the first person stood up to give their report Danny’s ears twitched at the sound of a small click. Years ago he would have thought nothing of the sound, but being with Hood he had become intimately familiar with the sound of the safety being taken off a gun. His head turned sharply, just in time to see a man they had thought was loyal level a gun at Red Hood.

“Look out!” Hyena yelped and jumped in front of Hood, there was a bang and everything went dark. 

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

The executioner shots weren’t perfect since they hadn’t been meant for Danny, the shot to the forehead took out one of Hyena’s eyes and the shot meant for the heart went through a lung. But the result was the same, Hyena was dead, and not the intended target. He collapsed to the ground in a puddle of blood, one remaining eye vague and unseeing as the room was filled with gasps and at least one scream. The would-be assassin tried to flee, stumbling away from the table and knocking over his chair before Red Hood’s bullet found him, shattering his knee and sending him to the floor, howling in pain.

“You and you, bring him up here,” Hood said, his voice cold and flat as he pointed to two of his other subordinates who scrambled to obey. After just being betrayed and losing his partner they were sure any hint of disobedience or hesitancy would earn them the same slow, painful death Red Hood surely had planned for the turncoat. “You, bring up the chair,” he ordered a third, who obeyed as well.

Everyone sat in nervous silence as Hood tied the assassin to his chair and then just… waited. And waited, the tension in the room rising and rising the longer the only sound in the room was heavy breathing and the injured man’s whimpering.

“Um, Boss? What are you going to do to him?” Someone spoke up hesitantly when the silence became too oppressive. 

“Me? Nothing, Hyena will want to handle this,” Hood said calmly. 

Around the table various gangsters and outlaws gave each other nervous looks, it seemed like Hood really couldn’t process the loss of his lover. Neither of them had seemed entirely sane, but he couldn’t believe that Hyena was still alive with part of his head missing?!

“Boss, I don’t think he can do that. I think he’s-” Someone started, as gently as possible, before being cut off by a fucking horrifying rattling breath. 

“God damn it,” Hyena wheezed, blood dribbling from his lips with his words as he pushed himself up. His one eye was still missing but the other was bright with life and rage again as he glared at the man who’d shot him. “Do you know how long eyes take to regenerate? And that fucking hurt!” 

Someone fainted, but Hyena seemed completely unaware of the wave of horror that spread through the room as he stood with injuries clearly incompatible with life. His attention was fixed on his would-be (Should be) murderer as he stumbled forward towards them. He whimpered and shrunk even further back in his chair but couldn’t get away as Hyena slumped into his lap. 

“I’ve worked so hard to keep this a secret and act like a normal human and you fucking ruined it!” Hyena snarled, clapping his hands together with a crackle of electricity before pressing them against his attacker’s chest, who screamed as electricity surged around both of them before fading into sparks. 

“Welcome back My Love,” Hood laughed, stepping forward and running his fingers through Hyena’s hair without fear even before all the sparks had faded. 

Hyena grinned under his muzzle and leaned into Red Hood’s hand, before turning his head away from their audience to hide his face as he lifted his muzzle to spit out a mouthful of blood and something that glowed green. “Right,” He practically gargled looking back at their captive. “Who put you up to this?”

“I-I was working on my own-” He started before Hyena electrocuted him again, cutting off his words. 

“Wrong answer,” Hyena snarled. “You’re not imaginative enough to have thought of this on your own,” He said with a horrifyingly wet laugh. 

“I-I-” He stuttered, eyes flicking around frantically, looking to their audience, as if any of them were going to save him! Hood and Hyena had been terrifying enough before they found out Hyena was apparently a meta! And surely a powerful one at that if he could survive a fetal injury like that, and regeneration clearly wasn’t even his only power!

“Cat got your tongue? Here, let me help you loosen it,” Hyena cackled, starting to rub his hands together and generate sparks again. 

“No!” He yelped, shrinking back in the chair he was tied to. “It was Penguin! He said he’d make me a millionaire, and even if I died he’d give the money to my family. My girl is pregnant, I just wanted a good life for them.” 

“Save it with the excuses,” Hood snapped before resting both hands on Hyena’s shoulders, causing him to shake his hands dispelling the sparks. “Penguin huh? Ballsy of him, didn’t expect that to be honest. I thought he was more soft power then trying to make moves on other crime bosses like that these days,” He hummed. 

“We’re going to have to teach him a lesson aren’t we Boo?” Hyena nearly purred as the hole in his head finally started to fill back in. 

“Oh absolutely~ We’ll make him regret messing with us. Now what about this one? Should I kill him or do you want the honour?” Hood asked Hyena. 

“You go ahead,” Hyena shrugged, sliding off off the other man’s lap and rolling his shoulder to stretch out the brand new flesh and chunk of lung his body had finished generating. 

“No nonono please I’ll be a double agent! I can get you info, Please don’t-” He begged, though he should have known better after hurting Hood’s partner. Honestly he couldn’t have been very bright to think that there was ever any way that he was going to make it out of this alive. Even if he had managed to kill Hood, Hyena would have ripped him apart for it too. His pleas were cut off in a gurgle as Hood shot him through the throat, silencing his voice and making him gurgle on his own blood. 

“Get him out of the way please Beloved,” Hood asked Hyena, who stepped forward and easily picked up the man, who was significantly larger than him and tossed him into a corner to slowly bleed out or drown on his own blood. “Right, moving on, I want to hear your reports.” Red Hood said matter of factually, gently ushering Hyena into a chair and standing behind him with his hands on Hyena’s shoulders.  

They watching intently as everyone took a turn standing on shaking legs to deliver their reports, trying to ignore the gurgling breaths of the man dying in the corner, and not look at Hyena’s slowly regenerating eye. By the time Hood was satisfied everyone was still loyal, and suitably scared, and dismissed them Hyena was completely healed and the wet gasping from the corner had faded into silence. 

“No one speaks about what happened in this meeting. At least not until after we have dealt with Penguin,” Hood ordered as everyone stood up and gathered their things. “If he has warning that we’re coming there aren’t so many of you that we can’t follow up with each of you… individually,” He warned darkly, watching intently as they all filed out. 

Once they were alone he felt Hyena’s shoulders relax a little under his hands. Jason relaxed too, that was the first attempt on his life he had gotten in a while and he didn’t like it. He couldn’t say he was strictly surprised, attempted murder was sort of part of the crime lord gig after all, but he was still affected by it. And Danny even more so he was sure, since he had come dangerously close to losing Jason.

“How do you feel, Moonlight?” Jason asked gently, sitting down and drawing Danny onto his lap. 

“Like I want to bring Penguin's precious tacky empire down around his traitorous ears,” Danny hissed, pressing his face into Jason’s chest. 

Jason ignored the blood being smeared onto his shirt in favour of holding Danny and combing his hands through his lover’s dark hair. “Are you sure? Regenerating that much must have taken a lot out of you, especially in your human form. If you’re tired revenge can wait till tomorrow.”

“No! I want to do it now. Unless you want to think of a more subtle plan then just storming into the club where he is and confronting him head on?” Danny asked looking up at Jason curiously, deferring to him as usual. He wanted revenge, but he would control that if Jason wanted o be diplomatic. 

“Oh no, a full on assault sounds perfect to me,” Jason assured with a distorted laugh. “But that would mean exposing most, if not all of the powers that you have access to in this form and you’ve been so adamant about keeping them secret. Are you sure you want to do this? Wait, don’t answer that now. Whether we do it or not we have to go home first to get cleaned up, change clothes, and pick up some more weapons. Answer me once you’ve had a shower and you’re in some clean clothes without holes in them.”

“Alright,” Danny sighed and got up from Jason’s lap, offering him a hand up. “Let’s go home now then. Do we want to do anything with that body?” 

“No, no point. Someone will probably come clean it up later and if it is found all the witnesses know better hen to say anything if they value their fucking skin.” Jason chuckled, getting a slightly shaky smile from Danny in return as he led the way out of the warehouse and to his bike. 

The drive home passed in silence but when they got home Jason could see that the set of Danny’s jaw had only gotten more stubborn. As he headed into the bathroom he grabbed a spare Hyena suit instead of normal clothes. Alright so they really were doing this tonight. 

As the shower ran Jason rushed around their apartment gathering weapons and his suit with extra armour, but also the engagement rings he’d picked out and the new gloves he’d been working on in secret. He had a feeling this would be the perfect opportunity, something true to them while they were protecting what was important to them. And a political move as well, once Penguin rebuilt they could claim his club as a place important to them as well so they could spend more time there keeping an eye on the slimy little fucker. 

By the time Danny was back in costume and back out of the bathroom Jason was ready to go. He didn’t bother reminding Danny to grab any weapons since he knew very well his lover was perfectly capable of ripping through an army with his bare hands, and they left again without having to say a single word and they were on their way to the Iceberg Lounge. 

Jason skidded to a halt outside the lounge and Danny dismounted first, stalking towards the entrance. The bouncers tried to intercept of course, telling him to wait, but Danny froze them in their tracks and broke one of their arms when they tried to reach for their weapon. Then they were in, Jason drawing his guns as Danny pushed open the doors and shot two of the speakers with blasts of ice cutting the volume of the music in half. 

“We have business with Penguin,” Jason announced loudly to the room.

“If any of you don’t want a part in this fight please file out in an orderly fashion,” Danny said, taking a half step to the side and mockingly bowing people towards the door. There was a quick exodus after that, which was a relief, they didn’t want any collateral damage to innocents if they could help it. 

“Red Hood, what is the meaning  of this?” It wasn’t Penguin, it was one of his lieutenants, they did not want to talk to her. 

“Did you know about the Penguin's attempt on my life? I assume not or you would damn well know while we’re here,” Red Hood snarled at her, sending a ripple of gasps through the people who were left. 

“No he did not!” Harley gasped slamming her hands on the table and standing making Danny jump. He hadn’t realized that Harley and Ivy were here tonight. But hey, having some friends to pack them up just in case, and to make them seem like more of a threat, could only be for the better.

“Yes he fucking did! We got it out of the attempted assassin before we killed him. So we have a bone to pick with Penguin, get him out here or we will tear down this entire building,” Danny snarled. 

“And we’ll help,” Ivy said, rising gracefully from their table and going to stand behind Jason and Danny, with Harley stomping along at her heels. 

“Actually I think we should bring the building down whether he comes out or not, just to send a message,” Red Hood said dryly. 

“What a good idea Boo~” Hyena cackled, before grabbing one of the metal stools and throwing it through one of the windows. He picked up a chair and ripped the leg off, and handing it to Harley to use as a bat so she could start her own path of destruction. 

It seemed that was as much unfettered destruction as they were going to be allowed as a well trained looking troupe of bouncers came rushing in and Jason locked on to them. He was sure they were wearing bullet proof vests so he didn’t bother with body shots, he was perfectly capable of disabling them without killing them, and they were just doing their jobs. Hyena threw up a shield of ice around them, leaving Jason a window to fire through. 

“Damn I didn’t know you could do that,” Harley muttered to Hyena. 

“I can do a lot more than that,” Hyena laughed. 

“Focus please both of you,” Ivy said as she sent a wave of plants out, cracking the tiles as they rushed towards the people shooting at them and soon the room was filled with the screams of those Jason had shot and the silence of those unfortunate enough to have been dealt with by Ivy instead. 

Danny dropped the shields of ice freeing him and Harley again to cause more visceral and hands on chaos. It was amazing to see them work as Hyena practically flew over the bar to start smashing bottles of alcohol and Harley rushed off to smash whatever she could get her hands on with her makeshift bat. 

“Come on out Penguin, answer for what you’ve done,” Hood called as he reloaded his guns. He knew there would be at least one more attempt to force them out first, maybe he even had some metas on payroll, but they were not going anywhere. “We’re not going to kill you. We just want to talk, make sure you know what you did was wrong. The longer you take the more you’re going to have to replace, the more people you send out after us the more medical bills you’re going to have to pay.” He was sure Penguin was watching on the cameras from whatever nuke proof bunker he had squirreled himself away in. Hopefully he had his listening ears on. 

Apparently not because instead of Penguin the people who came through the doors next were a group of metas, and it seemed like Hyena had lost his patience. He was the one to leap into action, jumping from the ground floor up to balcony where they had entered, skipping the stairs entirely to get at them. They weren’t expecting him to come in so quickly and one was down before they had the chance to respond and Hyena had blood on his claws, his eyes glowing green as he snarled inhumanly. The remaining metas fell back a little, looking nervous and unsure, whatever confidence they’d had before rattled in the face of his ferocity. 

“Alright that’s enough,” Penguin’s voice rang out, he was trying very hard not to sound or look rattled, but he was out of breath and his hair was ruffled like he had run there. “I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about, I would have never gotten involved in underground politics like that and shame on you for-” he yelped as Hyena grabbed him and jumped down from the balcony again, ripping his cane out of his hand and tossing it aside as he dragged the offending villain back to Hood like a hunting dog with a hare. 

“Is that so? Nothing to do with it?” Hood drawled, the projected eyes on his helmet narrowing as Hyena held Penguin in front of him. 

“Yes! Nothing at all!” Penguin insisted, though there was nervous sweat visible on his brow, matting his bangs to his forehead already. He tried to shrug off Hyena’s grip but he wouldn’t budge. “Unhand me you, Ow!” He yelped as Hyena tightened his grip to the point the boned in Penguin's arms creaked ominous. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve given Hyena permission to go all out with his powers tonight, and I’m sure you understand an attempt on my life already has him very upset,” Hood drawled curiously. “If you didn’t send him, why would he have said your name under torture?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know! You and I both have plenty of enemies who might have made a play against both of us simultaneously,” Penguin simpered. “It would be win win for them, either he killed you or you killed me and either way there would be a player taken off the board right? Surely there are plenty of people you can think of who might want that?”

Hood didn’t believe it, but he couldn’t deny it, and he didn’t want to kill Penguin if he could help it because that would leave a power vacuum in the underground that he wasn’t actually interested in filling. He sighed and subsided back a bit, which was Hyena’s queue to lessen, though not release, his grip on Penguin. “Well that’s a little disappointing, here we were planning to make an example of you,” He said, his gaze sweeping over the entirely ruined lounge, broken and stained with blood. “Though I suppose in a way we did, and I hope you’ll remember this too, if you ever do get any stupid ideas.”

“Yes of course! But this is going to cost so much to repair! Coming barging in here without any proof-” Penguin started to fuss. 

“Pengoo!” Hood interrupted with false friendliness. “Be glad we’re letting you leave with your life, and shut the fuck up.”

Penguin looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, but he did shut up, and when Hyena let him go he darted away quickly. 

“Good, with that out of the way. Hyena I’ve been meaning to ask you something, and here after watching how fiercely you defend me and defend out home, in the presence of a couple of our best friends, and romantic role models,” He winked at Harley and Ivy. “I just can’t think of a better time to ask. So,” He got down on one knee and pulled out the ring box from his bag. “Will you marry me?”

Danny gasped and covered his muzzle with both hands, next to them Ivy smiles softly and Harley bounced on her toes and tried not to squeal. Tears gathered in Danny’s eyes and Jason barely had time to brace himself before Danny was diving into his arms. “Yes!” He yelped enthusiastically. “Yes yes of course I’ll marry you! Yes of course!” He said before finally backed up so Jason could take off one of his glove and slide the ring onto his finger and then dove back into Jason’s arms making him laugh as he picked Danny up and spun him around. 

“HELL YA!!” Harley screeched and practically tackled both of them.

“Darling let the young lovers have their moment,” Ivy chided affectionately though she made no attempt to pry her away from Hood and Hyena since they were both laughing as well. 

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” Penguin butted in bitterly. “Now get out of my club, feel free to come by for a complimentary drink to celebrate, whenever I get this place open again.” He huffed, but this time they were willing to leave and go find somewhere better, and more private, to celebrate.

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

By the time they got home they were both exhausted, and just a little bit tipsy since Harley had insisted they had to get some drinks to celebrate. They tumbled into bed together, giggling and almost deliriously happy to finally have the masks off and be able to kiss each other properly, and they did, for a long time. Finally they just lay together, legs tangled together as Danny purred tiredly. It had been a very long day, but there was one more emotional thing they needed to get through. 

“Danny?” Jason asked. Danny responded with a questioning hum. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after I die?” He asked, and backtracked when Danny immediately tensed. “Not any time soon! I’m certainly not planning on dying any time soon! But you said you're functionally immortal right? So you’re going to outlive me. What are you going to do?” 

Danny relaxed again slowly and then sighed softly. “I’ll stay with you,” He said softly, nuzzling against Jason’s chest. 

“You can’t-!”

“Not like that! But I’m half dead, I have access to the afterlife. And you’ve been around me enough, and I give off enough death energy that I can feel you becoming a little bit liminal. It won’t affect you much, but it pretty much guarantees you’ll become a ghost when you die, and a decently powerful one at that. You'll be with me in the Infinite Realms so unless you want death to do us part, it doesn't have to.” 

“What's a liminal?” Jason asked, he understood what most of Danny said meant but he needed a little clarification. 

“It basically means that your living soul inside your body is starting to develop a ghost core before death. If it happens early enough in development people tend to get some ghostly traits in their living bodies but it doesn't affect adults as much,” Danny explained willingly. 

“Huh,” Jason sounded, taking a moment to process all the new information before smiling slightly. “I guess we'll have to change our wedding vows won't we?” 

“Ya, from death do us part to ‘as long as we can stand each other’,” Danny joked, though Jason could hear the insecurity under his words. The silent ‘as long as you can stand me.’

“How about, as long as we can hold on to each other,” Jason suggested instead and Danny's smile softened and became more sincere. 

“Ya, I like the sound of that.”

[spoiledblogif]

This is the development blog for the interactive fiction called "The Second Sight", which you can find on itch.io at the link above!

This is my first IF project, although I've been writing original stories and fanfiction for years.

I've included the story description and character profiles from the itch page below the cut.

This blog will be a combination of development info, images and music that I associate with the story, and other musings.

Fair warning, there might be spoilers from the latest chapters here, so I recommend catching up before reading too far.

Asks and submissions are always open.

You’re an urban legend in a county full of them.  When you were thirteen, you were found passed out in the road by one of the local cops. No missing persons report. No fingerprints on file. No memories. Just a name.

Oh, and some bizarre psychic powers.  You're content with simplicity. You like your isolated cabin and helping Carter track down missing persons.  You know that in theory there are more people like you out there, but you've never wanted to look behind the curtain to find out.

However, with the disappearance of a local teen named Casey Powell and a recent attempt on your foster father's life, your serene, isolated life comes abruptly to its end and a new chapter begins.

✤✤✤

The Second Sight is an urban fantasy story, where you step into the role of a psychic whose strange powers have always separated them from others. Those same powers will drag you down the rabbit hole and into a world that is both the familiar and foreign to everything you know. A world filled with magic, witches, fae, demons, and the unknown.

You can immerse yourself in the story by customizing your protagonist's general appearance, choosing how they interact with others, and whether you lean on logic or intuition to problem solve. There are three love interests planned (more may be added depending on player reception and feedback), the genders of which will be selected by the player upon meeting them.

Characters

Jacob Carter

Age: Late forties

Race: Human. Definitely.

Gender: Male

Temperament: Carter radiates grizzled, old bastard energy and despite being the least paternal person in the world, he is your adoptive father. While harsh and aloof on the surface, he is also fiercely protective of you and has bent over backwards to give a decent life to a kid that isn't even his. He doesn't talk about his life before coming to Herman County and you haven't asked him, though that might change soon enough...

✤✤✤

Zander/Zora

Age: Late twenties.

Race: Human.

Appearance: Umber brown skin, black locs, grey eyes

Temperament: Gentle and resolute, Z isn't what you imagine when you think of an agent of the mysterious Magic and Anomalies Bureau. Kind, soft-spoken, and exceedingly polite, Z is Carter's former apprentice and something about them puts the old man on edge.

✤✤✤ Renard/Rowan

Age: Appears to be in their late twenties or early thirties

Race: Human. Maybe.

Appearance: Tall and slender, white-blonde hair, and gold eyes.

Temperament: Playful and flirtatious, talking to R always feels like a game of cat and mouse and you can never be sure which role is yours. Part sad clown, part trickster, and always maddening to work with, the only things you can be certain of with R is that they probably know what they're doing. Everything else is up in the air.

✤✤✤

Unknown aka "The Kestrel"

Age: ???

Race: Definitely not human.

Appearance: Tall, beautiful, elegant, with black hair and black eyes.

Temperament: The Kestrel is a complete unknown. It's impossible to say whether they are a lethal ally or deadly enemy, but either way they are a powerful dreamwalker. You don't know how long they've been watching you, but you're willing to bet that it's been longer than you're comfortable with.

[dnvrsmedia]

love at first suture

abigail anderson x medic!reader

warnings: mentions of injuries (no gore)

canon universe setting, no pronouns or r physical attributes used!

°°°

Soft light enters the hallway as the rising sun shines its beams onto Earth, enveloping its warm rays like a blanket on your skin. Puffs of air leave your sleeping lover's mouth as her chest steadily rises at a rhythmic rate. Calm is the state you find yourself in on the rare occasion you wake up before the blonde. Her long hair cascades along her broad shoulders like a warm toned waterfall. On days like these you feel a little bit more filled with gratitude. Never have you believed in soulmates until you met yours. Abigail Anderson was the textbook definition of your other half. She fulfilled every need, want, hope, and dream you could ever have asked for—ever so effortlessly. Love was never easy, but loving Abby was the easiest thing you have ever done.

Your hand moved to tuck a stray piece of hair from tickling her nose. A giggle erupts from your mouth as the blonde scrunches her nose and furrows her brows, trying to get away from the tickling strand of hair. Her body relaxes with a content hum as you free her from the itching. Abby moves into your hand, subconsciously yearning for your touch. No matter how big and scary she looks to others, you’ll always know the true Abby. Your loving and caring partner. Abby who goes to the ends of the earth for what she believes in. Your sweet girl and most powerful protector.

Reminiscing on when you first met always brings a smile to your face. The once tough girl falling into a puddle of mush—flushed beyond belief as you patch her up in the infirmary. You were newer to the area and quickly became one of the most crucial surgeons for the WLF. Abby luckily was not hurt badly, just a few lacerations to various parts of her body. Leaving only a slightly deeper cut on her upper thigh. The blonde stubborn as always, grumbled her way in the infirmary. Nora being the only one to get through her thick skull.

“Abigail I swear to god if you don’t sit your ass in that fucking chair-“ Nora’s voice heard through the groans and chaos of the infirmary.

Your eyebrows shoot up in amusement. In the few months you’ve been with WLF, you’ve known that Abby was not one to be fucked with. The top scar killer, Isaac’s number one asset, was one to be listened to. You had only a few run-ins with the tall blonde. Abby did well in either playing down her injuries or patching herself up. Yet, here she was, being yelled at like a toddler by her best friend. Tail tucked between her legs with an adorable pout to her plush lips. Her thick thighs spread wide after unceremoniously plopping into your open chair. Her pout could be seen from miles away as scoffs left her lips.

“Hi, how can I help you?” You don your nitrile gloves with a ‘snap’.

Abby’s stubborn nature made her snarl before she looked up at you. All of her previous stipulations melt away as her eyes meet yours. The stubborn blond rendered speechless as her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“Uh-I…um-” Abby struggles to speak as she dumbly points to her thigh.

Nora catches onto her best friend’s actions with a smirk as she nudges Abby’s watermelon sized bicep.

“This dumbass needs stitches on her thigh and bicep. The other lacerations aren’t deep enough for stitches, but a good cleaning should fix it. I’d help her myself but I'm busy and you need more friends, bye!” Nora rushes the last sentence before going into the middle of the storm of hurt soldiers.

Crimson red is the color that peaks under Abby’s freckles. Your own belly betrays you as it flutters w butterflies. Her teeth sitting atop her tucked in bottom lip makes your knees weak. You snap out of your trance, turning to attend to the matter at hand. Your fingers fumble with the suture package before placing your materials on your tray. You sit down on your stool before her.

“How are you feeling? I’m sure there’s no major injuries since your reluctance to be checked out, but this is a pretty gnarly cut here.” Your gloved hand caresses her clothed thigh that currently has a gash in the fabric.

Abby’s thighs tense at the feeling of your gentle finger caressing her. You take that as a symptom of tenseness and pull away immediately in worry. Abby silently curses herself.

“Is that painful there? I could check you out some more to see-” You ramble before being cut off by the blonde.

“N-no i'm okay just wasn’t ready for your touch. I didn't mind it.” She smirks, loving the shy smile that adorned your lips.

“Oh! Okay then, that’s perfect. So I’m just gonna need you to uh take off your pants- or what’s left of them, to stitch you up and send you on your way.” Your eyes veer from her eyes, oozing with nerves. Abby has this effect on you that you couldn’t explain.

Meanwhile, Abby is trying not to lose her shit at the thought of taking her pants off for you. She wished she was taking them off for a different circumstance-

“Uh, *cough*, yeah, th- that’s fine.” Abby tried-and failed- at keeping a cool and mysterious tone. In actuality, her brain was going a mile a minute all because of the beauty in front of her.

She stands and unbuckles her belt in front of you. Due to your height difference as you were still on your stool, her hips stood at face level. Your mouth salivates at the filthy thoughts flooding through your brain. You clear your throat and turn your head in a hurry, pretending to preoccupy yourself with something useless. Once the clang of her heavy belt buckle sounds, signaling it hitting the ground, you turn back to your patient. Your eyes bulge out of your eyes at the sight. You thought her thighs looked good before but holy shit. Her sculpted thighs were something to worship. Yet, this certainly was not the time.

You get through your mini short circuit and immediately get to work cleaning her wounds. The whole time you talk the blonde through what you’re doing. Abby wasn’t stupid, she was actually decently knowledgeable on things of the sort due to her late father, yet she didn’t once stop you to mention she knew what you were doing. She fell in love with your passion to heal others, your passion for your craft. Any frustrations from her patrol melted away as she listened and watched you work. Soft giggles leave your lips as Abby filters in jokes every now and then. If your voice is honey then your laugh is heaven to her. The way your nose scrunched when she said something you found particularly funny or dorky made her heart soar. Your laugh gave Abby a high that no drugs could ever give her.

“You are good to go!” You finish wrapping her bandage securely.

“If you have any questions feel free to stop by, okay? Make sure you’re not doing any rigorous training or activities for at least a few days.” You pointedly look at her with your eyebrows raised. You may be new but you know that all of your warnings will go in one ear and out the other.

Abby laughs at your knowing look, wondering how you could read her so well so soon. Unbeknownst to the two of you, that would only be the beginning.

[ukiiseikou]

you know i fade to grey without you.

kazuha kaedehara x gn! reader, figure skating au.

a/n: soooo y/n is kinda a flop in this one, and the pacing is kinda all over the place. this was my first ever piece i wrote (despite being published after the scara one) so please excuse everything wrong!! thank you! part of complementary figures, 2/? read wanderer's here.

you used to be good at figure skating. now? not so much. your body was taller and your limbs less under your control. a car crash sealed the deal, and your legs never really felt like your's anymore.

junior world champion used to be a title you had, but now? top ten at sectionals was often out of reach, much less any big international podiums. you settle with entering yourself into those small challenger cups, and if you're lucky, manage to snag a medal or two.

at least you never gave up on it.

your coach says its a good thing - your tenacity and grit, but even you can tell her hugs has become more fleeting and more like pats on the back over the years, dismayed at yet another two-footed or unlanded jump. you see how the skaters in the later groups looked at you - or more like, not looked at you. you were way under their league, an insignificant number on the scoreboard, a grey spot at the bottom.

you know figure skating. the feeling of ice against blade, the gliding, the wind in your face, the way the world around you blurs as you spin and launch yourself into the air. even the drowsy, orange tinted memories of watching mao asada's triple axel on repeat in the car at 5am, and the biting ice of the bath you have to lower yourself into at 1 in the morning, replaying your mistakes on the small screen you grasp between your hands. four years ago, you've said you wouldn't have it any other way. but those were bygone days, and now you were barely scraping by.

kazuha kaedehara, on the other hand, is figure skating's golden boy.

you remember how the commentators yelled over the broadcast as the last notes of his free skate sounded, the way your own teammates launched themselves out of the white plastic chairs crowded around the small TV and erupted into cheers and whoops. you swore you saw your coach wipe away a tear. the energy was electric, and even you felt your fingers tingle and your feet itch as you focus on his figure, his costume bright red against the white of the ice.

"oh my goodness, what even was that skating? spectacular! impeccable, just impeccable. why, i say we'll be seeing an olympic gold medal around his neck in three years. yes! kazuha kaedehara from inazuma, what a wonderful showing! a pure figure skater, the consistency, the artistry, the technical mastery, the interpretation. my friends, this is a one in a lifetime talent!"

praises like this echoed throughout the figure skating world for the next two years, and you heard it first-hand every single time. for some reason, despite being ranked number one around the entire world, kazuha kaedehara finds it in his heart to bless the smaller competitions you were at and take away the medal of some poor kid who only wanted to get some international recognition.

you've seen him so many times that he says hi to you in the hallways now (even though he probably doesn't even know your name). flashes that sweet smile that's captured the hearts of thousands across the globe in your direction as he tilts his head. you always settled for a nod and a smile as well, before brushing past him. this time, you faintly hear him call after you, shouting good luck, and you simply wave back in acknowledgement.

boys come later, first, you gotta pull yourself together.

you've been skating for your entire life now, but the chill of stage fright still gets to you. the feeling of your throat closing up as the speakers boom your name, you hop, gliding in a circle as you approach your starting position. you breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth.

the first few notes of your music start, and for a moment you panic as your foot roots itself to the ice. but your body moves on its own, your arms flying into the air as you push off your blade. the feeling melts away into pure adrenaline as you make your first round across the ice rink. this is it, your most difficult jump, the one you've never landed properly since the crash. you've done this before - four years ago, you can do it again.

you stare at the spot of ice you'll take off from, faintly, you think to yourself of how kazuha kaedehara probably does the triple axel in his sleep, but the thought is quickly swept away as your body twists forward. there's no time. your leg rises and the dark blue seats, dotted with spectators, blur into lines. you're in the air, wind whipping in your ears.

you make contact with the ice, but lurch forward. fuck. you desperately try to save it by bending your knees, but no luck. you pitch forward and your face nearly hits the ice as your arms and hands brace for impact. a wave of disappointment washes over you as you pick yourself up. you can't even hear the music anymore, relying purely on muscle memory as you skate through your program.

you can see and hear it all already: the wince in the commentators voice as he comments on your incorrect entry or off-centre axis; that one fan that's been following you forever probably just fell to his knees; the newspapers that only the people from your hometown reads - "y/n l/n cannot deliver anymore"; your coach who turns away with a hand over her eyes; your mother trying to contain the sigh that ultimately escapes from her lips.

a wave of disappointment washes over you, but you've got two minutes of program left, and at this point you're just happy you finished alive and with no broken bones, even with two falls and a downgraded spin. as you bow, you see him, bright red against the blue seats of the audience, clapping.

he's insane.

"y/n l/n, i just don't understand," your coach murmurs, after the quick squeeze she gives you as you step out of the rink, out of breath, "you hit it all in practice, it is just - the nerves, my dear? what is it? are your knees hurting again? we'll work on it, okay?"

it's always the same questions, the same disappointed look before she collects herself at the kiss and cry and pats you on the arm, handing you the jacket you've had for years now. the little girl behind you hands you a grey and white cat plushie that she picked up from the rink, and you smile at her, holding up the plushie to the camera as a pang of bitterness settles in your gut.

you and your coach exchange tight smiles before the camera. your coach's eyes turn to squint at the screen that displays your score. you settle instead for playing with the ears of the cat, waiting to be defined by a few set of numbers again. you finally hear your name announced, but you don't even look up to the display, you can only nod with finality as the speakers blare out your score for the whole venue to hear - not enough to qualify to the free skate. it feels like a guilty statement as it hangs over you like a dark cloud.

your coach pats you on the back absentmindedly, before standing up to fuss over your teammate, the one who will probably make it into the free skate.

you wave at the camera before it, too, turns away from you in urgency as the next skater takes to the ice. you tune out the polite applause as you stand from the seat, feet tired and head heavy.

it's always like this. you, washed out against the colours of the arena.

as you turn the corner in the hallways, you see him again.

"i just saw you - in the stands. how - how did you get down here so fast?"

"you were standing there for a really long time, got me worried a bit, actually," he smiles apologetically, "sorry, was that weird?"

"no - i mean, thanks for worrying," you do what you always do, angling your body to brush past him, but his words stop you.

"i liked it - your program."

you raise an eyebrow at him, and when you turn around you're startled by his bright red eyes.

"but i fell, like, twice," you break eye contact, averting your eyes.

you can see his arms move as he shrugs, "things happen. but i liked it. i really like the way you skated. did you choreograph it yourself? i think i saw that listed in your profile."

your eyes snap up to meet his, and he has the same smile that he shows everyone - sincere and charming.

"you read my bio?"

he lets out a gentle laugh, "sorry, i don't mean to be weird. i just - always liked your programs. i was wondering who choreographed them, then i saw it was you. it clicked! only someone who knew the music in and out could skate like you."

"i don't think anyone would want to skate like me," you give him a bitter smile, squeezing the cat between your arms, "but thanks."

he shook his head, "i was there at the junior championships, in the audience - when you won gold? i always wanted to skate like you."

you frown, "you're world number one."

"and i'm a terrible choreographer," he supplies helpfully.

"i don't think i should be your golden standard," you move to leave.

"wait! what i mean is - your skating, it’s... colourful. i can't put it into words, it's ethereal, fascinating, human, it changes people," words spill from his mouth and kazuha's hands suddenly grasp your's, eyes wide and shining, "can you show me? how you do it?"

"wait, wait," you blink, and he pulls out of your space, his eyes apologetic, "my skating does not change lives."

"it changed mine," he says quietly, and you laugh.

"sure, i changed the life of olympic favourite kazuha kaedehara! why not."

"no, really," he sounds out of breath, "didn't i say? i saw you. i actually wanted to leave the sport then, i wasn’t making much progress, but you made me want to skate. now that i’m here… i've been entering these competitions so that you could see me. i wanted to catch your attention."

your head feels like it's going to burst. he even looks slightly frustrated at the thought that you might have never noticed him.

your mouth open and closes like a fish, until you finally settle with: "everything you just said was true?"

"everything," he affirms.

you avert your gaze, "fine. this is me taking notice, alright? one lesson, that's all you get, kaedehara."

"hold your hand out more, you look like a flamingo, not a swan," you bark at kazuha, who laughs as he sits on the floor of the ice. you skate towards him, holding out a hand, "and i can't believe you fell on a double toe loop."

"things happen," he shrugs, grasping your hand as you pull him up.

"you asked me for an olympic level program, so put in some effort."

he laughs again, bending down to brush his nose against your cheek, but you push him away, huffing.

"do it again, this time properly."

"do i get a good job kiss afterwards?"

"i'll think about it," you grumble.

one lesson blossomed into something else, and now you've found yourself the partner of figure skating's golden boy, after he unceremoniously asked you one morning as the two of you walked together into the rink.

you finally quit, but not after several conversations from kazuha lamenting the loss of art from the world, but you've become a choreographer, and every new season he cuddles up to you, asking if you can choreograph a piece to his new favourite piece of music. you’ve also realised that kazuha kaedehara does not land triple axels in his sleep, if the sleepy mumblings of "don't fall!" and "ah, blast, i fell." was any indication.

people call his skating ethereal, colourful, life-changing, and all he does is smile at the camera and say "it's because of y/n, they inspire me."

you watch as he picks up speed from the far end of the rink. you're going to be busy this season, helping the younger ones with their programs. so, the next time you see him, he's at the olympics. his costume bright red against the white of the ice.

he points at you when he finishes, panting and out of breath. he laughs as he sees you clap, your dream blazing alongside his own. right now, even at the top, no other person matters, you're the one who brought colour into his life, after all.

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