#how do you bend nonexistent knees

[quinn-pop]

every time i try animating something smooth i always have to stop and remember that i’m way too impatient for that. so. here’s a shrinking kirby

[catscidr]

i. note — i have so many thoughts about akademiya era dottore. most of them are silly and fun and cute i promise but some of them are..... Nothing like that. help me i need to Ruin Him. ong when i get my hands on him……… ii. includes — akademiya!dottore (zandik), gn reader iii. cw — i'm literally just rambling so have fun. he's kindof a brat, reader is implied to have more experience. making out, dry humping, outercourse. smut so mdni. no penetration

akademiya!zandik whose social circle is practically nonexistent; if he’s not tinkering with machine parts he found in some abandoned ruin then he’s nose deep into an old book, trying to absorb knowledge directly through the pages. so, of course it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t know how to act normal around people

akademiya!zandik who would be so pent up and so so so sooooo sensitive! he wouldn’t even get himself off ever, choosing to soothe his curiosity about khaenrian machines over his own carnal, lustful needs. even something as simple as a hug gets his blood rushing straight down (much to his frustration!! he's supposed to be a scholar, not some hormonal beast..........)

it would be so easy to rile him up.. be a little too touchy and “oblivious” to how your “platonic” affection gets to him and BAM now he can’t focus on what he’s doing because his heartbeat is just throbbing in his crotch. he’ll read the same line five times before he realizes that nothing is getting through his head (and instead something else is getting in his other head…….)

akademiya!zandik who would most definitely be a whiner. when you finally get him to pay attention to you he’s all mad n whatever, weakly scolding you for even daring to interrupt his studies. but as he swivels his chair around to face you, he sees you standing over him, looking down at his cute scowl, n he feels his cock jump at the sight. you looked almost angelic, the overhead lighting creating a makeshift halo around your head…

zandik who interrupts his own rambling just to look at you. or, uh, to gawk at you. while you peer down at the….. effect you have on him

you step forward and raise your leg to place your knee between his thighs on his chair, and bend down to get closer to his face. his breath hitches and he swallows thickly all while holding your gaze— at this point he might as well have hearts in his eyes. but he’s still scowling n his brows are all furrowed…. wonder when and how he’ll finally lose that tension in his face. hmmmm……..

even just a kiss on the cheek would fluster him, because of course it would! but what about a kiss on the lips? what about a messy french kiss, filled with tongue and teeth clashing clumsily as you absolutely devour him while all he can do is moan into your mouth and shut his eyes to prevent them from rolling back into his skull?

poor baby would be struggling to breathe, fingers tangling themselves into your uniform in a poor attempt to let you know he wants to tap out. you get what he’s trying to do, of course, but why not push him to his limits? tease him a little? his muffled moans feel like music to your ears and you want to hear the entire symphony

but when you finally pull away, a lewd string of saliva connecting your tongues, poor zandik can’t help the moan that leaves his bruised lips. he pulls you in again, chest heaving up and down to catch his breath, n tries to go for another kiss. you let him pull you in but you don’t return the kiss, instead choosing to keep your lips shut tightly as he whines and huffs out elaborate curses to try to make you indulge him

and indulge him you will when he learns how to beg for what he wants. to your surprise he learns fairly quickly— even if he’s a little bad at it. but it’s charming!! “just fucking kiss me again goddamnit”, “i wanna kiss you again. let me kiss you”, and your favourite, “p… please?”

it's right then that you make it your life’s mission, your purpose to make him stutter like that every single day.

and it’s almost cathartic when you touch him, even if your clothes are still in the way. still balancing yourself on the chair (and also pinning him to it in turn, hehe) you bump your knee against his erection, a breathy moan blessing your ears from zandik himself. his grip on your top is so tight you think he might even rip it, god knows the last time he trimmed his nails

zandik who would grind himself on your knee without even realizing what he’s doing, all the while you coo in his ears about what a good job he’s doing, what a good boy he is.

zandik who would yearn for more, who would weakly cuss you out when you refuse to let him fuck you.

zandik who, even with his enormous ego, would still follow you around like a lost puppy, begging you to teach him everything you know

[saltywinteradult]

How is Dany is abusive to Jon?

Honest question, I’ve never given it a thought

I'm sorry this took me so long, anon, and I am really sorry for how long this post got. I had a lot of thoughts on this.

Before we begin, I'd like to point you to this compilation of Jon's reactions to Dany, which hardly paints a picture of a man who is happy and in love, as well as this post and this gifset, both pointing out the parallels between Jon's relationship with Dany and Sansa's relationship with Littlefinger, the latter being a relationship I hope most people can agree is abusive.

It's absolutely crucial to remember that in this relationship, Dany is the person with the power. She is the one with the dragons and the biggest army, and she is willing to both use and abuse that power to get her way.

Furthermore, Dany wants the North's loyalty, but the North needs her help. (The fact that it's Dany's duty as well as in her own best interest to help fight the Others is a different discussion; she doesn't seem to understand this anyway.) She has agreed to grant that help, but she could easily withdraw it if she chooses. She has more power than literally anyone else and there's simply no escaping that power imbalance - it permeates every single interaction Dany has with Jon and all the other Northerners for all of s7 and the first half of s8.

I want you to remember how Dany treats Jon on Dragonstone. His weapons and his boat are taken away immediately upon his arrival. She says Jon is "not yet" her prisoner, but 1) that line very clearly implies that she could make him her prisoner if she chooses to, and 2) how much does it really matter that Jon is "not yet" her prisoner when she's already taken away his means of defending himself or leaving the island? Remember how she later tells him "I haven't given you permission to leave." Girl, what happened to Jon not being your prisoner?

I think it's also very telling that Dany never once addresses Jon by his proper title of King in the North, even before he bends the knee. As you may recall, Dany cares a great deal about titles. She never grants Jon the same respect she demands for herself, and she likes to remind Jon that she is his Queen even during a supposedly intimate, romantic scene.

(Gif by yocalio via gameofthronesdaily)

Earlier in this scene, Dany pointed out that they could stay here in this secluded spot, away from the kingdom and its politics, and no one would find them. Yet even here, away from the rest of the world, she makes a point of referring to herself as "your Queen".

I point all of this out to illustrate that from the very beginning and throughout their relationship, Dany views Jon as a subordinate, not an equal. That is very much not a good foundation for a healthy and equal romantic relationship. Her constant expectation is that Jon will submit, obey, give things up to benefit her, and ensure that the people he has power over act the way she wants.

Case in point:

"Your sister doesn't like me. [...] She doesn't need to be my friend, but I am her Queen. If she can't respect me..."

The implication is that Sansa is doing something wrong by not liking or respecting Dany (meaning "not acting deferential enough for Dany's taste"). The fact that Dany is saying this to Jon and not to Sansa herself implies that it's Jon's responsibility to ensure that Sansa behaves acceptably. "If she can't respect me..." Then what? What exactly is she implying will be the consequences? That their romantic relationship will end? Something worse?

At this point, the North has bent the knee to Dany. As their monarch this is not an entirely unreasonable thing to ask of her subjects - but it's not a very reasonable thing for a girlfriend to ask of her boyfriend, is it? The line between Jon and Dany's political relationship as monarch and subject and their personal relationship as girlfriend and boyfriend isn't just blurred, it's practically nonexistent. To state the obvious, there is a reason we decided that absolute monarchies are bad here in the real world. There is also a reason why a boss dating a subordinate is frowned upon in the real world. Big power imbalances are a bad idea in general and in romantic relationships especially. They should at the very least be considered and navigated carefully. Dany not only fails to do so; she is only happy with her and Jon's relationship when she has power over him.

For proof, let's look at how she reacts when that power imbalance is upended by the revelation of Jon's true identity:

This revelation is a bombshell for Jon. Everything he thought he knew about his own origins turns out to be untrue. However, Dany's first and only thought is how this affects her. Her first reaction is denial and scepticism; the second is to turn cold as soon as she realises that this makes Jon a threat to her ambitions.

There's also this line:

"A secret no one in the world knew, except your brother and your best friend. Doesn't seem strange to you?"

Which implies... What, exactly? That Sam and Bran made this up? Why? Just like with Sansa in the previous scene, we see Dany questioning the actions and intentions of Jon's loved ones. Remember that.

Things escalate in episode 4:

Dany is faced with the notion that Jon might hold more political power than she thought, that they might actually be on somewhat equal footing, and this makes her unhappy.

"I want it to be the way it was between us."

Her desire is to continue their sexual relationship and to return to the previous status quo where she held more power than him and therefore didn't consider him a threat. Jon having a stronger claim to the throne than her threatens Dany's sense of her own identity and purpose, and she reacts by trying to deny and suppress this reality:

"You can say nothing, to anyone, ever! Swear your brother and Samwell Tarly to secrecy and tell no one else! Or it will take on a life of its own and you won't be able to control it or what it does to people!"

(Imagine this with the genders reversed. Yikes.)

Dany is demanding Jon keep his own identity secret from his own family. That's not a reasonable thing to ask of a person you love. Not for one second does she show any consideration for how Jon might feel or what Jon might want. It's all about her. Her expectation is that Jon suppress his own identity, his own reality, to benefit Dany's ambitions. Never once does it seem to occur to Dany that what Jon does with this secret is up to him to decide, not her. His agency is of no concern to her.

Jon: I have to tell Sansa and Arya. Dany: Sansa will want to see me gone and you on the Iron Throne. [...] She's not the girl you grew up with. Not after what she's seen, not after what they've done to her. [...] Jon: They're my family. We can live together. Dany: We can. I've just told you how.

Here we are again with Dany questioning the motives and agendas of Jon's loved ones. Now she's no longer implying but outright stating that they're working against her. What we have here is a pattern of Dany implying that Jon's loved ones are up to no good and can't be trusted. I don't need to explain why that is a dangerous and manipulative thing to do to one's partner, right?

I also want you to pay extra attention to how Emilia delivers that final line. Throughout the whole scene Dany is distraught and desperate, but at this point she turns cold and closed off with an unmistakable anger that Jon won't agree to do as she demands. It is very hard not to read a threatening undertone into that line. "Keep it secret, or else."

Before we move on to episode 5, I'd like to highlight this line, spoken by Dany to Tyrion and Varys in episode 4:

"Speaking to Cersei will not prevent a slaughter. But perhaps it's good the people see that Daenerys Stormborn made every effort to avoid bloodshed, and Cersei Lannister refused. They should know whom to blame when the sky falls down upon them."

Let's be clear on one thing here: Cersei could choose to back down and surrender to avoid bloodshed - but, and I cannot stress this enough, so could Dany. Cersei and Dany are both being selfish and power-hungry by refusing to give up the throne in order to avoid bloodshed. But to admit that would ruin Dany's deeply rooted self-image as morally superior to her enemies. So what does she do instead? She deflects blame. She's the one with the dragons, but if she makes the sky fall down on people, as she puts it, it's not her fault. Keep that in mind.

Now for the absolute low point:

"What did I say would happen if you told your sister? [...] She betrayed your trust. She killed Varys as much as I did. This was a victory for her. Now she knows what happens when people hear the truth about you."

Okay. Varys was conspiring against Dany, which he could've chosen not to do; I guess Dany was within her rights to punish him. She still could've chosen to imprison him, or at least give him a trial. Nobody made her kill him. But as we've just seen, Dany doesn't like to accept responsibility for her own decisions. She'd rather deflect the blame onto the people who displease her.

What's more, she's not just blaming Sansa for Varys's death but Jon as well, for telling Sansa the secret in the first place - which Jon was well within his rights to do! He never agreed not to tell anyone. That wasn't up to Dany to decide in the first place. Jon did what he wanted to do and not what she wanted him to do, so now everything Dany does as a result of Jon's actions is Jon's fault? Do I even need to explain how shitty this is?

"Far more people in Westeros love you than love me. I don't have love here. I only have fear."

This is entirely true. She never stops to think about why Jon is more beloved in Westeros than she is, but whatever. What's important is that after this, Dany initiates a kiss and Jon rebuffs her.

(Gifs from snowsource)

"Alright then. Let it be fear."

Again, what exactly do we think she's implying here? Remember the context. During this conversation, Jon already told her "you will always be my queen". He hasn't rejected her as his queen (which at this point he damn well should), he's just rejecting her sexual advances. And yet, Dany's reaction to his personal rejection of her is to embrace "fear", which again refers to how all of Westeros sees her, not just Jon. Dany already deflected blame for her previous actions onto people who displeased her including Jon, and now she's deflecting the blame for her future actions in the same way. And we all know what she did after this, don't we? I don't know how the line "let it be fear" can mean anything other than "you rejected me and that's why I'm going to embrace being feared, so whatever I do now in the name of being feared is really your fault. Look what you made me do." If that isn't abuse, I don't know what is.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Head in the clouds (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: My take on Modern reader meets Daemon Targaryen. Here we have the meeting.

Chapter warnings: Canon character death. Kidnapping. Mature language.

A/N: I’m so excited to share this story with you. I had so much fun building it. This series will be updated every sunday.

Next part here

Beneath the covers, there is a girl. Brown haired, dark eyed. A smile that could light up the whole room. Etched into your memory, carved a place inside your heart. Forever living there.

“Does it not bother you?” You had asked her. “Being nothing more than a wife?”

“Am I a wife?” Her laugh was sharp. Strong. She didn't cover her mouth with her hand like other women did. She was so sure of herself, tiny things didn't bother her. There was no time to worry if her teeth were perfect or if it was unladylike to cackle in laughter.

Alive. So alive it hurt.

Two girls. Curled mirroring each other in the bed. Sharing secrets, and giggling. But never touching. It was not allowed, you see.

This was how women loved. Raw, all electrified wires and emotions. Bared. Never taught to fear each other.

A naked, creamy shoulder. A mole, right above her sternum. Heart beating fast.

Shining. In a sunny field, rushing after a stag, spear in hand. Predator, never prey. Vibrant with color. Rich browns and earth tones. The sun hitting the left side of her face just right.

The memory is etched in your eyelids. The girl, laughing. Dancing along to an imaginary song. A field full of golden flowers. Her voice in your thoughts.

Now gone.

Rhea had passed, or so the other serving girls had told you. Runestone was going to her husband. After four years, the man was finally back from war.

The apron you were wearing was clean, and so were you, despite your face being puffy from too much. Rhea had been your only friend. The only other person in the castle that had been able to read.

The Common Tongue had a striking similarity to English. There were few books, and you had struggled to read them at first. You soon realized that the Common Tongue was not a different language, but Middle English. It made sense. People in the Middle Ages didn’t know they were living in the Middle Ages.

You had met Rhea when she realized one of the serving girls was spending her time in the library. It was not forbidden, but unusual. No one had thought to forbid it. The ratio of literacy among the common folk was low, or better yet, nonexistent.

Her dexterous hands. Aim that always rang true. Her hair, cascading down her back, perfect and smooth.

It had lightened your burdens, this friendship with her. Since arriving in the Middle Ages, the feeling of alienation had been too much to handle. And being the Lady’s favorite meant that your time spent at the kitchens was more and more scarce.

Rhea and you had turned into something more than friends, by the end of it. Two lonely, unsatisfied women. One left behind by a husband that had spent years at war. Another out of time.

A pointless war, she had said. She had an interest in politics, your Rhea. They called it a manly pursuit. She called it doing whatever she pleased.

Your lips, tracing her temple, her cheekbones, and a whispered word, muttered back. “Sister.” You couldn’t call it anything but.

Afternoons, spent using each other’s lap as pillows. Every memory since meeting her, tinted in gold. How you regretted never speaking words of love more often, when you found out about her death. An odd one, when she had been such a strong rider and hunter…

A sudden flurry of movement started in the front of the room. Your contemplation was not allowed any longer. The rows of servants in front of you were all bending their knee, prompting you to do the same. Finally, your new lord was here.

The man made others wait for him. You had been gathered in the courtyard for hours, under an unusually bright sun. The air was warm. A golden, beautiful summer day to say goodbye to a beautiful, golden woman.

Your dress clung to your skin, the garment heavy and restricting. Despite being made of soft cotton, you still felt hot and sweaty. You missed shorts and miniskirts. Fucking purity culture.

Fuck the Middle Ages, too. For they had taken Rhea. It had not been cruel enough, to make her suffer scorn and ridicule from her husband, they had to take her too. She would have prospered in a modern world.

Some nights, searching for a solution, you thought of taking her back with you,

The row of servants in front of you lowered. You bent your knee, keeping your eyes lowered. It was about time. Your hips and legs were starting to get sore. Hopefully, you would be overlooked.

Rhea’s husband would surely want to replace some servants in favor of his most trusted people. He was an important man, or so you had gathered. She avoided mentioning him, often unhappy.

A Prince. He should have given her the world. He had arrived too late.

The servants kept quiet, organized in neat little rows. You waited for the command to rise, but none came.

Instead, an angry voice, and the unmistakable sound of boots stomping on rock.

“Bring forth the girl!”

A brave guard stepped forward. You heard his armor cling and clang, and you shivered. You hated the sound of metal scratching against metal. It did something funny to your teeth.

You kept your eyes trained on the floor. You were not supposed to look nobles in the eye, in these times. Rhea had taught you that, and all you knew about manners here.

“Which girl, my Prince?” The guard asked. You didn’t recognize his voice. Rhea kept a scarce household. She hadn’t like the fuzz her husband always brought.

Most of the guards she had were outside the castle, and they didn't mix with the servants. They were bastards or second sons of minor houses, who thought themselves too above you. Rhea didn't care enough about them to worry about it.

“The one she cared about.” The man answered, and you shrank down on yourself. Your uneasiness was turning into fear. Who else could he be referring to, but you?

The servants started muttering among themselves. None dared answer Rhea’s husband. They all knew he was referring to you, but were hesitant on betraying you.

“Well?” He asked, tapping his foot against the floor.

A beat of silence. You kept your eyes down. Finally, the guard spoke. His voice was shaky.

“She is one of the kitchen maids. The ones in white aprons.”

The boots stomped against the rock once more. Rhea’s husband was on the move, prowling between the rows of servants.

A girl shrieked. You dared not lift your eyes, frozen into the spot.

“Milord… I…” That voice, you knew. It was Mina, one of the girls who worked with you in the kitchens. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, catching the silhouette of a man, grasping a girl roughly by the arm. His back was to you, but by the hard set of his shoulders and the sword hanging at his belt, you could tell he meant business.

Tears started gathering in your eyes. You were afraid. Whatever this man wanted with you, it was not good.

“No, I don’t think so.” He let go of her arm, roughly pushing her away. You quickly looked down, but it was too late. The man was already approaching you.

You saw his boots first. Dark and well polished, unlike those of any guard. You keep your eyes on them. Despite your best attempts, you were starting to shake. Were you not so terrified, you would have thought his voice familiar.

“I am certain I have found my prize.” The man lifted your chin with a finger. You looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Ah. I have. Care to tell me why my wife has left you all she had?”

Your lower lip wobbled. You tried forming words, but none came up. Because the man who was looking at you was a Target version of Matt Smith. Which meant…

“You killed her.” You whispered. Your heart was beating so hard you were afraid he could hear it pounding against your rib cage. You brushed your sweaty palms on the skirt of your dress, trying to dry them.

This was not the Middle Ages, not at all. This was Westeros, a fictional world not meant to exist. And if this was Rhea’s husband, then it meant Rhea, your Rhea, was the wife of Daemon Targaryen. You remembered little about him. But what had struck in your mind about him was that he had killed his wife.

There had been a golden girl, once. And a fool looked at her and thought her bronze.

You should have noticed sooner. You had always found it odd, that Rhea’s priest wore a seven pointed star instead of a cross. She had not been very religious. Other than her, you neverspoke to others about matters deeper than how to cut the potatoes. You had rationalized it as being another symbol of Christianity. After all, they had used a fish as a symbol, once.

Your voice was not low enough for him not to hear, unfortunately. Daemon’s eyes widened. Then, he grabbed at your face, roughly.

“What did you say?”

You glared. The hold he had on you was too painful for you to even whisper a word. You pushed at him, trying to get him off you, but his grip was strong. He laughed, amused.

“My, aren’t you a willful thing?” Daemon pushed you towards a guard. “Seize her and place her in my chambers. We have a lot to talk about.”

The guard, the same one that had said you were a kitchen maid, caught you.

“My Prince, if what you say is true and your wife left Runestone to her….”

Had she? Brilliant, crazy woman. Passing over her husband's claim. You weren't sure you wanted the responsibility of being a Lady, but you weren't about to complain. The position would provide you with comforts unlike any other.

“That's utter madness, and you know it.” Daemon took you from the guard's arms, roughly holding you by the shoulders. You started to struggle immediately. “A serving girl cannot inherit.”

“But a bastard can.” Another guard pitched in, stepping forward. His hand was at his belt, ready to draw a sword. Mutters broke out among the crowd, the servants on the verge of a riot. “The Lady called her sister.”

“Well, then. If you don't act against your Lady…” Daemon took a pair of manacles from the guard's belt and grabbed at your wrists. “I will.”

You screamed and kicked, trying to get back to the safety of the crowd. If the guards thought you were their Lady, you were not going to complain. Not if it meant this psychopath let go of you. You still remember one of the last scenes of the season. The decapitation of the guy who called Rhaenyra a whore.

“Let go of me, you asshole!” You pushed at Daemon, and he cursed in a language you didn’t understand. Valyrian. Old, or High, or whatever the name of what Targaryens spoke. He cuffed one of your wrists, then the other. You screamed louder.

The guards moved, as if to step in. They had taken your resistance as an order. Those men had been ready once, to defend Rhea. Willing to kill for their Lady. Now, they were willing to kill for you.

Daemon could sense it too. The air was charged, a fight about to break out. One he wouldn’t win. Not against that many guards. Not against the servants, who looked ready to raise in arms for one of their own. He had to do something drastic.

He took his sword out and pulled you towards him by the cuffs. Your back hit his chest, hard enough for it to hurt. Your wrists, trapped between you and him, ached. But Daemon seemed to pay no mind to the pain. He raised the sword in front of you, keeping the guards away.

The guards exchanged looks. One gestured at the others. Daemon placed the tip of the sword at your neck. You blinked back tears.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t do that. One wrong move, and your Lady dies.” His voice was calm, too calm. You remembered the battle at the Stepstones, and whimpered.

The guards stepped forward anyway. Daemon dug the blade deeper into your throat, until you felt it pierce skin. You raised your hand, palm extended in front of you. The universal halt gesture.

“Good girl.” Daemon pulled the blade slightly back. Then, in a raised voice. “Caraxes!”

A deafening roar shook the courtyard. A big shadow made the servants cower in fear, and duck for cover. You looked up and right in front of your eyes, there was a dragon.

It was a gigantic, red beast, that looked much like a reptile. It felt surreal to watch, as the man holding you hostage ordered it to land and stand guard. You didn't oppose resistance when he started to tug you towards the inside of Runestone.

“Come, Lady Cuffs.”

No one moved to help you. Daemon Tragaryen had played his trump card. He might not own Runestone, he might not be the King. But he had a dragon.

“You and I have much to speak about.” He said, as he locked the door to Rhea’s chambers behind him. Daemon pushed you to the bed, making you bounce on the mattress.

“I have nothing to say to you!” You screamed, as you scrambled back. Your back hit the pillows. They still smelt like Rhea. It made you want to cry. You wished you could roll around in her scent, disappear beneath her covers.

“I happen to disagree.” Daemon sat down at the edge of the bed. You tried to kick at him, but his hand caught your foot before it could make contact. His grip on you was punishing. It felt as if he wanted to crush the delicate bones there.

“I have nothing to say to a killer.”

“I would like to know how you found out, Lady Cuffs.” A bit more pressure on your ankle, enough to be sure that they would bruise. It doesn’t have the intended effect. You are too blinded by his admission to be able to worry about your pain. You are angrier now. Did he have the nerve to admit it to your face?

You want him to hurt. To feel the same fear that's suffocating you, that forms a knot in your throat and doesn't let you breathe. The same fear Rhea must have felt, helpless, as he killed her. Monster. Monster. God awful monster.

“You killed her. You killed her, but know what? It doesn't matter because you are going to die!” And you are not thinking, of course. You just want to see him suffer. The consequences of what you are saying don’t cross your mind, at all.

“Oh?” Daemon looks amused. To him, your threats are empty. He is so privileged and self-assured, he probably thinks it’s like a giant getting threatened by an ant. It annoys you more because you are being serious.

Even if she was a supporting character in a fictional world, to you, Rhea had been a friend. More. And it had felt real, what you had lived with her so far. Were it not for Daemon’s arrival, you would have still thought you were in the Middle Ages and not Westeros. This has been your life for the past two years. She had been yours. And he had taken it all away.

“I googled it! I remember. Your nephew, the one with the eye patch. You die fighting him. And I hope it hurts, plummeting to your death from…”

It fills you with satisfaction, speaking those words. But he is not taking you seriously. You want, no, need, to twist the knife deeper.

“My nephew?” Daemon echoes, mouth agape at your outburst. Still, the smirk doesn’t leave. He seems amused by what he believes to be the ramblings of a madwoman.

“Aegon, Aemond what’s his name! You are going to die, and it’s all pointless, but you will rot in that lake.”

“Oh?” Daemon arches an eyebrow, on the verge of laughing. You glare.

“And you will marry that little girl! The one who is the daughter of Corlys… Something! And she dies too, and it will be her dragon that kills you!”

It's that, what makes his face change. From amusement, to disbelief. Daemon steps forward, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb taps at your bottom lip, twice.

“So you are a dreamer. A pretty one, for a Royce.” His thumb caresses your mouth as if you are nothing more than cattle, ready for his inspection. When he tries prying open your mouth, you bite him. And not in a sexy, playful way. In a hurtful way. Daemon takes his thumb away, and winces, before continuing. “I had told no one of my intentions with Lady Laena.”

Your heart sinks. A dreamer. A fancy way of saying witch, you guessed. Or seer. His expression is greedy, enough so you know what he will say next.

“This will please my brother, for we can keep the Vale and gain a dreamer. You will no longer be a bastard, girl. Rejoice.”

“What?” The change of topic confuses you. You are not a bastard because such a thing didn’t exist in your time. Rhea apparently put you in her will, and that means something to these people. But will or not, Westeros is a feudal society. Big thing about feudalism? There are no rags-to-riches stories because there is no social class mobility.

“You will be my wife, of course. It’s as your sister wished.” At that, you kick at him with your other foot, hard. The nerve. The nerve to threaten you so. After he killed Rhea. No way you are marrying him.

You curse all those times you read those spicy romance novels. The ones with the mafia boyfriends, like 365 DNI or those Wattpad stories you used to read. Or the ones where the girl is sold into an arranged marriage. As the protagonist of one, you are starting to feel like it's not very fun.

Absurd, where the mind might go to protect herself. From the memories, and the pain. Rhea. Dead, by his hand. While your mind whirls and jokes around.

“You are insane and I hate you!” It's not very creative. But your entire world has shifted in a matter of hours. You deserve a freak-out. “I will never be your wife, you monster!” You kick at him some more, but he catches both of your ankles and drags you through the bed and towards him.

“Oh, Lady Cuffs. You flatter me.”

[thewriterg]

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

pairing(s); johnny cage x fem!reader, kenshi x fem!reader, johnny cage x kenshi

summary; You’d do anything to keep them safe if you need to sing your song to get through war so be it. —angstober day; 12—

word count; 1.5k

warning(s); violence, weapons, siren coded reader, blood, injuries, kisses, and language

playlist; wet by dazey and the scouts

A/n:—GIFs; @mortal-kombat-1— played mk1 and don’t know how to act

“You sent them on a mission without my knowledge or and experienced supervision” You hissed your eyes leering into Liu Kang's pale glowing one as he sighed gently looking upon your angered expression that leered holes into his powered body

“You underestimate them Y/n the group consists of strong warriors if they weren't prepared to be sent to accomplish this mission then I would have no desire send them but they were” The sensei tied to reassure you yet it wasn't visibly enough to ease your troubles

“I'm going to aid them by the sound of it the mission at hand should have not taken this long they should have been back days ago” You stated stepping to put your swords on your back your eyes flickering that glowing black that your rivals and enemies feared the last thing they’ve seen before they were put to rest finding peace elsewhere while the brunette said nothing to stop you deep down somewhere in his subconscious he knew that your concerns were valid

“Y/n!” The warrior called out as you opened a portal black fog spilling out of it your eye now completely black in response you looked over your shoulder not making a single move to step back or back down

“Be noble in your bloodshed, I would like to be able to step foot into the realm again”

“With all due respect Liu Kang they shall be lucky if their head stays intact with their bodies let alone if their realm is still liveable” Without another word you you stepped through the portal before you were across the tower of Shang Tsung laboratory you didn't have time to linger the probability of getting caught high if you stayed in one place too long

Stealthily you snuck passed the guards after throwing an empty elixir bottle at a wall the sound of the glass shattering causing them to rush to the scene allowing you to wipe pass the entrance without much fuss you let you instinct guide you to the brick wall closest to the forest of the building pressing your palms against the rough material as you mended yourself into the cold basement of the building

The sound of footsteps bounced of the walls and you sucked in a sharp breath trying to think of something quickly scanning the hallway with the speed of light until you found a solution bending your knees and locking your feet into the ground to give you a power boost before you jumped you fingertips clinging to the little basically nonexistent space to hang onto swinging your legs up to kick in the grilles as it clashed open downwards its dividers now sitting with a bend in their metal

You quickly slipped into the vent as the sound of rushed footsteps approached your location you legs slithering behind your torso before you stuck a hand out of your temporary hiding spot pulling the cover up back in its place you watched through the metal slots Shang Tsung looked around to find nothing you would laugh at the fact that he look up directly at your peering eyes if you were in the mood

You waited until the footsteps started up once more to start moving behind the perpetrator making sure that you made no sound or shuffling noise there was a slant downward inside the cool dark vents the same time the sound of a door unlocking was heard you were in the right place

Your heart dropped as you inched closer toward the laboratory like dungeon the muffled groans of Johnny and the even worse whimpers of Kenshi you fought the urge to burst out the ceiling swords up thoughts down

“This process I call it electric love, after your done with it you'll learn to love the chambers the most… they hurt the least” Shang Tsung voice rang out in the cold hollow basement like room the sound way carrying through the vent clear for your ears while you perked up at the source of light in the predominantly dark ceiling

“Make sure they're withered to nothing, they should be a easy session for the tarkata” This was it if you wanted a chance to capture the adversary it had to be quick and it had to be now you waited until the footsteps approached the exit gate before kicking through the grilles landing in front of Tsunes with a hand positioned to your side one knee to the floor the other directed up towards the air

“Siren, see you've come to join your peers” His voice littered with a dark chuckle and you stood to your full height starting bullets into sorcerer

“No but you shall join your brother in the under realm” The mans face dropped at the mention while Kenshi perked up at the sound of your voice having to rely on his hearing to get past without his ability to see

You charged towards him with a punch landing directly towards his jaw taking a blow not only at his mandible but at his vulnerability when you went to swipe your feet under the sorcerer he grabbed you leg tripping you up you head hitting the cold concrete floor with a sickening thud before you could get on your feet there was a rough impact on your shoulder as your head was forced to look at your lovers captured the electricity having ceased on their bodies you noted Kenshi's masked eyes making your eyebrows furrow and Johnny's protest as he shook the bars of his enclosure you were forced to the ground with a knee in your back

“Your lovers courage and loyalty is honorary yet the execution is pathetic” You you heavily breathed through your teeth your fist clenched against your side

“Tell me Siren, can a heart still break if it stops beating?” A man dressed in green armor approached your line of sight about to open the cage you red masked love slouched in the keys jingling in his slightly shaken hand

“Can your brain still pump blood if it's in my hands?” You muttered taking all your strength to propel your body up from under the sorcerer's hold your taking swords from your back the once silver blade wielding black before your fingertips you sliced the at the mans back him hissing in response

“I'll end your misery quick and precisely” You stated voice void of emotion before Shang ran at you while you blocked his attacks swiftly a black fog falling over the room making it difficult for him to maneuver his senses were overloaded he was at his full charge yet had nothing to force it on causing him to burn out your attacks came silently and stilly he was running himself dry exactly what you wanted him to

The voice of desire called out to him your silhouette shined through the gloomy dark fog your voice promised him everything he could conquer in the biggest dreams and most wealthy realms he followed the sound your form getting closer until he walked into the blade of your sword a grunt resetting on his lips as he kept walking pushing it further into him until his torso met with the base of black reflective piece yearning for the promise of his desires the source being the song that fell from your lips until he dropped to his knees unconscious

You didn't waste a lasting second running towards the cages Reptile unconscious from the poisoned smoke Johnny and Kenshi along with the reaming earth realm team was trained to withstand it become immune to a certain point you felt your body weakening but ignored its call to rest it had been days since they left since you had

“Oh Kenshi” You whisperer after taking the gate from its hinges off the swinging cage his body fell into yours as you gently lowered yourselves to the floor a more prominent black trail of smoke tracing to Johnny's enclosure wailing him free as he rushed towards you both you opening your arms making room for him to fit your eyes scanning over their bodies the Hollywood stars body you deemed fine apart from a couple battered bruises Kenshi on the other hand the red mask on his eyes made your heart pick up as your fingers inched towards his face rubbing your thumb against his cheek as he grunted holding back a whimper at the pain you gently pulled the red cloth from his eyes sucking in a sharp breath at she sight of his gouged eyes tears brought to your own as you pressed a shaky kiss to his forehead

“I'm here, I'm gonna find a way to heal you, I'll find a way”

“We’ll find a way” Johnny mumbled into your armor clothed shoulder as you rocked the three of you back and forth. It would work, you'd find a way.

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[ktownshizzle]

K!! So, last night, I had this dream about Jungkook, and I swear, I was not prepared. Naturally, because I lack self-control and dignity, I figured I should share it with you. Brace yourself, because this gets weird.

So, picture me, strolling down the street at night. Don’t ask me where I was going because, honestly, dream logic doesn’t care. I’m holding something in my hand—don’t know what it was, but probably something important like...I don't know. Suddenly, a car screeches to a stop right in front of me. My first thought: “This is it. This is how I die. Goodbye, world.” But then, out steps Jungkook.

And listen, when I say everything went into slow motion, I mean everything. Like, hair blowing in the nonexistent wind, dramatic movie music playing (probably in my head), and jungkook walking toward me like he owns the universe. He gets closer, and then he smiles. That smile. I can’t even describe it. It wasn’t just a smile; it was an experience. My knees were ready to betray me, but somehow, I didn’t faint. Almost, though. Gotta give myself credit for that.

Anyway, he walks up to me, bends down (like, what is this? A K-drama?), and holds my hand. At this point, I’m feral. I’m about two seconds away from combusting. I mean, HELLO? Jungkook’s holding my hand. I was ready to tattoo the moment into my memory forever. BUT THEN—he PUNCHES me. Yeah, you read that right. He punches me. Like, full-on, no-warning, straight-to-the-face action.

And as I’m standing there, reeling from the betrayal, he goes, “It’s time.” What does that even mean?? Time for what?! Then he does this evil smile, the kind that screams, “I’m up to no good,” and I woke up SCREAMING. Like, straight-up sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing, fully convinced I was about to get jumped by jungkook in real life.

But okay, enough about my dream trauma—let’s get to the real reason I’m here: FRIENDS AND FOOLS.

First of all, do you mind me rambling in your ask box? Be honest. Am I too much? Because, if I am, you can just say so. I won’t stop, but you can say it.

Okay, so let’s talk about your writing. OH MY GOD, YOU DELIVERED. I’m obsessed. Obsessed. The words? Perfection. The sentences? Chef’s kiss. The way you wrote it? I’m in love. And that ending?? It left me wanting more, and I’m mad about it, but also, I love it. How do you manage to make me feel so satisfied and so unsatisfied at the same time? Are you a wizard? Like, I want more. No, scratch that—I need more. Feed me.

And can we talk about how caring he was? Like, who gave him the right? Making sure she’s okay, being all gentle and considerate. I was melting. I mean, stop. My heart can’t take it.

Now, let’s address the most important part. And I’m serious. This is vital. THE KISS. Listen, I was NOT okay. I am still not okay. I will NEVER BE OKAY. It was perfect. No, it was beyond perfect. I’m literally screaming just thinking about it.

In conclusion: BEST THING EVER. I love, love, love, LOVE it. Keep doing what you’re doing because you’re clearly out here stealing hearts, ruining lives (in a good way), and leaving us all begging for more. Now excuse me while I go re-read it 57 times (to be honest, at this point, I don't even remember how many times I've read it so far. It's just sooo freaking cute).

HOOOOLY! I love this literal novel, JAE! ❤️

Real, imma throw hands with dream!JK. I'd probably get beat tho, but he can't do that to you! WTF? Side note: while that was your sleep state, in my dreams, TXT Yeonjun was tryna wife me up and I wasn't mad about it -- story for another day. (Don't tell Yoongi!)

THANK YOUUUUUU I am so glad you loved Friends & Fools because your soft yoongles photo set was truly one of the inspos (it's in the notes heh). Like that story was not planned whatsoever (all my other WIPs literally gave it the side-eye). BUT! I couldn't get the look and the smile on Yoongi's face out of my mind, and thought shit that's how he looks at his bestie MC, all fond and shit (I think I wrote warm and wistful). So yeah, thank you for the inspo there.

Oop. The kiss. Yes. It was... Yeah... (I kinda ate with that lmao)

Seriously though, I don't know what I did to deserve the love and the hype and the long-ass asks from you but I love it all and am so so so grateful for your friendship. :) I just think it was meant to be because you're J and I'm K and the alphabet says we must be close!

THANK YOU SO MUCH ILY

[littleslithewhump]

Day 5 - kidnapping -> escape attempt

V’s knees hurt. He picks at the rope around his ankles, trying to find purchase with his numb fingers.

He’s not sure how long he’s been here. Surely long enough to worry someone.

Never mind that V, currently, is on academic leave, spending most of his time in his study or buried in an archive. This is a time when his workplace and colleagues are /supposed/ to leave him alone.

Never mind that he lives by himself in a small apartment in a large, busy building, the manager having to ask what apartment he lives in every time she runs into him.

Never mind that his family is nonexistent and his friends are accustomed to occasionally not hearing from him for weeks at a time, because V loses track of himself and his work, because forgetting to respond to calls and texts is normal for adults with busy lives, but mostly because, well, V doubts he’s what anyone would consider a close friend. He’s unreliable and reclusive and disagreeable.

V’s fingernail snags on the rope. It hurts and he yelps, the sound muffled behind the gag.

—Maybe the barista from the cafe in his building will notice! He sees him every day, after all—not that V had ever really cared when a regular disappeared, back when he worked at bars and cafes.

V feels despair crumple him, turning his mind gray at the edges. His neck is welted and bruised, and it hurts to swallow. His mouth, still, is both dry and drooling, despite his captor’s swapping for a bit gag. He’s covered, still, in his own release, his captor’s release, his blood and tears, his saliva and bile and sweat. He reeks. He’s fucking filthy.

No wonder no one has come for him, he thinks, even as he knows the thought is delirious. He didn’t even run or fight when he had the opportunity—he’s naked and helpless, and not even in an endearing or martyrological way. He’s helpless in the way a beetle is when it’s stuck on its back. Disgusting little legs squirming in the air above its gooey center.

When his captor descends the stairs again, he laughs when he sees the frayed rope around his ankles. “Trying to get free, huh?” he asks condescendingly, patting V’s cheek. V avoids looking him in his face. He would have almost rather be beaten for it, and be assured of even the possibility of his escape, than be patronized.

Alas, his captor just pets V’s sticky chin, and drags his fingers down his neck. “So messy,” he purrs.

“Do you want a shower, pet?”

V can’t stop himself from looking up, wide-eyed and interested.

His captor laughs again, bending down to untie V’s ankles and wrists. He’s even whistling as he does so.

His good mood feels, to V, sickly. Too sweet. Even as he ties a blindfold over his eyes, as he handcuffs his aching wrists. Even as V feels the wedge of a knife at the nape of his neck after he’s pulled to his feet.

His captor guides him up the stairs, and though he tries to make a mental map, V can’t quite follow where they’re going.

When he pulls the blindfold from V’s face, V sees a wide, comfortable shower, tiled in white, so wildly different from the concrete basement he’s been in for days.

His captor steers him inside, facing the shower head, turning the water on to a warm trickle. V just stands there, shaking in his bit harness and cuffs, listening to his captor strip behind him over the gentle sound of the water.

He feels a naked body press against his own. V’s cuffed wrists are shoved awkwardly between them, but an arm still circles his middle and grip his hip—another hand reaches for body wash. His captor whispers in his ear:

“Behave, or I’ll hurt you.”

His captor soaps his hands, running them up and down his body. V shakes uncontrollably. The softness of the hands on his legs, back, arms, ass, groin is nauseating, disturbing. As are the fingers that scrub away the blood, sweat, saliva from his bony chest, and gently massage his ruined neck with soap.

A whimper escapes V’s throat.

“You feel good, pet?”

The hand around his neck tightens, pushing at the soft spots under V’s jaw. It forces V to lean his head on his captor’s shoulder, arching his back. The hand that was secure on his hip takes his cock in hand, and V jolts violently. His captor huffs in his ear.

“Be still.”

The hand clumsily tugs at him, and V feels himself grow hard despite himself, his toes curling on the tile. He bites down on the gag so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter. He kind of wants to cry. He kind of wants to tear this man into tiny, bloody pieces.

He doesn’t want this, he wants to scream. He just wants to go /home/.

So he makes a decision. He stills, coiling his energy into a plan. He feels his captor’s cock prodding against his ass, hears him growl and groan in his ear as he ruts against him, his hand loosening around his throat as his arousal seems to take hold…

V spins and throws his entire body weight into his captor, shouldering him in his chest, kneeing him in his crotch. His captor gasps and reels away.

V’s off balance, unable to pump his arms to help him run, but he but he still dives from the bathroom into a hallway and mindlessly going left. It’s a bedroom on that side, but V, manic and instinctual, dives for the window, flinging himself against it, shoulder first, with all his might. And again. And again. He’s too weak to break fucking glass.

“FUCKING IDIOT!”

V is pulled back by his wrists and is knocked to his knees. “You need to be taught a lesson, do you? Motherfucker.”

V expects kicks, punches, but instead, his captor grabs his wrists and pulls them behind and up, too high in the air for him to be on his knees yet too low to get his feet under him. V’s own weight twists the joint until his shoulders are screaming, and V is screaming too, his gag barely muffling him.

“You fucking piece of shit. Gonna have a nice shower, and you pull this? Aren’t you supposed to be fucking smart?”

His captor starts moving, not releasing his wrists, and pulling him down the hallway. V scrambles to keep up, frantically trying to prevent his captor from pulling his arms completely from their sockets.

When they reach the stairs, his captor kicks him down them. V trips, falling hard on his abused shoulder, a strangled yell emerging from his gagged mouth.

His captor takes his time down the steps, and V cringes, trying to scoot away. Without his clothes, V can finally see that his captor is really, truly strong—a layer of fat cushioning and protecting bulging muscles. He looks, confusingly, like the type of man V is most attracted to. His nakedness makes him look like a different genre of human than V’s frailty. He looks like sheer power.

V struggles to sit up as he approaches, but he just kicks him over again, placing his bare foot on V’s neck. Not enough to choke him. Just something to keep him still.

“What to do with you now?”

The question makes V run cold.

Icy blue eyes look down at him, judging, assessing. For the first time, V doesn’t question, despair, scream, or cry. He simply believes he will die here.

[dimwitted-roseu]

warnings :- a lil bit of sexual tension and gory description (we know how our rat bastard is like.)

pairing :- rumplestiltskin x reader

"emotion."

The loud and nagging spinning of the wheel flooded (first name's) head as she failed to spin the straw to gold for the fifth time now.

"This isn't going anywhere."

She sighed, sounding irate from all her failed attempts.

"You just need to stop thinking about it."

Rumplestiltskin replied, a strange expression on his face.

"Magic, is about emotion. Summon up that moment that made you so angry; you would've killed if you could."

She looked at him for a moment before muttering;

"And you do that?"

"I do." He replied, something in his voice changing for a moment.

"What's your moment?" She asked, curious.

Rumplestiltskin smiled for a moment before sighing as he spoke.

"Once, a man made me kiss his boots in front of my son. And in my mind, I go back and I rip out his throat. And I crunch his veins with my teeth."

And (first name) listened with an enthralled expression with an unintended smile on her lips.

"And that dearie, is how magic is made."

The imp said, seeing her enthralled expression as he too smiled slightly.

"Bloodlust." She whispered.

"I like the phrase." He said, his voice barely audible at how low it had gotten.

He took a couple steps, and now stood behind her sitting form at the wheel.

"Let me help you." He whispered, placing his hands on her bare shoulders; his calloused skin a startling sensation on hers.

She closed her eyes as she followed his instructions, his hands running down her shoulders and holding her arms now as he sat in a stool behind her.

"They made me kneel." She whispered, hatred in her voice as she spun the straw with newfound determination.

"I didn't do anything wrong...but they made me kneel." She hissed in that same voice, her resolve threatening to waver as his lips brushed the skin of her neck. She knew it was just a test.

"They made me apologize. To a child."

"But I realised...that no matter how good I was, or how hard I worked...I was never going to be more than I am now." She said, the anger burning deep within her very soul.

"What do you want to do to them." Rumplestiltskin whispered, the distance between them barely nonexistent.

"I want to make them bow. I want their kneecaps to crack, and freeze into the stones.

She said, leaning her head back against his as he kissed her neck; but she continued talking.

"I want their necks to break from bending."

She smiled cruelly as she turned her head slightly to look at him.

"Look." He whispered, his train of sight shifting to the spinning wheel.

(first name) gasped out loud. The straw was neatly spun into a thin strand of gold.

"I did it. I'm going to live." She said quietly, no believing her eyes yet as she held the gold strand.

"You're gonna do much more than that dearie."

Rumplestiltskin whispered, leaning closer to her.

"Don't stop...until they are on their knees."

He said, his voice low as he whispered into her ear, now no distance between them.

"Lets keep going." She whispered, as he kissed her cheek, travelling down to her shoulders; helping heighten her emotions tenfold with the sensations he was creating aside bloodlust. The noise of the spinning wheel drowned out any other sounds that night.

(an :- wink wink)

-

(first name) sat in front of the spinning wheel in front of all the royals who dared challenge her; successfully spinning straw to gold as Rumplestiltskin watched from the crowd; shrouded with a cloaking spell.

"Here. Here's your gold." She said, handing the King the long strand of pure gold.

"This- did you really do this?" The King was in disbelief as he saw the strand, taking it into his own hands; expecting it to be fake.

"You saw it with your own eyes." She said, in a matter of fact tone.

"You're just a Miller's daughter." The King said, attempting to salvage his dignity as the royals murmured and talked amongst themselves.

"I am so much more than that."

-fin

AN :- HAHAHAAHA I'M GIDDY I LOVE THIS SM. also, click on the gif i linked, it's more ✨imaginative✨ that way.

next part's gonna be a bit short tho.

°alo°

masterlist - next

[dar-jeerling]

Bend The Elbow Outwards (Kurokawa Izana x OC)

read on AO3 instead

Prologue: Can't Make An Omelette Without Cracking A Few Eggs

The human brain is quite an interesting thing: pattern recognition is set in it so deeply that, whether subconsciously or not, one ends up making connections to different, completely unrelated things with the ease of a bird taking flight.

Whenever the girl hiding under the name Nagahara Kyouko thinks about her father, the first sound that comes to mind is not his warm laugh; not his accented Korean as he taught her how to read Hangul, nor his off-key singing of Japanese children’s songs about vegetables, memorised from cassettes sent to him all the way from Tokyo of children’s morning programmes.

Crack, goes the egg he’s showing her how to open at the edge of the bowl. They’re making tamagoyaki for breakfast - her on the dining chair dragged to the counter of their miniature kitchen, their one apron dwarfing her pudgy body as she giggles at the slimy texture of raw egg whites running through her just-washed hands, him right next to her, laughing and fishing eggshells out of the mixture.

Crack, goes the gun in the unfamiliar man’s hands on their doorstep. Her father’s head goes crack, too - falls in little, messy pieces on the floor and on her like the clumsily-cracked egg she’d held in her hands just this morning.

Brain matter isn’t as slimy and runny as egg whites, and skull fragments aren’t as soft and breakable as egg shells, and the blood and fluids on her (just-washed) hands makes her father’s gun difficult to hold—

(—crack, goes the gun again, and dying truly is an instantaneous thing when you’ve been killed correctly—)

—but the girl who will carry the name Nagahara Kyouko in a few short years wasn’t only taught by her father how to crack eggs.

Crack, goes the gun in her hands.

Crack, goes the man who (has, can, will) kill her.

An eternity later, when the blood has cooled and she has collected and separated her father’s remains from his (their) murderer’s, there’s a voice she has only heard on the phone, sharp and furious as always:

“Can’t even die properly, what is wrong with this useless child? That’s what I get for hiring incompetent idiots; can you imagine, getting dropped by a three-year old? An embarrassment to our clan! Hey, you, do you even know what I’m saying? That bastard’s Korean was worse than nonexistent, of course you don’t. Aish, playing with corpses, such a stupid brat. You’ll stink up my apartment for days now, why couldn’t I have you dead…”

A pause in the rapid stream of words; she doesn’t look up from the bloodstained floor, but the cutting glare of a predator scenting weakness is strong enough to make her dizzy.

“Hey. Japanese. You understand, yes?”

A heartbeat’s length of silence; is it better to stay quiet, or to make a sound? But if she opens her mouth, she’ll throw up, and then the life her father gave her will be forfeit. A nod, slow and low enough to also count as a bow; never look in the eyes of someone who is searching for something you have.

“Well, at least that you can do.”

The high-heeled shoes stop in front of her with a deafening crack; pale knees, a sensible, expensive, tailored suit in gray, blood-red lipstick on a mouth pursed in discontent for having to crouch closer to such a failure in this mess. A small, oval face, downy brown hair sensibly pulled back into a bun, fox-shaped eyes the colour of dried blood.

“No matter what that imbecile has tried to fill your head with, you’re still a daughter of the An Family. Your blood, though tainted, still has some use to us.” A smile: warm, friendly, inviting; no teeth in sight, and yet she can feel them closing around her jugular with every hammering heartbeat. “It must have been scary, right? Getting shot. But because we are of the An Family, we always find a way to fix it; your survival is proof you belong with us.”

The girl who will one day run away from the family legacy and take on her father’s surname meets the eyes of this woman who she could pass as a twin to, (if) when she grows up. What a comic way to put it - fix it, like reliving the measly five years of her life again after getting her brains blown out, perpetually swimming in terror as to when the one who gave birth to her will finally tire of her and her father’s existence and end this once and for all, was in order to join the An Family officially.

That An Family, blessed by a legendary gumiho with the power to change the future centuries ago, what has it done for her and her father, other than arrange their deaths? How arrogant of this woman, to think the only thought in her child’s mind in the face of death is ‘I have failed this family, I want to do my role better’ - when it was, in fact, simply, ‘I want to go back to those sunny days in the kitchen with Dad’.

Changing the future after death - that’s the ability the descendants of An Gildong are granted through his union with a Heavenly Fox. But she has not changed the future in the way she wanted; by the criteria laid in front of her, with this failure, she is unworthy of being a part of this family.

So with this loophole firmly in mind, Nagahara Tatsu’s daughter looks her mother in the eyes and says, “Whatever it is this esteemed person is talking about, I’m afraid it doesn’t pertain to me.”

Crack, sounds the collision between backhand and cheek. Blood drips down her face, mixing with the dried puddles on the floor. Over the vicious scolding she’s getting, a thought well-treaded forms yet again, this time confirmed after such a catastrophic failure:

Otou-san, truly, I have always wished to only share blood with you.

[persicipen]

𑑛 “IN SICKNESS” ﾉ DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 2.4k ᯽ sappy sweet domestic fluff. veritas is kinda cute in this one. and he’s bathing you when you’re very sick. very vaguely mentioned that reader is shorter. no proofreading because i’m also sick and this is why i wrote this </3 ᯽ FLUFF CONTENT ᯽

It’s always the mumbling that gets on his nerves. If there’s something one wishes to say, one should be confident and voice out loud whatever is on one’s mind. However, right now it’s not your mind but the fever that dictates the inarticulate muttering leaving your mouth. And it makes Veritas even more frustrated — not with you, but with the fact that such a simple sickness still takes time to leave the body, rendering you weak and delirious.

Curled up under thick blankets, you seem tiny. Insignificant. Barely taking up space in his bed, like you’re almost nonexistent, a translucent ghost.

And yet, you occupy the entirety of his head, which is even more annoying.

Surely, this cannot be pity what he feels, although the squeeze in his chest from seeing you in such a state leaves little room for a different interpretation. He’s worried. No sane person would enjoy seeing someone close to them in pain and discomfort. Almost ironic that he’s the one who found a cure for one of the worst diseases known to the universe, but against a flu, it’s still best to leave the organism to sweat out the infection on its own.

And he can only sit and watch, impatiently tapping fingers against his knee. He feels useless. Giving you medicine to be dissolved in a glass of warm water or bringing you a small meal if you find the strength to eat anything without getting dizzy does not count.

You mumble something. I hate how it turned out. It’s so bad. I feel bad.

Veritas frowns, coming closer to listen what is it that you’re trying to say. Again with the mumbling. Your hand slips out from under the covers, fingers loosely curling around his wrist. Your skin feels way too hot — usually he’s the one with a warmer body, but with the current state of your health, you’re on fire.

“It hurts,” you mutter in a small voice.

A few lines crease his forehead, brows furrowing when he looks at your flushed face. “Where does it hurt?”

Everything. It’s just too much of everything.

His other hand comes up to rest against your cheek and you accidentally drool on his palm, quickly followed by a sheepish giggle. His thumb strokes the corner of your mouth, wiping the saliva away before dropping his hand on top of the blanket covering you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“I’ve been putting away working on my projects and now I’m sick, but I feel like I’m wasting my time doing nothing.”

“Your brain needs rest, so does the body. And it’s not just the flu that is making you ill.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as well, though much less severely than Veritas’ ever-present frown. Your hand travels down from his wrist to tangle fingers with his.

“What do you mean?”

“The way you’re treating yourself. Excessive overthinking is just as detrimental as not thinking at all.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“You were. You still are. It doesn’t have to be a conscious decision.”

“My head hurts, so don’t lecture me right now, okay? I just feel stupid.”

“Nonsense.” He scoffs. “Fever is making you delirious, that is all.”

“I’m sad because I didn’t get to finish my work. Now it’s all gonna be delayed again…” You sniffle into the pillow and he brushes the tears off your lashes before they even start falling down. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m overreacting.”

“You are.”

“Ugh!”

Veritas sighs with amusement, making sure you can hear it, although the quiet and airy chuckle coming from your lips tells him that he does not need to be so obvious. Still, he rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he bends down to kiss your temple. It feels clammy, cold, and you squirm away, displeased with sensing your own sticky skin.

“You’re a fool. But not once have I called you stupid,” he says and there’s no trace of mockery in his voice, “which you seem to do all too often.”

“Mhm…”

For once he’s glad you’re not arguing. The constant whining from your side might’ve made him feel the tiniest bit of guilt about expecting you to indulge him with an interesting conversation when you turned uncooperative after getting sick. A pity that it’s because you’re still battling with the fever.

After a cautious examination of the sheen of sweat on your face, visible even in the diffused light, he concludes that it’s time to get you out of the bed and into a bathtub; lying for too long in damp clothes will only get you cold.

He scoops you up in his arms, mindful of your dully aching head and tense muscles. Uncertain whether you should lean on his shoulder or not, you stiffen in his embrace until he gives you a reassuring hum. He doesn’t mind having you cling to him like that. It’s quite endearing when you hide away your embarrassment in the crook of his neck, like it’s uncommon for an adult to need a helping hand every so often.

In the bathroom, even the dimmed lights are too bright for your eyes and the scent of natural soap still too nauseating to breathe deeply without coughing or sniffling. An ugly little creature; your clothes clutch at your body uncomfortably, stiff and soaked.

A quiet voice in Veritas’ head tells him he should be more repelled, particularly because you’re the only one to blame for not caring for your wellbeing prophylactically before it’s too late. A quiet voice, no more than that, because the rest of him itches to cradle you — a little note of pride swelling in his heart when he hears a barely audible hiccup of gratitude.

And he would help you out again, a dozen more times if needed.

He settles you on the floor whilst working on filling up the bath and then begins undressing you. Your mouth moves in a silent protest, but with how weak you are, even verbally expressing the minor complaint proves to be difficult. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but the little shake of your head still makes him snort softly.

“Cease with that nonsense.”

That much is true, however, that allowing him to take off your clothes now is different. Much different to when he peels them off of your skin with enthusiasm and need, and more so when you’re the one stripping for him, slowly, carefully, shyly. Because that’s when the twinkle in his eye burns brighter and the edge of his mouth quivers — a smile, albeit a hidden one, never quite faltering. Now it’s just strange, like you’re not perceived at all.

It’s his doctor-like approach, straight to the point and paying no mind to your sulking. There are more important matters to attend to.

He might have a crass personality, but whenever you are concerned, he’s more than willing to be gentle. When his hands slide under your armpits and smooth the goosebumps on your skin, when he cradles you into his chest and breathes slowly against your ear in a steady rhythm, when he rubs soothing circles on your back.

It wasn’t hard to get him used to holding you. Even now he revels in the closeness, finding comfort in the warmth radiating from your feverish body for a moment before helping you get into the hot bath.

You can barely keep your eyes open, barely breathe without a painful gasp as the pressure builds up in your lungs. The steam from the warm water doesn’t help with the shortness of breath, though you dare to notice it’s pleasant on your heated skin.

Even though the almost stinging water temperature leaves you shaking and more longing for heat than before, finally sensing the fire reaching the icy roots of your bones, you wish to submerge wholly. With knees tucked to your chest and your cheek cuddled to his wide arm, a velcro kind of hug, you doze off for a while, hearing his steady heartbeat right next to your ear. It’s such a mundane sound, yet somehow it fills you with a sort of comfort you cannot name. And even if Veritas shifts in his spot after a while, the bit of discomfort brought by numb limbs doesn’t bother him too much.

You shiver when his usually warm skin feels cold compared to yours. He’s brushing your back with a coarse sponge, bringing circulation to your colourless skin and cleaning you off the cooled down sweat. He even washes your hair, only briefly and for the fact that you can no longer trust yourself to keep your head out of the water. His fingers running through your scalp feel oddly satisfying against your oversensitive skin; the pressure calms down the pulsing headache.

“It’s nice…” You yawn, barely awake and just letting yourself be fondled like a baby animal. “I want to stay like this.”

“The water will turn cold.”

“You can run the hot one again.”

“Get out,” he demands, a joke in all seriousness of his low voice and a hand already reaching to get you out of the tub without an actual intention of doing so.

“Veritas, no…!” You pout and it is a tantalising sight to him. “Why do you always have to be so mean?”

“Mean?” He raises a brow at you. “Are you implying that I haven’t given you enough attention?”

“Nuh-uh…” I just want you closer.

There’s a brief exchange of silent chuckling.

And yet it doesn’t take long for you to start shivering again, tender atmosphere soon disrupted by a pained squeal when your arms cramp up and you hug his bicep like it’s your lifeline. A while for the ache to pass, although his hands rubbing your limbs make it bearable.

He’s so good to you. How is that even possible that you melt like a butter out in the sun in front of a man who some would call the most inconsiderate person known in the galaxy?

You are in love with this man. Utterly and totally, to the point where it might hurt just as much as the current tension in your muscles, but you do not mind. When his hand squeezes your forearm, you wince and bite your lip, but a peck to your cheek soothes you again.

“Let’s get you out,” he offers when you stop whimpering from pain.

You struggle when he lifts you out of the water, immediately wrapping you in a towel. Even though you feel a tad better now that you’re refreshed, you still get easily tired, so standing in one place turns your knees wobbly. When he notices your figure almost leaning against his chest, he seems to regret how harsh he sounded earlier. His mouth opens for an apology, but all that comes out is a huff, like he’s simply telling you to get closer.

And you do. There’s little space left between the two of you, and you wish his clothes could disappear just for a moment, so he can warm you up without anything in the way. With a dissatisfied grumble on your lips, you nuzzle into him, hoping to steal more of his body heat.

“Sorry for making you worry,” you say.

“Mmh. Attending to your wellbeing is a full-time job on its own.” He chuckles quietly at your grumpy expression, fingers cupping your chin and tilting it up.

Wriggling out of his embrace turns futile, but perhaps you should trust him with the knowledge of his own immune system. If he’s certain that one more kiss won’t get him sick either, then you should not feel guilty for pursuing this, right?

“It’s alright.” As if reading your mind, he gives you the answer. His lips are too soft against yours; you barely feel them. “This might help.”

“With what?” You stifle a chuckle, hiding your face in his chest and basking in his solid presence.

“Your mood, at the very least.”

“Who knows? Perhaps it will heal me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no scientific proof to substantiate the claim that kissing alleviates symptoms of the flu infection.” But he kisses you again, chastely, eyes lingering on your features to memorise them; to remember how you look when you’re ill and to ensure it won’t happen too often. He leans back slightly and, upon sensing your brows creasing with an upcoming whine, wraps arms around your shoulders anew. “Feeling better?”

“Thanks to you.” You sigh into his chest.

A tough predicament, because as much as he would prefer to say that it doesn’t change anything — it does. He tightens his embrace, caressing the top of your head in slow strokes until you almost stumble on your cottony knees, a moment from falling asleep standing against his firm posture.

“Let’s get you to bed again.”

And so, back in the bedroom, while tucking you in under a couple of blankets, there’s nothing more comforting than having his hand resting on your head and fingers combing through your hair. At least you’re glad you haven’t drooled on them again, but that thought alone sends you into a fit of coughing laugh.

“I love you.” The words come out in a hoarse voice and barely audible.

A peck left on your temple, then on your nose, then on the corner of your mouth; you should start counting them, although at this point, Veritas has already done it way too many times. If there is one thing you learn about him, it’s that he has a unique way of conveying what he wants to say without using words. He’s a man of few sentences, which is why you value each of them more than others.

“Mhm. Now sleep.”

Yeah, he loves you too.

[deans-writing]

Get The Fuck Out (Of My Club)

Characters: Hades Illiano, Chain Hawk

Warnings: Alcohol abuse

Notes: hi :3 (also this is. this is gta and the underworld is a gimmick it's a fucking GIMMICK if you haven't been reading abt him) also this is. short but HEYYY I WROTE SOMETHING!!! (please be proud/silly)

Past the flashy lights, roaring music and ludicrous amounts of liquor- The Underworld was a way for Hades to relax- even if just for a short while. There were no gunfights. The threat of failing and missing out on a payday was nonexistent with how tight he ran the business. He could sit back and let his income roll in. Though once the door to his office swung open and allowed a wave of music to burst through, he was shaken from his relaxed state.

He looked at who was entering while swinging his legs off of his desk and planting his feet on the ground. "Chain?" Hades raised a brow as he leaned forward. His hands came up and gripped his knees. The boxer let the door slam shut behind him, a sound that was drowned out with the club's ongoings. "Get up." Chain commanded simply.

Hades did as he was told, standing up and then following Chain as he motioned for him to come along. The two walked to the window that allowed the fighter to overlook the entire club. "See that?" Chain asked, pointing to the bar. Hades squinted through the tinted vision his shades created.

It was certainly a sight. A man- clearly under the influence- stood in front of the bar. He was leaning over it, his fists pressed hard against the wooden top. The only thing stopping him from grabbing onto the bartender who was backing away was the distance created by the bar.

"Is he-"

"She cut him off and he just- lost it. Started shouting and getting real aggro." Chain said. "...figured you'd want to handle him." He mentioned. Hades fists clenched. "Yeah." He growled. "I do."

Professionalism be damned, who did that son of a bitch think he was. Screaming at his staff like that? That was strike one. Hades pushed past Chain, his shoulder grazing his back as he made haste out of the office in his power walk. He wouldn't kill him, that was the one rule. He wished he could just tear his throat out- but he was in public. He wasn't the mercenary right now.

God, he wanted to be.

He went out through the door and down the walkway, turning the bend to find himself only a dozen or so feet away from the drunkard. His shouting had grown louder as he approached, and the bartenders efforts of calming him failed. Evidently.

"Hey!" Hades called out. He still tried to sound at least somewhat calm, maybe drown out his murderous rage. The malice in his heart seeped through anyways, whatever. The man stopped for a moment, turning his head. His stare was filled with undeserved rage. Hades made a mental note to hire another guard to stick around the bar and keep an eye out for people like this.

He walked closer. "You're done." He put it bluntly, "Pay your tab, and get the fuck away from my staff." Hades ordered. The man didn't budge. "You can't jus' fuckin'-"

"Yes, I can." Hades cut him off for the second time (ha), the drunk was trying to ignore his commands- strike two. The attention was at least off of his staff. He could handle the heat. "Back off." He continued. There was a glimmer of hope for the man's odds of not being hospitalized once he did in fact step away, then it vanished when he took a step towards Hades with that same anger burning his face.

Strike three. It was going to get physical no matter what he did now. Fine.

The man's hand reached out to grab onto Hades' chest only a second after that thought. He didn't earn a warning, he figured. Hades grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him in to close the distance. A few moments before they collided, he had pulled his head down. It was like a reversal of a battering ram, except it was the top of his skull breaking the man's face.

The top of his mouth had been the main point of contact, more than enough to leave him with a sore set of gums and an ache in the rest of his face. His body reared back from the attack, and Hades allowed him to fall back while he let go of his hand. He didn't fall down, and that just wouldn't do.

Hades stepped forward, leaving some distance between the two just for his leg. It rose halfway up his stomach, his knee just barely missing him. He stuck his leg straight out and kicked the man square in his own abdomen. It both knocked him down and knocked the wind out of him, whether it was the initial blow or the harsh slam against the metal flooring they stood on that did it was up for debate.

The crash below echoed, but was completely void as a result of the music still blaring over it. No one who hadn't been watching even noticed it happened. Maybe that was for the best, considering what he was going to do.

He took a step further and crouched down. His hands quickly began to pat the man down as he wheezed and gasped for air, certainly in no position to stop Hades as he found the drunks wallet in his jeans right pocket. He slipped it out of the crevice swiftly before standing up and turning to the bartender.

The money meant nothing to him, he had more than enough. Hades threw down the wallet onto the bar where the man's fists had initially been. "Take what you want... Pay his tab though. The rest is yours." He paused, looking down and licking at the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry about that. This- this shit isn't happening again." Hades assured while he met the girls stare.

She merely nodded, letting out a soft "thank you" which he couldn't really hear as she took a hold of the wallet. He turned his attention back to the man, his stare hardening and frustration burning through him once he realized he'd have to get huffed up the stairs and thrown out like the trash he was.

At least he wouldn't be bothering anyone anymore.

[oculiaperticlausi]

date: november 20th, 2023 where: apple's place then a restaurant summary: the two talk about a friends with benefit sort of deal

Apple: She's been pretty busy trying to put thoughts to paper, and figuring out the best layout for her piece but was as stuck as a barnacle to a shit. Since she'd spent all day at home she wore nothing but knee high socks, some pajama shorts and a plain bralette to lounge around comfortably in. Apple didn't bother looking up from her tenth attempt at drawing the scene they discussed over text. "I can't quite figure out how I want it." she declared throwing down - gently - her charcoal stick and sitting back onto her legs. "I think I need a break."

Zekai: Zekai adjusts his bag over his shoulder, knowing they were planning to see Mimi so he might as well pack some things to do. Parker lets him in on her way. They hung out a few days ago but the text messages have been awkward since. He drifts his gaze down to her art, pressing his lips together. "Good thing we need to leave then." He teases.

Apple: “True! Why don’t you find me something cute to wear, while I go wash my hands then?” Apple didn’t really give him much of a choice as she hopped to her feet and made her way into the bathroom. Her art was always messy, which is how she liked it, but it did make it hard to clean up quick. Perhaps she shouldn’t have bothered starting today when she knew well they needed to make a quick exit. Apple came back into her bedroom and threw herself on the bed where she pulled and twisted in an attempt at taking off her socks. “What’d you pick out?”

Zekai: Zekai places his bag on the ground, nodding his head. "Sure, can." He walks down the hall to her bedroom, knowing which one was hers. He goes through clothes and ultimately ends with something comfortable yet something Mimi would like. "I picked out something comfortable but cutesy… I think."

Apple: “Comfortable but cutesy… so not sexy?” Apple glanced at the clothes he pulled out for her then back at him, “we’re not kids anyone, Z. I can show some of my nonexistent cleavage! I’m sure Mimi will be alright with it.” Apple wasn’t one to hide her tattoos for anyone and took any opportunity to flaunt them. She picked out a short gold dress with an open back instead. Sliding it on she pulled down her shorts and teased off her bra, turning for approval. “Huh?”

Zekai: Zekai furrows his brows. "But Mimi doesn't like it when you dress sexy." He mutters. She wants to show off her cleavage? Fuck, if only she knew about her cleavage and how it exists more than she thinks. He turns his head as she changes in front of him. Be looks back over at her when she says huh and breathes out. "Y… Yeah. It looks great."

Apple: “Mimi needs to get over it.” She was feeling a bit more cheeky than usual. Imprudent really as she spun to show off her outfit knowing well he’d be able to look up the skirt of her dress - it was that short. It wasn’t normal behavior for her, but she did enjoy teasing him so. Maybe it was the way he seemed to stumble over his words ever since they’d… done things in a rather unlike Zekai manner. But she enjoyed it more than she probably should. “Awesome, can you help me tie the heels?” She asked bringing out a pair of black and a pair of red heels, “Which do you think?”

Zekai: Zekai shoves his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat. "And I'll make sure she does because it would be a goddamn shame for you not to wear that." His gaze shamelessly takes her in, biting on his lower lip as his gaze falls on her upper thighs. He feels like he can barely breathe. Since when did Apple become this fucking attractive to him. He nods his head as he walks over to her. He bends down in front of her. "Black." He takes the shoes from her. His hand moves to her ankle, lifting it up to put on the shoe, his eyes raising up to look at her as he inhales and exhales shaky breathes.

Apple: Apple pressed her lips together to shrink the ever growing grin that threatened to expose her amusement. "You really like it? I feel like I haven't been out in ages, so I wanted to look cute." It was all true. She spent too much of her days working and even when she wasn't working she'd busy herself to avoid having free time. It was just how she dealt with life. Dating quickly turned to shit after Kell so she did her best to channel it to other things. Apple's breath caught at the sight of him below her. The way he looked up at her bringing back memories of what had taken place in her kitchen. "Good choice." was all she could make out while she watched him intensely with wide eyes.

Zekai: Her wide eyes looking down at him, the way he can remember every inhale, every gasp and moan that left her as his face was buried between her legs. He wonders if she has done anything like that since the two of them have. He honestly couldn't say he hadn't, knowing how easily he could into another person's pants because he is more about bringing pleasure than he is about being needy. He place her leg down and picks up the other. He placed her foot on his knee, turning to press his lips against her inner thigh. "Do you… want to be late?" He whispers against her skin.

Apple: Oh, fuck did she want him. The realization alone was scary to her. She wanted him on her, and in her, and those thoughts were making butterflies tickle her stomach. Or something telling her to run away. Apple didn’t care much for sex - maybe because she preferred to build a bond with those she liked - but still Zekai seemed to bypass all of her reservations. It wasn’t entirely an unpleasant feeling. She just had to be extra careful with him… it was easier to chuck off her growing feelings for him as nothing more than giddy over him taking her virtue. Before she could answer though, her phone rang and Mimi’s face popped up on screen. As if she was caught doing something wrong, Apple picked up the phone and yelled a “Hello!”

Zekai: Zekai raises his eyes up to her, watching her every expression to make sure that everything he was doing is alright. He kisses up higher, nibbling on different spots of her skin. At least until her phone rings and he shoots up, knowing it's Mimi on the other side of that call. He clears his throat and lifts his eyes up to Apple, pressing his lips together as he spins around and reaches into his jeans to adjust his harden cock. Again.

Apple: The conversation didn't last long, just her Mimi apologizing for not being able to make it. Apple hung up the phone, turning back to face him with the blush still on her cheeks. "That was um-" she was avoiding his gaze now caught on the consequences of her earlier actions, "-Mimi's not able to make it to dinner, so it will just be us she says." Karma was a bitch, she should have known better than to tease him. She was moist below, so Apple turned to dig through a drawer and retrieve new underwear. It didn't really register until after she pulled them out exactly how it would look like to him, and she hurried to find some type of excuse for why she needed new ones. "Better for the dress." she said, hiding them behind her back.

Zekai: Zekai shoves his hands into his pockets, turning his head to look over his shoulder in her direction. His eyes shamelessly looking her up and down as he presses his lips together. His hands in his pockets are his saving grace. All he can do is hope to fucking God he doesn't reach out and try to touch her, reach out do whatever he can because he knows she wants it as bad as he does. "So, where am I taking you then?" He questions, arching a brow as his eyes focus on her. He watches her every movement as she slips her hand into her drawer and retrieves a new pair of underwear. He has to bite on his lower lip to prevent himself from groaning. "Need me to ease the ache for you, Apple?" He growls under his breath.

Apple: "The reservation." she replied, after swallowing away some invisible lump, "It's still available, she just figured we'd take it still." Apple scrunched up the underwear in her hand, cheeks flaring at his comment. She pressed her knees together and bit the skin of her lips. He'd growled at her again, and it was somehow the sexiest thing that she could compute. "There's that feral creature again…" she left in the air in an attempt to get the upper hand of the situation, despite wanting desperately to not. "I'm quite starved, actually. I'll meet you out in a sec." Apple breathed out every word in a hushed whispered and made her way towards the door.

Zekai: Would it be too much to say she's the only one to ever make him growl like this? The only one to make him desperate to hear her panting, moaning and tugging away at the strands of his hair as he finds all those spots that make her thighs quiver. He swallows as he nods his head, turning to look somewhere else in the room. "Guess we should head out to eat then." He wasn't typically someone who begged. Normally, he took what he wanted but he couldn't do that with Apple. Apple was his best friend and if she didn't want him on his knees in front of her than he wouldn't do it. He brushes his tongue across his lower lip, forcing himself to stay planted in the spot she was going to leave him in.

Apple: Apple left the room only bolting out to the bathroom when she was out of sight. Quickly cleansing and changing herself, and splashing some water on face hoping the redness would go away. She was a lost cause. Why out of all people him? This burning feeling that spreads over her whenever he comes near was too hard to tame. But Apple's never been one to keep things to herself so after taking a last look in the mirror she walked out to him, stopping with an accusing finger aimed at his face. "What did you do to me?" she asked forcefully, hands moving around her face as she spoke, "I can't stop thinking about it. And it's making me all hot and bothered, and - and - and you're an ass. Fuck!" Apple turned from him, pacing to the wall before turning back towards Z. "Let's just go."

Zekai: Zekai pulls out his phone and starts to scroll through Instagram, furrowing his brows as he waits for her to finish changing. He turns his head when he hears her voice, tilting his head to the side. Each words that leaves her mouth has him moving inch by inch. Tossing his phone onto the bed, turning toward her and taking those small necessary steps to close the distance between them. "You can have it whenever you want," he mutters. "I've been thinking about it too." He exhales. "No one… No one even fucking compares." He closes the distance between them, pinning her against the wall with his body. "I'm starving and it's not for dinner."

Apple: "Z." she let out desperately unsure of their situation still. He was her best friend, she didn't want to damage that. Apple's raging hormones felt like a firecracker and she couldn't explain why, but she was always one to walk through her thoughts before making rash decisions. However, all Zekai did was cause her to make split moment decisions. The way his body pressed against hers doing more than it should have, and his words soothing some imaginary itch. "I don't want to be like them." she said, raising her hands into his hair, "but I can't seem to get you off my mind. I pressed my bean for god's sake." The words would have made her laugh if she wasn't so serious.

Zekai: Zekai presses his lips together when she confesses she doesn't want to be like them. "You aren't," but he wasn't the relationship guy. He couldn't be that. He wasn't sure he could do it for Apple but he knew he could make her scream, make her quiver beneath him. He leans down and brushes his lips along the side of her neck, unable to help himself with the little chuckle that leaves his lips. "Pressed your bean?" He murmurs, grabbing a hold of her hips and turning them around. He nudges them toward the bed and pushes her down onto it. "Show me." He gaze drifts across her.

Apple: She wanted to roll her eyes at his words, but held back. How was she not like them at this point? Pressed up against a wall with everything in her begging him to not let her go. Pathetic really, and something she used to laugh about when the two went out drinking and she's witness it in person. Instead, she smacked him shoulder for laughing at her, before being dragged towards the bed. His words sent so much excitement up her body, but she held strong unwilling to let him see any more of her disgrace. "I got morals, Z. I'm not going to touch myself in front of you." she replied, legs spread despite her words and one hand slowly made it's way to her underwear.

Zekai: Zekai arches a brow, a small smirk curving his features. "Come on, Apple." He mutters. His gaze falls to her hand as it starts to trail down her body to her underwear. He brushes his tongue across his lower lip, adjusting his stance in hope to ease the pressure under his jeans. He steps closer, his legs pressing against the edge of the bed as he inhales deeply, chewing on his lower lip. "Show me exactly what you did when you thought of me."

Apple: He wanted a show. It was embarrassing but the look on his face made it almost worth it. Apple’s panties were once again spoiling as she pushed them off, letting them rest beside him on the edge of the bed. She figured it’d be best to not look at him so she laid back on the bed and tried to forget he was there as she touched herself. The sensation was too much though, she could feel his eyes burning into her and she breathed out, “Touch me, please.” A plea, really, but she didn’t stop. Just one more time, she told herself. To get this … itch scratch and then they’ll be back to normal.

Zekai: His lips part, a single breath leaves him but he holds the rest of them. His gaze focusing on her fingers as they press her bean. The thought would have been hilarious had he not been fucking mesmerized by what she was doing to herself. Her breathy plea has him moving down to his knees in seconds, he grabs her legs and tugs her to the end of the bed, a light swat of her hand and his mouth is on her. He groans into her core, flicking his tongue against her clit as he moves his hand up and slides a finger into her, curling it up and rubbing that spot as he begins to spell his name on her clit.

Apple: Apple chuckled when he swatted her hand away, but did not protest, quickly falling onto her back as she felt him on her. It took everything in her not to moan right then and there, but her body gave her away with a body rocking shiver. Eyes quickly rolling into her head, she closed her eyes and placed a hand on the back of his head. Digging her fingers into his hair, "Oh, sweet jesus." she moaned while rolling her hips onto him. The feel of his tongue ever present on her clit making it impossible for her to keep quiet.

Zekai: His free arm wraps around her legs to keep her in place, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking on it. He alternates between licking, sucking, and even nibbling. He wants nothing more than to keep her moaning, to make her shiver against him. He starts moving his finger in and out of her, making sure each time he pushes it into her he's curving it up to rub that spot of hers.

Apple: It all felt like a trap. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to her body, and why she was left yearning for him in such a despicable manner. Apple moaned and gasped as she approached her orgasm, arching her back up off the bed. “Shit, Z. Fuck. Oh!” she was unable to form proper words while her body shook with pleasure. “I can’t-!” Hold on any longer. Apple pushed against him, using her legs to push away from him as she came and fell back onto the bed. She quickly grabbed a pillow to hide the lust from her face.

Zekai: Zekai's grip on her legs tighten, his mouth on her as she lifts her hips. He follows her every movement, even if she's trying to get away from him. He licks her through her orgasm and once she relaxes is when he finally stops, pulling away. He raises his hand to his mouth, wiping away her juices his thumb. "Ready to go eat? If we don't leave now we are going to miss our reservation." He smirks as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, heading toward the door. He glances over at her. "Need a minute?" It's hard not to be smug about it, making her cum in a way no one else has. At least he thinks so at her reaction.

Apple: Oh how she wished the bed could swallow her whole in that very moment. Apple couldn’t see his face but just on the tone she could feel his cocky smirk. Instead of answering him, she launched the pillow in his direction and sat up smoothening the mess that was her hair and patting down her dress. “I’ll meet you in the car.” she said after clearing her throat hoping she’d sound less affected. She’d forgotten all about dinner by this point. Had maybe hoped for more of him, but there was no way she’d say it. Apple quickly cleaned up and fixed herself before making her way out the door.

Zekai: Zekai nods before walking out. It doesn't take them long to get to the restaurant and to be sat at the table. He taps his fingers against his glass of water, waiting for his whiskey he ordered. He knows this is gonna be expensive as hell but you only live once, yeah? He lifts his gaze up to her, trying to figure out what she's thinking.

Apple: Apple didn’t say much as they made their way to the restaurant. At the table however, she noticed him a bit on edge or impatient. “Are you alright?” She asked tilting her head slightly as she waited for an answer. “You seem a bit distracted? What’s on your mind?” She wasn’t someone who really let things simmer for too long. Liking to communicate whatever needed attention. It’s what made her so great at her job, always staying ahead of anything and everything through the simplest act of conversation.

Zekai: Zekai nods his head. "I'm fine." He chuckles lowly. "I've been sitting here trying to read your mind since we got here. You have never been this quiet before." He muses, glancing up when the waiter brings over their drinks. "Thanks." He raises his glass up to his lips as his eyes focus on her. Ever since they crossed the line, the boundary he never thought he'd cross he wonders if it dampered his ability to read her. "So, what are you thinking about?"

Apple: “Read my mind, eh?” she smirked back at him but was interrupted with drinks before she finished. She gave the waiter a nod of appreciation then watched Z for a moment. “I have a million to one thoughts on this lovely head of mine Z. From work, to art, to just about everyone in my life.” Which wasn’t too many if she really thought about it. Lately she’s been pretty MIA from others. Not for any reason in particular, just time slipping. “Right this moment I was thinking about you though. Which prompted my question.”

Zekai: Zekai smirks, nodding his head. "Yeah." He keeps his gaze on her, tilting his head to the side when she talks about her thoughts. Have the two of them talked about anything since their moment together? He raises his glass up to his lips, taking a sip of it. "And what exactly were you thinking about me for?" He murmurs as he presses his lips together to hold back his smug smirk. Honestly, he's been hard as a fucking rock since that moment in her bedroom and he swears to God all he can hear are her cries.

Apple: Apple quickly rolled her eyes at the question, "You cannot woo me, Zekai. Wipe that smug of your face." But really hadn't he already done so? Technically speaking she had pressed the situation both times, so wouldn't that count as her wooing him? She grinned in response but proceeded to answer the question anyways, "We're going to go around in a circle if I answer that truthfully." she chuckled, "but on another note, How are you feeling. You've been keeping pretty busy since… the happening. What have you been up to? Do tell, because you know my life is as uneventful as can be."

Zekai: Zekai's smug expeession falls from his features as he drops his gaze to his glass. "If you say so." He mutters with a chuckle. "Isn't honesty the best policy?" He smirks at his glass. "I haven't done much. Just the radio show and stuff. I didn't realize how much time Daniela took up until…" he whispers.

Apple: "I did tell you though. I was thinking about you, and what had you so quiet. Your response answered my question, so I opted for a new one." Apple didn't think her earlier tease would make his face fall. It hadn't been her intentions, Z knew he meant more to her than anyone else ever could. She brought her drink to her lips, an orange juice and vodka cocktail she's been a fan of as of recent. "And stuff? What stuff?" she asked, then glanced away at the mention of Daniela. "Do you want to… talk about it?" Apple knew it was still hard for him. She could compartmentalize her emotions around death, had worked on it for years, but closure was something neither would get until the killer was caught.

Zekai: Zekai nods his head. "Fair enough." He raises his glass up to his lips, taking a long sip of it as he presses his lips together. Honestly, the stuff isn't anything bad. It's not anything really important to remember. It had been so long since him and Apple had their little night he wasn't even sure what she could have missed. It felt like it had only been a few days when it had been almost a month. He lifts his eyes up toward her. "I don't know. I don't remember what I did yesterday, Apple." He laughs breathlessly. "Talk about Daniela? Not really."

Apple: "You're funny." she said rolling her eyes, but smiled regardless. Classic him. Apple nodded in response to the latter and quickly moved to push the subject out of the table. "Well since you didn't bother to ask me, I'll just have to tell you what I've done. Rude. Don't say I didn't warn you." she started, then took another sip of her bring before continuing, "I visited a couple families out in Locke Row, then forced a couple friends to let me paint them against their will. Did some paintintg of my own at home, and was comissioned to do a mural out by the gym in Locke Row too. I'm still thinking about it, trying to see if I can fit it into my schedule somehow."

Zekai: "I am?" Zekai laughs. "Well, I'm glad I can make you laugh." He raises his glass up once again to take another sip. He tosses his head back to drink down the rest of the contents as he looks at the menu. "Oh, that… Sorry." He laughs. "Please do tell me about what you did." He keeps his eyes on her, a laugh leaves him when she says she forced friends to let her paint them. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you forced people to make you paint them? You were? What do they want you to paint?"

Apple: “Nah, it’s cool. If you don’t care about my days just say so next time.” She continued to tease place a sad expression on her face while holding a hand to her chest. Apple chucked a sealed butter packet at him and laughed, “Friend are there to help you, right? I needed some extra practice and didn’t feel like doing it all alone. You should be grateful I hauled them and not just you.” Apple was good at a great lot of things but keeping up with people was not her strongest suit. Probably from staying away for so long after things happened in her life. She simply didn’t know how to just ask to hang out for no reason. “Just like weights and work out shit and people.”

Zekai: "You know I care about your fucking days, you baby." Zekai laughs, picking up the sealed butter packet and throws it back at her. "You should have come over to my place, painted me… I heard I'm quite the muse." He didn't, but it was fun to say. He wasn't sure how seriously she'd take him though and he almost wants to take it back but that would be admitting there's more between them, right? Admitting that there's potential. He wasn't sure if he could be a boyfriend. He hadn't tried dating since that girl in high school toyed with him and broke his heart. He swore he'd never do it again and with his charming personality… Was it it something he could change?

Apple: Apple stuck out her tongue in defiance before bursting out laughing. She picked up her menu for the first time that now, finally figuring they should get their orders settled before the waiter comes back. As he spoke again though she glanced up at him and smirked, “You want to be my muse? I have loads of paintings of you already.” It was the truth. Ever since she could paint she’d use him for inspiration. Sometimes just his hands, or his torso that she’d mesmerized from growing up together. Simple and small things to help with proportions and accuracy she told herself. “But I’ll keep that in mind though. Going to make you regret ever offering such a thing. You know I take advantage.”

Zekai: Zekai picks up the menu as well, realizing Mimi picked a heavily fancy restaurant and because of Apple's outfit he felt severely under dressed. He nods his head as he shrugs his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind it." He wouldn't. Any time he could spend with Apple he was happy with. "You could never make me regret a thing. I'm way tougher than you think." He smirks. "I'm thinking steak. What about you?"

Apple: She was about to respond say something sweet back to him until he finished the sentence and she was left with a dropped jaw that she quickly attempted to regain from. Cheeks blaring, Apple reached for her drink once more. "Are you now?" she asked after gathering herself, why her mind automatically turned there was appalling. "I don't know, I seem to remember beating you at basketball quite a lot." Apple had lost all thought of food in the second that she glanced away from the menu so the first thing that came to her mind was, "I'm thinking the same. They make a mean sauce for it too."

Zekai: Raising his gaze up slowly to her from the menu, his brows furrow in confusion. Did he not seem tough? He wasn't sure how to ask why she was so surprised. All he could do was stare at her, at least until she brought up her constantly winning in basketball. "I'm pretty sure I was your hype man. Thank you very much." He gasps dramatically, dropping his gaze to the menu again. "I'm thinking red potatoes and corn."

Apple: Apple felt like a perve now, for thinking dirty when he'd obviously seemed to have meant it physically. What was happening through her head? "My favorite cheerleader to this day, and I absolutely love it. You're my number one!" she giggled as she brought her arm up as if to fist bump the air. She wanted to know how he felt about their encounter. Seemed like the perfect time to discuss it since they just left it all up in the air and never spoke about it, but she didn't exactly know how to introduce the topic. Or even if she should. "Loaded mash for me and corn."

Zekai: Zekai laughs. "I prefer hype man. I will not put on a right shirt and skirt for you." He teases, know he would if she asked. He presses his lips together as he turns his head to look at the waiter, putting in his order in. His head turns back to look at Apple. "Good taste there, Apple." He smirks as he watches the waiter leave after taking Apple's order. "You're going to let me try the loaded mash, right? Because that also sounds good as hell but I'm in a gravy mood." He admits. "Nothing better than brown fucking gravy."

Apple: “Even if I pout and stick out my cute lips like this?” Apple brought her bottom lip out leaning in to his earlier joke of calling her a baby. “Can you really resist that?” Handing over her menu, she made sure to order them another round of drinks before bringing her attention back. “As long as I can have some of the delicious gravy. Although I don’t understand why they don’t just give you gravy with the mash too. Seems only right.” Apple took the last couple sips of her liquor and pushed it to the edge of the table so the waiter knew to grab it next go around. “Would it be too presumptuous of me to believe we have something specific to discuss?” (edited)

Zekai: Zekai lifts his eyes up towards her, his gaze darkens as it drops to her lips. "If you don't put that lip back I will snatch it from you." He warns in a low tone so only she can hear him. He knew he would never be able to resist it. How could he? He shrugs his shoulders. "Restaurants are weird," he murmurs as he drops his gaze down to his menu. "Do we have something specific to discuss, Apple?" He raises his eyes back up to her. "If you have something you want to say, say it."

Apple: His words forced a laugh out of her but sure raised her hands in defeat. She wouldn’t put it past him to do just as he said but she did wonder how he’d do it over the table. It might be fun to watch which made her grin. “Nothing exactly, I just figured it would come up at some point.” Apple watched him momentarily wondering if perhaps it has just been her putting too much thought behind their actions, which wouldn’t surprise her either. This was new territory for her, whereas he’s been pretty well acquainted. “No need to go into it. It’s alright.” she says with a shrug.

Zekai: Zekai furrows his brows. If he was honest, he wasn't sure now Apple felt about him. He could assume, he could say that maybe she wants more or maybe she doesn't. He adjusts his position but before he can say anything the waiter comes back over and takes their order before leaving again. "You need to tell me what you want." He whispers. "Do you want us to stay friends? Do you want more? Do you want friends with benefits? What is it?" He asks, his eyes focusing on her.

Apple: She should have known he'd ask straight on questions, where she failed to properly explained hers, and smiled. Apple wasn't sure what she wanted. Being alone was comfortable she'd learned throughout the years, but she wasn't dumb enough to not notice that she liked him and it wasn't just in a friendly way. But she wasn't as free spirited as other's were in relationships. Apple dated for the end game, and that was something she made clear with everyone who she liked. She couldn't stand the thought of anyone doing it just for her though, and she knew Z wasn't ready for anything like that. "I think that maybe I just need to get it out my system." she said, reaching for her new drink, "I don't know. You know I never cared for intimacy before. Never even thought about it much, but now… so I'm thinking that I got to run it out my system and then I'll be normal again." What the fuck did she just say?

Zekai: Zekai leans slightly forward, his hand picking up his new drink. He raises it up and takes a sip, his gaze focusing on her as she starts to explain what she needs. Just some fucking to get it out of her system? That's something he can do no problem. He didn't know if he was ready for them to be a thing. All he knew was he was protective over Apple, the need to do anything for her had simply been normal to him because that's how he was with his other siblings but this recent attraction wasn't exactly surprising but it hadn't gotten to the point where it terrified him. "So, friends with benefits. When you need to be fucked you can call me and I'll be there, no matter what."

Apple: Apple laughed and shook her head, "In simpler words, yes. I think." Sleeping around with her best friend couldn't possibly end up horribly could it? She'd been extremely frustrated ever since that first night. She hadn't spoken to anyone about it obviously, but sometimes wondered if she should ask around and see if that was just normal for everyone. "I was thinking that since I didn't really have much of a 'hormone' rage growing up, it was just manifesting and then you let the monster out and now you have to put the monster down." No matter what he'd be there. Those words left her grinning.

Zekai: "Are you saying you have a hormone monster?" Zekai teases as he takes a long sip of his glass. He nods his head as he grabs a napkin and a pen from the table. He starts to write an agreement on it. "We will remain friends. We will communicate if the other enters into something exclusively…" which would never happen. "We scratch an itch whether you need it. Got anymore terms?"

Apple: "Not at all." she replied, clicking her tongue in feigned disproval, "But it's rather suiting don't you think?" Apple watched him for a moment trying to understand what he was doing and became flushed at the realization. "What are y- Z - You are not. Do we really need it written down?" It was too funny for her to not laugh but she wasn't sure if he was being serious or not so she covered her mouth with a hand. "Do we have to sign it too? I didn't realized our friendship was in question here." Did them having sex mean that they couldn't be friends? Technically it wouldn't just be friends on it's own, but really? Was she deviating?

Zekai: "It is." Zekai chuckles under his breath as he holds the pen in his hand. "Yeah, of course I'm writing down things because we need to be on the same page, Apple." He lifts his eyes up to her, watching her for a second as he presses his lips together. "Do you thinking signing it would be helpful?" He asks. "Our friendship isn't at question here, its us making sure that we are held accountable in case things get… sticky." And anot in a fun way he almost adds.

Apple: Apple pressed her lips to hide her smile because she figured a simple conversation would have surficed. Instead, they were drafting a manuscript of their sexual endeavors but she wasn't about to stop him. "That was just a joke, Z. We don't got to sign anything." she finally let out a short laugh, dropping her eyes to look at the napkin where he'd been writing. "Held accountable. Got it. For what exactly. I figured if we're… doing things as friends, then it would be pretty straight to the point no?" she bit her lip as she finished, trying to figure out exactly what could go wrong. Unless he meant the F word. Feelings. "What would you categorize as 'sticky'?"

Zekai: Zekai chuckles. "Would seal the deal a little better." He smirks as he lifts his eyes up from the napkin to her, shrugging his shoulders. "Friends sleeping together can sometimes her confusing. It's not always straight forward. It's why I never…" slept with Daniela. He clears his throat. "You and I have been best friends our whole lives. Now we are adding sex to it. We are literally doing those plot lines when two friends start sleeping together. Then feelings happen and yeah." Usually, they ended up together but he couldn't promise that.

Apple: "I was under the assumption there'd be other ways to seal the deal." she said raising her brows and tilting her head waiting for it to hit him. She was tempted to stretch her foot on over to clarify her words, but Z certainly seemed to have done this before so she didn't think he'd need the help. Apple didn't question his pause, merely waited for him to move on. "Right," was all she could really say, because anything else could be incriminating at best. "So in the chase of a 'sticky' situation, then what?" She was well aware of fluttering in her stomach, but she too shared his worries. Not for him, but herself. Threading new waters as she was the likelihood of a sticky situation was not unheard of.

Zekai: "Do you think you can wait until after dinner?" Zekai keeps his gaze on her, arching brow as a challenge. He is more than happy to leave before dinner is served. He has never done this before but he feels like he needs to make sure the two of them will walk out of this unscratched. "We stop." He says quietly. Right? That's what everyone did. "Or if you decide you want another relationship with someone we stop." Because he isn't the type to have one.

Apple: She wasn't expecting his quick wit and she blushed under his gaze, "I believe so. The loaded mash is simply too precious to pass." she said, clearing her throat. Apple had known exactly what the answer to the question would be, she'd thought the same as she asked it, but for some reason airing it made her thoughts falter and she pressed her lips. She tried to not let his quick response bother her so she nodded once trying to keep all expressions off her face. She was saved from speaking by an approaching waiter with their food in hand.

Zekai: His gaze drifts in the direction of the waiter, noticing the guy with their meals. "Good thing he is heading this way." He notices her expression. He was always able to tell what she was feeling or thinking. That's why he was worried about how bad this could get for either of them. He exhales as he sits up when the waiter puts their food down. "Why?" He asks, drifting his eyes to her. "Why did you look disappointed?"

Apple: The food placed before her smelled amazing and she welcomed it with a smile as she breathed it in. She glanced up at him at the question, "I'm not." she replied and shrugged, "This is all simply new so I'm absorbing all the information. Taking it all in, if you will." Apple wasn't sure why she just lied. Her truth had never been something she kept to herself, but she also didn't want to make it seem like something that it wasn't. "Is the gravy to your liking?" she asked, glancing back down to her plate.

Zekai: Zekai picks up his fork and nods his head, tilting his head down to look at his plate. He picks up some of the mashed potatoes and gravy on it, holding it out to her. "You have the first bite and tell me what it tastes like." He waits, his eyes taking her in. "My number one goal is not losing you, Apple. You're like a fucking part of me and I don't want to lose you."

Apple: "You don't have to tell me twice!" she said excitedly, leaning over the table slightly to reach his fork and taste his meal. "It's fucking delicious." she replied as the mash potatoes melted in her mouth. She was really starving. "You will never lose me, Z. We've been together our whole lives, do you really think that I could live a life where you're not constantly bothering me?" she teased to lighten the conversation. "I love you. Okay? You are and will forever be my best friend, above it all."

Zekai: Zekai smiles as he moves to start eating his meal. "Oh you're right." He murmurs as he picks up his knife to start cutting up little pieces. He lifts his eyes up to her as he nods his head. "Good, I really can't fucking lose you. I love you too." He tells her then moves his eyes down to his plate, taking more bites. "So when are we doing this? Or should i say starting this?"

Apple: Apple didn't wait much longer, and dug straight into her own potatoes savoring it's taste and happy dancing in her chair. "We're in this for life, okay? No one's going anywhere. If things get… sticky, we stop. Simple as that." she made sure to say it as well, so he knew she understood. They've always had each other, and in the end that's what she'd save regardless of the hurtles they may or may not face. "Eager much? I mean technically we already started it."

Zekai: Zekai nods. Honestly, hearing her words stirred conflicting feelings within him but be didn't plan on addressing it. "Good, its all I want." He pushes the napkin and pen to her. "You sign first." He smirks as he takes more bites. "Hmm, well I have been hard as fuck since we left your place so eager is the word we are looking for."

Apple: It's all I want. His words lingered and festered in her mind for a while. She pressed her lips before placing a smile on her lips to separate her thoughts from her expression. What did he even mean by that? It shouldn't bother her, but it did even though she could be taking his words completely out of context right now. Apple reached forwards and signed the napkin, shaking her head at his smirk. "I can't deal with you." she said playfully, then reached for her drink once more. "Down boy." she teased, "Save it for dessert."

Zekai: Zekai chuckles at her words, adjusting the way he was sitting in the chair. His gaze focusing on her for a seconds. "Can we please take this to go?" He murmurs as his eyes don't leave her. He needs her, he knows he does and each second that ticks by is getting worse and worse. "You know what? Fuck it. Check please." He raises his hand, a smirk on his features.

[mapleshmaple]

,.

[sintiva]

lust so pure..// priest!eren x blackfem!reader

summary: the neighborhood priest also happens to be the neighborhood pervert, but solely for you

contents & warnings: chubby reader, eren is a fucking pervert, kinda stalker themes (?)), suggestive content, male masturbation, mentions of corruption

notes: this is the prologue (for better lack of terms) to a full fic

priest!eren who creeps on you while you're gardening early in the morning. 5:30 am — sharp. your tits are out your ass is out and he can see your pussy print from your shorts. you would think he’s a fucking vampire the way he keeps his house dark. the yellow light from his bathroom floods his room, and a butterscotch candle that you gifted him, sits atop his dresser. the fire from the candle flickers against the muscles of his back, and it makes him hot. but it’s not the only thing that’s got him steaming.as he fiddles with his vest in his hands, his back is bare and he’s focusing on you gardening; pulling weeds, and digging the soil as you transfer pansies and lilies to the plot. way too focused, like he’s giving service.

priest!eren who sits on his recliner right by his window so he doesn’t have to stand up to creep on you. it’s tiring trying to get a view of you from every angle. he focuses his eyes when you stand up and bend over to pat the rest of the soil around the plants. your ass jiggles, the fat of it spills from the bottom of those nonexistent shorts you have on. “baby phat” spreads across the back of the shorts, and the bedazzled letters sparkle from the rising sun. if he squints real hard he can see the sweat leading down your back. he can see simple sweat lines going down the curve of your pussy, and down to the wet patch of your crotch. he mumbles a quiet “fuck” cause he’s staring so hard, and his dicks talking to him.

priest!eren who sits on his recliner right by his window so he doesn’t have to stand up to creep on you. it’s tiring trying to get a view of you from every angle. he focuses his eyes when you stand up and bend over to pat the rest of the soil around the plants. your ass jiggles, the fat of it spills from the bottom of those nonexistent shorts you have on. “baby phat” spreads across the back of the shorts, and the bedazzled letters sparkle from the rising sun. if he squints real hard he can see the sweat leading down your back. he can see simple sweat lines going down the curve of your pussy, and down to the wet patch of your crotch. he mumbles a quiet “fuck” cause he’s staring so hard, and his dicks talking to him.

priest!eren who smiles to himself when you get on your knees and bend down once more to pull the last few remaining weeds. what a crooked fuck. you look really nice in that position. at this point of his creepinp, he’s hard as fuck. it’s not right for him to be preying on his neighbor like this, but he can’t resist. he wants to fuck you with those shorts, pull the fabric all the way up till the thin liner disappears between your fat pussy lips. you’ve been fucking with him. you either know it or you don’t. you’re either aware of how you make him sweat under his clothes. or you just really don’t think you’re able to arouse him like that. he’s a priest for god’s sake you didn’t think he’d be into the silly flings and quick fucks. 

priest!eren who sighs heavily. he can’t think of anything that will make his boner go away. fucking nothing. he palms himself. regretting his actions — not really though. no other women got his dick dripping and staining his underwear. he’s cursing himself in his room. upset that you make his dick so wet, if anything he despises you for it. why were you so promiscuous? why do you make sinning feel so good and why does he want to corrupt a sweet little minx like you so fucking bad. you make everything look so fucking sexy. the way you walk, the way you talk. how you flaunt yourself. how you’re so sweet to the priest across the street, cause you think he’s the finest man you ever laid eyes on. the feelings are somewhat mutual. he thinks you’d have the sweetest pussy to abuse. l

priest!eren who pulls his pants down and curses even more. his dick blushes, a deep red. it’s big and slaps his stomach when he pulls his underwear down. a loud ‘thwack’. his dick is hot to the touch and the pre cum that trickles out of his tip is hotter. he’s cursing you and your name. bucking his hips up into his hand, stroking his dick how he thinks you would when you wrap your hand around him. he cums real hard when he’s done. such a young man like himself has so much pent-up stress and sexual frustrations that he cums so much. a creamy release so unwanted. now he has to clean himself, and his hand that’s covered in so much cum. he’s fuming as he gets dressed. a fine young man with so much pent-up frustrations. he just wants you to help him, and become his. 

priest!eren who rolls out of his garage in his matte black mercedes cla coupe. he rolls down the window as he pulls out in front of your house, and clears his throat. “you coming to church today?” his words make you jump and everything on your body jiggles when you turn around. “good morning to you too.” you roll your eyes and pull your gloves off as you approach his car. he’s in his usual clothing. black slacks a black turtle neck. a cross necklace sits around his neck, he has rings on almost all his fingers and his tattoo creeps up from his neck and curls back behind his ear. he’s more of the progressive type. 

“you know i’m not into church.” you say for the umpteenth time. he always asks; he doesn’t leave his residence without doing so. he thinks you need it. you need to learn how to be more modest,  cover yourself up so that horny eyes like his own can’t get a look at what will soon be his. it takes a creep to know that there are more unwelcoming eyes that fall upon you. “maybe you should think about it.” he looks you up and down one more time. cursing — again. 

your thighs swallow up those fucking shorts. you ass looks so fucking good. he can see it from the front. he’s thinking about it. thinking about many things while he thinks about those hips getting abused in a vice grip. taking you from the back, “you should really think about it.” his eyes are low. fucking animalistic. you don’t even know what this priest thinks of you. you don’t even know that he dirtied his favorite pair of black slacks because of you. 

his eyes almost pop out of his head as your tits spill over the top of his window. “they’re up here.” you point to your eyes and lower your head so he can see you. big beads of sweat roll down your forehead and every crevice of your body he can see. “if you wake up to garden, you can come to church.” 

“it sounds like you're in my business.” you suck your teeth and place your hands on your waist. “maybe you need me to be.” he smirks and rolls his window back up as he waves his hand. “you should think about coming one day, they’d love you.” they as in him and his relentless fucking dick. he’s thinking with his dick. driving off the exhaust low and pleasing to the ear. “what a fucking priest.” you sigh and you heart flutters. you like him. his attitude. makes you swoon, real hard. 

[dearbaji]

Research (Alien! Shigaraki x Reader SMUT)

CW: hint of noncon turned consentual (not diabolical... not dubcon?), dash of yandere/stalker if you squint, abduction, quirk use, fingering, afab reader who is a little too chill, 1528 words Thank you @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love for this idea! Tried something new and it was really fun! mwah mwah mwah 😘

Upon waking up you see a bright white light. You move your hand to shield your eyes, but can’t. Both your arms and your legs are tied down to the ends of a table. Wires flow like rivers all over the floor and walls, their end nonexistent. Panicked, you try to recall the last thing you remember: listening to music and reading in your room… no, making a to-do list for the following day? No… sleeping? That’s impossible, it was only 9pm. Either way you knew you were at home, but now you’re not. 

Taking another glance around the room, you see machines unfamiliar to you. Large tubes filled with liquid were labeled with unknown markings at the bottom. Was this a science lab? Looking out of what seemed to be a window there was nothing but darkness and stars. You contemplate if screaming for help will benefit you. Either this was legitimately outer space or someone with a deep affection for the solar system kidnapped you. Maybe this was a dream, try to wake up. 

As your heart hammers in your chest, you chew on your cheek, hoping the pain was enough to wake you from whatever was going on. The sound of footsteps makes your head turn toward a hallway. Based on the depth and speed of the steps, you knew whatever was coming wasn’t human. You yank at the restraints to no avail. A tall, lanky figure appears at the end of the walkway. There’s no face yet, but you can tell this 8 foot tall creature was a male, and definitely not human. As he walks, his arms swing along his sides, lengthy fingers relaxed but still reaching below where his legs bend. Although terrified, you’re also mesmerized, almost enchanted by his walk. It’s slow, but it exudes a sort of confidence, somewhat like a commander. He gets closer and you can finally make out all of the details. His skin is pale, nearly translucent. The veins in his hands and arms become more prominent as he sways them with each step. His vermillion eyes focus on you as he stalks toward the table. White-ish powder blue hair cascades down his back unruly. As he approaches the table your breathing is still rough, but you ask, “are you going to kill me?” As soon as the question left your mouth you realized how silly it sounded, as if he would actually answer. He looks at you puzzled, leaning down, getting closer and closer to your face. You try to hold your breath and look away slightly, but he still stares, examining your face. He raises a finger to your temple and closes his eyes. You shut yours as well, preparing for the worst, but all you feel is a light jolt of electricity. “What did you say?” he asks, peering down at you. Your eyes snap open in confusion then squint, his frame casting a shadow because of the bright light above you both. “You speak my language?” you ask. “Now I do”, he states plainly. “Think you could untie me so I can sit up, then we could talk?”

He stares at you for a moment more before moving on to another bigger table filled with instruments. “Negative. I must research you more. Take samples. I’ve been observing you on Earth for a while. Now would be the most optimal time for extraction,” he says while picking through the tools. Extraction? Samples? He’s been watching you for a while? Eventually the questions reeling around in your mind stop when you feel him touch your shirt and pants with his entire hands, disintegrating them. Laying on a pile of ash, your instinct is to try to close your legs, but you can't. Your knees jerk together in many failed attempts to meet. “It’ll be less painful if you stop moving,” he says, observing the way your body shifts and twitches.

His slim, nimble fingers pull and poke at your face first: pushing back your hair, pulling your eyelids open to view your eyes as they move around, pushing up the tip of your nose, roughly opening your mouth for your teeth then prying your jaw open to pull on your tongue. One hand holds your mouth open while the other reaches inside, a little too deep. You gag as the drool starts dripping down your cheeks, but he doesn’t stop poking around. He retracts his hand after a moment with strings of spit still hanging from his fingertips. You try to catch your breath, coughing while he moves further down your body.

He pushes your breast and watches it jiggle. You try to bring your arm down to cover yourself, once again, to no avail. “Wh-what are you doing?” “Research.” He notices that one part of your breast starts pebbling, so naturally he starts touching it. Your face heats up, as much as you should hate this, it feels… nice. He pushes down on your nipple like a button before rolling it around like a joystick. Your body sinks further back into the table as if you’re trying to get away from him. He continues, watching your reactions: your eyes closing, eyebrows knit together, lips pressed in a line as you try to hold back any sounds you might make, your head tilted to your shoulder still trying to hide from his gaze. Two fingers pull gently at your nipple, then a little harsher as you turn toward him. “Nothing comes out? What is in here?” he asks, squeezing and jiggling your breasts again. “I don’t know, muscles and fat?” “You don’t know what is inside of you?” he questions. “Do you know what’s inside of you?” you retort. He stares at you for a moment more, hands still on your breasts. You rethink your reply and start to take it back when he moves down to your belly button. He presses down with one finger, seemingly trying to enter it but nothing happens. You stifle a laugh since it was a bit ticklish but he moves on. 

Once his fingers hit your pelvis, your legs start trying to close again. He pauses for a moment then goes to the bigger table. In his hold, he has something to prop your knees up a bit. Once your dusted clothes are brushed away and everything is in place, he tightens the restraints on your ankles. Carefully, he looks between your legs. He sees that there’s some liquid pooling onto the table, so he retrieves something that resembles a petri dish. In his attempt to collect some, he ends up massaging your labia, gently touching your clit every now and then, which makes even more fluid appear. Once he’s collected enough, he takes a slow swipe down your folds and watches the liquid stick to his fingers, smearing it on his fingertips and spreading them, observing how the strings snap. He notices your breathing pattern change, along with how flushed you look. One finger slowly enters you and you gasp. His finger keeps swiping and poking as if he’s looking for something. He takes his hand away and inserts it again, using two fingers as his other hand spreads you apart. His fingers are only halfway in as he prods and glides across every centimeter of your walls. As he tries to go deeper, you yelp. “Please, please stop, it hurts now,” you beg. He stops and removes both hands. “I apologize, I do not wish to harm you.” His manner surprises you, it’s different from what you expected because of what you usually see in typical alien abduction movies. “Can I continue with my research? It’s really important. I will not go any further than I did before.” You nod and relax a little more. He returns to his position and enters his fingers even slower than before, dragging his fingertips against the soft, slippery surface. Unknowingly, he sets a steady pace, making you dizzy with want. “Faster, please.” He pauses and looks at you curiously. “You want me to quicken my examination? Why? Your home is lightyears away, there’s nowhere for you to go right now, why rush?” He has a point, but you can’t tell if he’s serious or messing around with you. Answering anyway, you say: “because, it’ll feel better… for me.” He makes a mental note of it but continues with his original pace.

You strain yourself bucking your hips to meet his hand’s unintentional thrusts. One of his bony knuckles rubs against your g-spot, making you move faster. He lets go of your labia to hold down your hips, making the heel of his hand rub your clit. “Stop moving around, I’m almost done.” You feel static all around your body as it slackens, your walls still pulsing around his fingers. “Interesting,” he claims, pulling his fingers out to reveal a cream-like substance. He stands and grabs another dish, wiping one finger along the edge to extract the residue. As he looms over you again you stare back at him, heaving. He inserts the other coated finger into his mouth, sucking on it slightly. “What-” you start. “It is part of the research.”

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

About Sebastian's ddd I was thinking about sounding, pact play, pain play and overstimulation until he passes out from fatigue, what do you think?

I think I'm really a pervert lol

So, do you think these topics are good? after all i love your writing

Dw I love it!!

Destroy Dick December: Sebastian, pain play, pact play

Cw: overstim, sound/ing, pact play, pain play, instead of using a sounding rod, you use a quill/pen, slight dub con, predator/prey elements, spoilers (it’s role play), cb/t,

A toy.

That is what you had referred to him as.

Sebastian glared at you, eyes shifting to that of his demon form. “You dare refer to me as an object?” He hissed out, taking a few steps closer to you, you knew it was meant to threaten you, but you knew he was harmless, with the pact, you’re his master. He can’t hurt you, he’s completely beneath you.

“On your knees.”

You ordered, not softening your gaze as Sebastian is forced to the ground. “Hands behind your back.” You didn’t even have to finish the sentence before he was putting his hands behind his back. His chest was pushed out, he struggled against the invisible binds that held him there.

He didn’t meet your gaze, his head lowered a little bit. “You’re being a bad boy, shall I punish you now?” You lift up his chin, you stared down at him, daring him to try anything. You kneel down, letting your free hand slide to start unbuttoning his shirt.

Sebastian didn’t try to move away, he rested his head on your hand and you noticed his eyes softening when he meets your gaze. You smirked. “Good boy. You’re finally learning your place.” You opened his shirt, letting your hand teasingly rub over his nipples. “Too bad you still need to be punished.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened and he visibly struggled against the nonexistent binds that kept him trapped. “Master, please don’t-I’ll behave, please-“ You put your finger up to hiss lips and ‘shushed’ him. You had his full attention.

“Tell me, how should I punish you?” Sebastian remained quiet, you lift his head up, telling him to sit up. He obeyed without hesitation, you noticed his eyes had changed back to their human-like appearance. You tapped his lips. “Well? What do you think I should do to you?“

Sebastian didn’t respond, giving you a pouty face. You pretend to not notice that he’s trying to give you puppy eyes. “Master, I don’t need to be punished-“ He stopped mid sentence, noticing your scowl and quickly lightening his voice. “I’m sorry, please, let me make it up to you?”

You paused, a grin spreading across your face. “‘Make it up to me?’ Hmm…how about I punish you with the first thing I grab on my desk?” Sebastian nods with visible tension going through his body. You order him to undress, and remain knelt in front of you. You reach behind you, picking up the first thing you felt.

It was soft and easy to bend, you pick it up and hold it so Sebastian can see it first, watching his reaction. He gave a relived look, it must be something pretty harmless. You look at it, pausing when you see what you grabbed.

A quill.

A fucking quill.

It was brand new, you haven’t even used it yet, so you could just use it as you wish.

Sebastian gave a light laugh before speaking. “Are you going to tickle me?” You looked him over, getting an idea. You brush your quill along his cock. You grin, seeing his cock start to harden. “O-oh, that feels weird…” Sebastian tried to angle his hips so you couldn’t touch his sensitive parts.

It didn’t work, you quickly found his sensitive spots and abused them, teasingly brushing the soft part against the slit of his cock. You flipped the end you were holding, using the sharper end to tease him. Sebastian hissed and jerked under you, hips accidentally twitching forward, pushing the quill inside his cock.

Sebastian’s breathing hitched and he froze completely, looking between you and the tool warily. “M-Master, please, I-it’s uncomfortable-it feels like you’re trying to tear my cock up.” He whimpered out pathetically. “Please, Master, I’m sorry, please, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t punish me-“

You put your finger over his lips to silence him. You give him a soft smile. “You’re always so cute when you beg.” You say warmly. Sebastian lowers his head to make himself have to look up to you. You knew the trick he was going for, act all cute and obedient to sneak his way out of a punishment. You smirk, murmuring out. “Not to mention you’re always so sweet when I have your cute little dick in the palm of my hand.”

Before he could retort, you twirled the feather in his cock, catching him off guard and making him thrash, almost moving away from your touch. You hum and bob the feather, grinning at the obvious jerks every time you bumped a nerve.

He yowled when you yanked the feather out.

He choked out a moan, you grinned, feeling him throb in your hand and cum spilled out. “Oh? You’re enjoying yourself that much?” You laughed out, your tone saccharine in nature. Your hand stroked him quickly, making his breathing hitch. You glance over the quill, noticing the feather is completely ruined now, his cum coated it, you sighed and brought it up to his face.

“Lick.”

Sebastian pauses but then obeys, lightly licking the quill. You hum, grinning at the display in-front of you. “Does your cum taste good?” You purr out, the demons face was bright red now. He avoided making eye contact with you, in fact he chose to close his eyes at this point. You laughed, keeping your tone low. “No need to get embarrassed, your just following orders, Honey. Or are you embarrassed by the fact you’re enjoying this?”

Sebastian’s eyes opened at the last part, glaring at you and he froze completely. He huffed, cleaning off the quil obediently. When he finished he looked up to you, letting out a defeated whine. “Please, I’ve been good, please-“ You stop him from continuing his whining by pushing him on his back, getting on top of him.

You reached back and grabbed another item from your desk, this time the object was more firm, you were hoping it would be something better than a quill. You looked down, to see a small pen in your hand. You hummed as you alighted the pen with the slit of his cock, slowly easing it in.

His cum made good lube, allowing you to slide the pen in and out quickly. Your hips rested on his, allowing you to rock against his cock. You could feel him throbbing, even with the layers of fabric between your body and his. You grinned, timing the movement of your hips to match the pace of the pen.

With every upward rock, you got cum leaking out of his throbbing cock. Sebastian moaned, hips twitching forward with every stroke. You twisted the pen in him, earning a choked out scream.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you when more cum gushed from his cock. “Really? You’re that excited?” You tease, nudging him. Your hips didn’t still, still milking his exhausted cock.

“M-Master, please, mercy, mercy I’ve learned my lesson please-!” He babbled, some of his words ended up slurring a bit. Even with the layers of fabric between yourself and his cock, you could feel the heat radiating off it. You couldn’t help but laugh, you’d never gotten him to fall apart this fast before. “Ah-! Please no more, gonna can again please it’s too mu-!”

You yanked the pen out, grinning as cum spills from his cock once again. You slowed down noticing he was seemingly going soft under you, actually he wasn’t squirming anymore. You paused, looking down and noticed his eyes were closed and he was limp under you.

He’s unconscious.

You realize, panic starts to come across your mind but with a light nudge you got him to move, though he was grumbling about how tired he is. “Are you ok? Was that too far?” You ask, worry etching your tone, he could heal from anything you could do to him, sure, but pain is pain.

Sebastian is a little groggy, muttering out something you couldn’t understand. You try to get him to speak up, only for him to yank you down along side him. Sebastian wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder then closed his eyes.

You try to speak up but he ignores you, you last remember being in the your office, but now you’re in your bed, completely clean with a needy demon wrapped around you and sound asleep.