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eilorow · 8 months ago

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Horny Hunk - Car

Caden was sitting in his car, exhausted after a workout with his best friend Thomas, who was way more athletic than him, but would always go out of his way to bring him along and give him tips. That sweet attitude might be the reason Caden had a pretty big crush on him, though he would never admit it. Thomas was a chick magnet, and wasn’t shy about it. So, Caden was happy just being his gym buddy, and tried to stop himself from checking him out too much in the changing room.

He saw Thomas making his way to his car. “You’re in a hurry,” he said, getting inside. “Well, I didn’t know your showers lasted 20 minutes,” Caden shot back playfully. “Hey! The girl at the reception was checking me out, so I went and got her number,” his friend replied, showing the little piece of paper. “I see, so you’re just desperate to get laid.” “Maybe you should try, you know, your dream guy isn't gonna just show up, you have to talk to people sometimes,” Thomas said with a smirk. “All right, shut up now, before I leave you on the sidewalk.”

-----

They had been riding for a few minutes, not saying much, until Thomas pulled out his phone and started admiring himself. He never took pictures, but he did love looking at himself, especially after a workout. Caden glanced to the side as he was styling his hair up and looking into his own eyes; he couldn’t help finding it attractive. “Dude, check out these biceps,” Thomas let out with a chuckle. He was flexing his arms repeatedly, showing his noticeable progress, glistening with sweat. Caden tried not to look again, but couldn’t help sneaking a peek. He loved how big they were, and yet still defined…

“Shit!” Caden thought. He was starting to get an erection, and this was not the time nor the place. “Stop doing that,” he said. “You’re being weird.” “You’re being weird!” Thomas replied. “You’re not even complimenting your friend’s awesome gains.” Caden kept his eyes focused on the road, but felt more and more uncomfortable in his seat. “You should feel them, bro, they’re so tight-” “Stop that! I am not touching you!” Caden snapped, though he was blushing slightly. Thomas grinned even wider, finding his reaction funny. “Come on, man! You don’t like it when I do that?” He grabbed his friend’s wrist and brought his hand to his chest. “Feel that, dude. Real muscle.” “Dude, stop!” Caden was actually getting horny now, and had to quickly turn his flasher on and pull over to the side of the road. “Cade, why are we stopping? I’m just messing with you!” Thomas said, playfully punching him on the shoulder. But Caden wasn’t paying attention anymore. He grasped the arms of his seat, a familiar feeling stirring inside him.

Caden tentatively glanced down at his crotch, and saw what he expected to see: his boner was straining against the front of his shorts, visibly getting bigger. He groaned as his transformation began. His hands widened slightly, gripping his seat even tighter, while his arms started packing on muscle rapidly. He tilted his head back, making a whining sound that slowly got deeper. His throat thickened slightly and his chest widened, better adapting to his large arms. Caden groaned again as he felt himself getting taller and felt his pecs filling up, his loose tank top now barely reaching his waist. A hint of abs, more than he ever had, was peeking from under it. His legs stretched too, his thighs getting bigger and his calves gaining definition. The young man, feeling his feet pushing against the front of his shoes, pointlessly tried taking them off by rubbing them together. He then had to spread his legs apart to make space for his bulge and his growing asscheeks.

Thomas was watching the scene, bewildered, and started getting scared, not knowing what was happening to his friend. At this point, Caden was almost as big as him, if not bigger. He tried exiting the car, but his door was locked. As he tried reaching over him to get to the lock, his friend grabbed his wrist with his right hand, his fingers thickening and strengthening his grip. He brought it down to his chest, and slid it under his tank top, on top of his pecs. “You should feel them, bro,” Caden said in his new deeper voice, smirking cockily. Thomas couldn’t help but admire the two mounds as he felt them ballooning under his touch, growing full of powerful muscle. He looked up at the growing man’s face, seeing his friend’s boyish features hardening into squarer, more manly shapes. A hint of stubble also covered part of his face. At this point, Caden was fully enjoying his transformation. He grunted and flexed his arms as he grew again, arms becoming powerful rods of muscle and shoulders bulging outwards. His shredded 6-pack abs were clearly visible just above his widening waist and remarkable cum gutters. He had to pull his legs up slightly as he grew taller again, his thickening thighs making it somewhat difficult. Two loud tearing sounds could be heard as his feet burst out of his training shoes, now several sizes too small. A third ripping sound was heard as his ass grew into a large bubble butt, tearing his shorts right down the middle and freeing his large erection that was nearing 9 or 10 inches now, by how it was tenting the front of his underwear.

Just as Thomas thought the growth was over, Caden let out an even deeper groan. His neck became incredibly thick, his shoulders broadened to the point where he barely fit in the driver’s seat, and his pecs blew up again. It was a miracle his tank top was still intact; it was stretched out over his chest and powerful back muscles, and his pecs were jutting out from the sides. It didn’t even reach his abs anymore, stopping right above his chiseled 8-pack. His legs, already confined in the small space, lengthened one last time, bringing him easily over 6’6. Below them, his feet finished their steady growth, tearing apart his short white socks. Finally, a last ripping sound was heard as his underwear gave way and his enormous 12-inch jock cock erupted from its confines, pointed straight up, the swollen head already leaking pre-cum. Thomas stared at it, feeling his own erection straining his shorts, almost against his own will.

Cade, the Hunk, horny in an almost feral way, grabbed Thomas by the back of the head and shoved him on his throbbing member. He struggled to even fit the thing in his mouth, because of how long and thick it was, but he started hungrily swallowing and licking it, experiencing the salty taste for the first time. Cade closed his eyes in bliss, pushing out deep moans from his enlarged throat. It didn’t take long before he pulled Thomas off and shot ropes of cum, again and again, all over his dashboard, tilting his head backwards and bellowing out a last groan. Thomas, seeing his friend’s humongous dick spurting cum with such intensity, came on the spot. They both panted, out of breath after their simultaneous orgasms.

-----

Caden sighed, using yet another tissue to clean the cum off his dashboard. He was back to normal now; it never took him too long. He shot a disgruntled look at Thomas, who still seemed a bit shaken and out of breath. “When I tell you to stop, you have to stop. You understand why, now?” Thomas nodded, looking at the stain at the front of his shorts. “I can’t believe you had to find out about this,” Caden added, annoyed, but blushing slightly. Thomas looked over. “When were you planning on telling me?” he asked. “Never!” snapped Caden. “It’s not the sort of thing I bring up in the middle of a conversation, you know. I don’t tell anyone that doesn’t need to know.” Thomas looked at him again, a smirk on his face. “Well, now that I know… Could we do this again sometime?”

#male muscle growth #jock tf #nerd to jock #HornyHunk

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coralinnii · 4 months ago

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happy 2.7k, that's a hug milestone <3!! while requests are open, could you write ace and jamil and how their favorite way would be to hold/hug their partner? thank you <33

‧₊˚✧ Surround Me in Your Warmth‧₊˚✧

↳ His favorite way to hold you

feat: Ace ❋ Jamil genre: fluff, note: no pronouns were used for reader, established relationship

extra note: Hopefully I'm using it right but “ya rouhi/ya rohi” means “soulmate”, suggested by an amazing reader! (You know who you are. If you find this, let me know if you’d let me add your name as a mention!)

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023-2024

He holds you like he’s taking a breath, naturally and often unconsciously.

Even before you became a couple, Ace would casually sling an arm onto your shoulder or place a hand to guide you somewhere. He may not always be aware of it, but he can be a hands-on guy, especially when he gets real comfortable around you.

It’s just more prominent and obvious when you two became official. It’s no longer your space, but ✧ our space✧

This natural magnetism towards each other is further assimilated into his natural routine that he’s already holding onto you before he could even tease you about it.

“Want me to hold your hand so you don't get lost?~”

“We’re already holding hands, genius.”

His favorite way to hold you is to wrap his arm around your shoulders or waist the moment you’re within reach, maybe lay his head on you whenever he feels bored or somewhat tired.

If he’s alone with you in the privacy of your bedroom or his, Ace would go the extra step as to nuzzle into your side while he retells his day to you (as if you weren’t with him a good portion of the day already).

He words it like a tease, but he really likes it when you would scratch his head whenever he rests his head on you.

“Now, if you could put your card back anywhere in the deck”

Ace couldn’t see you roll your eyes as you pushed your chosen card between the deck of cards. Trapped in his arms, you were an unwilling audience to his new card trick.

Maybe unwilling is too strong a word, but you were more or less trapped as you were situated on the couch with your cheeky boyfriend comfortably behind you, masterfully shuffling his playing cards with you between his arms.

“Are you sure you didn’t sneak a peek at my card right over my shoulder?” You teasingly accused him and emphasized how close he truly was by combing your fingers into his messy locks that tickled your cheek.

“Please. As if I’d do something that lame.” Ace let out a huff over your accusation but continued to rest on you.

After a few rounds of shuffling, the Heartslabyul freshman neatly returned his pack into its box before slipping the whole box back into his pocket. With his newly free hands, he fully encapsulated you by wrapping his arms securely around your waist.

You looked at your boyfriend with confusion. “What about my card?”

Ace angled his head slightly to face you just to place a quick peck on your lips before he replied, “Check your pocket, babe.”

“No way-“

He holds you like something precious, a treasure to cherish with care.

Jamil is not one to indulge in physical affection publicly. There is a place and time for everything, and to hold you only when necessary and discreetly.

Not exactly touching you, the vice Housewarden would hover his hand over your shoulder or arm, prepared to gently guide you away from danger. He would hold his arm in front of you as a shield should something happen suddenly like an explosion or an especially rambunctious student. Your safety and comfort are prioritized over his own.

But in the presence of no one else but you, that’s when Jamil finally relaxes and let himself revel in your affection.

His favorite way to hold you is while he rests on your chest or stomach, his arms holding you tightly as he nuzzled comfortably to your front.

If it’s alright with you, he would like to have your arms wrap him tightly, as though he’s not allowed to leave you for anything.

Away from his duties, Jamil feels the weight fall off his shoulders as he buries himself in your touch. Somedays, he would let out his gripes to you but most days he’s simply content with resting his eyes while letting your scent soothe him.

You heard the sound of the door opening and closing, so you lifted your gaze to see your boyfriend sluggishly walking over to where you were, on his bed in his private room.

The two of you planned to spend the day with each other but Jamil was unfortunately called in for a meeting as the vice Housewarden, so he promised to come back once things were settled. You weren’t sure what it was about, but the exhaustion in Jamil’s charcoal grey eyes hinted that it was somewhat important.

Wordlessly, you stretched your arms wide open towards your poor boyfriend.

The long-haired sophomore took up your invitation and dove willingly but carefully into your waiting arms. Jamily sought after your warmth, quickly wrapping his arms around you while nuzzling atop of you.

While Jamil got comfortable, you got to work on removing his hair accessories for safekeeping. You knew Jamil could so easily remove everything using his magic pen but you asked him to let you do it instead, and Jamil enjoyed your gentle touch too much to say no.

Suddenly, a loud barrage of knocks came from Jamil’s door with a familiar voice accompanying it.

“Hey Jamil!”

The man in question groaned as he recognized the boisterous Asim heir immediately. Jamil proceeded to get up but he was stopped when he realized your fingers were still weaved into his hair.

“Hi Kalim” you answered instead, to which the man behind the door eagerly replied back in surprise.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were over!” You could just hear Kalim’s bright smile behind the door. “Is Jamil there? I had an idea for a dance party to help everyone relax!”

Leave it to a ball of energy to think of a dance party to relax.

“Can we raincheck on that plan?” You yelled out through the door, your hand playing with Jamil’s soft locks. “I wanted to spend time with my Jamil today.”

You held in your amusement when you felt your boyfriend fidget in your grasp, most likely trying to hide the embarrassment on his face from hearing you say my Jamil.

“Oops, my bad. Of course, I’ll just come back later!”

Hearing Kalim’s footsteps fading away, Jamil’s shoulders fully slumped as you felt his full weight finally rest atop of you. You continued to detangle the exhausted man’s braids, only pausing to laugh from the tickling sensation caused by Jamil's muffled words.

“Thank you, ya rouhi”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #ace trappola x reader #twst ace x reader #twst ace #jamil viper #twst jamil #jamil x reader #twst jamil x reader #2.7k followers event

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inestheunicorn · 1 year ago

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The Winter / Holiday Collection is up!! 🌟 It's the last Shop Update of the year and I'm sooo excited about all the new goods!!

There's 5 new sticker sheets (wooow!!), memopads, postcards, fridge magnets, cute accessories and more surprises! I'm sharing some sneak peeks here, but make sure to visit the shop to take a loot at all the new goodies! 🍄

Also, every order will get a sticker featuring a pigeon in a cozy sweater! (until stock lasts)

You can find these and more here:

https://inestheunicorn.bigcartel.com/ ✨

I hope you find something you like!! 🎄

Just can't wait to see what you'll choose and I'm really looking forward to packing your orders 🖤

Thank you so much for visiting!

P.S: not everyone is able to buy, but if you'd still like to support my art, please share this post as it really helps me out and is deeply appreciated 🍁

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cherryblossom-enthusiast · 7 months ago

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Retribution (The Kidxf!Reader) - Monkey Man

A/N: I said I was writing it and it has been done lol If you haven’t watched this film yet, please do! I indulged and wrote a small fic about it lol (Don't mind the abyssmal pacing of this, I barely edited and added anything) I hope you all enjoy it and can someone please indulge me more by writing more fics about this man!? Dev Patel absolutely killed it! Put him in a rom-com! I tried to write the hijra with as much care as possible. Please let me know if there’s something I can be more educated on in terms of this!

Synopsis: A mysterious man arrives at the temple you call home and makes quite an impression.

Warnings/ Tags: Angst. Fluff. Allusions to sex work. Descriptions of violence and blood. Coarse language. Kissing.

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

The cheers of those around you interrupt the hanging of your laundry.

Peeking through the shoulders and the shadows, you sneak a glance at the subject of commotion, and it doesn’t surprise you.

The way he moves is equal parts graceful and aggressive. His punches are meticulously messy, a choreographed war drum thrumming to the beat of his own heart. This man is far removed from who you remember gazing upon a few days ago. His eyes were lost, sunken, like a child looking for guidance or divine judgement for all that’s led him to this point.

This was not that man.

This man was vengeance personified.

And through him, you felt hope.

You knew nothing about him. Alpha was able to garner all of your help, quietly and quickly instructing to pull the man out of the river. You were there when they cauterized his wounds. His screams were pure agony, making you cringe, and somehow you felt that his pain went deeper than physicality.

He walked like a ghost when he first came, aimlessly walking, like trying to just bump into something that would give him an answer.

Now, it seems he walks with purpose.

He throws his last punch and receives a mighty applause. The crowd recognizes the show’s over for the time being and they disperse as he keeps heaving, staring at the bag like he wants to hit it more. Like he never wants to stop.

You pick up a basket and walk over to him. Whether to strike up a proper conversation or feeling annoyed at the dirtied shirt on the ground you had just washed, you don’t exactly know. But something about him is magnetic, pulling you in, just like the first time you saw him that night, all bloody and bruised.

You nod at his white shirt. “I’ll take that.”

He breaks from his spell and turns to look at you.

His heaving slows, his breaths getting deeper by the second. For what you think is a few minutes, he just stares are you, and you at him, both of you taking each other in. You realize his physique really is something to awe over, but more importantly, that his eyes are far gentler than what you thought possible.

You tilt your head. “The shirt?”

He bends and picks up the white cloth, simply extending it to you as he continues to stare. You gesture for him to drop it into the basket. With an amused scoff, you start to turn away. “I’d appreciate it if you hung the next shirt you tore off on a wall.”

“Your name?”

His voice surprises you. You’ve only heard him speak a few times before. He sounds rough, and scratchy, like he doesn’t use his voice often.

You introduce yourself and after a few moments, he repeats your name back to you. Slowly, quietly, as if he’s scared of offending you in any way. Listening to it fall from his lips is like listening to dripping honey and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make heat crawl up your neck.

To save face, you again start to walk away from him. “Widen your stance.” You advise, not waiting to hear a reply.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Several days pass until you have another full conversation.

You’re caught up with mundane chores. He’s caught up with punching that bag and doing god knows what else when he’s not at the temple.

Though there was that one time you almost slip and he catches you effortlessly by the waist and it definitely made your stomach flutter.

You smile the first time you depart to wash laundry and see his shirt hanging over a nearby wall.

He’s getting better. His posture looks strong, immovable. Sometimes you think with all that’s happened to him, that he must be invincible. Surely, no one can lose that much blood and still maintain their sanity.

But then you see his movements wain by the end of his exercise and it’s like something powerful overcomes him as he loses all finesse and he punches that rice-filled bag for all its worth with no rhyme or reason. You sense his frustration as he suddenly stops and puts his hand on his hips, breathing erratically.

You approach him cautiously. Pulling out a bottle of water from your laundry basket, you offer it to him. “Consider taking a break?”

He’s slow to take the bottle from you but he does so anyway. After almost draining the whole thing, he splashes the rest of the water over his head. Only as he shakes the droplets off his curly locks does he try to return it to you.

“An actual break.” You reiterate, stuffing the bottle of water back into your basket. “Your drummer needs one too. He might have built up his callouses, but he should eat something.”

The man turns to look where your eyes are directed and though you don’t have a clear view of his face, you can tell from the way that his eyebrows ease that he feels a sense of guilt. The drummer simply raises his palm and stands. “Take some time to clear your head, I’ll be here whenever you have.” He leaves the courtyard until it’s just the two of you left.

The weather is oddly cool today. There’s smoke and a mugginess that’s expected from being close to the heart of the city, but if you were to look around, it’d almost seem like you were transported decades into the past. The temple acts like a sanctuary, shielding you all from the outside world’s noise and it does a good job.

You walk towards a small wooden bench off to the far side and take a seat. You set your basket down and pat the space next to you. “Come,” You beckon “I’d appreciate some company while I fold all of these white shirts I’ve had to add to my load.”’

Something like embarrassment flashes on his face as he follows your command and sits right next to you. His posture is stiff like he wants to make an impression. It’s obvious your newfound companion doesn’t like to talk, or more accurately, isn’t very good at starting small conversation.

“I’m sorry for the bother.”

He has a tone of bashfulness, unable to turn in your direction. Your smile widens as you continue to fold “I didn’t say it was bothersome.” You refute. “In fact, I’d rather say I don’t mind you taking your shirt off.”

You try to make direct eye contact then, but he swallows thickly and doesn’t meet your eyes. It makes you giggle, but you decide to pull back on the joke, not wanting him to take offence or cause him more uneasiness. “Besides, each shirt is a testament to how much work you’ve put into bettering your skills here.”

That gets him to scoff and drop his head in disbelief “I’m still not where I need to be.”

“No,” you reply earnestly “but you will be.”

This earns you another bout of silence.

For a while, you both just enjoy each other’s quiet company. He stares blankly ahead and you give him the time to examine whatever it is he’s battling through in his own thoughts.

Eventually, he sighs and inclines his head towards the sky. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ever since I could remember.” You answer honestly. “Alpha says they opened the door and there I was, miraculously alive, left laying on a dirty blanket.”

“You’ve been here ever since?” He carefully asks.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else if that’s what you’re asking.” You pass an unfolded shirt to him and to your surprise he starts to fold it with no question. Bitter memories start to glaze your view. “And for someone as uneducated as me, there’s only a few jobs out there that I’d be considered for as a woman.”

A knowing silence passes through you both at the statement. Yatana was unforgiving. A real dog-eat-dog society with no time or need for those who couldn’t stomach it or keep up. Truth be told, most of the time you couldn’t. Very often would a prostitute or child be pounding on your doors for help or asylum. Hungry, beaten, thrown away like a speck of dust not worth anyone’s time.

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

You’re unphased by the question. “Of course it does.”

And you mean it. There are days when you scream at the sky or dunk your head slightly longer underwater to try and get away from it all, try to release it in some way.

Eyes still trained to the sky; he confesses “Because that’s all I feel. Anger and pain, and I can’t-“ he struggles to finish his words. “I can’t-‘

“I know.”

That makes him look back down and finally turn in your direction. He patiently expects you to explain.

You swallow thickly but continue to talk anyway. “To feel helpless, like you can’t do anything no matter how hard you try.” Gritting your teeth, you realize your hands have stopped folding. “But it doesn’t matter, because there are people who need me more strongly than the pain I feel.”

He considers your words thoughtfully and waits for you to speak once more. “Amidst all this chaos, this temple stands. People need me here. Children, mothers, the beautiful hijra who gave me a home, and when they leave this place with the tiniest glimpse of hope on their faces, then I know I’ve done my job. I don’t fight as well as the hijra here, I don’t expect to get much better, but I want them to know that they have refuge with me.”

You pass him an unfolded sari and for the rest of the time you are sitting together, you both fold quietly, basking in the sun and each other’s presence.

He continues to train harder after that. Each step is quick, each punch as sharp as a bullet. When he isn’t training, he’s watching. The news, the protests, the speeches, like he’s reassuring himself, learning the best way to approach.

It’s obvious everyone here, including you is taken with this stranger. Though, you don’t really know if you could even call him that anymore.

It’s like he seeks you out. It doesn’t matter if it’s simply sitting together for dinner or him deliberately waiting for you to walk through the courtyard with your basket under your arm. Both of your eyes are trained on each other with an eager sheen.

Maybe it’s fear or maybe it's an understanding that your pairing would most likely never work out in the end. Either way, whatever it is, it disappoints you because you so badly want to believe he wants you the same way.

The mood becomes slightly flirtatious and you catch sight of a boyish grin here or there, especially when he’s surrounded by the hijra.

But anytime you think he might ask you something, or just when you’re on the cusp of telling him your interest, something stops you in your tracks, holding you back.

A recollection plays in your head of last night.

It’s just him and the drummer again today. You wait near a dark window before you pass so as to not to disturb his concentration.

He has a beat to the way he fights, a brutal rhythm, and it astounds you every time you watch him. If this is how he looks punching a bag, you wonder how he’d look fighting against others. You find the thought oddly attractive, and it makes you flush.

For all his skill in the ring, it seems that’s where all his artistry in footwork stops. Surrounded by laughing and beaming faces, with the sound of softer drumming in the air, everyone takes a turn dancing. No one cared about how sloppy anyone was. You sure weren’t the best dancer amongst the hijras, but this seemed unsubstantial when you were all drunk on each other’s company.

The children present that evening and you form a small circle. You’re swinging your arms around when you notice your mystery man with a smile of his own. It knocks the air out of your lungs. It’s one that gives him crinkles around his eyes and all at once he doesn’t look like a hardened killer, but someone you’d see on a billboard or a magazine cover.

You crook your finger at him, inviting him into your little dance number. He tries to politely decline, his once beaming face turning something sheepish, but Alpha bumps him shoulder to shoulder, and soon the rest of them urge and tease him to dance along. When he gets to the center begrudgingly, it’s already too late for him to back out. Two children start to pull him until he lands directly opposite of you.

The circle of your intertwined hands spins, it twirls here and there, and when you all raise your hands to shrink the circle, you land face-to-face with the most fascinating man you’ve ever seen. It lasts all of five seconds, but everything around you dims as you look at this man’s face illuminated by firelight.

His eyes are his most emotive feature and they always seem to twinkle. Right then, they almost looked like jewels from the way they glossed over.

You pick up on the way those eyes slowly dipped down towards your lips and suddenly you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If he really does want you the same way you do.

But before you can tumble into that path of thought, cheers and hoots pull you out of the little bubble of enchantment you’d created. You turn to reject the idea of it all, but when you glance back at the man in front of you, your breath catches.

He continues to stare intently at your visage, not minding or caring about the extra attention one bit.

And then a scream erupts in your ears.

Seeing him punch the bag until rice grains stick to his chest reminds you of what he’s capable of.

When he shares a nod with the drummer, you know that he’s finally achieved what he came here at the temple to do.

Dropping your basket, you immediately rush indoors, following the cries of the hijra around you. Lakshmi lays in the center of the temple room floor, blood dripping from them like a fountain. You crouch and gently put their head on your knees as the weeps continue all around you.

They explain that they put a notice on the door, Shakti’s men, and all you can see is an unbridled tint of red starting to form. Your heart is pounding, Lakshmi is struggling to fight for air, and in front of this statue, an indescribable wave of pain crashes into you.

It’s loud, far too loud. With your thoughts, the cries, the blood staining your shirt.

Your one hand on the floor clenches into a fist. You try to remind yourself that you can be better, that there must be something more to all of this than just pray, than to just keep taking what they serve like impotent little ants. The hopelessness starts to creep in, slowly etching itself into your thoughts.

But before it can take hold, you distinguish a face in the shadows. It’s observing as everything around you starts to crumble and in that moment you try to push all that anger onto him as you directly glare into his soul.

And when you see him break open the donation box much later during the humid night, you know you’ve put your faith into the right person.

He tries to leave as silently as he came, but you meet him at the entrance. He holds a crude, dirty children’s bag and you can only assume that’s where he’s keeping the money.

He tries to explain, but you start to approach him which stops his needless rambling. In an act of boldness, you grab his hand in yours and flip it to look clearly at his scars. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Alpha was right.” You agree. “You do have the hands of a warrior”

You enclose his hand between yours, putting it up against your lips. “I wonder how such gentle hands fight with such ferocity.”

He starts to twitch and as you loosen your grip, expecting him to pull back, he instead cups the side of your face and despite his scarred calloused hands, his touch is pure velvet. His thumb brushes the tears you didn’t notice were starting to fall freely down your cheek.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

“Fight for me.” You croak thickly. “Fight for all of us.”

He clenches his jaw. “I promise you.”

You pull him towards you by grasping his neck and your lips meet in the middle. The kiss is like him. Equal parts sweet as it is harsh. His lips were warm and soft, but the urgency in the way you both kissed each other was anything but. You bury your hand into his hair and feel his curls unmake themselves even further. His smell of soap and sage infiltrates your senses.

It was a dizzying feeling. It’s what you felt while you were dancing exploded ten-fold. It was the culmination of tension and grief exploding into something technicolour. As your noses bump against each other, you think you want to draw more of this kindness from this man.

Your breathing quickens and he groans into your mouth. It’s almost like you two are fighting. With each other, against each other, for each other. Exploring this hungry need has only made you more insatiable.

And that becomes particularly dangerous, especially when you know he has a job to do.

Reluctantly you pull back. His eyes stay closed and you press your foreheads together, listening to the crackles of the torches around you. “Your emotions are strong.” You quietly whisper. “But do not let them control you. Let them guide you.”

He blinks his eyes open, full of clarity.

Letting each other go hesitantly, you take one last look at him and he at you. “Come back to me,” you say with all the confidence you can muster.

You can tell you’re both skeptical about your claim, but he nods his head anyway. He walks around you and you don’t turn to look at him leave for fear of wanting to hold him back. You hear the creak of the door, but before he can take another step away from you, you mumble “Give them Hell.”

There’s a slight pause before you start to hear the crunching of the ground beneath him, each step lighter than the last until you can no longer hear him creeping into the night.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

- - - - - -

When you see the money-filled bag hanging on the statue the next day, it’s attached with a note.

His presence overflows through your every pore.

Alpha looks at you with a determined expression on their face, as do the other hijra around them.

It seems they don’t just want repayment, they want a reckoning.

They want retribution.

- - - - - -

A/N: Please let me know what you think by leaving a note, comment, or reblog! Or we can just geek out about Monkey Man lol I definitely won’t be opposed to that lol

#fanfic #x reader #smut #dev patel #fanfiction #fluff #monkey man #monkey man 2024 #monkey man spoilers #the kid #y/n #monkey man fanfiction #monkey man fanfic #the kid x reader #angst #retribution

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randomdragonfires · 29 days ago

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Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did - The Other Woman [SNEAK PEEK]

Oh, and there was a woman.

WORD COUNT | 3.5k (and it's only a sneak peek ffs)

Author's Note | Hello everyone! So I am working on a relatively short 10k word chapter that is centred around Alys and Aemond from this story. How they came to be, what it is that they talk about... just the general progression of their relationship.

What follows is the first scene of that interlude chapter. The full thing should be up soon, following which I'll begin the final chapter. You'll see mentions, the ghost of Wylde - but for obvious reasons, Alysmond is the star of the next update.

Be warned. I see that many don't take well to the Alys and Aemond pairing - I will not appreciate any hate being thrown towards me or the story. There's always a civil way to say things. The strong reactions to their pairing is what kept me away from continuing it immediately in the first place, but mama didn't raise a quitter so here we are lmao

MORE THAN A YEAR AGO - AEMOND POV

"Of course I'm here. It’s summer vacation, and it’s only one of the biggest art gallery openings in the country," Wylde said with a grin. He was still new to Oldtown, while she was heading into her final year of school at King’s Landing—but they both knew where they belonged in the world. He would eventually take his place at the top, running one of the oldest commercial institutions in the realm. She would become a prominent socialite, wielding her family’s art connections with pride and skill, possibly on the arm of one of the men in this room.

For a fleeting moment back home, he had wished that man would be him. But that had passed—or so he liked to believe.

"Hm."

"Anyway, I have to make my rounds, shake hands," she sighed, as if already exhausted by the thought. "Most of them will try to get to my father through me, hoping for a chance at our family’s paintings for their displays." She paused, her expression softening. "My plane to King’s Landing leaves soon after, so I might not catch you to say goodbye, okay?"

She leaned in on the tips of her toes, instinctively brushing her lips against his cheek, a gesture so familiar it felt natural. His skin warmed under her touch as he held onto her for a moment, before letting her go and watching her slip into the crowd.

"It was nice to see you, Aemond," she said, giving him one last smile before she disappeared among the other guests.

He watched as the crowd welcomed her with open arms. And why wouldn’t they?

Aemond stood quietly near the back of the gallery, his head turned as he swirled his wine and pretended to be interested in the pieces around him. But his focus had already drifted.

From across the room, she had become the only thing he could think about.

She was magnetic in a way that defied simple description. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he could hardly deny that. There was something in the way she moved - fluid, deliberate, as if every gesture, every glance, was part of a conversation only she knew how to conduct. Aemond watched as she floated through the crowd with an easy grace, her black dress brushing the tops of her heels - not revealing, but just enough.

But it wasn’t her appearance that intrigued him the most. It was her detachment. The way she seemed to occupy the room and yet remain entirely separate from it. Like she knew she was better than the herd. How can she possibly not? He knew it, and he’d barely seen her for ten minutes.

He studied her carefully, trying to decode the way she interacted with her surroundings. The other guests barely held her interest, even her husband - Brynden Rivers, the artist on feature - who was basking in the attention of his admirers, seemed peripheral to her thoughts. She would smile and nod at the right moments, offering polite responses when addressed, but her eyes - sharp, dark, endlessly curious - always strayed back to the art. It was as though she were in search of something she hadn’t quite found, or perhaps she was testing the art itself, waiting to see if it would reveal anything worth caring about.

He found himself wondering what she saw. What was it that drew her attention so intensely? Was she, like him, disillusioned by the pageantry of it all? Or was she simply beyond it, a part of a world he hadn’t yet glimpsed?

Aemond’s eyes lingered on her, captivated by her subtle confidence. He could tell she knew he was watching - how could she not? And yet, she gave no indication that she minded. Instead, there was a knowingness in her movements, a quiet acknowledgment of his gaze that sent a strange thrill through him.

Almost as if she moved just for him.

As she turned from the group around her to admire one of the larger paintings, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. It was fleeting, just a flicker of recognition, but the brief moment stretched out in Aemond’s mind. She didn’t look away immediately, nor did she smile - there was something almost challenging in her gaze, as though she were testing him, daring him to keep watching.

And he did.

Their eyes met again several times as the night wore on, each moment charged with tension that had heat penetrating him through his black turtleneck. He couldn’t place it - this feeling that they were circling each other from opposite ends of the room. They had not spoken a word, yet it felt as though they were in conversation, their glances exchanging ideas, questions, provocations. What was she thinking? Did she feel this pull too, or was she simply toying with him, amused by the attention of a younger man?

She leaned in to whisper something to her husband, her lips barely moving, and Aemond felt an unexpected surge of jealousy - irrational, yes, but undeniable. She was so at ease, so unattainable, yet there was something in the way she kept looking at him, as if she wanted him to see her just as much as he wanted to understand her.

He’d never, in his entire life, felt like this before.

Their eyes locked again, and this time her lips curved into the faintest smile, not of politeness or pretense, but of acknowledgment. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Aemond, for all his careful control, felt the thrill of the chase. It wasn’t just desire - though there was plenty of that - it was the curiosity that gripped him. Who was she? What did she want from this night, from this life? And why did it feel like, in this crowded room, they were the only two people who mattered?

There was a moment when their gaze lingered just a little longer than before, the silence between them almost deafening, despite the buzz of conversation around them. Aemond felt something stir deep within him, a strange excitement, as though this unspoken challenge had a life of its own. What was he to her? Just another man in the gallery, or had she singled him out the way he had her?

It wasn’t until she broke the connection - turning back to the painting in front of her - that he realized he had been holding his breath.

Aemond had been standing in the corner of the gallery, nursing a drink that had long gone flat. His eyes drifted back to her, stealing glances, trying to untangle the mystery she presented without making it too obvious. He couldn't quite understand why she fascinated him so much, but her presence demanded his attention.

Then, it happened.

She moved.

At first, he thought she was simply changing her position to get a better view of a painting, but when their eyes met across the room for the third time that evening, something shifted. She wasn't just glancing anymore - she was walking toward him.

Aemond’s heart rate spiked. He forced himself to remain calm, to not show his surprise, but he could hardly believe she was coming up to him. The crowd of art enthusiasts seemed to blur, and the distant hum of voices faded into nothingness as she neared. He couldn't help but track every step she took, as though each one was part of a dance he hadn’t learned yet.

And then she was there, standing in front of him. Up close, she was even more striking than he had imagined - her features sharp and graceful, with an aura of confidence that was almost magnetic. She had an air of quiet authority, but not in the way the old-money elite around them carried themselves. Hers was different, more subtle, more powerful.

“Aemond Targaryen,” she said, her voice smooth and knowing, as though they were already well acquainted.

He blinked, still processing the fact that she was speaking to him at all. “You know me,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly a question. It made sense - he was a Targaryen after all, but still, something about her saying his name with such ease unnerved him.

“To no one's surprise, yes.” She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that was almost teasing. “You didn’t think I’d notice the only one in this room who's barely looked at the art?”

The comment threw him for a moment, but then, intrigued, he leaned in slightly. “A room full of some of the finest art, and yet you’ve been watching me,” he pointed out.

Did she notice him before, the same way he’s noticed her?

For a moment, her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Alys Rivers,” she began, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly, as if inviting him to puzzle it out.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. "Rivers..." he muttered, almost to himself, trying to jog his memory. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn’t quite place it. And then it came to him - he hadn’t heard that surname in relation to anyone important in his world.

“Strong,” she corrected softly, the name falling like a small bomb between them. “My maiden name is Strong.”

Aemond’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. Strong. Of course. Lionel Strong, the headmaster of the school he attended for years. Harwin Strong, whose presence in Rhaenyra’s life had always been whispered about, and whose children were a constant point of rumor and speculation.

She is a sister to them both. How had he not known of her all this time?

His gaze snapped back to her face, searching for any sign that might have connected her to that family before, but there was nothing immediately obvious. “Lionel Strong...” he said aloud, piecing it together, more for himself than for her benefit.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Lionel is my half-brother. Harwin, too.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it sink in. It was like a secret door had been unlocked, revealing more about her than he ever could’ve guessed. She had roots in his world, in his life, that had been there all along, just hidden beneath the surface.

Alys smirked, clearly enjoying the way his mind raced to catch up. "Surprised?"

“More than I’d like to admit,” he replied, a slow smile pulling at his lips as he found himself even more intrigued than before.

Aemond leaned back slightly, still processing everything. His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slower than usual in the presence of Alys Rivers - or Strong, as she had just revealed. But as much as her family ties surprised him, it didn’t change the allure she carried. She was still an enigma, now with even more layers to uncover.

Alys shifted her gaze to the painting nearest them - a sprawling canvas of abstract forms, colors bleeding into one another in what he deduces as an intentional mess. “So, what do you think of the work?” she asked casually, her eyes tracing the chaotic lines as if she already knew exactly what he was going to say.

He tilted his head, not willing to offer anything up too quickly. “It’s… bold.”

“Bold,” she repeated, her lips quivering. “That’s a safe assessment.”

“I suppose it is,” he conceded, allowing himself a small smile. “But it’s honest. What about you? You seem like someone with stronger opinions on art.”

“I do,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest as she took in the piece again. “This one... it’s my husband’s.”

Her words hung in the air, and Aemond couldn’t stop the faint sting of jealousy that crept into his chest at the way she said ‘husband’ - with a sense of familiarity that only came from many years of being tied together. He glanced back at the painting, trying to find some reflection of the man behind it.

“Your husband’s quite the artist,” he said, keeping his tone even, but his interest was undeniable.

Alys nodded, her gaze still on the painting. “Yes, he is. Brynden is one of the best, I suppose, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone else here already has.” There was something dismissive in her voice, a casual indifference that caught Aemond off guard.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And what do you think of his work?”

Alys tilted her head and gave a half-smile, as though considering the question for the first time. “It’s... fine. I appreciate what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t speak to me in the way art should.” She paused, then turned to him, her dark eyes finding him with a sharpness that left him momentarily breathless. “But you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

Aemond smirked, amused by how easily she read him. “It’s a little obvious. The way you talk about him, about his work… It’s almost as if you’re disconnected from it.”

She met his gaze, unflinching, her smile growing. “You’re observant, aren’t you? That must be exhausting.”

He chuckled softly, unable to help himself. “I’ve been told as much.” There was something thrilling about it - this mutual understanding, this wordless challenge.

“So,” he said, redirecting the conversation with purpose, “if your husband’s work doesn’t speak to you, what does? What kind of art do you appreciate?”

Alys turned away from the painting, her attention fully on him now. “The kind that demands something of me. Something that won’t let me look away. I want to be moved, even unsettled. The kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, intrigued. “You mean the kind that unsettles you in the same way a person can?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Exactly. Sometimes, the most impactful art is the kind that forces you to confront things you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy, uncomfortable, but unforgettable.”

He found himself nodding in agreement, feeling the conversation dip. “I suppose that’s why art and history are so closely linked. Both make you confront uncomfortable truths. The more you understand the world, the more you realize how fragile everything is.”

She sighed softly, as though she’d found someone who shared her exact thoughts. “Yes, and that fragility - that’s where the beauty lies. When you can’t control it. And when it’s gone, you’re left wondering why you didn’t appreciate it enough.”

They weren’t just talking about art anymore, and both of them knew it.

“And history,” she continued, her voice softer now, “is like the ultimate piece of art, isn’t it? Layered and complex, full of contradictions. No matter how much you study it, there’s always something more to uncover.”

Aemond nodded, his gaze intense. “It’s a reminder that nothing is permanent. Not power, not legacy, not even love.”

The way he said it, the quiet certainty in his voice, made Alys pause. She studied him for a long moment, as if searching for something behind his words. “You’re quite young. Do you really believe that?” she asked, her tone challenging, though her smile remained.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “Everything has its limits.”

As their conversation deepened, they moved through the gallery, eventually stopping in front of a painting that caught Alys’s attention. The piece was striking - two figures, intertwined in an abstract embrace, their forms blurring at the edges, as if they were dissolving into one another. The colors were bold, almost chaotic, bleeding into one another in a way that suggested both unity and dissolution.

Alys tilted her head, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “What do you make of this one?”

Aemond studied the painting, the mingling figures, the way their outlines seemed to waver as if they could hardly contain themselves within the frame. It was both intimate and unsettling, a reflection of connection and the inevitable loss that comes with it.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, voice measured. “There’s something about the way they’re almost… becoming each other. But it’s not peaceful, is it? It’s like they’re losing themselves in the process.”

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the canvas. “It’s about boundaries, I think. How much of yourself are you willing to give before you start losing pieces of who you are?”

Aemond glanced at her, sensing the weight behind her words. “Isn’t that what love does, in a way? It strips you down, forces you to let go of your boundaries until you’re not sure where you end and the other person begins.”

Alys met his gaze, her eyes sharp, thoughtful. “But that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Giving up so much of yourself. Maybe that’s why so many people cling to the idea of monogamy - one person, one connection, to keep things simple. Less risk.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do you think monogamy keeps things simple?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not at all. Monogamy is just another way of complicating things, if you ask me. The idea that one person can meet all your needs… it feels like an illusion.”

He considered her words, watching her closely as she turned back to the painting. “You don't have much of an opinion for loyalty in your connections?”

Alys shrugged, her smile a little mischievous. “I believe in connection. But I also believe in freedom. Sometimes, those things don’t go hand in hand.”

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, his mind swirling with the implications of her words. “Is that why you don’t believe in monogamy?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead turning to look at him with that same sly, knowing smile. “I didn’t say that - I can’t, given that I am married. But I don’t think it’s the only way to live.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I think monogamy works for some people. But for others... perhaps it’s just another form of control.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her gaze locking with his, challenging him again. “Do you crave control, Aemond?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the intensity of her gaze made his heart race. “I think we all do, in some way. It’s human nature.”

Alys took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But sometimes, the most exhilarating moments come when you let go of control. When you surrender to something - or someone - you can’t predict.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he felt the air between them grow charged. The flirtation between them had evolved into something far more potent, far more dangerous.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, his voice lower now, the distance between them shrinking.

She didn’t break eye contact, her lips curving slightly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Aemond glanced around the bustling gallery, the laughter and chatter of art enthusiasts fading into a background hum as his focus narrowed back to Alys. The way her eyes sparkled, the slight tilt of her head, and the intoxicating warmth of her presence drew him in like a moth to flame.

In a bold, instinctive move, he reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Her skin felt warm against his, soft yet somehow grounding, and he marveled at how effortlessly their hands fit together.

Without a word, he began to lead her away from the crowd. They slipped through a doorway and into an empty stairwell. As they stepped into the dim light, Aemond turned to face her fully, their hands still clasped. He felt a rush of exhilaration, the act of holding her hand feeling significant, almost intimate.

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and playful, her gaze unwavering.

He hesitated, caught in the intensity of the moment, the gravity of her presence. He reached into his trouser pockets for a cigarette and lighter, and soon there was the ashy smell of smoke around them.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to find out.”

The smoke from Aemond’s cigarette curling lazily into the quiet space. He took a drag, exhaling slowly as his mind raced, the sharp taste of nicotine mingling with the tension. He kept his gaze on the blank space ahead, the smoke filling the air around them. She, however, hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He could feel it—the way she watched him, measured him, waiting to see what he would do next. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt charged.

He took one last drag before carelessly flicking the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his boot without a second thought. The small, defiant gesture felt freeing, as though he was stamping out a part of himself—his restraint, his hesitation. He turned to face her again, her gaze steady, her lips slightly parted as if she was waiting for something.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the stairwell ceased to exist. Then, with a low exhale, he stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. It was a split second of tension before he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, testing the boundaries between them. But the moment her lips parted, the intensity between them flared to life.

Aemond pressed her back against the cold, hard wall, the warmth of her body against his heightening his awareness of every touch, every breath. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup her face, the other finding her waist, pulling her closer. As the kiss deepened, his fingers traced the line of her neck, her collarbone, before they slipped lower, teasing the hem of her dress.

She let out a soft gasp as his fingers found their way between her thighs, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth. There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling—only the smooth, practiced confidence.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as he continued, the rhythm of his fingers drawing soft moans from her lips. He could feel her tightening, her body trembling as she reached the edge. His thumb brushed over her in just the right way, and that was all it took. Alys stifled a cry as she came, her body arching against the wall, and Aemond kissed her again, this time slower, more tender, as if savoring the moment. Her breathing slowly evened out, and Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. Neither of them spoke. There was no need for words.

They simply stood there, foreheads pressed together, sharing the stillness as the world outside continued to move without them.

Look forward to your thoughts! (No seriously, say something. I really need to be motivated and that usually happens through fic related discourse haha)

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shixcherie · 1 month ago

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Took Me To The Stars | Kang Yeosang ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 06 : Costume Sex

↬ [ Synopsis ] : Yeosang’s fantasies run wild, from wanting to show you the stars to having passionate sex in theater costumes. It all begins with you helping him ease his tension, but leaves him craving more of you. A deal is struck, promising a night filled with lust, an offer you would never want to pass up.

Word Count : 2.4k Genre : Smut, Angst, Theatre Actor Au, Roomates, Non-idol au. Pairing : Theatre Actor! Yeosang x Theatre Actor! F.Reader

WARNINGS : pure smut(18+), a bit of plot, costume sex, dom/sub undertones, oral (m.recieving), praise, petnames( sweetheart, honey), edging, clothed sex, nipple play, unprotected sex,handjob.

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

☆ ☆ ☆ NOTE : Day 06 is here ma chéries and its Yeosang fic day. This is written in a bit of a hurry so hope you enjoy and please ignore any silly mistakes you see in the story. Nonetheless, hope you devour this piece and shower it with the same love you have been showing to my other fics. Thank you, really so so much.

Un-fucking-predictable. That’s what anyone would call the situation you’re in right now, with your roommate Yeosang’s aching cock in your mouth as you promise to ease all his tension about tomorrow’s play.

It wasn’t your intention to interrupt his jerk-off session when you came back from theater rehearsal, but when pretty, needy moans echoed through the living room,coming from Yeosang’s room,you couldn’t help but sneak a little peek inside your co-star-turned-roommate’s bedroom.

To say the sight before you was mouthwateringly ethereal would be an understatement. With his eyes tightly shut, lips caught between his pearly whites, a blush coloring his cheeks, and his hand furiously pumping his angry cock, his moans desperate for release, you couldn’t help but squirm as you shamelessly watched him.

So, what you heard at rehearsals was right, the play Yeosang is leading has been preponed, causing chaos among the cast. With the performance just two days away, his desperate actions make sense.

His hands move skillfully up and down his length as he moans prettily, half-naked and falling apart in front of you, desperate for release. The sight turns you on, and a sudden, betraying moan escapes your lips, tiny but loud enough for Yeosang to halt all his actions at once. His eyes snap open in panic, meeting yours, and he freezes in place, turning as red as a tomato.

“Y/N! What are you doing here? I mean, it’s your house too, so obviously you’re here, but—how… ah… when did you come back? I-I can explain… oh shit… I’m really sorry you had to see this” he stammers, embarrassed that you caught him in the act.

“Yeosang, it’s okay. I—” you start to calm him down, but he cuts you off, continuing to apologize.

“I’m really sorry, the girl who was supposed to come over canceled last minute, and I’m just really stressed about the play. You know they preponed the dates! What the hell am I gonna do now? There’s so little time left” he rambles, dumping all his worries on you as he moves closer.

“Yeosang!” you yell, stopping him in his tracks. “Calm down, please. Yeah, I heard about the preponement, but I trust you, so you’re going to pull it off.” Your words seemed to calm him down, at least a little. You continue, “Secondly, I’m sorry the girl canceled on you last minute.” It was a bit surprising, considering no one ever cancels on Yeosang. He has that magnetic charm and a reputation for sleeping around.

“And finally, do you want me to help with that?” you ask, a mischievous smile on your lips as your fingers point toward his throbbing length.

“Huh… umm… well, y/n… uh… yes, please.” he hesitates for a moment but eventually accepts your offer.

A smile appears on your face as you stride toward him, settling on your knees in front of him as he sits on the bed. The thought of his best friend and roommate taking him in her mouth still feels a bit unsettling for him. You, on the other hand, aren’t the slightest bit hesitant or doubtful about the bliss he’s about to experience, promising him a blowjob he’ll remember for eternity.

Removing your shirt, you gently wrap your fingers around his hard length, giving it a stroke. Yeosang grunts, taking deep breaths as his eyes shift between your exposed chest and your hands playing with his dick. Your tongue delivers kitten licks to clean up his leaking precum while your hand keeps stroking him, the other hand busy massaging his balls. Yeosang’s body trembles at the delicious sensations your tongue is giving him.

You stroke him slowly, teasingly, as Yeosang's breaths grow heavier, his head falling back . His soft moans only fuels your desire to push him further.

Without warning, you take him fully into your mouth, lips wrapping tightly around his length. Yeosang groans, hands gripping the sheets, as you take him deeper with each bob of your head. Your tongue works skillfully, drawing out his breathless, needy moans.

The room fills with the soft, wet sounds of your mouth as you drive him closer to the edge, his worries melting away as you push him to new heights.

“Y/N!!... I-I’m gonna—” Yeosang’s voice breaks, a mixture of desperation and bliss, and before he can finish, you feel him spill into your mouth. You don’t stop until he’s completely undone, his body going limp as he falls back on the bed, breaths shaky.

As you pull away, wiping your lips, you glance up at him. Yeosang’s eyes are half-lidded, his face flushed, a relaxed smile tugging at his lips. “You really... took all my tension away.” he breathes out, still catching his breath. “In theatre terms, you took me to the stars.” A small chuckle escapes him as he tries to recover from the heavenly pleasure you just gave him.

You give him a playful smirk. “Told you I could help.”

—

Two days later, Yeosang's play becomes a massive hit, receiving a standing ovation with the crowd going wild over the beautiful performance. The cast somehow pulled it off, and Yeosang was incredible. You couldn’t help but smile, remembering your cheeky little contribution.

Backstage, you go around congratulating the cast, fist-bumping Wooyoung and ruffling San’s hair for their stellar performances. You're busy chatting with Woosan when Yeosang approaches, tapping your shoulder with a big smile on his gorgeous face.

“Congrats, Yeosang! The play was amazing, and your performance was literally the cherry on top, totally worthy of the standing ovation.” you say, congratulating him.

“Thank you so much... umm... for helping me, with the play, of course.” he stammers a bit before finally asking, “Can we talk?” Your eyes narrow, but you nod. Woosan exchanges a knowing look, and they give you both privacy, which is surprising considering how nosy Wooyoung can be.

“Thank you for helping that day... umm, without your support, I couldn’t have pulled this off, really. I was very tense and distracted, and you helped me focus.” he says shyly, a red blush creeping onto his cheeks. He hesitates before asking, “Can I do something in return for you?”

“Umm… no, nothing. I really can’t think of anything right now, Yeosang.” you reply, pretending you don’t want anything. To be honest, you enjoy playing hard to get, and Yeosang’s desperate pleas definitely fuel that.

“Anything, please. I really want to show how thankful I am.”

“Honestly, there is nothing, Yeosang.” you reply, trying your hardest not to smirk.

He sighs, frustrated and almost giving up, but he tries to throw one last bone at you.

“Let’s make a deal.” he begins. “In two days, we both have a stage play together. If we successfully pull it off, I will give you anything you want.” He pauses before adding what he wants in return. “I want us to have sex in our main lead costumes.” He speaks confidently, a bit smug and laid back, suddenly exuding a newfound confidence.

Gotcha! You had a feeling Yeosang had a thing for costume sex, but his offer today finally seals the deal.

“Okay, deal!” you say, shaking his hand with a smirk on your face. “What do you want to do?” Yeosang pushes, looking like such a cute, desperate puppy.

“I want you to play with them.” you reply, pointing at your perfect model-sized breasts, bulging out of your tight top, showing no hint of shame in your demand.

"Sneaking a glance at your juicy breasts, a satisfied smile plays on his lips as Yeosang shakes your hand. 'Deal!'”

—

Urgency takes over Yeosang as he drags you to his private room backstage. Yes, he has a private room. It’s goddamn Yeosang we’re talking about—the best lead in the whole theater. After a three-hour play, a standing ovation, and a chorus of praise from not just your friends but the guests as well, you can confidently say the play was a success.

Now it’s time to fulfill the deal: a fully clothed costume makeout session and some cheeky boob play, just as promised, by both sides.

The air in the room is thick with anticipation as Yeosang stands before you, glowing in his main lead costume, looking like the charming prince he is. You look no less than Cinderella, the costume adorning your body like a second skin, emphasizing your curves and amplifying the necessary parts of your beautiful form.

Yeosang's eyes shine with mischief and desire as he drinks in your beauty, thinking to himself what took him so long to make a move on you.

“I can’t believe we’re about to do this,” he says, his voice a mixture of excitement and desire.

You nod, biting your lip as you take in the sight of him. “We made a deal, remember?”

With a swift motion, he closes the gap, his hands gripping your waist firmly as he pulls you against him. The warmth of his body sends shivers down your spine. “Right. A deal.”

His lips crash against yours, igniting a fiery passion as he deepens the kiss. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the thrill of being in your costumes adding to your arousal, and his bulge is evident of his turned-on state, even through the thick fabric of the costume.

“Wanna make this memorable? Let me take you to the stars, sweetheart,” his inner seductor speaks as he murmurs against your lips, a smirk adorning his face.

Slowly walking you backward, your legs hit the couch. Without breaking the kiss, Yeosang gently pushes you onto the couch. Biting your lower lip, he works on your corset, freeing your juicy tits, as a moan escapes your lips.

Breaking the kiss, Yeosang takes a moment to adore the breathtaking sight in front of him. Your milky tits look extremely tempting, begging to be showered with attention, while your flushed face turns him on even more with every passing second.

Yeosang's hands cup your juicy breasts, sending a shiver of pleasure through you. He leans down, his lips brushing against your soft skin, sending electric sparks across your body. “You’re so beautiful.” he murmurs before taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

The warmth of his mouth envelops you, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he suckles gently, drawing soft moans from your lips. You arch your back, each flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you feel yourself growing more desperate for him.

“Yeosang…” you gasp, biting your lip, trying to contain the pleasure building within you. But he only smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. With a teasing flick of his tongue, he switches to your other breast, showering it with the same adoration.

He lavishes your breasts with love bites, kissing a trail from one nipple to the other, taking his time to worship every inch of your soft skin. His hands knead your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure that drives you crazy.

“Yeosang, please, harder.” you beg, your voice shaky with need, urging him on. The sensations are overwhelming and intoxicating. He knows exactly how to play you, how to bring you to the edge and keep you hanging there, desperate for release.

He responds by increasing the intensity of his actions, alternating between gentle kisses and teasing bites, sucking your breasts with passionate urgency. The heat pooling in your core intensifies with each passing moment, and you feel your body ready to surrender to the pleasure. To him.

Finally, with one last passionate suck, he pulls back slightly, looking deep into your eyes. “Want more, honey. I can do a lot more if you allow me to show you.” he whispers, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

“I need you, Yeosang. Right now.” a needy demand escapes your lips, your arousal pooling at your core, leaving you panty-wet and dripping with desire. As you lift your dress, Yeosang’s fingers brush against your wetness, checking for the mess he’s made, a smirk appearing on his face.

“So wet… all for me, baby.” His innocent yet charming gazehas yyou breaking you apart. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted this until you had a taste of him that day. The days in waiting had been painful, but you knew Yeosang wouldn’t disappoint.

A soft rub of Yeosang’s hard length against your dripping core pulls you back as a moan escapes your lips. He’s freed himself from his pants just enough to tease you, ready to take you to the stars. Your panties lie discarded in the corner of the couch, and your dress is lifted just enough to allow him to enter you.

Yeosang's eyes darken with desire as he positions himself at your entrance. “Are you ready?” he whispers, ensuring you’re holding up.

“Yes.” you reply breathlessly, your heart racing with excitement and need.

With one smooth motion, he pushes into you, filling you completely. A gasp escapes your lips as you feel him stretch you, the heat and pressure sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He pauses for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his gaze locked onto yours, deepening the intimacy of the moment you two are sharing.

“God, you feel incredible.” he groans, slowly beginning to thrust, each movement intoxicating and rhythmic. His pace grows faster and more urgent as your bodies move in perfect harmony. You can feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension rising as he drives deeper, hitting all the right spots that make you gasp and moan.

“Yeosang… harder, please.”you plead, desperation dripping from your voice. He responds instantly, quickening his pace, his hands gripping your hips as he takes you, desire pouring into his thrusts. The world outside fades away; it’s just you and him, lost in each other.

Every thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, your bodies slick with sweat from the costumes and the heat of the moment as you approach the edge together. You can feel the ecstasy drawing you closer to release.

“Together, baby.” he urges. “I want us to finish this together.”

With a final thrust, pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave as you decorate his skillful cock with your juices. Yeosang groans, filling you completely, his release washing over you both in a euphoric wave of warmth and satisfaction.

You cling to each other, breathing heavily as the aftershocks of pleasure fade, leaving you both breathless and spent.

“That was everything I hoped for.” he murmurs, a genuine smile breaking across his face, happiness mirroring your blissful expression, with no regret in sight.

“You truly took me to the stars, Yeosang.” you reply, still recovering from the intensity of the experience. As you both catch your breath, you know this is a night you’ll never forget.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

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dragonageannual · 2 months ago

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DAA 2025: Legacies Product Previews!

It's almost time! Our 2025 shop opens in just five short days on October 1st. Check out the product previews below for a sneak peek at the amazing creations on offer!

All proceeds from 2025 sales will be donated to War Child UK.

👉 Follow us on itch.io to be the first to know when our shop opens 👉 Subscribe to our newsletter for spoiler-free DAA news! 👉 Give back to the Dragon Age community by donating toward a Community Copy! More information coming soon.

Dragon Age Annual 2025: Legacies

A Dragon Age Annual classic! We're excited to say that this year the calendar comes with a pre-punched hole so that you can easily hang and display the beautiful creative works inside. Our calendar celebrates your favourite characters, stories, and all there is to love about Thedas. With designs that span the entire Dragon Age franchise, there's sure to be something you'll want to see!

Keep reading to see previews for Sagas: A DAA 2025 Zine and our merchandise pack, including art prints, mini tarot cards, stickers & sticker sheets, magnets, and a wooden charm!

Sagas: A DAA 2025 Zine

Featuring 4 full-length fanfics, 2 comics, and 7 art pieces, this booklet celebrates even more of Thedas' myths, legends, and heroes. From Grey Wardens to The Qun to ancient and Dalish elves, you won't want to miss out on this one-of-a-kind anthology!

Prints

Decorate your home and make sure your guests know you'd rather be in Thedas with these art prints featuring our favorite Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast, and the fabled Emerald Knights! Keep an eye out for our stretch goals to find out how to get these prints upgraded to A4-sized 👀

Mini Tarot Cards

Divine your Dragon Age destiny with our set of four mini tarot cards! Featuring the new DAA logo on the back, flip the cards over to find that your future holds four brand new fanart designs.

Stickers

Water bottle looking a little bare? Or maybe you need to decorate your new laptop? Either way, we have a sticker extravaganza to suit your needs! *Unlock The Broken Arrow for all physical orders with one of our stretch goals. **Unlock Iron Bull Planner Stickers for all physical calendar orders with one of our stretch goals.

Magnets

Satisfy the demands of the Qun by picking up this magnet set! Featuring Qunari legends, Sten and The Iron Bull, these button magnets will make sure no space on your fridge—or wherever you display them—is wasted.

Charm

Purchase of this charm includes a golden bead ball-chain, so it can easily be used as a key chain or zipper pull! If a necklace is more your style, simply pair the conveniently sized and lightweight charm with your own chain or cord and wear to show off your Andrastian pride!

87 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 1 year ago

Note

ahhh congrats on 1K!! you deserve it all :D

for your concert, may I suggest got my mind set on you for eren with a friends to lovers type trope? like maybe eren has a bit of a past as a fuckboy and realizes now that he's in love with his friend. she doesn't believe him given his history, so he is determined to woo her, but really he just needs to show her that he's serious about her (because she has already loved him this whole time hehe). OR whatever you want to do!!

got my mind set on you

eren x f!reader

**part of my debut concert event

content: drinking, reader gets her periods and leaks on her sheets, eren is a manwhore, hitch is a hater, jean and marco are masterminds

an: thank you sweet sweet anon! you deserve all the love in the world. I hope you like it <333

“Y/N. White wife-beater or black wife-beater?”

You peek up from the top of your textbook to glare at him and he has that stupid, stupid grin on his face. The one he uses to get anything he wants.

“Man. At this point you’re just trying to sound like an asshole.” mutters Jean, taking Armin’s pillow and smacking it straight into his face.

Mikasa and Armin laugh in response, agreeing as Eren makes his way over to you, flopping on his bed next to you. He’s leaning directly into your space, that musky cologne enveloping your nose as he starts talking.

“Y/N.”

“Eren.”

“Black or white?”

“Ass or face?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to punch you in the ass or in the face?”

He laughs as he bends over, sticking the aforementioned ass into your space as he knocks your textbook out of your hands and you push him away. And you try to fight the smile trying to make its way on to your face, trying to feign as much anger as you can.

But you can’t be mad at Eren. You can’t be anything but a jumbled mess of feelings at Eren lately.

When you moved to college, you were looking forward to getting a fresh start from the town that you grew up in. Not that it was ever a bad place but it was never really a good place either. And you were ready to let it all go, to move away from your parents, to find out who you were.

And just your luck, the one boy from your highschool going to the same college as you ends up in your orientation group and never leaves you alone after that. Dragging you to random club meetings for free food, taking you to mixers that your RA hosted, trying to sneak into frat parties together.

At some point, you were just always together. And maybe some small part of you really liked having him around. That he wanted to be your best friend, told you all the little inner workings of his mind instead of someone else. That he thinks the Loch Ness Monster is made up, that he likes the Twilight movie soundtracks a little bit too much, that he loves mystery books.

And he’s dorky - snorts when he laughs too hard, can’t drink beer without spilling it all over his shirt, and is so weirdly passionate about these little sea animals that he’s spending the entire summer doing an internship at the marine biology research lab at your university.

But he’s also sweet - trying to memorize all the little facts about you, picking you up from class as a habit, telling you that you’re prettier than some shit guy who won’t come by.

He’s your friend. Your sweet, secret little dorky friend. No one looks at you. But no one looks at him either. Maybe you guys only look at each other.

Except when you come back from the summer, his dork is replaced with…charm. Charisma, an appeal, a magnetism. And maybe he was always really charming, but no one paid attention to it. It was just for you.

But now they do - because he’s grown out his soft brown hair into this sunkissed loose man bun and spending all summer swimming in tidepools has defined his muscles. Because he was always gangly and a little awkward but one summer has him looking fit, in all the right places.

That’s when it starts raining on your parade. Because when you and Eren go to parties, you’re talking to him less and the girl who's drunk and throwing up in the bathroom more. He’s too busy talking to the pretty girls, twirling their locks of hair in his hands and batting his pretty eyelashes at them.

And he still picks you up from class with an iced coffee in hand, except the barista scribbled her name over your cup because she wants Eren to call her later. And you know Eren leans into it, because this newfound attention only gives him confidence to show off more.

To tell girls about the creepy little slugs he spent all summer looking for so they can coo over how cute it is that he cares, to show off those ridiculously defined muscles, to gleam at people the way he does.

You’re interrupted by your train of thought as Historia, the girl Eren met at a club meeting knocks on the door, shining sunlight at Eren as she smiles at him. And when he flicks the top of your forehead and stands up to press a kiss to her cheek and run out with her, you stick your face back into your textbook.

And pretend it doesn’t sting.

You peer over your notebook again to find Jean hanging upside down on the bunk, his eyes staring into yours.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Jean. The blood is rushing to your head. You look like an overly ripe tomato.”

He laughs as he flops off the bunk and next to you, leaning his head in to read your textbook.

“A tort is a civil law that causes a claimant to suffer loss or….this shit is so fucking boring.”

He snatches the textbook away from your clutches and flings it off the bed, giving an innocent smile as he does.

“I was reading that.”

“And now you’re not!”

“Do you want something from me, Jean?”

“Yeah. Let’s go on a date.”

“You have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah. It was his idea.”

He pulls you up by the wrists as you both shuffle out of Armin and Eren’s dorm room, giving half-hearted goodbyes to Mikasa and Armin as he dragged you back to your hal. Trying to convince you to go on a date with him.

“No.”

“Listen. You make this mopey sad face whenever he brings a girl around. It’s really ugly.”

“Thanks, Jean. You’re such a gentleman.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he swings your door open, the two of you flopping onto your bed.

“I just mean- I hate that you wait around for him. And Marco does too. I think it would be nice. For me to take you out, to make you feel special, to remind you that you don’t have to hopelessly pine over that idiot and wait for him to look at you back.”

“Jean, I just-”

He stands up, locking his fingers with yours, as he tries to use his boyish charm on you. And it’s entirely different from Eren’s. Where Eren oozes pure charisma, like you can’t help but give in because you just want to know what he’s getting at.

Jean’s charm is more…boyish. Innocent. Because he’s smiling at you, all soft and genuine. Like you want to give in because you know he means well. It’s sweet. So you agree.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“Pink dress or white skirt?”

You hold up the options as Eren looks at you for the first time - even though he’s been in your dorm for the past three hours texting Historia in your bed - and squints at you.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

“Yeah. I’m going on a date.”

He stands up, placing his hands on your cheek as he moves your face around in the air, taking in the product on your face. A soft glitter on your eyelids, black around your eyes that makes your eyes look infinitely bigger, and soft pink on the tops of your cheeks.

“With who?”

“Well, Jean for now. But it’s practice before I start going on real dates you know?”

“You’re going on dates? Why?”

You roll your eyes as you turn back in the mirror, holding up the options to your frame as you weigh what to wear.

“Because. I want to get out there and I’m like…deeply touch starved or whatever. I just want someone told hold me or something. And it feels weird to do it cold turkey so Jean’s taking me.”

“You could have asked me. I could take you.”

You roll your eyes as you push past him, reaching for your flowery perfume that you spray on for special occasions. Eren’s leaning against your bedpost, his eyes scrunched up in frustration that for some reason is really annoying you.

“You have a girlfriend.”

“Hisu’s not my girlfriend. We’re just talking.”

“Okay, yeah. Same thing.”

“Jean has a boyfriend.”

“This was Marco’s idea, Eren. He’s not going to care if I actually go on it and I think he’s probably the one who bought the flowers Jean’s going to bring me.”

You hold the two options up in the air again, boring your eyes into Eren’s as you gesture for him to respond again.

“I’m not picking.”

“I literally pick your date outfits for you all the time. You could pick for me.”

And Eren mutters something that sounds like pink under his breath which you smile brightly at as you duck into your closet to slip the dress on. And when it’s all fresh and pressed against your skin, there’s a knock on your door and a very smiley Jean waiting for you.

As you predicted, he’s holding a pretty bouquet of pink flowers in his hand, wearing a nice buttoned up shirt as opposed to his usual lame t-shirts.

“Hi. Don’t you look pretty?”

He reaches for your wrist and lifts your hand up to spin you around, the pleats of your dress whooshing in the air and a stupid laugh falling out of your lips.

“Jean. You’re laying it on a little thick there.”

He shakes his head dismissively as he places the bouquet on your desk, giving a small nod to Eren as he walks back to you, pinching the side of your cheek.

“You’re getting the full Jean Kirschtein experience. I have to set the bar high so you don’t settle for a whole idiot or anything.”

And Eren watches you and he hates it. That he has this angry, green little monster simmering in his chest. That you’re smiling at Jean, that he’s taking you on a date to set your standards, that you’re wearing a pretty dress and laughing with someone who isn’t him.

And he knows it’s wrong. That he has no right to be jealous when he’s talked to other girls ever since the summer ended while you’ve remained steadfast and true. And it wasn’t like you were staying true to him because Eren’s positive that you don’t feel that obligation, that loyalty to him, but some part of him feels like you do. Or wishes that you do.

But suddenly…he’s feeling it for you. That he shouldn’t be with anyone but you, that he’s the person who should be taking you on cute dates, twirling you around in pretty dresses, having you spread glitter all over your face for him.

Eren texts Historia as he watches you and Jean duck out the door.

“Uh huh, Kirschtein. I’m sure this is gonna be the best date of my life.”

“That’s a promise, baby girl.”

“Ew. Baby girl?”

“Do you prefer sweetheart instead?”

“You’re so fucking corny, Jean.”

And when the door closes, he sends the text.

I want to see other people. Sorry Hisu.

You return from your date with Jean to find Eren slumped over in your bed, typing away on his laptop. Your roommate, Hitch, is glaring bloody murder at you as she flits her eyes over to his direction.

“Eren.”

“Ah. You’re back. How was it?”

“What are you doing in my room? I left hours ago.”

“Just wanted to see you when you got back. And I was spending time with my best friend, Hitch. She’s just so riveting to talk to and I just love her so much.”

She throws her portable fan at his head, which he catches before it makes contact and then throws it back at her.

“I’ll walk you back to yours, Eren. And you’re buying Hitch coffee as an apology.”

He rolls his eyes as he grabs his bag, blowing fake kisses to Hitch as she flips him off. You’re both trodding through the hall, the building quiet. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s partying.

“Didn’t want to party tonight, Eren?”

“Nah. Didn’t feel like it. How was your date?”

You smile as you twiddle with your fingers.

It was nice. To feel special, to have someone tell you that you were pretty. And sure he didn’t mean it in that way and it was entirely platonic, but it was nice to have someone look at you. Who wants to make you feel special, try to coax you into doing things you don’t usually do.

And you’re positive it’ll feel even better when the feelings are reciprocated.

“Really nice, Eren. I’m excited to…meet people. Date them. Have someone make me feel special, tell me I’m pretty.”

“You’re pretty.”

You look over to find Eren’s cheeks burning pink, the tips of his ears red as he avoids eye contact with you.

“Thank you?”

“Ye-yeah. Sure.”

You make it to Eren’s door and he swings the door open, dragging you in by the wrist. From the looks of it, Armin’s not home, Eren’s desk light flickering on the desk. He drags you to his bed, the two of you sitting on his plush duvet.

“Eren. I was just walking you here. I’m kind of tired from the painting.”

“You went painting?”

“Yeah. It was like a pottery type thing. We picked out mugs and just painted on them. Talked about stuff. Shared an ice cream together after. Jean and Marco gave me very sweet kisses on the cheek when I dropped him back off to his dorm.”

Eren pushes his hand through his hair as he asks, the question making the air in his throat burn.

“Ah. Would you ever…go on a date with me?”

And you laugh. Quite literally laugh, because he cannot be serious.

“God, Eren. Don’t be a cliche right now.”

“What?”

“You see your best friend go on a date with another guy and suddenly you’re interested in her. It’s like every corny rom-com.”

You lean forward, pinching the plush of his cheek.

“You just want what you can’t have, Eren. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me for two years. And of course, you only look at me when you can’t have me.”

“Wait, but I-”

“Eren. I want someone who makes me feel special. And you’ve always been special to me, but I want to be special to someone too. Let’s not make our friendship weird. And hey, maybe we can actually be equals this time.”

“Equals?”

“Two people who care about each other the same amount. Not one person hopelessly pining over the other.”

You give his cheek one last pinch as you pad out his door, giving him a smile before you slam the door shut.

The next morning, Eren’s standing outside your Civil Law lecture with a coffee in hand. And a shy smile pressed across his face.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“Hi Eren.”

Despite your admission of your feelings and your swift rejection of Eren, he’s still standing here. And you were expecting it, because you know that Eren wasn’t really saying any of that in earnest. And it’s nice to admit your feelings, as a way of letting them go before you give in and like someone else.

You take the cup from his hand and shove the much needed caffeine into your mouth, the two of you strolling to your next class. You look over to find Eren with a pinched look on his face, like he’s constipated.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“Cat got your tongue? What’s wrong with you?”

“You didn’t…look at the cup.”

You look back down at the cup to find handwriting scribbled on it in green sharpie.

you look pretty today, sweet girl

You laugh, holding it up in the air.

“No way. The barista called you a sweet girl? It’s that long ass hobo hair you have.”

“What? That wasn’t the barista, that was me!”

“You wrote on the cup? Why?”

“For you, stupid! I’m trying to romance you.”

You spit the coffee straight into your cup, looking back down at the cup again. And holy shit he’s right - the way the g is looped and the writing is slanted, it really is Eren’s handwriting.

“Eren.”

“What?”

“It’s cute. But you’re going to do it for like one week. And then get bored of waiting and see some pretty girl at a party and change your mind.”

“I’m not! You’re it for me.”

“Eren. Bullshit. You wouldn’t last a month.”

He leans forward, pressing you into the hard of the wall as he looks down, green eyes glinting in yours.

“Bet.”

“What?”

“I’ll bet on it. Prove it to you. That I’ve got my mind set on you.”

“Uh huh. That takes a lot of patience, Eren. Time. Something that’s never been your forté.”

“I’ll make it my forté, if it’s for you.”

You give into the bet. A month for Eren to romance you, to prove that he’s really only got his mind set on you.

You give in because you know you’ll win. He gives in because he wants to prove the stupid, silly girl he loves that he can do it right.

eren: good morning silly little woman. fit check pls :D

you: no.

eren: cmon. ive got back to back classes and im missing that cute little face of yours :(((

you: just ask ur hoes. im sure they’re cute too.

eren: no hoes. im allergic to gardening.

you: you should start stand up comedy. you’d be really good at it.

eren: you want me so bad

you: shut up

eren: im waiting!!!! time is ticking doll, i will show up to your club meeting and start gushing about how pretty my girlfriend is in front of all your little prospective club members if i don’t get a fit check in ten seconds

you: not your girlfriend

eren: yet. three weeks to go.

you: do you not have anything else to do?

eren: picture and i’ll be out of your hair.

you: sent one attachment

eren: eren jaeger found dead at twenty-one.

you: thank god.

eren: cause of death - the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen in my life. absolute heartstopper

you: EREN. YOU’RE SO GROSS AND CORNY STOP.

eren: ok ok see you after class sweet girl. and thanks for the picture. corniness aside, it really did make my day. you’re my favorite thing to look at.

You ignore the pounding in your chest as you throw your phone into your purse and head to the coffee shop. And what you hoped would be an uninterrupted study session is interrupted by a certain green eyed idiot, smiling at you as he takes the seat across from you.

“Hi doll.”

“Eren. You have class.”

“Got canceled. The planets and the fates and all the stars aligned. You and me, free for a little study date at the same time.”

You crinkle your nose as you lift your backpack from the seat next to you, Eren sliding in and taking a sip from your watered down coffee.

“Did you just rhyme? How long did that one take you?”

“The whole walk over here. Did you like it?”

“No.”

Eren opens up his laptop, the two of you working in silence. And in the smallest of ways, Eren’s making it hard for you to focus.

Tangling his legs with yours under the desk, resting his hand on your thigh every time you work out one of your homework problems with him, tucking your hair behind your ear every time it annoyingly flops forward.

“Oh! I have something for you.”

He holds out a tiny little candy, a twisted mango strawberry pop. The one you can only get in Shiganshina, a four hour drive away.

“What the fuck? You had Mindy’s the entire time and your greedy ass wasn’t sharing?”

You take the little candy in his hand, twisting the ends open and letting the flavors melt on your tongue. And the nostalgia hits your head, running in the grass as a kid, your mom keeping a little box on the top of the microwave for you two to share at the end of the day.

“Just got them. I drove all the way to Shiganshina to get them for you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m being serious. I went on Sunday, after my lab meeting. Got the box, hung out with my dog for an hour and came back.”

“You were probably just running an errand down there. I bet Zeke just needed your help with something.”

“My parents and Zeke are in Hizuru, remember?”

You feel your mouth go dry as you shuffle the candy in your mouth, huffing back in your chair. Corny ass idiot. They are in Hizuru to meet Zeke’s new girlfriend. But there’s no way in hell he drove all the way there just to get you a candy.

“There’s no way you-”

“I’ve got my mind set on you. In my mind, you and I are already dating. I’m just kind of waiting for you to catch up.”

“Oh, quit i-”

“When you’re my girlfriend, we’ll go together. Make a little drive out of it, see your parents and my parents. Get Mindy’s. Bother that lady who works at the aquarium.”

“Eren.”

He pinches your cheek as you frown, rolling your eyes at him.

“For now, I'll just drive down there alone to get you candy. Three more weeks, stink.”

Your stress is building. You’ve got two term papers due next week, a club meeting to plan, a project to go over with your research advisor, and groceries to do. And really, really all you are is bone dead tired. That you can feel your bones dragging and your eye bags deepening and the panic shuffling every time you breathe in and out.

Your final straw? Forgetting you were going to get your period and leaking onto your bed sheets.

And you know it’s not a big deal. That you can wash the sheets and get the stain out, that you can take a shower to feel better.

But this tiny little thing, this red blotch on your sheets, is enough to push you over the edge. Because you’re tired, because so much is going on, because this is just another thing you don’t have time to do but have to.

You can feel the tears streaming down your eyes, burning the sensitive skin underneath your eyes and flushing your cheek.

That’s when Eren finds you. Curled up on the ground, tears streaming down your eyes.

“Woah, hey. Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He falls flat on the floor next to you, opening up his arms which you roll into and start soaking his shirt in your salty tears. He’s whispering into your ear, whispering sweet nothings and his warm arms are holding you.

“Tell me what happened. Use your words.”

“I-I have a lot to do. The Civil Law paper and the entire plan for the-the club meeting. Dr. Smith wants to meet with me about my-my research plan and I’m not ready and I got my period and leaked on my sheets and I don’t have time to clean and-”

“Okay. It’s okay.”

His warm, calloused hands are rubbing into the small of your back, his hold still firm against you. And he drags you up, opening the shower and warming it up for you. He’s rummaged through your closet - pulled out a stack of clothes and set them on the counter.

“Are you…going to leave?”

“Of course not, Y/N. Outside when you’re done, okay?”

And you take the shower. Spend too long standing underneath the warm water, letting the shower scald your skin in a comforting way, relishing in the smell of your springy body soap washing you clean. Of the tears, of the blood, of your frustrations.

When you towel up your hair and reach for the stack of clothes on the counter, you only now realize what this cheeky bastard did. Left a pair of your pajamas and the hoodie he was wearing on the counter.

You pull it on, his musky smell mixing with the scent of your flowery shampoo, as you pad out of your room, Eren folding your laundry on your bed.

“Eren.”

He turns around and gives you a warm smile, walking forward to lock his fingers with yours.

“You look so cute right now. Pouty little face and your hair in this stupid towel.”

“Quit it.”

He leads you over to your bed, climbing on as he pulls you forward.

“Cleaned the sheets. Did your laundry. And made a plan for you to finish the paper and emailed Erwin from your account that you’re not free until the week after and-”

You can feel your eyes burning, the tears welling up in your face. You lean into his arms and he rests his chin against the top of your head, his hands snaking under your hoodie to press against your cold skin.

“Eren.”

“Hm.”

“This is a really elaborate plan to get into my pants.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest as he talks.

“I know.”

“I knew it, you dick. You only want to get in my pants.”

“Well, that’s part of it. I am very attracted to you. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t want to be in your pants.”

“Charming. The whole “I’ve got my mind set on you thing” is really working.”

“I'm being honest! I want to be in your pants and in your head and all your little dreams and your heart too.”

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat hammering against your ears as he finishes talking. And when you drift off to sleep, you can still feel it beating in tandem with yours. And try to forget why you and Eren are waiting two weeks to do this for real in the first place.

He’s done it now. And you’ve caught him in the fucking act. The sweet, sweet satisfaction of proving this idiot wrong - that he would get bored of waiting for you and move onto another girl is standing right in front of you.

It’s Eren’s friend Reiner’s birthday. Eren had told you in advance that he couldn’t see you Friday and you obliged.

Except, Hitch invited you to the party the day of, claiming she needed someone to walk in with so she didn’t look like an idiot. Some guy Marlowe she’s really into is going to be there and she has to be at her best.

And when you get to the party, you lose Hitch in all but five seconds, left in this awkward, sweaty mess of a room alone. But when you walk over to the kitchen, you see it.

Eren leaning over the counter, talking to a girl. Short brown hair, a mass of freckles over her face, the two of them smiling at each other. And when you march over there, you’re all but too happy to rub it in his face.

Because you’re right. And you knew you were right. That Eren, all hot and toned and sexy from his beach summer, would not give it up. The attention, the girls, the love he gets from all of it for you. That he would look at other things and not at you, that you couldn’t be enough for him. And he can buy you coffee and do your laundry and be there for you all he wants, but you know deep down you’re right.

“You little son of a bitch. Week three and I win.” you say, crossing your hands over your chest.

“Huh?”

“I win. You’re at a party, flirting with a girl. Meaning, you don’t have your mind set on me. Meaning, I’m right. That you can’t let go of being a manwhore for me, that you surely have your eyes wandering elsewhere even though you claim to be only looking at me.”

“Y/N-”

“You think driving to get me candy and doing my laundry and giving me your hoodie would buy me over? You’re not getting into my pants for a quick fuck just because you know you can and-”

He pulls you forward, clamping his hand over your mouth. He’s squinting his eyes at you, almost like he’s confused at your outburst. And when you look over at the girl, you realize why.

It’s Ymir. The president of the Gay-Straight Alliance Ymir. Like literally the gayest girl you’ve probably ever met in your life.

“Oh.”

Eren smiles, rolling his eyes, as he drops his hands to lock his hand with yours.

“Yeah, oh. Did you not see it was her when you walked over?”

“No. Hi Ymir.”

Ymir smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair as she turns to Eren.

“You’re right. She really is stubborn.” Ymir says, smiling at him.

“Tell me about it. She does this every time I do something nice for her.” he responds, squeezing your hand as he talks.

“Well, you are a manwhore.”

“Not anymore, Ymir! I’m only a whore for her.”

She pinches your cheek as she walks off, linking arms with a certain blonde as you walk away. And when you look over, Eren’s lazily making a drink for you on the counter, swirling it in his hand before he gives you the cup.

“It’s Jungle Juice. There’s like three different liquors in it but you can’t really taste it s-”

“You’re not mad?”

“Huh?”

“I just…yelled at you. Really unfairly. And you’re not even mad?”

“Got my mind set on you. Like you said, this thing takes patience. And time. I’ll wait for it. You’ll come to see I’m surprisingly good at this patience understanding when it’s something I really, really want.”

And as he tilts his head back, pouring the drink into his mouth, like the entire outburst you had didn’t happen. And that’s it. You crane your head around the kitchen, looking for it.

“Whatcha looking for?”

Eren watches you mill around the kitchen, opening drawers, lifting picture frames as you look for it. And when you find it - the calendar posted on Reiner’s wall - you rip it off and place it in front of Eren with a marker in your hand.

“What’s this, Y/N?”

“Did you know that I can move time forward?”

“Huh? How much have you had to drink?”

You reach forward, crossing out through the entire week. The last week of the month, for the bet you and Eren had.

Because he’s convinced you. That his mind’s set on you. That even if he used to like other girls, the girl he likes now is you. Enough to drive hours to make you happy, take care of you - bloody sheets and all, and gush at a party about you to other people. Like he’s proud to be around you, like you’re the only thing he looks at.

“I don’t follow, sweet girl.”

“The bet started three weeks ago. And I crossed out the last week, so it’s over now. And I want to be with you no-”

He leans forward, pressing his warm, plush lips against yours as he can’t help but smile through the kiss. All warm and fruity, surely from the drink Eren just made. And he whispers against your mouth, eliciting a laugh out of you.

“Thank fucking god. You were driving me insane, you little heathen.”

You reach forward, tangling your hands with the collar of his shirt as you pull him down again, pressing your lips against his, trying to memorize the feel, the sensation of him against you.

And when Hitch comes home from the party, all buzzed, to find you two under the covers, watching a movie, she says one thing and one thing only.

“No fucking in my bed.”

taglist: @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @daisynik7 @rebeccawinters @itzmeme

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neomujinjja · 3 months ago

Text

Our love is magnetic

Pairing: Myung Jaehyun x reader

Length: 487 words Genre: fluff, soulmate au, first meeting

Warnings: first meeting, airplane setting, live at first sight type shit, 3rd person pov, song lyrics in fic, mentions of lots of eye contact, strangers holding hands, onedoor reference (as wonder)

Synopsis: At the last minute, your friend drops out of y'all's two week trip. Which means you'll be spending your vacation in Europe with a stranger. You're dreading how awkward the next 14 days are going to be. But this trip with a cousin of a friend might surprise both of you.

Note: another one i was sitting on for a good minute (like since this album drop; long enough for them (both groups funnily enough 😂) to have a comeback 😬). just writersblock and no time at its finest, but soulmate myungjae is officially done. really hope fellow onedoors love it like i do

── ⋆⋅ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ⋅⋆ ──

I see it in your eyes - electric

'25 B, 25 B, 25 B' Y/N repeated in their head, looking for the number as they went down the aisle. While their seat was most likely at the back of the plane, it was a force of habit. Y/N grinned as the plaque displayed that very number before then, settling into their seat. Luckily, Wonder's cousin was already in his seat so Y/N wouldn't have to stand up again until after takeoff. They turned to the distracted male, taking in his side profile before speaking. "You must Jaehyun; I'm Y/N, Wonder's friend."

Jaehyun abruptly turned his head at the sentence; the two of them made eye contact as he did. Y/N's breath hitched as the feeling of electricity passed through their body. "Yeah, nice to meet you," Jaehyun said, his words coming out airy like his breath had been caught.

Pulse is racing, love runnin through our veins

Y/N's heart was beating at top speed, it would be a reason for concern if the flight staff could hear it. But that wasn't any of their concern, the situation had both parties on a high. Neither of them had felt such emotions for a stranger like this before, but that was to be expected with their soulmate connection. The same as how they couldn't bear breaking their established eye contact. Beeping of the intercom broke the tension, the duo finally looking away from each other as a flight attendant began talking about the safety procedures. Y/N was unable to fully pay attention, instead sneaking glances over at the man next to them. They couldn't resist the magnetic pull they were experiencing with Jaehyun.

Pushin me like Superconductor, I'm pullin you like Superconductor now

Their pinkies converged, hooking onto one another, over the shared console. The pull of their new connection was powerful, despite the soulmates avoiding direct eye contact now. But that didn't stop them from stealing glances at one another; new emotions and curiosity also played a hand. Y/N froze, cheeks heating up, as Jaehyun caught them peeking. Jaehyun smiled unabashed, intertwining Y/N's hand with his while staring into their eyes. They wondered if he'd be the same in a long-term relationship; delicate, affectionate, and confident like he acted now.

"Jae?.." Y/N watched as said male gained a blush on his face at the nickname. The casualness of it resulting in Jaehyun being left speechless. He opted for a hum in response and a head tilt that reminded Y/N of a puppy. "How do we do this?" Y/N looked down to where their hands laid on the console together.

His thumb lightly rubbed the back of their hand as Jaehyun reinforced eye contact. "Slowly," he said with a reassuring smile. Y/N gently squeezed his hand as they nodded and smiled back in agreement.

"I'd like that."

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statusexile · 1 year ago

Text

Rip Off the Tag, Get Him Mad

Summary: Konig’s magnetic walk and mysterious mask make him a new darling in the fashion industry, and you manage to score an exclusive interview with him. You might not know what he looks like — but you sure do know what he tastes like.

Pairing: Konig x Reader

Warnings: afab!reader, dub con, dom!Konig, p-in-v, fellatio, mating press, dirty talk, brat taming, breeding kink, cum eating, creampie, badly translated German, reader goes by she/her pronouns, probably not very accurate in terms of both journalism and fashion but who cares I’m only here for sexy times.

Word count: 3,696 words

NSFW. MDNI!

a/n: Got inspired while listening to New Bottega by Azealia Banks and all I could picture in my head was supermodel!Konig for no reason lmao. As always, suggestion and feedback are always welcome along with reblogs and likes. Thank you for reading! ❤️

I put the boy in Galliano, now he’s a fuckin’ model

It was four in the morning and you had just landed in Vienna, your third destination for this week alone. Paris and Milan had taken their toll on your body, leaving you feeling so exhausted and jetlagged that you wondered if they had already become your permanent companions forever. Tired and bleary-eyed, you are ready for a break, but duty called.

You’re one of the most seasoned and notorious fashion journalists, never holding back on saying what everyone’s thinking, even if it means models walking out or crying during your interviews. It’s not personal though; you’re just doing your job, and damn, you’re good at it. Your knack for keeping it real and staying objective makes you stand out in the game.

You managed to sneak in a few hours of sleep before getting ready for Vienna Fashion Week. That afternoon, you rocked a cool vibe with an oversized black blazer that had this rad belt and chain combo going on. The vibe continued with a flowy, see-through black maxi skirt — the kind that made people do a double take. Toss in a mini bag swinging casually by your side, and you are ready to own the fashion week. Of course, the look wouldn't be complete without knee-high black boots, giving off major laid-back but put-together vibes. You kept your makeup minimal because you wanted your outfit to be the focal point of the entire look.

As you arrived at the event, fashion photographers and paparazzi started flocking to you, asking what you’re wearing and what you’re most excited to see during this fashion week. You posed for some photos and answered some questions. After navigating the sea of photographers, you made your way inside, where the atmosphere buzzed with the energy of influential figures in the fashion world, celebrities, and social media influencers. Greetings and compliments flowed as you mingled with the diverse crowd, exchanging smiles and posing for candid snapshots with some of the industry’s most notable figures.

You found yourself in the company of those who shaped the fashion landscape. The anticipation for the runway shows heightened as you took your seat in front row, surrounded by the pulsating energy of the fashion elite. The runway was set to unfold, promising a spectacle that would undoubtedly leave an incredible mark on this fashion week.

It was a runway showcasing the Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection for men from one of the most prestigious high-fashion brands in the world. Anticipating a display of dark and muted tones, you were aware that the brand had embraced a theme this year focusing on leather. Getting a peek at this theme had you all hyped up, ready to see the slick and stylish gear they’re about to drop.

It doesn’t take long before the lights dim, signaling the start of the show. The sharp contrast between the dim lighting and focused spotlights heightens the dramatic atmosphere as models strut down the runway, showcasing the leather-themed collection. Stud appliques, dark makeup, and industrial styling add an edgy flair as they graze the runway. You’re making mental notes for your upcoming review, absolutely impressed with what you're witnessing. The collection has been really magnificent, surpassing your usual expectations.

The entire show lasted around fifteen minutes before the final model made his entrance. The man that has been the talk of the fashion industry for the last eight months. He strutted in wearing an absolutely grandiose leather coat, wearing a Swarovski-studded mask that covered his entire face. The confidence in his walk conveyed a commanding presence, making it seem as if the entire audience was under his control.

Konig, a native Austrian with real name, age and hair color unknown, stands six foot ten, weighing two hundred and seventy pounds and has piercing blue eyes. The man has been nothing but an enigma, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Opening and closing runaways for prestigious high-end brands — a position that takes years for other models to secure. And what’s even wilder? He pulled it off within his first two months in the industry.

His social media has tens of millions of followers and zero following. The entire page is a curated showcase of his portfolios and videos of his runway walks, nothing more. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one handling his account either. Everything is perfectly set up, adding this extra layer of mystery to him.

You can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Who’s behind his sudden meteoric rise? Is he a nepo baby? Is he some kind of industry insider pulling strings to get all these bookings without even having a single portfolio before? Could he be a pro basketball player doing a side gig in modeling? Or what if he’s an alien in human disguise? So many questions, but not a single answer. You’ve asked so many people in the industry about him, but it seems like nobody has a clue either.

You’ve seen his casting polaroids and test shoot photos, and even in those, he’s wearing a mask, revealing only his eyes. It really makes you wonder, because that’s the complete opposite of the purpose of taking those photos. They’re meant to showcase your bare face, not cover it up. Yet, somehow, he’s scoring bookings when practically no one has seen his face. How does he even manage to do that?

There are rumors circulating that just a very few high-profile figures in the industry actually know what he looks like, and they can be counted with one hand. Some claim he’s hiding an unflattering appearance under that mask, that’s why he insists on covering his face despite of his exceptional walk and stage presence. Others insist he looks like he’s actually sculpted by a Greek God himself, but he prefers recognition for his walk rather than his looks.

He’s also notorious for rejecting interviews and walking out on them. Even when he agrees to an interview, it's usually short and filled with vague answers. But one day, you send a proposal for an exclusive interview to his management and discover that he’s accepted your request, but he insists it should happen at his own home in Vienna. His request seems a bit unprofessional to you, but it’s your only chance to uncover who this man really is. So, you agreed on his term.

And fortunately for you, that lucky day is today.

After attending a handful more runway shows for the day, you’ve wrapped up your work and are heading back to your hotel. Now, you’re diving into drafting the upcoming articles slated for this fashion week, as you prepare to interview Konig, the man and the myth himself tonight.

Your heart is pounding with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you have no idea why. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt anything like this. You’ve interviewed dozens of models in your life, so what’s the difference between them and him? Usually, it’s them who are scared of you, not the other way around.

Brushing aside that feeling, you started preparing for the interview this evening. After a refreshing shower, you got dressed and did your makeup. Wearing a silk white long-sleeve shirt paired with a black pencil midi skirt and black stilettos, you finished the look with a bold choice — ruby red lipstick. For some reason, you’re feeling especially bold for tonight’s interview.

He lives not far from your hotel as you reached your destination in less than fifteen minutes. Following the address provided by his management, you entered the building and found his apartment. Without hesitation, you rang on the doorbell.

He opened the door in no time. It caught you off guard as it was the first time you’ve seen him up close. Describing him as tall seems like a massive understatement; his presence is downright colossal as he stands right in front of you. Dressed in a balaclava, a snug black t-shirt accentuating his sculpted body, and green army-colored cargo pants. This is the first time you’ve had a close look at his eyes, and they are breathtaking — a gorgeous shade of steely blue.

“I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” Konig said as he gestured for you to come inside.

As you entered his home, you could see that this man has an exquisite taste in decor. His loft has high ceilings and large windows, making the space feel open and airy. The brick walls and exposed piping create a natural, industrial feel, while the rich, warm tones of red and orange add a cozy touch to the space. The walls are adorned with numerous photographs of his work as a model.

He gestured for you to take a seat on the couch and asked what you’d like to drink. You told him water’s fine, so he disappeared into the kitchen for a bit. When he came back, he placed a glass of water on the coffee table in front of you. He sits on the couch across from you afterward.

“Konig, thank you very much for agreeing to meet with me for this interview. Our magazine really appreciates your time and willingness to share your story with us.” You told him as you took your phone out of your bag, opening the recording app on it.

He leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms. “Anything I could do to help, miss.” he said. You could hear his deep voice with a thick German accent as this is first time you heard him speak.

“By accepting this interview, you consent to being recorded during our conversation today, alright?” you said to him as you pushed the ‘record’ button on your phone. He only nodded in approval.

You began your interview by asking him cookie-cutter questions, such as what inspired him to pursue modeling as a career, how he handles the challenges of balancing work and personal life, who his fashion icons are and how they influenced his personal style, how he stays fit and healthy while maintaining a demanding modeling schedule, and how he handles criticism and negative feedback from the fashion industry and the public. And of course, he answered them all with cookie-cutter answers too.

You could hear the cockiness and smugness in his tone, and you could feel that it annoys you a little bit. Despite being a relative rookie in the scene, his ego seems to radiate through his presence. However, that’s precisely the reason you’re here for this interview — to unmask who this man actually is.

You’re now ready to ask him a tougher question, intending to push his buttons slowly but sure. You’ve convinced yourself that it’s going to happen today. It has to, because this is your only chance.

“Can you explain your reasoning behind the mask? Usually models rely on their facial features as a part of their appeal, so covering it seems counterintuitive.”

Konig seems a bit caught off guard by your question. He stays quiet for a moment, clearly thinking how to respond. You can see that the question has ticked him off a little bit.

“Is that your attempt at a compliment? I’m flattered. I can do whatever I want with my appearance.” Konig answered sarcastically, but the annoyance in his tone was crystal clear. “Besides, I don’t think it’s interrupting my work. I showcase the clothes on the runway, demonstrating what they need to sell. At the end of the day, that's what matters as a model, isn’t it?” he continues.

You can’t argue with him because, well, he’s right. He did his job exactly the way they wanted, and he’s damn good at it. So, all you can do is nod at his answer.

You kept your composure as you continue with your interview, “It’s been suggested that your parents are highly influential figures in the fashion industry and that their connections may have contributed to your quick rise to fame. How would you respond to those allegations?”

Konig let out a scoff, his tone dripping with mockery in response to your next question. “I get it, there are some rumors going around that my parents are some moguls in the fashion industry and they have connections that helped me get where I am today, but let me set this straight: my parents have never worked in the fashion industry and all the success I’ve achieved is because of my own hard work and determination. Just because my career has taken off doesn’t mean it isn’t legit.”

Konig is clearly annoyed at this point, but he still manages to answer your question. You’re surprised he hasn't kicked you out of his home yet. But when you’re about to ask your last question but he suddenly cuts you off,

“You’re really nosy, aren’t you?”

“What can I say, it comes with the job requirement.”

You finally manage to talk back to him because his attitude is clearly getting under your skin, just like your questions seem to annoy him. While he might believe he can act however he pleases, he’s unaware that you’re a journalist. If it weren’t for your commitment to integrity and professionalism, you could easily run your thoughts about his attitude at this point.

“Look, one last question and I’ll be out of your hair,” you told him, you can see his patience is clearly running low at this point. However, what he didn’t know is that you’re about to drop a bomb on him.

“Did you earn your success through talent or hard work or did you have to do… other thing to get where you are today?”

His eyes narrowed into a fierce glare while he stares at you, he clearly doesn’t like the question at all. You could practically feel the tension in the air as he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth underneath that mask as a silent display of anger.

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“And my question still stands.”

He leans forward on the couch, anger flashing vividly in his eyes and now you can almost feel the heat of his irritation as he growls in frustration.

“You can cut through the formal bullshit and just say what you want to say.”

You take your phone from the coffee table and press the ‘stop’ button, finally responding to him in a calm manner.

“Did you fuck your way up to the top, Konig?”

And that was his breaking point. He suddenly stands up from his couch as he walks toward you, anger intensifying in his eyes. He grabs your chin forcefully, making you meet his gaze.

“Not only nosy, but you also have a filthy little mouth, aren’t ya, maus?” you could feel his strong hand squeezing your face so hard that it feels like he’s trying to break your jaw. It was so painful that you couldn’t answer to him at all.

“But don’t worry, I’m gonna do something about it, so you won’t run your filthy mouth anymore, especially at me.” he growls at you while his other hand is unbuckling his belt and unzipped his pants, revealing this thick, enormous cock, already dripping with precum. He grabbed it and then started smearing the precum on your face, slapping his cock a few times on your cheeks.

“You need some serious disciplining, maus. Didn’t they teach you at school that it’s not nice to curse at other people, hm?” Konig started to tease the tip of his cock of your lips, smearing your lips with his precum.

“You’re lucky that I’m here, maybe I can teach you a thing or two about how to behave towards other people. Now open that filthy fucking mouth.” his other hand squeezed your mouth open and he thrusted his cock inside your mouth, forcing you to engulf his entire length in one go, making you violently gag as you could feel his tip touched the back of your throat. And now, he moved his hand from your face to your hair, grabbing a handful of it as he rapidly fucking your mouth.

Tears began streaming down your cheeks, mascara and lipstick began to smear across your face. It’s getting hard for you to breathe because he shoved his cock so deep and slamming it on the back of your throat, pounding over and over again mercilessly. His grip is so strong; it feels like he’s going to rip your entire scalp off.

“Fuuuuck, this mouth of yours is so fucking tight and warm. You should consider leaving your current job and become my personal fuck toy, maus. I would love to use this filthy mouth however and whenever I want, it seems like it’s the only good use for it.” he snickers with a devilish gleam in his eyes while he keeps fucking your mouth relentlessly. You started choking on his length, but he didn’t seem to care, in fact, it made him slam his cock even faster.

It feels like this has been going on forever, and you’re afraid you might get lockjaw anytime soon. But you could feel he’s so close to orgasm as his cock starts twitching in your mouth.

“Oh fuck, I��m gonna cum. I hope you’re ready, schatz, because I’m gonna fill that filthy mouth real good,” he grunts as his thrust becoming more and more erratic. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he came, coating you’re the walls of mouth with his thick seeds.

Konig finally pulled his cock out from your mouth. His cum tastes so bitter, but when you’re about to spit it out, he forcefully grabbed your face again, now facing his face directly.

“You’re not allowed to spit it out. I want you to swallow it but only when I said so. Now be a good girl and keep it in your mouth, but if you didn’t, I can promise that you won’t like the punishment at all. Understood?” he snarls at you but your mouth is so full of his cum you so can only nod at his words.

“Good, because I’m not done with you,” Konig suddenly pushed you back down to the couch as he pulls your legs up forcefully, ripping the side of your tight skirt and yanked your panties, also ripping it in the process. He puts your legs around his waist as he put his cock on top your stomach, seeing how deep it’s gonna go inside of you.

“Hmmm, I don’t think the entire thing is gonna fit. But don’t worry, schatz, I’ll make it fit. I know you can do it, you’re a big girl after all.” Konig lightly taps your cheek, he’s trying to sound sweet but you hear the venom in his tone. You know at that moment he’s definitely going to destroy you.

“Are you on the pill?” he asked again. You can only shake your head, hoping that he’ll go easy on you. “Heh, good.” he suddenly pulled your legs up over his shoulder and titled towards you, he then whispers in a husky tone,

“Weil ich dich so hart ficken werde, bis du mich zum Papa machst.”

His cock suddenly dipping into you, makes you nearly chocked on his cum. You can feel the tip of his cock stretched your cervix thin, slamming the same spot repeatedly as he folds your body like an origami. You feel like you’re going to sprain your neck if you stay in this position for a long time, but of course he didn’t care. He keeps using your body like you’re his personal cum dumpster.

You’re trying to protest but you can’t open your mouth, otherwise you’re gonna spill out his cum and you definitely don’t want that. Only a stifled whimper escapes your lips. He chuckled in response to your failed attempt at protest.

“Not”—thrust—“so”—thrust—“nosy”—thrust—“any”—thrust— “more”—thrust—“aren’t”—thrust—“you”

He’s pounding you hard and fast with each syllable of his words. Your eyes rolled back to the back of your head. Your mind went numb at the intense pleasure.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight, and it’s all mine to use.” he growls at you as he keeps fucking you mercilessly. You’re not on the pill and he’s not using a condom, so there’s a chance he’s going to get you pregnant after this, but they way he’s fucking you so hard and so good makes you not want him to stop until both of you are satisfied.

You can feel he’s close to orgasm again and so are you. Just a couple more thrusts, he finally came inside of you as both of you reached your climax at the same time. Filling you with his thick, milky white cum. Your cheek throbs with pain, your mind feels foggy, and your vision blurs into static.

Konig finally put down your legs, as he seeing his thick cum oozing from your now sore, puffy cunt. He gazes at it, amusement and desire dripping from his eyes. “Now swallow my cum, maus. Stick your tongue out when you’re done, I wanna see you swallow it all.”

You obey him as you swallowed all his cum and sticks out your tongue as a prove. “What an obedient girl.” he said, you can see him smiling through his mask.

He pulls up his pants and plop down next to you on the couch, while you’re still catching your breath and trying to gain your composure.

“I’ll be in New York in two days, and I assume this interview isn’t over. I will tell my manager to send you the hotel address where I’m staying and the room number. I’m expecting to see you there.” he said softly as he caresses your hair gently.

You replied, “I will come, but with one condition: I want to see your face. Otherwise, it's not going to happen.”

He chuckled at your request, “If you play your cards right, that request is not off the table,” he said as he keeps caressing your hair, “But only if you’re a good girl, okay, beautiful?”

He scooches over towards you, leaning as he whispers in your ear,

“Otherwise, I’ll use you just like I use the rest of them.”

#whew this took forever to write ngl #konig #könig #konig x reader #konig x reader smut #könig x reader #könig x reader smut #call of duty modern warfare 2 smut #call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty warzone #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 smut #cod smut #shaf writes #tw: dubcon

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