#mutuals you're fine. other people choke | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedgito · 10 months ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄

summary | you're his best-friend's daughter and he's at a party he can't be bothered to care about, luckily you're the one thing that catches his attention. [5k]

pairing | lucien flores x fem!reader (best-friend's daughter!reader and/or alternatively, dad's best friend!lucien)

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, age gap (not specified, but it's girthy) smoking, semi-public sex, daddy kink, f!oral, unprotected piv, light choking, mentions of reader having hair that can be grabbed (to some degree), lucien is a major dilf and divorced, if i missed anything lmk!

author’s note | so, we know next to nothing about lucien but i have been sitting with this idea in my head and i wrote it. sue me. characterization could be completely off by the time the movie comes out but let's just enjoy the pwp and be hornknee, xoxo. also i hc that lucien does use some spanish. it's very minimal but it's there!

Lucien couldn’t give anyone a valid reason why he was here. Unwelcome and well, uninvited. At least, by the people who owned the house—his ex-wife and her new husband who referred to him as a leech who liked to mooch off the enjoyment of others because really, who was he to turn down an invite? He had a few close mutual friends who insisted that he be there, demanded it, even. He was personable enough, he could charm anyone, the other party-goers and it wouldn’t disrupt a damn thing.

Until he spots you.

He knows you from a distance—polite looks, short greeting and small talk, it never stretches beyond that. Maybe a few one off dinners here and there. You were his friend's daughter—best friend, but that didn’t matter.

And you know him well enough—through stories from your dad and pictures sent while he was away on vacation or work. He had a certain…aura to him that felt charged, overwhelming, and it provoked you to keep a distance when he was around. A charming smile and a wink in your direction never fails to make you weak in the knees and you know there’s no meaning behind, but it never fails to make you throb, something deep and primal in your gut.

You were half his age and clueless—he’s well-beyond your years, more experienced. In all aspects of life, but he can’t be that oblivious to the effect he has on you. Not within the handful of years he’s gotten to know you.

It’s the first time he’s seen you since you graduated college, a bright smile on your face as you sip on the flute of champagne in your hand, conversing lightly as he pops a cheese cube into his mouth, taking the freshly opened beer from your father and turning in the direction of the masses, sipping greedily as he leaned against the counter.

And given you’re a few glasses in, you feel a gentle buzz in your head that has you smiling when you set eyes on him.

Lucien was fine to remain unassuming all night, but the moment your eyes track him he’s perking up. Subtly, but you arms are outstretched as you approach him and he pulls you in like it was a regular greeting,

It wasn’t. Hardly at all.

Rough palms over warm skin, large and dexterous fingers pressing into your shoulder blades as you bury your face into his chest, the cold press of a chain against your temple. He says your name softly, a kind greeting as you smile into his chest and whisper his name in return.

When you pull back, he’s flashing a quick wink. Something he has done a million times before, but it feels electric, and maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you feel his fingers lingering against your skin before your father is cutting in—

“Told you he’d show up.” He speaks indifferently, outing your obvious want and hopefulness for him to show up—which yeah, you perked up at the mention of it being a possibility. But, you didn’t expect your father to throw it back in your face. You grumble something low and Lucien can’t help but smile, cheek dimpling on one side like it always did—a sign of a true and genuine smile.

“Missin’ me, are you?” Lucien teases, watching as you crossed your arms over your chest in frustration, ignoring his question. “That’s…sweet.”

Your eyes roll slightly, watching as your father melted away easily into the crowd, knowing he’d disturbed the peace and left you to clean up the mess. Not that you minded, but it didn’t help that Lucien had your body riddled with nerves, noticing the way he clocked every single movement—even the most subtle.

You kept rubbing at a spot behind your ear, uncomfortable with the crowd as you shifted from foot to foot and Lucien took note, tapping your elbow as he nodded toward the back door.

And you nearly talk yourself out of it, but he’s flashing that sweet smile your way and it’s hypnotic, feet moving before you can deny him the opportunity.

Luckily, the backyard was empty and that provided some peace. And privacy, at the very least.

You follow Lucien silently, feet shifting against the gravel as you follow him around to the side of the house, noting as he looks around curiously—he’s never been here either, clearly. He chews at his lip and nods again before finding a quiet spot, leaning against the side of the house, solid cement pressing into his back as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“So, college?” He asks idly, struggling slightly as he opens the fresh pack. Lucien knew enough about you, through small talk with you and your father and he seemed genuinely interested, like he wanted you to elaborate, so you did.

“Just graduated,” You tell him honestly, fiddling with a thin, decorative bow on your sleeve, complimenting the intricate flowery design of your dress, flowy and trimmed high at your thigh, a muted yellow that he knows is your favorite color, “how’s business—you know, with my dad and everything?”

Which you couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about, but Lucien appreciates the gestures and chuckles, cigarette slipping between his lips as flicks open the lighter and burns the end of the cigarette until it flashes a deep amber before stowing away the pack and lighter into his pocket.

“Good,” He says gruffly through a deep inhale, exhaling jaggedly as he offers you the cigarette hesitantly, eyebrow raised in question, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your dad.”

You shoot him a look of annoyance, nose scrunching up as you pluck the cigarette from his fingers. You’ve never smoked a day in your life, but he didn’t need to know that.

He did. But, it doesn’t stop him from letting you take a puff, struggling to hide the grimace as you pass it back.

“I’m not seventeen anymore,” You retort flippantly, “It’s been, like, eight years. You can drop that already.”

Lucien huffs out a short breath through his nose as his eyes track the ground, puffing at the cigarette robotically, moving through the motions as he flicks the ash away.

You notice his change in demeanor, subtle but there.

“What?” You ask curiously, a tinge of amusement in your tone as you tilt your head to meet his eyes, hands resting loosely against your hips as you leaned against an opposing half-wall, ass hitting the edge as you backed into it. “If you have something to say just say it. You never have a problem making fun of me any other time.”

“Not makin’ fun,” He responds calmly, shaking his head—he puffs a few more times before the cigarette sits lonely between his index and middle at his side, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, that’s pretty damn obvious.”

Your chest rattles with a gentle laugh, feeling slightly relaxed now that he didn’t throw another easy jab your way, but you feel the heated implication behind his tone, the way his eyes drag along your body but he doesn’t act—he wouldn’t, right?

He seems fearful, hesitant. So, you play into it.

“What gave it away?” You tease. “I mean, I would flash off my degree but I don’t have that with me.”

Your arms cross over your chest again, tighter this time as your breasts shift obviously, nearly spilling out of the top of your dress and Lucien swallows with irritation, throat burning with the sting of nicotine but also a deep, deep want for…something.

He thinks, has a line locked and loaded in his head but he decides against it, laughing at the absurdity and knowing you would laugh about it too. But, the quiet chuckle and lack of response has you pressing him. You take a few steps forward, still a comfortable distance but he follows it, eyes tracking and following the line of your body as you question him.

“What?” You ask, “What's so funny?”

Lucien wants to bite his tongue, but he can’t resist.

“Just, uh—“ He shakes his head abashedly, a grin breaking out on his face, “was gonna suggest you flash somethin’ else but that’s—it’s stupid. Just a joke, that’s—“

And you hate how he’s looking at you now.

It’s desire—insatiable and needy and he blindly stubs out the cigarette into the wall behind him before he’s discarding it on the ground.

Fuck it, you’ll bite.

“Tell me,” You urge, “tell me what you wanna see.”

He releases a shaky breath, a small cloud of smoke passing his lips as he turns his head away and you take the chance to invade his space completely, fingers running along the outside of his now empty hand, guiding it along your hip slowly—he follows the movement intently as you speak, “I’ll listen, I swear.”

His hand squeezes gently at your hip, the gradual guide toward your breasts nearly killing him before he’s finally speaking, “Your tits,” He breathes, thumb brushing over a clothed nipple, hardened under the fabric and he can feel it, knowing it’s the only layer that’s keeping him from a bare touch of your skin, “show me.”

And it should worry you that you’re only a few feet from the back door, but you weren’t worried—these types of people, they never lingered outside. They chain smoked and filled the house with a haze, the house littered with empty cans of booze and idle chit chat. The low hum was a comforting ambience, a reminder that you had each other to yourself.

You anticipated the feeling of being riddled with nerves, but his words spark a surge of pride through you, seeing how he gives into your plea to command—you want him to want it too, to demand it. You bite your bottom lip through a smile that has him cracking one similar, looking around briefly before you’re pulling the straps of your dress down in unison, his fingers cautiously catching the falling fabric as he helps keep your dress just under the valley of your breasts, allow the wide expanse of his hands to cup the soft tissue, your fingers curling around his own as he squeezes and admires in awe, bottom lip parted and wet from his tongue peeking out to soothe his chapped skin.

“Fuck, they’re—“

You cut him off with a snarky comment, “Just like you imagined?” You smirk subtly, catching the guilty look he flashes at you, eyes admiring as he flicks a thumb over the nipple of your left breast, the other one squeezed gently in his hand. Your pussy throbs between your thighs and it makes your heart swell, the soft groan he releases as he watches the skin pebble and goosebump under his touch. “It’s okay, I know you’ve thought about it.”

It’s not right. It never was. But, you’ve caught him red-handed. He nods slightly, a quick jerk of his head that you would miss if you weren’t locked on his face, mouth falling open in a soft sigh as his thumb and index finger pull and twist at your nipple, experimenting with your reaction. “Better than I imagined, if that’s possible.” He admits wholeheartedly, before his hands are leaving your breasts and curling around the back of your thighs, carrying you the short distance to the perch on the half-wall, resting your ass against the cold slab of concrete before his mouth is assailing your breasts without warning, fingers fisting into his beautiful and messy coiffed curls, full of product and smelling faintly of citrus—he groans, his wide tongue flattening over the skin before he’s sucking a pert nipple into his mouth.

You gasp sharply, palm slapping into the concrete at the sudden shot of pleasure it strikes to you core, knowing you were soaking through your panties with every passing second and his free hand was only a few inches away, lingering against your thigh as he squeezes, blunt nails digging into the skin as you mumbled mindlessly.

“Please,” You whine softly, “please—“

You’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Lucien feels the charge, the want you crave with his demanding nature and he pulls away briefly, hands leaving the other parts of your body to attach to your face, cradling your head momentarily as he examines your face, the slow drag of your teeth over your bottom lip as you dare to keep the eye contact, a glint of feral desire in your eye.

“Have you ever had your pussy eaten before?” Lucien asks boldly, point-blank as you shake your head. “Good.”

He backs away briefly, allowing you to rush to remove your panties, no words to be spoken to tell you to do so—you were more than eager, ready to toss them to the ground before he’s stuffing them in the loose pocket of his silk button up.

And really, you could find a million reasons to complain right now. Knowing there was a house full of people just inside, that you were ruining your dress with the patch of dirt against the edge of your ass or how it was going to get under your fingernails as your hands squeezed into the soil as he settled between your legs, crouching until his face is right in line with your pussy, bare and glistening in his face and he swears he’s never seen anything more mesmerizing—says it too.

It has your stomach doing flips, his fist bunching into the fabric of your dress as he pushes it up and away, eyes slanting up to look at your as he nudges your thighs apart, resting one gently over his shoulder for support as he gives a teasing, testing lick between your lips.

You sigh shakily, leaning back on your palms but keep your chin against your chest, watching as Lucien kept his eyes locked on you while his tongue traced along your seam, sucking testingly at your clit and that draws a ragged gasp out, which is rewarded with a big grin and a small chuckle, “Oh fuck,” You say on a punched-out breath, “fuck that’s so—“

“Language, nena,” Lucien chastises and you almost lose your grip on reality, reeling at how easily he can assert himself, “don’t need your daddy hearing all that, right?”

Not the fucking time, you think. A hand fists into his hair, pulling roughly as he ups the pace, tongue lapping you up greedily, swirling around your quickly swelling clit with a precision that takes years of practice to master—and you’re sure he’s had plenty, but then he’s piping up again and it has your breath catch in your throat.

“Not—not the time,” You gasp, “fuck—Luc, oh my god—“

He pulls back suddenly, chin gripped between his fingers as he speaks, smothering and far too close than he needs.

“Unless you need me to play daddy for you,” He challenges, “keep that dirty mouth in check, amorcito.”

You whine slightly, both from the tinge of pain and the implication of him labeling himself like that. So boldly and unashamed. You can’t help but give him what he craves.

You nod quickly, “O-okay,” You respond softly, earning a gentle tug of warning as he waits, “Yeah—yes, daddy.”

Lucien grins devilishly, a quick decent as he resumes his previous actions with no blip, mouth attaching to your pussy with ease and falling back easily into the motion, devouring you with a fervor that consumes you, arms nearly collapsing out underneath you as he dares to slip a finger in with his greedy tongue, biting your lip until you taste that faintness of copper, desperate to muffle the sounds as he sucks at your clit until you’re begging to come, words teetering on your tongue as you feel a swell of boldness fill your chest, guiding his face against your pussy in a way that Lucien can only describes as needy, giving you some credit as you give into your own pleasure so easily, unashamed at how badly you want to come—even without asking.

“Hu—oh, don’t—don’t stop—I’m gonna cum.” You plead, soft but desperate, his tongue swirling rapid, messy circles against your clit that forces your orgasm to creep up on you, body buzzing with electricity as it builds and explodes, releasing a tired sigh as you collapse onto your back, “—oh my god.”

Lucien rises with a slight grimace, aging knees not too appreciative of his current position, his hands engulfing your forearms as he pulls you sturdily upright. And you could stop here, go back inside, pretend nothing happened, and see each other a few years from now.

But, neither of you want that.

Lucien cradles your face once more, slow creeping movements as his fingers curl behind your ears and cradle your head gently, eyes shifting between your wide eyes and slightly parted lips, swollen from being assaulted by your own teeth, biting and chewing away nervously. He soothes the skin with a touch, the pad of his thumb swiping over it gently before he’s following up with his lips, kissing you gently. Silently.

He didn’t ask and you didn’t want him to.

“What do you say, nena?” He asks teasingly, “Want me to fuck you?”

“Right here?” You whisper against his lips, sounding scandalized despite what’s already progressed within the last several minutes.

Lucien soothes your worries with another kiss, deep and desperate as he tongue licks into your mouth.

“Let me take care of you,” He pleads softly, feeling the way your fingers grip into the fabric at his shoulders, “fuck, you’re so tense, nena.”

You breath softly, a small exhale that Lucien clocks and soothes, “Let daddy take care of you,” He teases sweetly, hearing the sharp intake of breath you take as his nose nudges at the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth following the touch and biting gently, “go on, ask for it.”

You nod lazily, moaning softly as he mouths at your neck. “Do it,” You command gingerly, and Lucien’s hands squeeze at your skin, the fingers on one hand gripping tightly at your shoulder—“daddy, please?”

He runs the back of his fingers down your chest, through the valley of your breasts and your thumb rubs at the small tattoo etched in the space between this thumb and index finger. It’s always been so prevalent, eyes spotting it whenever he scratched at his face or wiped at his mouth during one of the rare dinners you had with him and your father.

You hated how easy it was for you to notice and memorize the small things about him, stuff that shouldn’t mean anything but ended up meaning entirely too much—the faint trail of freckles that cover his chest, muffled by his tan skin but at this proximity, under the small spattering of chest hair, under the dangling of a few gold chains, you can spot them.

Allowing your movement to mimic his as your finger hooks into the material of his shirt, just over the highest, fastened button and he stops you, eyebrows furrowing. Thick fingers wrapping around your palm guide you down, your own fingers flexing against his stomach and Lucien wants to jump at the touch, the boldness you take on now as you pull him in, continuing your descent as you palm him impatient over his jeans, the uncomfortable stretch of the fabric apparent with the press of weight against your hand.

“Can I suck you off?” You ask, voice a soft whisper–fearful someone may hear you.

Lucien shakes his head and you have the nerve to be frustrated, pulling your hand away hesitantly but his reflexes are too quick, fingers encircling your wrist as he pulls you into him, chest pressing into his, looking down at him slightly with your unfair height advantage.

“If you’re good, maybe,” He explains, “Can you be a good girl and listen, nena?”

You nod eagerly, using his shoulders for support as he guides you off the ledge before quickly spinning you until your stomach presses against the cold wall, his hands working to shift your dress up your hips, the entirety material bunched around your stomach and leaving you nearly naked, his body the only cover to someone who wanted to peek around the corner and catch an eyeful, his belt buckle jingling loudly behind you.

You almost turn—almost, but his hands are faster than you, wrapping gently around your neck, traveling up until he can cup your chin back and tilt your head back, looking up at him from an angle that stretches you uncomfortably, but the hot press of his cock against your ass soothes any discomfort, eyes squeezing shut as he rubs his middle finger over your clit testingly, gaging your sensitivity.

And clearly over-sensitive still, he chuckles.

“You come for me again and you can have whatever you want,” Lucien barters with you, canting his hips slightly to guide through your wetness from behind briefly, his hand hooking around the back of your thigh to lift it up, allowing for more room and leaving you, essentially, putty in his grip—pliable and moving where he guided you, “you want it inside of you, nena? Ask for it.”

“Luce, please,” You whine softly, a gentle squeeze at your throat as you open your eyes, slightly bleary from how tight you had them closed and he’s looking at you pointedly—right. He watches you take a short, shaky breath, “fuck—daddy, please?”

Lucien bucks his hips gradually, heart racing from the teasing glide of his cock through your folds, he could chastise you for speaking so crudely but the sweetness in your voice is enough to leave him satisfied, dropping your leg suddenly as he adjusts himself, slightly, pressing into you slowly, hand gripping his shaft as you gasped, the stretch of his thick cock more than you were used to and he sees it, feels it in the way you squeeze around him.

“De mierda,” He curses quietly, “used to fucking college boys, yeah?”

“Huh—a—a couple,” You admit, gritting your teeth slightly as he jerks his hips slightly, seating himself inside of you fully then, a collective groan leaving your lips, “but you’re so—”

Lucien chuckles darkly, burying his face into your neck, the burn of the stretch from the angle he has your head becoming more prevalent, but the way he mouths at your skin makes it easier to ignore, moving his hips slowly to allow to adjust, the soft jingle of his belt against the starchy denim in the back of your mind, “So what, nena?”

As if to prove a point, he pulls back suddenly, slamming back inside of you with force, ripping a strangled groan groan from your throat that he stifles with his palm, eyes connecting with yours in a warning, forehead pressing against the underside of his chin from the angle he has you. His hand grabs greedily at your backside, fingers digging into your cheek and guiding you back pointedly.

“B—big,” You answer brokenly, “so fucking big, daddy.”

You can feel the imprint of his smirk into your skin as he squeezes at your flesh, moaning freely into the guise of his hand, muffling your sounds as he fucks into you from behind, watching as you fail to keep your eyes open, falling deeper into your own mind as he reaches blindly for your arms, allowing him to lock them behind your back with his large hands encircling them easily.

“Look at me,” He breathes gruffly, the deep creases in his forehead showing with how hard he’s trying to hold himself together, his soft brown eyes darkened to near black as he admires you openly, mouth parted slightly, “baby, look at me.”

You force your eyes open despite your state, sobbing openly into his hand as he allows you some relief, guiding your head back down slowly but nearly wrapping himself around you as he sandwiches you between him and the wall, setting your hands free and pressing his own against the ledge in front of you, the other one gripping your hip harshly.

He’s mumbling something behind you, sounding wrecked beyond repair—some in english, some in spanish. His voice is heavier and slurry, small groans escaping when you squeeze him just a little too tight, “Cuidado, nena. Easy, easy,” He begs into your shoulder, “I can feel it, baby.”

“I wanna taste it,” You tell him suddenly, driven to near insanity by the thought of it, his heady taste on your tongue as he jerks himself into your mouth—and if this was only a one-time thing, you just couldn’t pass that up, “please?”

And fuck, he can’t say no to you.

He switches gears, fingers finding your clit and circling quickly, determined to bring you over the edge once more, before he can reach that point himself, following through on his promise to make you come again as it hits you suddenly, muffled into the hand that finds your mouth again, biting gently at the inside of his palm in an effort to stifle your moan, his movements going far past the point of over-stimulation and you swat him away, hearing his voice strained from behind you.

“On your knees, nena.” He directs and you move quickly, seeing the pained and pinched up look on his face as he grips his cock, glistening with your slick as he jerks himself in front of your face, gravel digging into your knees but you can’t be bothered to care, eagerly sticking out your tongue to feel the press of his tip against it.

“Good—good girl, look so fuckin’ sweet down on your knees.”

Your delicate fingers grip into the silk material of his shirt as he cradles the top of your head, fingers gripping into your hair roughly as he comes with a strangled groan, muffled through clenched teeth.

Thick spurts paint your tongue, your lips wrapping around his head briefly as you swirl your tongue around the head, determined to clean up whatever mess was left as you swallow it down, flashing your tongue in show as he loosens his grip on your hair, stumbling back slightly.

The aftermath is quiet, fumbling with clothes to redress yourself as you pull your straps back over your shoulder, adjusting the dress back over your hips and Lucien keeps a careful eye on you, tucking himself back into his briefs, jeans slipping back over his ass as he buckles the belt into place, noticing how you squeeze your thighs together instinctively, suddenly remembering where your missing garment had gone.

You start to reach for it but his hand covers the pocket, brow furrowed in a playful frustration as he swats your hand away, “Luce, I need those.” You insist, but he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Maybe I want an excuse to return them,” He admits, puffing out his shirt and smoothing the wrinkles, running a lazy hand through his tousled hair before giving you a quick one-over, assuming you didn’t want to stress the…fucked-out look you’re sure you sported, to some degree. A small hum slips from his lips as he nods toward the back door, “I’m gonna smoke another, if you wanna head inside.”

Less conspicuous, less obvious. Besides, he needed a minute to collect himself. Clearing his throat as he reached into his back pocket for the second time that night.

You leave quietly, a simple nod but a lingering touch as he fingers trail along your wrist as you leave, a definitive wink your way as he turns away, faint lighter flick in the distance.

You mold back into the small talk with ease, only catching him entering through the backdoor several minutes later, a faint blush to his cheeks from the sticky heat and you linger, selfishly.

And he’s hoping to blend in, avoid any and all conversation for the rest of the night—but there’s your father, hot on his heels as he sways a little on his feet, looking eager for conversation.

“How’s your kid doing?” He asks casually, “I’m sure she talked you head off about college.” There’s a subtle nod in your direction that makes you uncomfortable, shrinking slightly from the wall you rested against.

“Fine.” Lucien bites back his words, giving little away.

“I get it, college ain’t easy on us,” He replies, “But, I sure am proud of her.”

Lucien smiles slightly, a small huff of a laugh hidden behind pursed lips.

“Should be,” He agrees, “she’s something special.”

And if your heart doesn’t swell ten sizes then, it’s later. Wondering how he got your number as he sends a picture of the ruined panties he kept for himself, draped over his lap as he sends a short message.

Got a minute? Wanted to return these.

Fortunately for you, you had all the time in the world for Lucien.

#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedrostories #my writing

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wannaeatramyeon · 27 days ago

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Being Goo Kim's Secret Friend: an introduction

G/N. Trying maybe a new lil storyline. General shenanigans with reader as a secret friend. Masterlists

Goo Kim's circle of secret friends is a very exclusive and private club you are proud to be part of.

Would have figuratively and literally worn the declaration like a badge of honour if it wasn't supposed to be, well - secret.

How he had come to hear about you is still a head scratcher, although you suppose you have built up quite a reputation if you asked the right people.

You know a lot about a lot. Have your finger in all the pies. Developed a knack for keeping your ears low to the ground and anything you don't know, you dare say isn't worth knowing.

Sticking your nose into places it didn't belong though, it should have gotten you into a lot of trouble-

But god has his favourites. Despite your lack of physical prowess, you rolled the dice and somehow accrued enough luck and passable charm for things to work out for you in most situations.

Most.

Your leg has pretty much healed completely after the incident a few years back. It just tends to click a lot whenever you bend your knee. It's fine, you can live with it, after all you should have seen the other guy.

Spoiler alert: he's dead.

"You owe me, babe." The blonde grins, wiping off his sword with-

"Hey, that's my jacket!" Despite being unsteady on your feet and your right leg throbbing painfully, you hobble over to yank it out of his hands.

"Sorry," he doesn't look sorry at all. He crouches down, opting to use the recently deceased guy's shirt instead. It's terribly disrespectful of the dead.

"He's really dead, huh." You give the body a harsh nudge with your foot. There's nothing, not even a choked gurgle. Just an ever growing puddle of blood and two lifeless orbs peering up at the open sky.

"'Fraid so," he answers, sliding his glasses back up his nose.

"Good." Then you add, "What's your name again?"

And it's not so much that you're indebted to Goo Kim.

You like to think that you're practically innocent in this. He's the one that pulled the trigger, the actual sword, the very first time you met him and off-ed the guy who was a pain in your ass. It's not like you could control what that blonde maniac chooses to do.

(Not that you think this defence would hold up in a court of law.)

(...And yes you're thankful, but you have a feeling he was just trying to make a dramatic entrance more than anything.)

So no, you're not indebted to him. It's a mutually beneficial relationship.

You help Goo with his little queries and his morally grey (if you're being generous) errands; in return there's a steady stream of income and the more efficient and discreet you are, the heftier the tip too.

Sure, yes, Goo can be a very difficult customer.

His personality takes a bit of getting used to, and you admire your own restraint at not beating him black and blue.

Honestly, that time you met Gun Park, you knew deep in your soul that you had met a kindred spirit. Your eyes connected as Goo was rambling and being his usual deranged self, and you are absolutely certain that the annoyance and murderous intent in his black eyes was also what was reflected in yours.

Anyway- That's a story for another day.

Back to Goo.

He is clingy at the worst of times and flakey when you actually need him. Throws a tantrum if you don't pick up his calls before the third ring though it's fine when he ignores you for days.

Delights in giving cryptic instructions and orders that are less quirky and more deranged riddles, although it is kind of, sort of, a little endearing how much his eyes light up when you finally work out what he's saying.

His sense of personal space and boundary is also unsurprisingly absent. He has a penchant for nicknames that make you cringe and a fondness for slinging his arm around you and cackling in your ear like you're best friends.

Which you know is a lie.

You weren't born yesterday. He’s friends with you precisely because you are not a fool. You know Goo would sell you up the river without a second thought.

But in the end, none of that matters.

You really really can't oversell how good it is to have friends in high places.

Best of all, a friend who seemingly has no issues killing on your behalf and who leaves their own fingerprints all over the scene of the crime.

#lookism #lookism fic #lookism x reader #goo kim #goo kim x reader #kim jonggoo #kim jonggoo x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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thegnomelord · 1 year ago

Note

Soap and #12 with cismale reader. I was thinking they have mutual feelings for each other but not in a relationship yet, and some obliviousness mixed in for drama lol

Sure mate, though it ended up more drama than oblivious idiots in love lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: "What, did you think all those times I kissed you were for shits and giggles?" "Let's be real, you had a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public."

CW:NSFW, Sub Soap, Top male reader, back alley sex, semi-public sex, mild fighting, miscommunication, Soap being a jealous hoe(again)

You and Soap have a . . . thing. You're not quite sure what to call it; You're just comrades, friends, who go out for drinks after every mission and end up messily making out in the back of a bar only to get kicked out when you two inevitably get frisky and near an indecent exposure charge. But it's fine, because it gives you the excuse to go to base and fuck on the bed, or the floor, or the table, or against the wall, or any other semi-flat surface.

But you're just friends. . . or, that's what tell yourself every time your heart pitifully clenches in your chest when Soap smiles, when he laughs and pats your shoulder, when he moans your name so sweetly as you pound into him, when he looks at you as if his world starts and ends with you; because what would a bloke like Soap want with you other than sex? So you try to drown the ache for him by going out with other people, but it's never the same— not in the way they sound, in the way they move, in the way you feel.

Johnny, on the other hand, thinks you're his and his alone.

"I'm telling yea lads," Johnny says as he knocks back a beer, a lovey dovey look in his eyes like he's a lovesick puppy. "Ah've locked him down this time." He grins, and Ghost swears if he has to listen one more time about how big your cock is or how Johnny can still feel you from last time— he'll shoot you both.

"Uhuh," Gaz rolls his eyes, amused at his antics but also happy that he's finally found someone. "Yeah, su-" Something catches Gaz's eyes and he turns his head, the color draining from his face. "-ummmm."

Ghost's eyes quickly flicker over to where he's looking, "Look at that," Ghost gives a rough snort, "Locked your man down so good he's swappin' spit without you."

Soap's immediately sober as a nun, his neck audibly cracking when he swings around to look at you. The sight of you making out with a random girl across the bar has Soap's thoughts turning in his head like rusted cogs, the world almost slowing down to force him to feel all the emotions his brain spits out; Surprise comes first, like being drenched in ice cold water, disgust making his blood feel like tar at the thought of you touching someone else the same way you touch him, hot anger barreling straight through it to make fingers twitch for the trigger of a gun.

But it's the meek hurt that forces his legs to move, striding across the bar like he's on a war path. A rough hand on your shoulder makes you break off the kiss, your world spinning like a kaleidoscope from the booze and sudden force turning you around. Your eyes finally settle on familiar blue ones, but they're cold like the deepest part of the arctic. "Johnny?" You ask.

His name on your lips only makes his scowl deeper, a bruising grip on your arm as he tugs you, "We need tae talk," He spits, glaring at the poor girl you'd been making out with like she's riddled with plague.

You're not given even a second to argue before he's yanking you out the back exit into the alley between the bar and another building. A second later he's roughly slamming you into the brick wall, knocking the breath out of your lungs with a forearm against your throat and ignoring as you choke softly. "Thae fock's wrong wit' yea!" He snarls into your face, more animal than man.

Rapidly depleting oxygen forces your brain to flood your veins with adrenaline and suddenly you're moving, harshly elbowing him in the stomach and ramming him into the stone wall behind him you swear the rock cracks. "Me? What's wrong with you?"

He tries to push against you, your arms scrambling for a solid hold until you end up in a stand still, "What's wrong-" He shoves his face into yours, nearly breaking your nose while hissing like a feral cat, "-is thaet ye're shacking up with some tramp."

"So what!" You demand, a low grunt leaving your lips as you attempt to keep him pinned when he squirms like an eel, "We're just casual-" You force out those words, trying to ignore the stab to the chest your heart gives.

"Casual?" He scoffs and with a swift jerk of his head smashes his skull into yours. You stumble away, black spots dancing in your vision and that's all he needs to grab and switch your positions, pinning you to the wall. "What? D'yea think all those times I kissed you were for shits and giggles?" He demands, a bit of a traitorous hurt making his his voice crack, face pinched in pain.

"Let's be real-" Copper and iron invade your tastebuds, drawing attention to the slow stream of blood trickling from your nose, "-you had a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public."

You feel his body tense, but keep your eyes open as you expect him to punch you, to kick you, to do something to prove what you have is just temporary; pointless bliss.

"Then how'bout ah give yea a clearer message-" He leans in to lick trail of blood on your face before capturing your lips in a kiss that's more teeth than anything else. You wretch your hand free to tangle your fingers in his short hair, bodies fitting together like jigsaw pieces, reciprocating with just as much intensity as you bite his bottom lip until his blood floods your mouths. "Got it through yer thick skull now?" He asks, pulling back just a bit to stare into your eyes.

You don't know what 'it' is, but the kiss and the roughness makes heat burn through your veins, one quick flicker of your eyes confirming he's sporting the same problem in his pants as you are. "Think I'll need more convincing."

Soap yelps when you turn him around, pinning his chest to the cold wall as your hands slide down to his belt. You stall for a second to give him a way out, but he just growls, "Get on with it," So you quickly undo his pants, shoving his jeans and boxers just down beneath the swell of his arse.

"Slut," You chuckle when you catch sight of the black plug nestled between his cheeks, the skin near it still glistening with lube from how messily he'd prepped himself, "Needed me so bad did you?" You ask as you pull the plug out, putting it into your pocket as you push the head of your cock against his fluttering opening.

"'s cause ah love yea, fockin' git." He growls, his words making your brain crash.

"Repeat that," You say, softer, kinder than you usually operate, pressing against him until you're covering his back completely. "Say that again."

He notices your change, the ice in his eyes melting away enough to let him tug your head closer to kiss you, "I love you." The way he says it, like a prayer, like a sweet caress, has your heart melting into a puddle. A dingy back alley shouldn't be the place where you confess your love, but right now it feels like Paris.

"Love you too," You kiss him back and slide into him in one slow stroke, greedily swallowing down his sounds. You let him adjust before setting a hard pace like you know he loves, cock head scraping against his prostate with every thrust. "Really, really love you." You breathe out, watching his eyes lose focus as he lets out little 'ah, ah, ah's every time your hips meet.

"Bonnie, bonnie lad please-" He whines, resting his face against the dirty wall as he moans without shame, forgetting that anyone could walk in on you two and more than likely hear you across the single layer brick wall. "Fock, c'mon, give it to me."

"Yeah, gonna take care of you-" Your hand slides down to rub his cock, squeezing his base every time you bottom out and playing with his head when you draw your hips back so you can plunge back inside him, lust and love lighting up every synapse in your body. "Just say you love me again."

Johnny's eyes close as he falls into a barely comprehensible rambling of 'love you, love you, love you', his body shaking with a building heat in his stomach, precum rapidly lubing the glide of your hand as you fuck him in a harsh pace until with a sharp yell against his shoulder you cum inside him, Johnny following suit as he paints the dirty wall white with his cum.

You feel him collapse against you and have just enough strength left to support you both, though the wall does the brunt of the work. You breathe the same air as you try to get your bearings, both hearts beating in the same speed and rhythm, and Johnny whines when you attempt to shift, hole clenching greedily around you like his body doesn't want you to seperate.

"You know," You say when you've managed to catch your breath, nuzzling into the back of his neck, "There are easier ways to say you love me without biting my head off." You chuckle, as if your heart isn't beating a thousand miles per hour at the knowledge Soap loves you.

He swats at your head, "Oh awa' an bile yer heid." He growls such harsh words before kissing you softly, sharing a silent promise with you.

#cod mw2 #Gnome's prompt game #x reader #gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #sub john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x male reader #I am slowly dying with how many of ya'll are playing this game O_O #But seriously ya'll are wonderful #and I love and cherish every member of the gnome army

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justblades · 1 year ago

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⌕ LUSTFUL REQUIEM, 18+

⟢ yandere! blade x afab! reader wc : 1.7k

⟢ cw : fxck buddy! blade, dubcon, cervix kissing, degradation, toxic themes, filming, choking, somnophilia

❝ you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's. ❞

blade is not one to typically fall for eye candies as if it was a part of his everyday routines, no one piques his attention nor does the male has his eyes set on a person. it was not until long once he gets a taste of flavors of lust: commixing together, making a concoction he would never forget, that one day, he decided to yearn for more.

every beginnings are sweet nothings that eventually become bitterly endings - one could draw that conclusion as scenes continue to unfold, blade's grasp on your wrists tightening as he bucks his hips upwards, thrusting into your slit with little to no difficulties.

adorned by your melting features are the weak sighs you let out everytime he slips his cock into you, sweat and drool racing down your dewed skin. "louder." his voice was flat and stern, an intonation that pierces through your wary self. you part your lips wider so more natural moans come out just as the male orders you to, a smirk of satisfaction following suit once his wish is finally fulfilled.

"were you moaning this loud for that asshole earlier?" another question rises from blade's dry throat, dehumanizing queries coming out one by one the longer the session prolonged. you shook your head vigorously and shut your eyes, but blade bucks his hips with more force now, his cock's tip eventually meeting with your cervix. "don't give me that nodding and shaking your head, i only take words for an answer."

his brows tightly knit, frustration seethes out of his gritted teeth. "answer!"

uncertainty fills your heart to the brim as you slowly take a trip down the memory lane, recollecting the events that unraveled earlier that lead to this now-present, once future.

crimson hues seep out of the man's wounds, several of his teeth had fallen out already - his body failed to keep himself stable and the navy haired across him doesn't falter. he only continues. "i can do this all night." blade says with utmost confidence lacing his words, the bandages of his hand come undone, revealing such deep wounds that seemed to have never recover.

ah. you understand a part of blade's destructive behavior now. the reason he's like this was because you slept with another man behind him— "fucking slut. how could you do that to me?" he lets go of your wrists for a short moment, only for them to land back on the silhouette of your waist, cupping the margins to make your body shudder the deeper he pushes in- "come on. rock your hips like how you did as you fucked that loser."

it was only a connection solely established to cope with ephemeral temptations. shortlived feelings yet the hardest to resist is what describes lust best, especially for two beings who feed on nothing but these urges. it was a mutual bond, a shared understanding to not be cuffed by the confinements of this relationship, but blade crossed that fine line like it was a a puny boundary for him.

you should've known from the beginning. you should've been able to discern from the way his glassy eyes scrutinize your appearance everytime he realizes you just got back from the hands of another man. you should've been able to know from the way the words roll out of his tongue when he speaks out of frustration, no rational thoughts behind those lashed out actions.

amidst of all of that - it feels good to be filled to the brim by your fuck buddy's dick. regardless of how he beat the guy you were with into a pulp with no hopes of recovering, here you are, basking in the pleasures intercourse with blade had to offer. it felt gratifying, but it's also heavily contradicting.

the same hands he use to inflict wounds on people who got close to you are the same hands now gradually becoming tender in his touches as he pounds into your velvet walls - blade picks up this little detail, a sneering smile replaces his scowl in an instant. "are you feeling good now?" he leans to your face, the tall bridge of his nose few inches away from yours.

your eyes burn in crystalline reflections, perfectly reflecting blade's image as he presses his lips onto yours, tongues next in action, twisting and twirling altogether— fighting for dominance. "h. . hmm." you hum as a response, much to blade's delight. he quickly breaks it off however, a hoarse chuckle slips out next.

"i've become so whipped for you," blade muses, catching you off guard. he bats his long lashes as he trails your facial features up and down. "i can't bear the thought of anyone else fucking you like this." his dominant hand at present cups your cheek, the thumb finger drawing viscules on the dampened skin. blood rushes into your cheeks as you mewl at how his grip once more tenses, "at last, i can call you mine now." his smile felt rather eerie that you could only return a mere "huh?"

he shifts his gaze elsewhere, a coy smile replaces the eerie one in a blink. "i can't believe my fantasies are finally coming to real life." a crease between your brows forms but the male has your body flipped in 20 machs speed, your back now lays flat on the matress while his cock is nestled in between your lower lips, he rocks his hips forward to make friction, another string of mewl escaping past your mouth.

"but . . but didn't we agree there's no strings attached in this?" the atmosphere grows suffocating, blade's looming presence tripled, leaving no room for you to breathe. a click of tongue then chimes into your ears, "those agreements hold no meaning any longer. i've fallen for you . . and you have too. right?" the airway from your throat proceeds to become scuffed as his two hands wrap around the part, "b-blade i can't b—!"

he reinserts his cock back into your entrance and your cunt gladly accepts his intrusion, clamping around his shape as he continually molds your insides. "say you're mine. say only i have the privilege of relishing you like this."

'blade has gone insane', is what you thought upon hearing those bizarre words of choice. you're starting to fear for your life underneath the contrasting touches of your sexual partner, you had no choice but to fall prey to his temptations. his navy dipped scarlet strands tumble on his shoulders in every thrusts he does, he sports a look you've never seen before: a predatory gaze as he watches your lust ridden body, "i-i'm yours. . i'm all y-yours!" you yelp.

you could only hope he gives you a slack, even just a minute would be nice to indulge without him bombarding you with insults and offensive questions. "finally." he rejoices with another arrogant smile, solferino irises turning inwards at the halfhearted sentence that rang to his ears like sweet tones.

"ride me again." for the nth time, he commands you once more. you could feel all the fatigue gnawing at your bones, unable to register how much energy the mental state can drain oneself. blade sees you struggle and he helps you get into position with the help of his fists on your feet, "no, turn the other way around."

your back faces him while your hands are propped on his sculpted, bandaged thighs. this position out of the dozen ones you've already tried with blade strikes you as the most embarrassing one. your legs continue to tremble as you try to keep yourself up, but only now a late realization dawns in your mind as you get a clear sight of what's placed in front of the cabinet across the bed: a cellphone camera accurately leveled to catch both your bodies in one frame.

"hah, you just saw that now?" he pants as he reinserts his dick back into your entrance, your pussy spasms from being ravaged by his cock. "it'll be for our eyes only. i can never share such intimate moment with others, they're simply undeserving."

you wished that reassurance could've ceased your worries, but it didn't.

"this video will be our proof of love and my proof of property of you. this day marks my ownership of you." he murmurs, his deep voice meshes with the squelching sounds emitted from his cock kissing your pussy, and the jagged breathy mewls. "i'm so delighted all of my hardwork paid off, mmh. . ." low moans continue to bubble from his throat, his fingers sinking deep to your body.

"i don't want to share you anymore."

"those days are long over."

"hmph, are you listening?"

blade ascends from his position only to see your passed out state - he cracks a hoarse chuckle afterwards, seeing your frail figure right in the solace of his arms.

"this is fine. i can still worship your body regardless of your consciousness." he murmurs to himself, readjusting your position laid back again in the soft cushions. he coils his hands around his dick, tightening his grip to merit himself waves of pleasure. "ah, haah, i feel so good." blade's guttural moans bounce off the room's four walls, the male then swiftly rubs his tip on your entrance, and with little force, it slips back in. "i'm happy. i . . i know you are too."

all blade is a filth of sorrow, regrets and sadness. growing up, he never understood the charm of owning something. he'd always watch by the windowsill, a blank expression carved on his face, seeing children around his age gleefully claim what's theirs. perhaps . . his upbringing was molded that way for today. for today, he finally owns something now. something that fills the cup of his heart to the point that it's overflowing - something that could satisfy his perpetual yearning.

it is no doubt he'll never let go of you now— at present, you're nothing but a bird inside of a rotten cage. you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's.

that you're merely a timeless fodder for his everlasting hunger: a hunger to own and a hunger to love. at long last, he finally has one.

"i really love you."

A/N : the upbringing part is just my own and obviously not canon, it's more to expound on how he became a yandere for reader ^^ my masterlist !

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #blade x reader smut #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #hsr blade

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archangeldyke-all · 1 year ago

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sev having a crush on you, like so shy ( similar to tatto sevika yk) like reader seems a fuckgirl ( shes not) and for that sev see them like 0 chances ( but is a mutual crush)

that makes sense?

hope youre alright, love your writtingg

this is soooo cute ty for this idea anon!!

men and minors dni

you're a part-time bartender at the last drop, working slow afternoons on the weekdays for some extra cash.

you come in when the bar opens at three, and leave at six when theriam comes in to take over the rowdier night crowd.

beyond pouring drinks, your job mostly consists of listening to loyal patrons bitch and moan. you're a friendly person, people feel naturally drawn to you, and with a few drinks in their system, a friendly face is all the invitation they need to pour their souls out to you.

it's fine by you, you like the job, and silco pays generously.

your favorite part of the job is sevika.

the woman has a lot of downtime between her assignments and meetings with silco, and in the lull between day and night on weekdays, she can almost always be found sitting at the edge of the bar-top, sipping on a whiskey and watching you work.

you guys become fast friends, always laughing together at the stories other patrons tell you from across the bar.

sevika drinks for free as silco's right hand, but she always leaves you a hefty tip, bigger than what her tab would be.

you have a crush on the woman-- how could you not? but you keep it to yourself, well aware of the many lovers sevika has.

sevika's oblivious to her feelings toward you until she saddles up at her usual stool one afternoon after a meeting gone bad, eager to get drunk and forget her whole day.

her eyes land on you, drying glasses and listening to old teddy complain about his bum knee. you laugh, shaking your head at his antics.

you look up briefly, your eyes catching on sevika, and the glass you're polishing slips between your fingers with a crash when you see her.

you rush over to her, stepping over the glass, reaching over the bar to take her chin in your hands. "fuck happened to you?!" you exclaim.

sevika is suddenly unable to speak. she tries to recall if she's ever touched you before, if you've always been this warm. she comes up with nothing. she can't think about much else besides your face, the color of your eyes, and how soft your lips look.

"sevika?" you ask, worried she's got a concussion. she blinks at you.

"uh. got in a fight." she chokes out. you laugh and shake your head, letting her chin go and turning around to pour a drink.

sevika thinks that's the end of it until you slide her whiskey toward her, followed by the bottle. you hold up your finger to say 'one second' and you disappear to sweep up the glass you'd broken and refill empty glasses. she's not sure what to expect-- but it certainly isn't you suddenly rounding the bar with a first aid kit in your hands.

for the second time that night, you've rendered sevika speechless.

you don't notice this time, simply getting to work disinfecting and bandaging the scrapes on her face, a look of concentration on on your face as you gently press and dab up the dried blood on her skin.

"just your face?" you ask. she blinks up at you, clueless. "did you hit your head or something?" you ask, concerned. sevika snaps back to life.

"no." she says, clearing her throat. "no, nothing else."

she spends the rest of the afternoon drinking and watching you, completely unaware of the chatter surrounding her, only focused on you.

have you always been this beautiful? has your laugh always made her feel-- fluttery? what the fuck was happening to her?

it's a crush. it's a fucking crush.

for the first time in her adult life, sevika has a crush on someone. and its you. the person she sees every single fucking day. the only person she'd consider calling a friend. she hates herself for it.

especially because you're so clearly uninterested in her.

you're just doing your job when you talk to her. just being friendly. and of course you're especially friendly with her, she's basically your boss.

plus, sevika sees the way you talk to ran. ran who's younger and friendlier than she is. ran who you laugh with constantly. ran who you light up when you see, running around the bar to hug them.

she keeps it to herself. it's the smartest move, she thinks. she wouldn't even know how to approach you romantically, wouldn't know where to take you out. she only ever goes home and to work-- and occasionally babettes-- something she realized she stopped doing around the same time you started working for the last drop.

god she's fucked.

so instead of doing anything about her feelings, she just enjoys the few hours a day she gets to spend with you.

she memorizes your face, catalogues all your expressions. she watches you pour drinks and silently daydreams about kissing you-- or fucking you, depending on how many drinks shes had.

for months she simply sits and watches. she laughs at your jokes, shakes her head at the crazy patrons, and on the occasion that you pass her a glass and your fingers brush, she bites her lip to keep from smiling.

it comes to a head on a monday. sevika storms into the last drop, pissed from a shitty meeting she'd just finished, only to see you jumping for joy and wrapping ran up in a massive hug. she freezes in the doorway.

something's... wrong with her. she's suddenly cold, all through her body. her throat feels tight, and her eyes feel tingly and oh fuck. she was not going to fucking cry.

she turns around and storms back out of the bar, wandering the streets until your shift's done and it's safe to head back in.

you don't see sevika that night. it's not unusual for you to go a day or two without seeing her, so you're not concerned.

but when thursday rolls around and you still haven't seen her, you start asking around.

ran shrugs, says that sevika's been coming into work all week. you frown.

when you're switching shifts with theriam, he tells you that sevika's been coming in every night, like usual. this makes you pause.

was sevika avoiding you? no, there's no fucking way. sevika's a grown woman whose never had a problem speaking her mind. if she had a problem with you, she'd tell you...

unless she realized you were crushing on her. you haven't been subtle about it, flirting with her, wearing low cut shirts and bending over in front of her, always sneaking glances when you think she's distracted. a pit forms in your stomach.

oh shit. sevika was totally avoiding you. she'd figured you out. fuck.

you don't see sevika again until the following wednesday. after work, you stay at the bar, drinking away your sorrows, chatting with patrons.

it's like you have a sixth sense, something tickling the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at the exact second sevika descends the main stairs into the club. for a moment, you're shocked at how fucking beautiful she is. you hadn't seen her in a week and a half, and you'd managed to forget.

suddenly all the liquor you'd had that night catches up to you. a mixture of rage, impulse, and stupidity overtakes you as you stand from the bar and march up to sevika, furious.

she sees you approach her, and her face drops. you're shocked when sevika-- big bad scary lady sevika-- turns on her heel and marches right out of the bar. you blink, then run after her.

"what the fuck, sevika?" you shout, stumbling out of the last drop and into the cold night air. she freezes, her shoulders coming up to her ears as you approach her from behind.

"leave me alone." she grumbles. you scoff.

"oh, fuck you!" you shout. she turns around, a shocked expression on her face. you laugh, choking on tears. "fuck you sevika." you spit. "so what-- you figure me out and now you won't even fucking talk to me? do i disgust you that much?" she blinks-- her shock melting into confusion. "i thought we were fucking friends!" you shout. sevika blinks at you.

"what are you talking about?" she asks, baffled. you scoff and wipe your tears away.

"i get that you're a fuckin' player, or whatever, and i understand i had a snowball's chance in hell with you-- but i thought you'd be a decent fucking friend, at least." you mumble. you turn to storm back into the bar but are stopped when sevika's hand clamps on your shoulder.

she spins you around and you gasp. "what are you talking about?" she asks again. you blink.

"...you don't know?" you ask hesitantly.

"i don't know what?" she says.

"that i-- wait. if you didn't figure it out then why are you avoiding me?" you ask.

"figure what out?"

"answer my question first." you demand. sevika cringes.

"i-- i'm just being a bitch." she mumbles. you laugh.

"well yeah, i got that, but why?"

"'cause i fuckin--!" sevika starts with a shout, pauses and takes a deep breath. "i have... feelings for you." she whispers. "and i know you're with ran so i just--"

"wait." you say, holding a hand up. you feel dizzy. "wait." you repeat. "what about me and ran?" you ask.

"i-- i saw you guys last monday. you were all over them. i won't tell anyone if that's what you're worr--"

"sevika," you butt in, "ran and i are not together." she blinks at you.

"but--"

"ran's engaged." you say. sevika's jaw drops. "to my cousin." you add on. her hand comes up to cover her mouth. "that's why i was 'all over them' on monday. they'd gotten engaged over the weekend." you say.

suddenly, you register the rest of what she'd said. a hesitant smile starts forming on your lips.

"shit." sevika grunts behind her hand.

"wait... what kind of feelings do you have for me, exactly?" you ask.

"no that's not how this works! i answered your question so you gotta answer mine." she says, a blush forming on her cheeks. for the first time in a week and a half, you feel like you can breathe clearly.

"okay." you say, your smile growing.

"so?" she asks. you blink up at her. "what did you think i figured out?"

"the huge fuckin' crush i have on you." you whisper. a white hot flash of anxiety shoots through your body for a split second but before you can freak out, a big smile is breaking across sevika's face. it's the biggest you've ever seen her smile.

oh. you think.

"oh." sevika says. "are... are you sure?" she asks. you snort. "i mean... i'm not good at romance. and you're so... pretty and friendly and everyone likes you, and i'm..."

"you're gorgeous and smart and funny even if you think you aren't, and you've been the only person i think about since the day i met you, and i've wanted to kiss you for fuckin-mmph!" you're cut off by sevika's lips pressing against yours.

you melt against her, winding your arms around her neck and pulling her closer as she snakes her arms around your waist. she sighs into your mouth and you shudder.

behind you, ran walks out of the bar and catches sight of you kissing the woman you've been lusting after for months. they cheer.

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #soft sevika

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casuallyawkardd · 1 year ago

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Hi there, could you write some headcanons for miguel and a deaf reader? It can be sfw or nsfw or both, whatever you want. Thank you! I love reading your stuff 🖤

Thank you for reading 🥰 I'm glad you enjoy my content. Now...to SFW or NSFW hehe I'm so clever...fuck it let's do both.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Deaf!Reader

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI! But you can read the SFW~ sex, bit of rough sex, some fluff, lowkey bottom!miguel, kinda sorta choking?

SFW

It would start with notes. It's already hard enough finding people who know sign language, even more so when said people are part of a Spider Society. All of which coming from different universes with their own different forms of sign language. So you stick to writing/typing what you want to say and most of the other spiders just write back or have you lip read.

This is a short lived system with Miguel. He's usually busy when you try to talk to him and the time it takes to read and respond is too much time away from his work. At least in his opinion. He eventually just programs Lyla to be a translator, even gives you access to her to use when you need, whether it be talking to him, the other spiders or during meetings.

Once the two of you get to know each other better, he takes the time to learn sign language. He's a smart cookie, so it comes pretty easy to him. He'll even pick up SSL so he can share his mother tongue with you. The more attached he gets to you also equivalates with how much attention he gives.

Instead of using Lyla as a translator so he can focus on his work, now all you have to do is tap him on the shoulder and his eyes are fixated on you. It's a little intimidating at first, his gaze intense as he watches you sign, but you get used to it the longer you're around him. He hates when people try to talk to him while you are; in his mind they're talking over you. So he's snapped at a few people/completely ignored them.

"¡Cállate! Y/N is talking."

"Huh? I was listening to Y/N."

If you are interested in the idea, he'll even go out of his way to make hearing aids. I picture his universe is almost utopic in that the cost for medicine/prosthetics is either really cheap or just plain free. That being said, he'd probably still just make you a pair of hearing aids on his own, more sentimental that way. However, if you turn down the offer he's fine with that too. Your body, your choice right?

NSFW

Love, love, loves having your hands on his throat. He wants you to feel the vibration when he moans for you. To feel the rumble in his chest when he growls in satisfaction. His favorite position is you on top of him, hands on his chest or wrapped around his neck while you bounce on his cock.

Miguel likes to be able to see your face, wanting the visual of just how good he's making you feel. Your moans and whimpers aren't enough, he wants to see your eyes roll back in your head. The little bit of drool on your chin when he fucks you thoughtless. His hand tangled in your hair, giving a slight tug to get your attention. When he has it, he makes you read his lips while he tells you just how good you are for him.

"You still with me, cariño? Or are you too cock drunk already?"

The feeling is mutual. You also enjoy watching him when you have sex. How his brows knit together and his jaw goes slack when he enters you; like he's about to cum then and there. How when you wiggle your hips just right while you're riding he goes a little cross eyed and his grip on your waist is just a bit tighter.

"Ay, dios mio, vas a ser la muerte de mi." Oh, my god, you are going to be the death of me.

The two of you develop your own form of communication in the bedroom. Miguel trailing light kisses along your neck and back as praise, large hands squeezing the parts of you he loves most. You tapping on his thigh to tell him to go faster, biting his flesh to encourage him to be rougher. It's not an exact science, but you each know what the other is trying to communicate and that's what matters.

In the afterglow, he likes to look at you. Sometimes you're already asleep, face half buried in a pillow and lightly snoring. He'll comb his fingers through your hair as he admires the view, pulling you against him and humming contently, making you smile in your sleep as the sound reverberates against your back. Other times Miguel just lays there and watches you talk; half paying attention, half just admiring your naked form. Eventually, he'll gently take your hands in his and kiss the knuckles, which can mean two things. One being that he's ready to go to sleep, the other being his way of saying he's ready for round two.

Tags:

@khaleesihavilliard @leahnicole1219 @edgycatx @oharaludes @graysonshaven @qiaipia @3zae-zae3 @melovetitties @jebsoxnoshansk @thedevax @erissco @Its_carlerrr

#miguel o'hara #reader insert #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x you #x reader #anon ask #lovely anons #smut #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel o'hara x reader smut

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twisted-tales-of-all · 11 months ago

Text

Frauds and Festivities

Summary: You and your boyfriend have been drifting away for the past couple of weeks. It's god-awful timing though, as the planned holiday trip with your friend creeps around the corner. After deciding to stick it out through the holidays, you manage to get on each other's nerves more than ever before, but you must find a way to keep up the act. Pairing: Jongho x afab!Reader Genre: angst, smut, one-shot, collab Tropes: established relationship, break-up fic, forced proximity/only one bed, loveless lust, lovers to FWBs, falling out of love Word Count: 5.3K Contains: cursing, alcohol, some discussion of difficult emotions, pet names (babe, baby, sir, good girl), teasing, (very slight) predator/prey dynamic, switch!Jongho, switch!reader, thigh riding, praise, marking, biting, hair pulling, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, clit play, breast/nipple play, overstimulation, creampie, begging, handjob, blowjob A/N: Welcome to Our second submission to the 16 Days of Smutmas! Please be sure to check out all the other works in the masterlist, as it's such an amazing collection of writers <3 (also this one isn’t as thoroughly edited as usual, so apologies for any mistakes!)

"I can't keep doing this!" Pushing back your chair, you scream.

You break the awkward silence at dinner, finally sick of acting like you and your boyfriend have been perfectly fine these past few weeks. How can you be in a relationship if the time between you is in a tense silence for more than half the time? Not to mention the fact that you fight whenever you do speak, sometimes over the most minimal things.

As your boyfriend continues eating and ignoring you, you continue, "How can you act like everything is fine? This isn't normal! We actually used enjoy each other's presence, you know?! Say something, for fuck's sake!"

Jongho slowly looks up at you. He finishes chewing before calmly speaking, "There's no way we can break up yet. We both put money towards the trip next week, and it's non-refundable. Unless you pay me for my portion, I'm still going. And I doubt you'll waste your money by dropping out either."

"Shit." You plop back into your chair as you realize his point.

You can't ruin the mood of the trip by breaking up, not when everyone is going with their respective partners. And he's right, you're both too stubborn to lose money by dropping out or paying the other to stay home.

"How are we going to do this then?"

With a shrug, Jongho replies, "I'm always well composed, and it can't be that hard to act like we still love each other. We loved each other for over two years now, so we know how it should work. As long as you stay composed when the others are around, we should be fine."

Fuming at his insistence that you're solely at fault, you bite back, "Then don't push buttons. I'm fine as long as you don't tick me off. Let's not meet up again until the day we leave for the trip, so we have some peace and quiet before it."

Agreeing with your plan, Jongho returns to finishing his dinner in silence. You clean up your plate and head to your room, asking your boyfriend to clean up his plate and see himself out whenever he finishes eating. You sit on the edge of your bed, silently reading your webcomics and listening to the sounds of dishes clinking in the kitchen sink. As you hear your front door close, you let out a sigh and throw yourself back against the plush bedding.

"We just have to pretend to still love each other." You say it in a way that reeks of desperation, as if trying to convince yourself that it won't be too hard.

In reality, you probably fell out of love with Jongho last month. Nothing happened to cause it - nothing you can pinpoint, at least - but you both felt it so clearly. There's no way of even knowing who lost feelings first; it happened around the same time. People always preach that there's no such thing as a mutual breakup, but this has to be the closest thing to it, right? Granted, you aren't exactly broken up yet, so it can't count when things might change.

Your week passes far too quickly. The calm, quiet week places you in such a good mood, but you remember that you'll be acting for the next four days, so you have to pack and mentally prepare yourself for the journey. To make things more believable, Jongho suggests driving up to the lodge together. Although you'd rather not, putting on a convincing act from the start takes precedence over your feelings.

When he pulls up to your house, he doesn't bother getting out to greet you. With a honk, you know he's arrived. He pops the trunk from the inside, letting you load your luggage yourself. As you climb into the passenger's seat, the radio greets you with some of his favorite tunes. Thankfully, you still enjoy the same music, otherwise you'd be annoyed before having to start your act. The drive up into the mountains takes a couple of hours, and you ignore each other the whole time, both desperately trying to extend the peace from the week.

As Jongho pulls into the parking lot, he finally speaks to you, "Are we ready? How deep are we playing it?"

"Won't it be better for everyone if we keep it simple? Maybe a couple pet name calls and minimal PDA when it's expected? That way, they won't be too shocked when we break up after this, since the love was fading even on the trip."

"That sounds good to me. I'd rather not do more than I have to, so that works."

He gets out of the car, and the act begins. Despite still having to walk over to the cabin, he helps unload all the bags. You follow his lead by playfully leaning into him as you thank him for his help. He locks the car, and you walk together to the cabin where your friends await. You don't even reach the entrance before hearing your best friend excitedly call out to you.

"Y/N! Jongho!" She flings the door open and rushes over to you, grabbing hold of one of the bags in your hands, "Here, lemme help with that."

You can already recognize the effects of alcohol on her - her cheeks flushed, her breath tainted, and her energy spiked to its peak. However, she keeps her balance well, and she isn't slurring her words, so you guess that she's only had a couple of drinks so far.

As you enter the holiday home, everyone else greets you and your boyfriend from their positions in the room. After greeting everyone and some basic small talk about the drive, Jongho dismisses you both to set your luggage in your bedroom. When he asks which room to go to, the whole group answers with a few seconds of silence.

"About that..." Mingi begins as he nervously scratches the back of his head and avoids Jongho's gaze.

"We better have rooms. This was booked so long ago; there's no way it was fucked up."

"Don't worry, there's a room for you. It's just that this cabin only three bedrooms in the main house. You guys were the last to get here, so the only room left is in the guest house outside."

Before Jongho erupts, San comments, "It's a full unit, so it's better in some ways! Personal little kitchen, personal bathroom, and all the privacy you could ask for! All you have to do is take a short walk outside - it's not even a full minute walk, so it shouldn't be too bad."

To everyone's surprise, Jongho simply shrugs before grabbing his bags and heading through the house to the back door. You follow a few steps behind, trying to catch up. As you reach the guest home, you find it nicer than you expected. San was right; this might just be better.

He unpacks a few items before heading back to the party, leaving you alone in the guest house.

"So much for being a couple, I guess." You retort while putting your bags on the opposite side of the bed.

Although there's only one bed, it's big enough that it shouldn't bug you to share with him. You only take a little bit of time in the room before meeting with the group again. Before saying a word to anybody, you pour yourself a drink, mixing a fun alcoholic drink to ease your stress about the situation. You drink some of it before joining the crowd and put on a smile as you reach them, listening in to the active conversation without adding much input. As much as you enjoy the time with your friends, the stress of keeping up your facade keeps itching at the back of your mind.

As the first night passes with drunken talk and playing catch up with everyone's lives, you and Jongho don't have much to do with each other. The groups split into the girls and the boys naturally, and only a couple of quickly fleeting conversations even mention the two of you. Thanks to the alcohol, the topics change on a dime, and you end the night by retiring to the guest house without any issues.

As the door shuts behind you, you mumble, "Only three more days. It can't be that bad."

"Don't hate me too bad; there's still only the one bed."

Jumping from the shock of hearing Jongho's voice, you walk towards the bedroom to continue the conversation, "You say that as if we have to keep up the act in here. Just choose a side and stay on it. I'll do the same."

"Awe, we aren't keeping up the act? How boring." His voice is riddled with sarcasm, and he sits down on one side of the bed with a distinct lack of care.

You roll your eyes as you dig through your suitcase for a set of pajamas. You announce that you're going to shower before bed and walk into the bathroom. While you shower, you let your mind wander back through your memories with him. They were mostly good, and it makes your heart sting. You try to figure out when everything shifted or why you fell out of love with each other, and you end up staying in the shower longer than planned because of it.

When you walk back into the bedroom, the atmosphere has completely changed. The disgust and anger shifted, and you're now greeted by somberness. As you sit on the bed, Jongho breaks the silence and admits to thinking of similar things.

"Why'd we stop loving each other? What happened?"

"You were reliving the past, too, huh?"

Turning to look at each other, your eyes meet a reddened pair staring sadly back at you. He had been crying while you were in the shower. With another pang in your chest, you also feel the pain welling up in your throat.

"We weren't bad to each other. Why did we have to fall out of love? That's some sick and twisted joke by fate." The strain in his chest appears through the cracks in his voice and the overall angry tone.

"It's too bad we can't change it. We don't know how it happened, but I don't think we can just love each other again. We stopped being good to each other because of it, so we kept falling further apart."

"Yeah, you're right. It just... sucks."

The air remains thick until you both fall asleep, and neither of you even hints at the conversation as morning arrives. You walk into the main house together, linking hands as you enter the door and see the other couples clinging to one another. With some of them, they don't even try to hide what the alcohol and bed-sharing resulted in, their after-sex glow far too clear in your eyes. Jongho must notice too, as his grip on your hand tenses when the others get lovey-dovey in front of him.

"How was your night, guys?" One of the bubbly girls jumps in front of you to ask, prodding you with a suggestive tone painting her words, "Did you sleep well together? Enjoy the shared bed?"

Putting on a happier tone than you expected, Jongho responds, "The bed was super soft! Especially with the alcohol in my system, I fell asleep super fast. I think Y/N was the same way. Right, babe?"

After you smile and nod, she understands that you guys didn't take part in the same events behind closed doors. She lowers her energy a bit in a belated attempt to hide the glow, "Oh, that sounds great! I'm glad you got lots of sleep. It'll help with the events today - they can be draining, for sure."

"Oh right, we're hitting the slopes today. I nearly forgot!" You exclaim, "When are we heading over?"

"Mingi and Daisy are making everyone breakfast, so we'll head over a bit after we eat, if you guys are okay with that."

You both confirm, and she goes to check how much longer the food will take, leaving you and Jongho momentarily alone in the living room. Sitting down together on the couch, you stop holding hands. Jongho rubs his palm on his pants to remove the sweat before placing it on your thigh to keep up the act.

You type up a quick note on your phone, joking about how he's doing more than you expected and must still love you. You lean into him as you show him, but he scoffs at it, rolling his eyes and muttering that you're ridiculous under his breath in case anyone walks in.

"Alright, lovebirds, come eat! Food's ready!" Daisy announces as she and her boyfriend carry the plates of freshly cooked food to the dining table. As everyone gathers there, they begin showering the couple with compliments about how good the food looks and smells. The breakfast is calmer than expected as everyone focuses on eating, and everyone quickly breaks off into their rooms after finishing up to prepare for the trip to the lift.

For a group of your size, you need two trips to get up to the lift via the snowmobiles provided. You and Jongho get paired with Yeosang and Krys for the second trip, so the ride isn't too bad. Your best friend jokes about how the lift is a cute spot for a proposal since it'll just be the couple, but Yeosang asks who she thinks is planning to get engaged. Krys pouts about his reaction, obviously hoping for a proposal on this trip.

"Come on, Yeosang. You guys have been together forever now. You still aren't getting married yet?" You poke at him to help your friend.

"You act like you and Jongho haven't been together nearly the same time as us. Three years isn't that long, and you're only a few months behind us. Are you planning for an engagement yet?"

You can feel Jongho's frustration at you for commenting as if he'd known it would backfire. As his grip on your hand tightens through the gloves, he silently threatens you to say something fitting.

"No, we aren't even living together though. You've gone through two years of living together. You're years ahead of us, in that respect."

Unable to come up with a comeback, Yeosang sits in silence for the rest of the rife. Krys smiles and quietly thanks you for jumping in.

As you reach the destination, you see Mingi and Daisy jump onto the ever-moving ski lift, decked out in their gear. Neither you nor Jongho are big skiers, so you rent out snowboards instead. Yeosang jokes that you should've gotten a couple's sled instead, but you both ignore him as you put on the gear. Krys pushes her boyfriend to the lift as they finish, waving goodbye to you.

"See you both later! Have fun!"

Left alone with Jongho again, you take your time as you get ready but still finish before him. Looking over, you notice his hands shaking.

"You okay, Jongho? You're shaking."

"You're really riding the edge, aren't you? Did you even think before jumping into their little spat?"

Shocked that he's still upset about it, you scoff, "No way you're so upset about that to be shaking. I even made up for my mistake pretty well."

"Yeah, through a stroke of good luck. But why put yourself into the position in the first place? Come on, Y/N, think a little!"

At this point, you're pretty close together, yelling into each other's faces. Mingi skis past, stopping himself and turning back to the two of you to ask why you aren't heading up already. Thinking quickly, Jongho grabs your collar and pulls you in for a kiss as if he didn't hear his friend. As Daisy joins, she coos about how cute Jongho is, asking her boyfriend why he isn't that sweet in public. As they begin flirting, Jongho drags you to the lift to escape, hoping to avoid any more questions from them. As much as you'd like to slap him for the sudden kiss, you hold yourself back.

"Sorry. I didn't know what else to do." Jongho confesses after half of the lift ride passes.

"Don't worry. I know you're only keeping up the act."

As you hop off the lift at the top of the mountain, you let Jongho begin his descent first. Your mind clouds due to the kiss. It brings back good memories, filling your lips with a bittersweet taste. Shaking your thoughts away, you begin heading down the trail, weaving between trees and choosing a path that'll give you more adrenaline. You have to stop hard at the end and nearly fall over, but you stabilize yourself enough to only wobble.

"Jongho, go help your adventurous girlfriend! She nearly fell!"

"It's her fault for doing that path!" He screams back as he walks up to you with his hand outstretched for you.

You hold onto his arm to balance yourself as you dismount the board. You lean down to pick up the board, but Jongho pulls you upright. He then leans over to pick it up himself, carrying the board under one arm as he keeps you on his other.

The day continues in a similar fashion until all of the activity makes everyone hungry. After a short debate over eating at the ski lodge or heading back to the cabin, everyone files into the lodge, quickly unwrapping layers of clothing in the warm, cozy quarters. You enjoy good food and conversation before braving the freezing weather again to travel back to the cabin. Once back, everyone heads directly to their rooms, beat after the energy spent throughout the past several hours.

You follow Jongho into the backyard with thoughts of the kiss coming back into mind. Alone with him, you can't get rid of them, so you decide to talk about it instead.

"Jongho, what happened when you kissed me earlier? You tensed up shortly after; was something bugging you about it?"

After a short silence, he admits, "The spark is still there. It drove me mad to feel that again after so long."

"Well, we aren't broken up quite yet. We can live out the spark one last time if you want."

Meeting his gaze, you find a boy you haven't seen in a while - one with a look of joy to hear words falling from your lips, and one with excitement of the idea of having you one last time.

"You want to?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it if it wasn't something I was open to, Jongho. You know me at least that well."

Rather than responding, Jongho presses his lips against yours once again. The step forward makes you instinctively step back, hitting the wall in the process. He places one hand against the wall by your head and slides the other around your waist. As you lean back into the wall, he leans into you, pressing his body firmly against yours. Draping your arms over his shoulders, you feel all of the tenseness from earlier wash away thanks to the kiss. As his cock hardens, trying to push out of his pants, he growls at the lack of space.

He pulls away momentarily to undo his pants, but he commands you onto the bed with a simple nod in the right direction. You sit on the edge of the bed and look up at him with innocent eyes as he approaches. When he finally kicks off his pants and stands in front of you, he grabs you by the chin and smirks down at you.

"Oh, are you being good today?"

"I'm always good, sir."

"Of course, baby, how could I forget?"

He leans down and places a quick peck on your lips before straightening again. You watch as he deliberates with himself over what he wants to do to you. You see the moment he decides as his eyes darken and his smirk twists up ever-so-slightly.

"What do you want right now, baby?"

"You, sir. All of you."

"Then lie down. Let's get started. It's going to be a long night if you want all of me."

You scoot back and follow his instructions without a fight. He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you with hunger in his eyes. Slowly, he leans in and kisses your neck, paying attention to everything he does. You already know he wants to drive you insane, and you also know that there's nothing you can do to prevent that outcome. As he continues his slow, drawn-out worship of your exposed skin, you close your eyes and embrace the sensations. You focus so much that you almost miss his words as he whispers his next command into your ear.

"Take it off. All of it."

He moves to the side, eyeing you like prey as you remove your shirt and then slide off your pants. He swallows back saliva as you unhook your bra and let your breasts fall freely. In striking contrast to his recent looks of hatred, the craving look of a predator makes your heart race and adrenaline pump. You feel on cloud nine as you slide your panties down your legs and hear him grunt out at his view. Even if the love is long gone, the lust definitely remains.

He lets you sit there on display all pretty for him for what feels like forever, but you know better than to beg for his touch, even if the cold air perks your nipples and sends shivers up your body. When he finally stops staring at you, he sits against the headboard and taps his thigh. You quickly sit on his thigh with your hands on his shoulders. Guiding your chin to him, he envelopes you in a deep kiss. You don't even notice his hands slowly dropping down to your waist until he grips tightly. His lips fall to your neck and then your chest while his hands guide you to rub yourself along his thigh.

When he feels his thigh get wet from your actions, he smirks and flexes, earning a yelp from you. He pushes your hips down into him more, making you experience even more of the friction against him. He continues to casually cover your upper body in kisses and hickets as if he isn't pushing you dangerously close to the edge on his thigh.

"Jongho~"

"Shh... I know, baby. You're close, I know. Don't be all whiny about it."

He removes his hands and tells you to lie down on your stomach. You hug one of the pillows to your face, excited but terrified to know what he'll do next. When you feel his hands explore your back, the tingles make you tense up.

"What's wrong, Y/N? Scared?" There's a sinister tone to his words as if he hopes that you're afraid.

He begins massaging the tenseness out of your back, kissing in between to give his hands short breaks. Suddenly, you feel him lift your crotch, and his thick cock grazes your inner thigh slightly. You don't know when he stripped out of the rest of his clothing, but you feel his naked chest as he leans in to kiss your shoulder and whisper into your ear.

"Now, be a good girl and take it all for me, okay?"

You nod into the pillow, but he doesn't pay attention. Instead, he's busy lining himself up properly. Slowly, he pushes inside, keeping a slow but steady pace until he bottoms out. You bite the pillow as his girth stretches you out. After not indulging for over a month, the pain burns through you more than usual, but Jongho lets his lust drive him. He trusts that you'll use the established safewords if you need him to stop or slow down, so he immediately begins fucking you.

This lust-driven sex feels much more carnal, nothing like the sex you had when you loved each other. Fueled by the mutual desire of one final hurrah, you enjoy the rough grabbing and hard thrusts.

"Fuck. You're so good."

He slides one hand up your back, knotting it into the hair at your nape. He uses it to pull you up against him. With your back against his chest, he lets go of your hair and snakes his hand around to the front of you. Holding onto your neck, he aggressively thrusts up into you. As he steadies his control, he brings his other hand around to your front. After a bit of blind searching, his thumb finds its place on your clit.

With the added pressure to your clit, you tap on the hand around your neck, signaling that you need to breathe freely. He moves that hand down to your boobs, grabbing one tightly and using his long fingers to rub your nipple. Being stimulated in so many places, you begin to lose yourself, muttering out nonsense in your moans.

"That's it, Y/N. You're taking it so well. Just a little bit more, baby. You're almost there. I can feel it."

Sure enough, you feel your climax approaching. Without letting up on anything, he bites down on your shoulder. The unexpected sensation sends you straight into your orgasm. You shake as it overtakes you, and you feel his moans vibrate against your collarbone as your walls tighten around him. His thrusting becomes rushes, with short, quick thrusts to bring him over the edge as well. Bodies flush against each other, you feel him fill you up as he finishes.

He removes his mouth from your shoulder first, with a curse under his breath over the wonderful feeling. After, he slowly pulls out of you and guides you to lie down next to each other in bed. For a while, the only sounds in the room are your combined panting, but Jongho breaks the silence with a lighthearted jest.

"A spark of lust... What a fun thing, that is."

"Y'know what? I think it might be easier to pretend to love you after that."

After he cracks up at your statement, he throws himself under the blankets, exclaiming, "We'll see. Just don't get on my nerves. Good night, Y/N."

Surprisingly, you both cruise through the day. You're able to joke, hold hands, and even kiss without feeling any way about it. San jokes that it took an extra day for you guys to adjust to the room, but he points out how clear it is that you've broken in the bed. Jongho begins walking towards him without comment, scaring the louder boy away quickly. But even that interaction was all in good fun. When you turn in for the night, you can't help but smile at the fun day. As Jongho joins in, you comment jokingly.

"Maybe San's right. It was obvious we did much better today. We can't let ourselves get sexually frustrated, or it'll make the mission harder."

"I know you're not asking for more after complaining about being sore this morning."

"I'm just saying. No need to get fussy about it, Jongho. Or maybe... Are you already getting sexually frustrated again?" You look at him with a devious smile, but he doesn't respond, so you continue, "Do you need me to help you again? Oh, poor baby!"

Quietly, he asks, "Are you gonna help, or are you just gonna be mean?"

"Oh, my poor baby. Lay down. I'll help you."

You slyly hook your thumbs onto his waistband as you guide him onto the bed. When he scoots back, his pants and underwear slide off with ease. Although he's slightly embarrassed by the sudden nakedness, he doesn't comment. Instead, he silently lets you pull the clothing fully off him before climbing onto the bed to hover over him.

"You're right, though. If I take you again, I'm not sure if I'll be able to get up tomorrow. I guess I'll have to figure out some other way to help."

"Y/N, please, just touch me. Please, no more teasing."

"Oh, poor baby. You're that needy, Jongho? Needy enough to beg for me to touch you?"

Softly you place your hand on the tip of his dick, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time. You revel in his reactions as you rub your palm over his tip with the leaking precum acting as a bit of lube. When you progress down to stroke his dick, you watch his eyes roll back into his head, encouraging you without even realizing it. While he's momentarily blinded by the pleasure, you lean in and take his tip into your mouth. Purely reactionary, Jongho thrusts his hips up into you, but you've had enough experience to predict it and hold him down. However, you notice just how needy he is by his whiny moans, so you decide to give him a quick release - just like he wants.

Quickly bobbing your head and moving your hand in unison, you do everything exactly how you know he likes it best. You ignore the whiny mess spewing from his lips and focus hard on your task, trying to bring him to orgasm in record time. Feeling the usual signs that he's close, you gain a sense of satisfaction in knowing you can still mess him up this quickly and easily. You focus on keeping the pace the same despite it being a bit faster than usual. When he pushes your head down and finishes down your throat, you emerge proud of yourself.

"Did that help?"

Already half asleep after the wave of pleasure, he only slightly nods before passing out. You laugh at the exhausted man before doing your nightly routine and joining him in sleep.

Waking up on the dawn of the final day, you feel a weird sensation overtake you. Grief? Not quite, but something similar, for sure. As you realize that today marks the last day of the trip and your relationship, that sad feeling washes over you from the moment you wake up. Even though you've known the day was coming, it still feels strange to let go, especially after you were able to tolerate each other over the past couple of days. When you join your friends, they're all hugging and crying, claiming that they don't want to return to their regular day-to-day lives. You find it funny to watch, as they take frequent vacations anyway. You and Jongho awkwardly stand there, holding hands and watching the sobbing cuddle huddle.

Before they can pull you in, Jongho claims that he wants to beat traffic, so you two will be heading home first. This quickly pulls everyone apart to say their goodbyes, and you head out to the car within ten minutes. Once there, that overwhelming feeling envelopes the air between you. Neither of you brings up the elephant in the room until you nearly reach your house.

"So, is this officially where we call it?" You ask as he turns down your street.

"I guess it has to be, right? Without the love, there wouldn't be much of a relationship."

"Yeah... We'd make better friends with benefits at this point."

After a short silence, he parks the car in front of your home and turns to you, "Should we?"

"I'd be down for it, honestly."

"Then let's do that. We're no longer in a relationship, but we can still reach out for hook ups."

"Deal."

#cultofdionysusnet #wonderlandnet #16 days of smutmas 2023 #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop smut #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #choi jongho smut #ateez jongho #jongho imagines #jongho scenarios #jongho smut

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hiraethwa · 1 month ago

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hULLO dropping by for daily tobio!nation thoughts PHEW consider chinese period drama kageyama, where he's the 2nd son to the emperor, and a genius war tactician, and yes, even though he's got an older brother, everyone knows that the emperor's got his sights set on tobio to be his next in line -- and then there's you, the only daughter to a beloved warlord, who's father raised you like a son, taught you how to read, raise you on politics and war strategems and always told you that woman should know how to fight just as well as a man. so you grow up with tobio, never thinking twice about sparring with him, about getting the hems of your silks dirty when you both sneak off to the river to catch frogs, but you're older now, and the emperor is pressuring tobio to look for a wife, and a good, demure one who knows the 4 great arts -- 琴棋书画 -- and it's not till he gets frustrated with the parade of pretty, bejeweled princesses before him that he complains to you and blurts out "what if i marry you instead?"

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS. i live and thrive on historical cdramas so, my bread and butter! i have many thoughts floating around right now UGHHH why did you do this to me!! combining two of my roman empires...

first consider the idea of the imperial harem 后宫 there's something so poetic in the doomed love that blooms between someone who is fated to be the emperor and his consort, the heartbreak that slowly sets in soul crushingly because no matter how much you love him, he is the 天子 , the emperor, and he will never be yours alone, historically speaking of course. not to mention that even if he does fall in love with you, it is so easy for a man to just fall for another woman, especially a man with such resources at his disposal as an emperor, the ruler of kingdoms. (again, historically speaking) for context for other people, in ancient china, emperors normally have around 3000 concubines, even though only one holds the title of his official wife 正妻, the queen. out of around 600 emperors and kings in chinese history, only ONE is monogamous.

i am obsessed with this au ughhhhhh it has crossed my thoughts before, but i wasn't sure if people would be interested in reading a fic set in ancient china <//3

BACK TO YOUR POINT. OH MY GOD SECOND PRINCE TOBIO WHO IS SMART AND AN AMAZING WAR TACTICIAN (once again, i LOVE men who are smart smart UGHHGHGHGHGHGHG) something about intellect is just *on my knees* (uhm, is tooru his elder brother *cough, CHOKE)

now to entertain your thoughts. there's so many ways this could go. like PPHEW should we go historically common drama where you get married to him, learning the 'proper' ways of a wife but he ends up having other consorts down the line because men be men and heartbreAK, understanding that you may be his, but he will never be yours?

TWO, OOOOH with a modern twist, getting into this arrangement with him and thinking it is just a marriage of convenience (once again, mutual PINING, i will DIE ON THIS HILL) and learning to be fine with the way things are (he just wants a wife in name because he wants to get his father off his back about it, thinking that you do not feel the way he does either, OR he realizes his own feelings AFTER the marriage (OH HOW I LOVE HISTORICAL DRAMA PLOTLINES ), never touches you in the way he should as a husband on your wedding night 洞房 because he doesn't wish to tarnish your purity in the case that you find someone you wish to remarry somewhere down the line, he can assure your future husband that your virtue is intact. SLOW BURN ENSUES BETWEEN TWO IDIOTS BLAH BLAH the only monogamous emperor in history kageyama tobio????

fuck i want to write this now, what have you done rain!!

#the librarian replies #rain <3 #ave muses #yapping too hard on this because you opened a can of worms

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emwritesstuff · 11 months ago

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DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 4.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: You meet an old acquaintance on your first mission as a probationary Avenger. Tensions arise from multiple fronts. The plot thicken's y'all. (warnings: mentions of human experimentation, violence, cursing, sexual tension) (5.1K words)

4: ENTROPY

Fury uses a laser pointer to indicate a location on the holographic map. The Avengers are about to be sent on a mission, and for the first time you’re invited for the briefing. It’s not the worst thing they dragged you to. There are snacks, and you get to sit and not get your butt kicked. You’re only supposed to help with the details of the facility they’ll be breaking into. “Our drone intel says it’s been evacuated; it’s completely empty. Of people. I doubt they left the security system disarmed.”

You nearly choke on an Oreo when he continues. “Which means it’ll be simple enough that we can send Sparky here for a test drive.”

“No!”

“No.”

You scowl at Rogers when he echoes your word. It’s one thing for you not want to do this – another entirely for him not want you to.

Completely different things.

Still. You really don’t want to go. Especially not back there, no matter how much Fury insists.

“Look. I know it’s part of my pardon, or whatever, to be a Revenger, okay? But I thought it was just so the government could use me as a lab rat and keep me locked up inside this building, which I’m fine with, by the way, thanks Stark for the mini fridge—”

“Y’er welcome.” Tony is leaning all the way back in his chair, munching on a cookie-Reese’s Cup-cookie sandwich.

“But not missions, alright? I’m not going.”

“Unfortunately, little-battery-who-could, you have no choice.” Fury puts his hands on the table, and you look at him. He has dark circles under his eyes, and you wonder if they were just part of his look at this point. “Or, you do. S.W.O.R.D made a big investment in you. It’s time to show them why – or go to the Raft.”

Your jaw went slack. A big investment.

An investment. An Asset.

Your eyes roamed the others present at the meeting – Tony, Natasha, Sam – and Rogers. You felt betrayed, and stupid for feeling so; none of this should come as a surprise for you.

Hands clench at your sides, opening and closing, weighing your options. You didn’t want to go back. Getting out had been hard enough.

“The Raft it is.” In a flash you’re up and everyone is set in motion at the same time as you – certainly to stop you from causing damage to government property.

Fury manages to suggest you reconsider before you storm out, fingers sparking as your temple starts to throb.

It’s Sam Wilson who reaches you at the elevator, and you curse how slow that thing was despite the building being filled to the brim with advanced technology.

Not advanced enough to make quicker elevators, apparently.

“Wait up, kid. Fury has a point, you know.” Sam raises his hands in front of his chest when you give him a nasty look. “Not about the investment thing. About the test drive!”

You cross your arms against your chest. “I’m not a car.”

“I know, I know—”

Natasha joins him on your other flank, essentially cornering you against the elevator doors.

“You’ve been holding back during training, so this is the perfect opportunity to—”

“I’ve been holding back because of the side effects, not because I care about hurting any of you!” It’s a half-truth. The migraines, nosebleeds, dizziness and everything else are annoying as shit.

But after two-something months, you have started to look forward to Pizza Fridays, to yoga with Wanda and to help Tony on his eternal quest of annoying Steve Rogers.

And knowing all of this you just recently got was at stake, balanced precariously on your Avengers performance, was harrowing. Because there is no way in hell you’re going to do well.

You know yourself. You’re not a hero. Not even close.

You’re not wired for that kind of stuff.

“I don’t want this! I don’t want to be owned by the United States Government, or S.W.O.R.D or any other acronym puns they come up with next. I’m done with that.” The elevator opens just in time, and you slip into it, but not quick enough that the two can’t follow you inside.

“So are we.” Natasha says, and she leans in as if she has a secret. Maybe she does. She looks around like she wants to tell you, but can’t. “We all got to sign some sort of Devil’s Deal after the Sokovia Accords, and Steve’s was this place. But this, is all temporary.”

“What do you even mea—”

“You’ll know. But in the meantime, use all the resources you got at hand to find your missing files.” She holds you by the shoulders, and you blink. She has a point. She has an excellent point.

You had agreed to all this circus for a reason, after all. If they wanted to use you, you might as well use them too.

“And kick some Nazi butt as an added bonus, Sparky.”

You exhale heavily, punching the button of the floor the three of you just left from. “Don’t. Call me. Sparky.”

“And what exactly are the bangles for? Style points?”

“Are you done being a smartass? I’m gonna explain it—but I won’t if you keep this up.”

Rogers is leaning against the wall, an amused little smirk on his annoying face while Stark – the inventor – gives you a taste of your own attitude. “You can see your vitals on this little screen right here. See? And if your brain activity spikes towards the dangerous level, it’ll beep so you can stop yourself before you go Weekend at Bernie’s on us.”

Tony finishes securing the two metal bands around your wrists and makes you get up from your chair.

“I have no idea what that is. Is it a club? I wanna go.” Tony looks at you in shock.

Then he looks at Rogers in shock when he speaks up. “It’s a movie, did you really not see—”

“Does he have to be here?”

“—it? It’s a classic.”

“It is a classic! Thank you. I’m actually surprised he’s seen it and you haven’t, Sparks.”

You put on your hands on your hips. “I’ve been a little busy these past few years. You know, escaping? Sorry if I haven’t seen one stupid old movie.” Rogers crosses his arms as Tony looks at you in disappointment. Only you could get them to agree on something. Awesome. “Does he have to be here?”

“I’m waiting for Bucky to finish his thing.”

“What thing? Can’t you do some sudoku outside his door like any other centennial?”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer, and Stark begins messing up with the software on your wristbands. On a screen you can see what you assume to be the 3D view of them, and as he works you can see your new accessories light up.

“Rogers. What thing?”

Before he can give some snappy response, Barnes himself appears on the door. “Deprogramming. Shuri comes once a month. Ready, Steve?”

You frown, another question ready at your lips, but Tony adds in. “For his murder words. Y’know, HYDRA’s favorite brainwashing technique?”

Steve scowls at Tony, but you don’t see it. You don’t see him clap Bucky on the shoulder, and say that he’s ready. You don’t see them both leave. You’re busy looking at your own hands.

The Wakandan scientist can do that?

Erase the programming from his mind, just like that?

“How—” They’re already gone when you look up. Tony is seemingly oblivious at the thoughts running a million miles per hour inside your head.

“Genius. That’s how. The bracelets are obviously not in your brain, but they can connect to your suit and give us the full body scans we need.”

“What? Wait.” You pause, just then registering what he had said. “My suit?”

“Yes, Sparky! You can’t go on a mission wearing those rags you call T-shirts.” You’re about to cuss him out when he asks FRIDAY to begin the grand reveal.

And grand it is indeed. A robotic hand descends, with a silver and dark grey tactical suit hanging neatly on it. It almost gleams under the fluorescent lights of the lab.

“Cool.”

“I know, I know. Don’t thank me yet though. It needs extra adjustments, but you can take this baby for a ride tomorrow. And we’ll fix whatever issues we find when you’re back.”

You have no words, and Tony knows it, looking at you smugly as you inspect the suit closely. It looks like it has the potential to… make you fit in. In a picture, at least.

The suit is really something. It has a set of lines on the torso, arms and legs that light up bright blue when you absorb electricity. It’s light and flexible. And it looks really good on you, as you find out the next morning.

Your butt looks exceptionally good in it, especially with the new set of muscle you’ve been building up. You spent a good five minutes staring at your rear in the mirror after you put it on.

“You look put together; I’m surprised.” Rogers said after you both entered the Quinjet, the first ones to arrive. He from his punctuality and you from sleeping very little the night before. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Thanks. Sorry I don’t have bloomers and a ballgown though, was running late this morning.” Giving him a sickly-sweet smile, you begin strapping yourself down on the farthest seat from him available.

Your hands are shaking as you fiddle with the many buckles – where’s Sam when you need him? – and it’s easy to say you’re a bundle of nerves. It’s not just the mission. It’s the destination. It’s the chances of it all going horribly wrong and going to the Raft being the best-case scenario.

You don’t even see Steve until he’s right on your face, yanking the buckles off your trembling fingers sternly, and looking at you through furrowed brows. “I don’t think your ensemble allows for the bloomers anyways,” He rasps, and you hold your breath from the proximity.

His eyes look like the sea during a storm from where you’re sitting, framed by perfectly thick eyelashes and expressive eyebrows. The smallest freckle on his cheek.

Fuck this dude. You had your seatbelts all under control.

“But for next time I’ll expect nothing less than a ballgown.”

He’s off you in an instant, and you snort at his little quip. “When did you grow a sense of humor?”

“Always had it. Sparky.”

And the moment’s ruined. You’re not a cat, but you feel like hissing at him. “Don’t—”

“Morning, children!” Tony enters the Quinjet like he owns it – he probably does – and with his arms up like he’s a popstar. One of them is holding Cap’s shield, and you frown.

You’re still looking between them when it’s given to Rogers. “Don’t forget I want it back as soon as you’re done with this – you’re still in probation no matter how many times you let me beat you at air hockey.”

The image of Steve Rogers playing air hockey – and losing – is almost as strange as Stark having custody of the shield. The very symbol of everything he stands for, and he has to give it back like a pair of shoes at the bowling alley?

You and him are back to being the only ones inside the jet after Tony leaves. “If you’re gonna say something—get it off your chest now.”

“I just— I don’t understand. Why does he have it? You clearly wear it better.” You gesture vaguely to his very poster-like form, standing by the opposite row of seats.

He frowns, but for once it’s not at you. “Howard Stark made it. I trust you know what happened to him. Who did it.”

Your jaw goes a little slack. Taking out Stark Senior was one of HYDRA’s biggest victories, you remember it well. The date was almost a holiday for them.

You don’t know what happened last year in detail, but you can guess, given the time of things. The death of the King of Wakanda, and Barnes’s arrest. The whole Avenger vs. Avenger match was a media frenzy at the time, even though the motives were still somewhat vague.

All of that happened, and yet, they’re all still sharing the same roof.

It clicks for you like a puzzle piece.

“This was your Devil’s Deal! This place, the shield—” It makes you almost sorry for him, giving up so much for the greater good. And somehow it doesn’t surprise you at all.

It’s been his modus operandi since 1945, hasn’t it?

“Wow, you guys are here already?” Steve is looking at you like you’ve gone insane when Sam walks into your transport. He takes one look at you and grins, cooing at you as he would a baby. “Look at you, all cute strapped up on your seat.”

You roll your eyes and give him the middle finger.

“You’re late.” Steve says, finally placing the shield on the back of his suit. It makes him look like a buff turtle, and you have to keep yourself from giggling.

“No, you two are just early.” Natasha is the last to join you, Banner following suit at her back. Your eyebrows shoot up and she ignores your questioning look as she takes over the command panels.

You know well that Banner isn’t coming with, and you doubt his reasons to see you all off is friendship or worry.

He fakes it by checking the connection of your wrist cuffs to your suit, but Stark had done that already. You know he’s too shy to give out any information. You’ll have to squeeze it out of one of them later – a mission more difficult than this one, you’re sure.

Planning a strategy for it is almost enough to distract you from your nerves—almost. You try to focus on Sam’s ever good-spirited rambling while you’re in the air, but your hands are back to being unsteady and your breath becomes shallow when the F.R.I.D.A.Y announces initiating landing sequence.

You manage to be discreet about it, unclasping the seat straps with what only seems like your natural ungracefulness. Watching silently as the distance between you and the permafrost grows narrower.

The ramp descends, leaving you once again vulnerable to the cold wind of the Norwegian mountains.

You’re freezing and nearly bare, running desperately through the snow, against winds at your chest and bullets at your back when Natasha nudges you on her way out. The last to leave the safety of the aircraft, you walk until you’re facing the tall iron doors of The Brutskaten, the others having stopped behind you.

You scowl at it like it can see you, like its doors are the maw of a beast ready to swallow you back in and bellow a welcome back, child, after it’s satisfied.

“Seems like the power’s still going.” Sam says, and you turn to see him inspecting a panel to the side. “Which means the security system is still on.”

He and Rogers move their eyes to Natasha, who promptly shakes her head. “I can try my way, sure. But we have to be careful. This place isn’t something you just break into, it—”

“I got it.” Moving away from the entrance, you approach the panel. What are the odds of they erasing your code amidst all that hurry?

Could one credential still be left? There’s only one way to find, and you take the safest route. Your oldest form of identification. Hiking up your right sleeve, you expose your forearm and the numbers tattooed on them to the cold air. All the breaths are held as you offer them to the camera on the panel.

A soulless voice fills the silence, followed by the heavy groaning of iron.

Projekt: Blitz. Asset-7463. Zugriff gewährt. Dostup Predostavlen. Access granted.

Easy enough. You’re entering this hell again and the only thing you can think of is that you’re damn lucky.

The accumulated dust inside makes you cough as you walk through the doors. You and the others move quietly and carefully, making little noise despite Sam’s constant sneezing.

“Damn allergies.”

The place seems like it’s been evacuated in a hurry, supplies and papers scattered everywhere, no one bothering to clean up their messes. A lot has been left behind; Natasha skims through at least five manila folders that were just sitting out in the open.

Everything is monochromatic, grey and lifeless; the high ceilings have always reminded you of some sort of temple, in which God is order and obedience is a prayer.

You’re not very religious.

It’s almost too easy – you go through the Via Crucis that is going deeper into the fortress, clearing room after room with the others, ignoring the memories that surface so you can get to your main objective: the research labs. Next to it there is a room with computers and files that should provide you with all the information this place still holds.

Natasha takes to that right away, pulling Sam with her in the dick move of the century. You’re left to inspecting the lab – your lab – with Cap, his shield and his high-strung mood that you’re not sure where or when he acquired it. You guess it happened right as you landed here. It was all going so well, and then he saw you be allowed back in like its Prodigal Daughter.

Your palms feel clammy as you eye the row of medical beds in slight disarray, most without any bedding whatsoever – a good long while since its last use.

“Is this a bad time to announce I’ve been a double agent all along? You’ve all fallen into my trap, yadda-yadda.”

You smirk as you can almost hear a vein in his forehead pop, even though you have your back to him, inspecting a surgical table next to the beds. Nothing much but a metal tray and empty bottles of sedatives.

“Do you really think this is time for jokes?”

You turn to him with a shrug. “It’s called lighting up the mood, Cap, you should know by now I’m an expert at that. In more ways than one.”

Rogers crosses the room in an instant, leaving you to stare up at him. “You need to focus. I won’t have you jeopardizing this mission—”

“Or what?” You hiss. “You’ll send me to the Raft? Haven’t I been a good girl for you?”

He leans in. You’re almost chest to chest, and you stiffen because any movement seems dangerous. “You’re so far from it I’m surprised you know the words.”

“Oh yes. I’m bad.” You chuckle, and his gaze becomes stormy. It’s new. It’s almost exciting. Your voice lowers as you whisper to his lips. “What, are you gonna punish me, Captain?”

Dumb ways to die.

Arms cage you against a desk, and pink lips curl into a smirk. “If I have to… Is that what you want?”

You swallow. His eyes follow the movement before returning to yours. His fingers ghost at your hip. Your skin tingles. He knows. It’s like standing at a cliff. If you fall, it will be into pink lips and large arms. And you’re tethering at the edge.

He smells like aftershave and something sweet you can’t put your finger on. You don’t dare take another breath.

If there is a god inside this place, it’s the same one who put wheels on the desk. It rolls back and pulls you with it, separating you from him and from a stupid thing you don’t want to do. The coffee that was left behind on it spills over on your hand, and you groan as you wipe it away. It takes you a couple seconds to notice what’s amiss.

“Is that really what gets you to be quiet—”

Steve stares as you lower yourself to the desk’s height. As far as anyone knew, it has been sitting in here for two years at least. Except there’s steam rising from it. “Coffee’s still hot.”

Steve blinks at you, and by the time he’s processed it the alarms start blaring, casting everything in a menacing red glow. Nat and Sam run in from the other room. “I think we set off some kind of—”

“It wasn’t us.” You say, and they frown at you as the information registers in their heads.

“We’ve got company. Someone was here just now, must’ve triggered the alarm.” Steve explains and turns to you. “If you were running out of here, where would you go?”

You lick your lips, a list of names going through your head when Rogers’ question brings you back.

“The Hangar. This way.”

Almost on autopilot, you speed through the endless corridors with the others on your heel. It feels strange to be the one chasing, but you shake it right off once your sight narrows on your runaway target.

Doctor Steiner is a little weasel of a man, beady, evil eyes behind thin glasses and a gravely receding hairline. He’s still wearing a white lab coat even though it has probably been a while since he tormented anyone with his profession, stains all over it as if he had been wearing it nonstop for days.

The big gate at the end of the hangar opens up almost lazily, bringing flurries of snow inside. You barely register the vehicle he’s trying to start and make his escape on, a large ATV that was surely no match for the Quinjet outside. But he didn’t know that. You don’t remember it, either.

Your focus is on the grin he gives you. “My, my, Fräulein, how far you have fallen.”

Fingers crackle with energy. The light flickers. The ATV groans but fails to start. Your head hurts.

He chuckles as you stalk towards him. You don’t even remember you have three other Avengers behind you, managing to follow close behind you. You should cool it down.

But it doesn’t matter how much the freezing wind chastises your skin, there is fire blazing behind your eyes. “I want my files. I know you have them.”

He cocks his head. Your hand shoots out and a blast of energy makes the gate stop halfway up. “You were to serve a greater purpose. Now you walk with these… Avengers.”

The corners of your lips turn down. You’re trying to summon more electricity to your palms, but all that happens is little snaps of lightning between your fingers. Steiner tuts, very much aware of your tribulation. No, fuck no. Not now, come on!

Some reprieve comes in the form Natasha and Sam landing on the other side of the hangar, right by the gate. Steiner isn’t going anywhere with the ATV. He knows it.

You realize you’ve gotten too close when he points a gun right at your forehead. “The Baron’s shining star. Such a waste. But surely you know I can’t let my work fall into the wrong hands.”

Before he pulls the trigger, you channel every Volt running inside your body to fry his brains out. Your hands spark to life – the edges of your sight darken and the monitors around your wrists beep – but if he manages to put a bullet in your skull at least you’ll have done one thing right in your life.

Except you don’t get to. The bullet hits a shield first, the same that blocks your vision of the doctor as your pulled away by the waist, then maneuvered to stay behind Captain America’s back.

“Are you out of your mind?” His mouth twitches as if he’d received some of the blast instead.

Serves him right.

“I had him!”

“You had a gun pointed right at your head.”

“I had him, Rogers.”

“You’re so goddamned reckless—” He says, but the German protests of a now restrained Dr. Steiner stops him.

Natasha barks for him to shut up. “I think you have something we’ve been looking for.” Sam crosses his arms, and Steve steps towards the doctor. It’s strange to be on the same side of the ring, you realize.

You don’t necessarily hate it.

“Give. Me. My. Files. And then maybe I’ll let Cap here be benevolent and lock you up.” Your hands ball into tight fists.

“Empty threats. There are no files, Fräulein. It is all in here,” You’re sure he’d be tapping his forehead if his hands weren’t bound behind his back. “you need me more than I need you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Steve growls.

Your eyebrows twitch as your hope dilutes itself. He was probably right – as the head of the Brutkasten Research department, there was no one who knew you more than he did. If there were no files anymore, then…

Fuck it. You’d rather let your brain explode than have another “appointment” with him ever again.

“Look at what just happened. You have always been a liability. Useful, yes—”

You want to scream at him, but for some reason you can’t. The feeling that you were something HYDRA and Captain America could finally agree on makes your lungs burn and your words vanish, nails marking crescents on your palms already.

“Effective, even! But dangerous when not on a tight leash—”

Steiner doesn’t get to finish. Steve’s fist lands heavily against the side of his head, and he isn’t built to take that kind of hit. “Fuckin’ windbag.”

The doctor’s head lolls to the side, and you finally manage to breathe. You push the shock that comes with the act for later; there’s more important things at hand.

Dr. Steiner made Steve Rogers say fuck.

The Doctor from Hell is whisked away to a government prison facility as soon as you land – that means you don’t get to spend even 10 minutes under the same roof, and you’re thankful for that.

He manages a “I’ll be expecting your visit, Fräulein!” before Steve drags him away, and a shudder runs down your spine. Never seemed like a good date for that.

You’re also thankful Natasha is put in charge of his interrogation – you don’t hear anything about it, not even the intel she’s gathered. The knowledge that you’re being shielded from all of this should be comforting.

Still, as you watch Bruce scribble and cross off things in his notebook during your weekly check-up, you get restless.

Nothing new. Just his own theories and counter theories. Which means Steiner isn’t talking.

Which means the fucker is waiting for you.

You sleep on the idea for a couple days – it’s one of your worst, honestly. Nothing good can come from a chit chat with your old doctor, but at this point you feel like you don’t really have a choice. You’ve searched for your files. You’ve returned to the Brutkasten.

The last tether to your past and the possible answer to your troubles is sitting on a prison 40 minutes away from the Compound.

You already know Rogers and Natasha’s answer before you ask them, and Sam would never take your side, not on this. On Mario Kart, sure. That’s why your hopes are on the greyest morals you can find on site. The most questionable methods.

Nick Fury has an office on the lower levels of the Compound, past the conference room and behind so many security protocols it’s almost as difficult as getting inside a bank. You wonder if he is some kind of mind-reader or psychic, because you don’t get to state your business when the multiple doors open one after another.

“If you’re here, then it must be interesting.” He says as you finally get inside.

“Wouldn’t call it interesting—more like reckless and stupid.”

“Sounds like your style. I’m listening.” Almost offensive, but you don’t take it to heart.

It’s kind of true.

“I’d like to make a doctor’s appointment.”

“I knew you’d come, Fräulein.”

“That’s what she said.”

He chuckles. “You haven’t changed—I’m glad.”

You sit in front of Dr. Hermann Steiner, finally. His wrists are affixed to the table with magnetic cuffs, and you stare at him, ironically at your mercy for the first time. You don’t remember why you used to be so afraid of him.

Without his needles, his goons and his unbridled cruelty, he’s just a man.

He’s wrong, too – you have changed. Something in you has, you can feel the flipped switch. You’re not sure what or you simply don’t want to name it, but it’s there.

It’s in the way you stare at him.

“I take it you haven’t been very talkative lately?”

“Oh, my dear, what is there to say? They didn’t exactly offer me a place in the Avengers in exchange of my help.” His lips quirk up when you tense – the subtle insult hitting you on the jaw like a right hook.

“Then what would you want in return?”

“You.” He says, and now you feel like you’ve walked into the den of a single viper. “You have no idea what you are capable of, do you? Of the extent of your abilities. The potential is endless.”

You frown. “If you want to cause a power outage in the entire tri-state area, of course. Are you sure you’re remembering me right?”

Steiner smiles. “The Baron has never let me truly fine-tune you like I wanted. But if you allow me to—”

“I am not going to be your lab rat again.”

“Think of what we could achieve, my Asset! Of what you could achieve.”

You ignore the pet name change, splaying your hands on the table. They stop shaking like this.

“Tell you what. You tell me how I stop being the mess I am right now, and I’ll achieve getting Fury to let you have sunbathing time in prison. How’s that?”

He shakes his head, still with that stupid little smirk on his face, and you have to hold back from punching it out of him.

“This should be useful to you.” He slides a tiny SD card in your direction, and you wonder if he’s been holding it in his hands all this time, and more so – how he had smuggled it inside.

Your answer comes in the shape of a small wound on the back of his hand. Subcutaneous incision, one of the old methods. It makes you shudder. “The information you need is all in here. This will return you to me, I know it.”

Fingers hesitate but take the drive anyways. The smallest Pandora’s box.

“I already have a doctor. But thanks.”

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america fanfic #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #emwrites

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wavypotatochips · 2 years ago

Note

Omg more Sergio Ramos I beg you🥹

Can I request Sergio being very protective of reader when someone harass her? And then he is all sweet with her making sure she’s okay but she’s not so he does all in his power to make sure she’s fine? Thank you so much

𝙈𝙮 𝘼𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 | 𝙎𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙤 𝙍𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙨

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Sergio Ramos x Female Reader

[TW; SUGGESTIVE STAMPEDE, BRUISING]

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.5k

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: As you and Sergio Ramos have become more intimate, you decide to surprise him at a game one day. When an incident occurs that results in a small injury when you were having a fantastic time, Ramos tries his best to make you feel better.

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: Sorry for the wait! College has been having me in a choke hold -3- I Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

[Translator Spanish is used- Note that translation may be wrong.]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

Sergio Ramos and you have been friends for a long time, but recently, as a result of your continual flirting and demonstration of your mutual interest in one another, your connection has deepened. As it's a crucial Champions League game, you plan to surprise him at his game today without telling him in advance. You knew that he was already anxious because they needed to win this game in order to move on, so you didn't want to add to his anxiety by letting him know you were there. In an effort to get to your seat, you excuse yourself and pass through the other fans. You don't bother to sit down once you've arrived at your seat. The guy in front of you is standing up, so if you were to sit down, you would be unable to view the field. You could have secured first row seats, but you did not want to ruin someone else 'special occasion' since you are personal with Ramos. As a substitute, you obtained second-row seats so that he can still see you when he emerges from the PSG team's tunnel. Screams and cheers break out, and when you turn to look and see people leaning down close to the tunnel's edge, you realize the team is heading for the field. You smile as you see Sergio Ramos enter the field and the team unite for a team photo for their social media team. Both teams line up for their respective anthems following the completion of the picture session, and then they take their places on the field. A few moments later, the referee blows the whistle to start the game. You join the lively group around you and yell loudly as you take in the atmosphere created by the PSG supporters.

The game ended soon with a 3-1 score. The folks surrounding you are going crazy, jumping up and down and waving their flags. You giggle as you leap with them, hoping to match their excitement because you are also having a good time. Ramos screams because he's so delighted they won, and the girls behind you scream loudly as he starts to run towards the section you're in. "HE'S COMING OVER HERE HE'S COMING OVER HERE!," the girls cry, evidently fangirling. You start calling his name as you see him jogging over and start waving your hands. The woman behind you pushes your hand away as you continue to wave your hands and call for him because she feels as though you are blocking her view even though you are not, saying, "Watch your fucking hand lady you are blocking him from seeing me." You turn around, "What the hell is your problem?" "Don't throw your arms up in front of me to block my view," she sneers as she peers at you. You merely stare at her, shaking your head before turning around to the field once more and starting to call out his name, hopping up and down joyfully as you wave your hands once more.

Ramos notices you in the audience as he approaches just off the field and beams joyfully since he had no idea you would attend his game. His smile never leaves his face as he removes his shirt with the intention of giving it to you. How could he not be happy right now? His future girlfriend is present tonight in addition to the fact that his team is still in the champion league tournament. When he gets nearer to the crowd, his eyes stay fixed on yours, but what occurs next makes his heart drop.

The crowd becomes more frantic as he approaches and reaches out with all of their power to try grab the jersey. Nevertheless, due to the girls behind you, things start to become hectic. The woman behind you assumes that Sergio Ramos is looking at her despite his eyes being fixed on yours. She screams loudly and shoves you hard, knocking you off your feet. As Ramos anxiously runs up into the stands after seeing you fall, she rapidly leaps over the seats and starts pushing people in an effort to get closer to him. Now that he is among the crowd, things only get worse as numerous individuals attempt to touch him or take pictures with him. When Ramos jumped into the crowd, the security was taken aback, but they started to weave their way among the individuals to protect him. Most of the fans are now being pushed back by security as they do their best to deescalate the situation. “Y/N!!,” He shouts, ignoring the others around him who keep clutching onto him in an attempt to draw them in his way. When you stand up, he is able to see you once more, but as soon as you do, the mob starts to push you away from him, creating a significant distance. He sees how uncomfortable you now are, and the painful expression you now have. He notices your current discomfort and your distressed appearance. Attempting to get to you by squeezing through the fans, his blood is boiling right now.

When Ramos jumped into the crowd, the security was taken aback, but they started to weave their way among the individuals to protect him. Most of the fans were pushed back by security as their hands tried to grasp Ramos.

As adrenaline rushes through your body, you sniffle while trying to hold back tears as you grab your side and battle desperately against the oncoming anxiety attack. You jump as a security guard rapidly takes your arm and says, "Ma'am, I'm going to h-." Ramos says, cutting him off, "Get your hands off of my girlfriend. Hearing him call you his girlfriend would make your heart swell with joy if the situation were different, but right now you are too preoccupied to pay attention to your breathing. Ramos promptly lifts you up in bridal style while ignoring the guard's apologetic demeanor. The guard then points out the best route for Ramos to use so that he can simply leave the stands and return to the field so he can pass through the team tunnel. You turned your head so your face could be buried deep into his chest, and you could do nothing except cry there in his arms. You're feeling all the emotions now because the recent occurrence happened so swiftly. If you had not stood up right away, you might have suffered catastrophic injuries. Fortunately, only your side appears to be suffering rather than you being in danger of being trampled to death. Maybe it's because of his big strides, but before you know it, you're in the team's medical room. After placing you on the hospital bed, he swiftly returns to you after locking the door to the room. There is only you and Ramos in the space; there is no staff. He cues, "Mi amor, ya estoy aquí, no te preocupes... no te preocupes(My love, I'm here now, don't worry... don't worry)," as he sits down next to you, embracing you with his arms in an effort to comfort you as the tears continue to fall down your face and your breathing continues to be quick. You start to settle down, shakily exhaling and sniffling as you gaze up into his eyes. His heart sinks as he glances down, seeing your eyes moist from all the tears you've wept," Are you hurt anywhere?" You nod your head and indicate to your side, raising up your shirt to let him see your side. He detects a red spot on the skin, but it doesn't appear to be anything that requires immediate hospitalization; you will likely only sustain a bruise. "My angel, I'll never let anything ever happen to you again," he says as he gently touches your delicate skin. “I'm so sorry I did not come fast enough to prevent this.” You shake your head, not liking that he is blaming himself for the issue. “This isn't your fault. I just wanted to surprise you, so don’t take the blame for it. It was some girl in the crowd's fault anyway.” You mutter against his skin as you start to settle down, feeling better that not only is the room peaceful, but you are also with the man of your dreams. You two continue to be in a pleasant silence for a while as you start to feel sleepy from being tired of crying, and the way his fingers massage your scalp only intensifies the feeling. “Ya sabes, T/N... Solo quiero que sepas lo mucho que realmente significas para mí. Este último mes de conocerte ha sido verdaderamente una bendición, y estoy agradecida de tener a alguien como tú en mi vida. Eres tan precioso para mí, mi ángel. Esta noche, ¿qué tal si te llevo a mi casa? Déjame cuidarte.(You know, Y/N.. I just want to let you know how much you truly mean to me. This past month of getting to know you has truly been a blessing, and I'm thankful to have someone like you in my life. You are so precious to me, my angel. Tonight, how about I take you to my house? Let me take care of you.)”

"Sinceramente, solo quiero estar a tu lado Sergio, es todo lo que siempre quiero (I honestly want to just be by your side Sergio, it's all I ever want)," you say, nodding your head as you cast a sleepy gaze up at him. He smiles at you briefly to try to lighten the atmosphere. "Let's head out now then," he says as he kisses your forehead and pats your back. He extends his hand to you as he stands up in front of you. “But your team?” He shrugs, saying, "No me importa. Eres mi única preocupación en este momento.(I don't care. You are my only concern right now.)” Looking at his attire, you give him a sheepish grin. He is standing in front of you with his futebol gear on, only missing his shirt that he took off. "Deberías al menos ponerte una camisa entonces.(You should at least put on a shirt then,)" you say. One of the spectators took it from his grasp earlier when he was in the crowd. He teases you, saying, "No sé, mi amor, creo que prefieres cuando me veo así.(I don't know, my love, I think you prefer when I look like this)," as he starts to flex his arms, making you giggle. "Let's go," you say, grabbing his hand as you stand. As he guides you towards the locker room, Ramos never lets go of your hand. He was able to swiftly get his belongings and put on a shirt before leaving, since, fortunately for the two of you, none of his teammates were inside. Since you did not want anyone to see you with tear-stained cheeks, you were relieved that nobody was present. You two arrive at his home an hour later as the driver drives into his driveway. Both of you express gratitude to the driver before watching Ramos exit the vehicle and patiently waiting for him to approach and unlock your door. You could open the door yourself, but Ramos insists on opening all of the doors for you now that you've gotten closer. Because he feels that "a princess should always have princess treatment," he gets upset when you do it yourself. The moment Ramo opens your door, you thank him and step outside as he starts to explain his plans for you. "After we get inside, you can relax on my bed while I get the bath started for you. I know you're tired, so after the bath, I'll have a quick shower, and we can go to sleep together," he says. As you see him unlock his front door and let the two of you inside, you nod your head in agreement.The fact that he is treating you like this after his soccer game makes you feel a little guilty in your heart, but you also enjoy being babied by him. You both go upstairs to his bedroom and he walks into the bathroom as you walk over to sit on the bed.

You close your eyes for what appears to be a split second but actually lasts for several minutes. Sergio gently shakes your shoulder to wake you awake, calling out "Y/N" as he does so. You start to slowly awaken, rubbing your right eye and standing up to stretch. As you stretch, the throbbing pain in your side makes you wince. Ramos worries, "Are you okay?" he questions you. "Yeah, I'm alright, the stretch just stung a little." He smiles comfortingly at you, "I have everything ready for you, gorgeous. I'm going to use the guest bathroom so just yell if you need me.” Without saying a word, you quickly give Ramos a bear embrace and say, "Thank you for everything." “You know I'll go above and beyond for you,” he says with a smile as he wraps his arms around your body and kisses the top of your head. He briefly clutches onto you before letting go, "Now no more apologies…Go take a shower, you stink," he jokes, causing you to giggle and slap his chest lightly.“It sounds like you are projecting right now.” He shrugs, his smile remaining on my face, “Yeah, you are right.” You smile, shaking your head as you watch him leave the room. You two are now cuddling up to each other on his king-sized bed, 20 minutes after you both washed. You're snuggled up against his side as he's on his back and is lying on his side. As his arm engulfs you, you kneel so that your knee is positioned over his. You yawn and press your cheek even more firmly against his side as you grow more comfortable. You take a deep breath and let his aroma fill your nose. He asks, "You okay?," assuming that you have sighed. "I'm fine; you just smell great." You mutter, already dozing off. With all the tears and the mini-panic episode that had just happened, the earlier event had left you fatigued. He utters a small chuckle upon hearing your remark. While gazing up at the ceiling, he lifts his hand that is currently around you and starts massaging your scalp. You two fall into a peaceful quietness for a short while before he speaks. “I like you, Y/N. As you are aware, I adore you. But today has really shown me how much I value you. I immediately felt I was going to have a heart attack after seeing you among the crowd one moment and disappearing the next.….” He sighs softly and hesitantly licks his lips. "Basically, what I'm trying to express is Y/N… ¿Serás mi novia?( Will you be my girlfriend?)” His statement is interrupted by the sound of your snore. You are sound asleep and are not aware of his confession of love to you. When he glances down, he notices your softly parted lips and heavenly features. "Dulces sueños, bonita (Sweet Dreams, pretty)," he says while smiling to himself as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

#sergio ramos imagine #sergio ramos #sergio ramos icons #sergio ramos x reader #x reader #Sergio Ramos x female reader #Sergio Ramos one shot #psg imagines #sergio ramos psg #footballer x reader #football fanfic #football imagine #soccer one shot #soccer imagine #soccer fanfiction #soccer x reader #x you fluff #Sergio Ramos x y/n

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tarabyte3 · 1 year ago

Text

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 4/? (12.8k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, sexual harassment, workplace sexual harassment, alcohol consumption, religious trauma

A/N: To all of my fellow readers with mother issues, this chapter is for us 💖 Because those troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags hit real hard this chapter (I'm not projecting, you're projecting). But I eventually make it up to you, I promise. (As a reminder from my notes last chapter, David uses voice to text when they're chatting 😏) Also, I changed the formatting for texting conversations because eventually there will be texting while there is external dialogue, and I don't want it to be confusing. So his texts continue to be in italics and Reader's are in italics AND quotes.

Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from Tanaka Mhishi's poem in Literary Sexts II. Text divider 1 is from Francisco de Goya's Witches Flight. Text divider 2 is from Caravaggio's Sacrifice of Isaac.

Chapter 4 - I am fragile and unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat.

That night, after calming down from your conversation with David, you finally do the thing that you've been putting off for far too long. The thing that causes panic to swell in your chest and your mind to recoil whenever you start to examine it.

You think about your mother.

So you pour a glass of wine, set your phone off to the side, flop down on your couch, and you begin to metaphorically unpack.

You've always prided yourself on being an intelligent woman. You know, logically, this will help you feel better in the long run. It will help you heal. Help you grow. And right now that's what you yearn for—to know and embrace yourself as you truly are, not who you pretended to be for so long that you almost believed it. Not your mask.

The mask that you built because of her, you think. One crafted out of fear and shame. Other people may have honed it, but she laid the foundation.

You also know she's the reason you have so many hang ups and difficulties forming connections with people. You know it's part of the reason you've been miserable for so long. You know this needs to be done. You know that.

It still…well, it hurts.

You learned at a young age to be fiercely independent because you couldn't count on her for support. Or encouragement. Or warmth. Her answer was always the same: "Pray or go to confession." As if all of your problems were your own fault or stemmed from a lack of faith.

And the message was clear—The only love you'll ever get is God's love. Maybe he can fix you.

You wanted it, though. God, did you want her to gather you in her arms and tell you, just once, that she was proud of you. That she truly loved you. You did everything you could to please and placate and impress her, hoping if you were good enough or hid well enough, you might finally get all of that. You got good grades, you were well-behaved, and you went to church, even when you stopped believing. You gave up your dream of being an artist for her, for christsake!

Sure, a part of that was because she tainted the piece of yourself you turned to for expression and escape. But since you're already unpacking every horrible bit of this, you can finally admit to yourself that you also gave it up for her.

For nothing.

Because it didn't work. Getting a business degree and an office job didn't make her proud, it only created a new direction in which you were lacking. You lost a part of yourself and got nothing in return. The thought of it makes you so angry that hot tears prick your eyes.

You get up to pour yourself another glass of wine.

You don't even know why your mother treated you the way she did. You think that if you could at least know why it might be easier to stomach. Then you wouldn't feel so confused and lost. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be something solid you could sit with.

Perhaps she saw that you weren't what she would call normal, and she hated it—wanted to spurn you into changing and hiding. It's ironic, then, that her disgust just fueled that darkness within you. Gave it the sustenance it needed to grow, devoid of warmth, in the corners of your heart and mind.

Maybe all of this would have turned out differently, if only she had loved you.

Or perhaps that's just who she is, and, even if you had been everything she wanted, it still wouldn't have made a difference. Still wouldn't have been good enough. You got it from somewhere, after all.

You'll never know either way.

What you do know is this: If you couldn't count on your own mother, then why would you ever think you could count on or trust anyone else?

Why wouldn't they brush you aside eventually as well? Why bother getting close to anyone—assuming they didn't bore you in the first place? Why wouldn't they see the real you and look just as disgusted as the one person that should have loved you unconditionally?

And people continuously proved you right by walking away when you didn't thaw under their attention or they caught a glimpse of that darkness—until David. Until he looked and saw the real you, and it only made him want you more.

Well, you're thawing now.

No.

You're melting.

You wonder what your mother would think of you if she could see you at this very moment. On one hand, you've laid waste to the life you built for yourself for a man that stalked you. She'd have a few choice words for you there, such as disappointment and embarrassment. "What will people think?" But on the other hand, you finally have someone and he's rich, which would go a long way towards forgiveness. Because, even though she prides herself on her piety, pride is her greatest sin. She would tell everyone she knew, as if it were her achievement, while conveniently leaving out the rest of it. Like the fact that you're happy.

As you're pouring your third glass of wine, you debate calling her. It's not too late. She should still be awake. You can finally ask her why. Why nothing you've done has ever been good enough. Why she cared about God and what everyone else thought more than her own daughter.

You can ask her why you can't remember the last time she hugged you or told you she loved you. Because a daughter should be able to recall that, shouldn't she? Oh, she said it plenty in front of other people. She gave you scraps with no meaning behind the words or warmth in her eyes. But in private, where no one else was watching her performance? You got nothing. You starved for affection. Maybe you can ask her why.

But you know that's the alcohol talking.

And it wouldn't do any good anyway. You won't get the answers you seek or the apology you need. You won't get promises to do better. You won't get a mom.

This was all for nothing.

Instead, you pick up your phone and block her number.

No contact. A clean cut. Never again.

You expect that to hurt, too, but for the first time since you started this, you feel lighter. Because you're finally done looking for hope where there isn't any to be found. You're also finally acknowledging that you deserved everything she never gave you. And that isn't a failing on your part—it never was. It's her failure. Another one of her sins. Now it's her loss.

Maybe you should have done that years ago, but you're doing it now. You're moving forward and letting go, and that's what's important.

While your phone is in your hand, you check your messages to confirm that David hasn't sent you anything. You aren't surprised. You hadn't expected him to. But that doesn't mean you didn't want him to.

You want it all the time now, you realize. It's only been a couple of hours since you ended the call, but you'd still love nothing more than to get back on and talk to him again until the early hours of the morning.

You may have been able to stop yourself from angrily calling your mother, but the combination of wine and your already weakening grasp on your self-control when it comes to him means you're typing before you even realize it.

"Thank you. For everything. I can never say it enough, David, because you've done more for me than any person in my life EVER has. I mean it. Truly. I'm so grateful."

"Also, for the record, I'm certain I could pick you out of a crowd now."

You're welcome. Always.

And I'll keep that in mind the next time I need coffee.

You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage?

You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost.

The next morning, you sleep in until a gloriously late hour. Just because you can. And because last night was emotionally exhausting—you're certain the wine didn't help either. Even when you're no longer tired, you lie in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, and bask in the knowledge that you never have to go back to that office ever again.

Or speak to your mother, you think with a contented sigh.

You feel untethered, but not adrift. No, you know exactly which direction you're headed, and now you have the freedom to do so.

Eventually you resume your search for a new bed on your phone as well because you start to think about how blissful this lounging would have been on a comfortable mattress. With silk sheets. And a new nightgown... Oh, now there's an interesting thought. You could get something new and sexy. Maybe something with lace. Or more silk. Or, even better, something sheer that barely covers your ass.

You also think about how much David would enjoy all of those things.

You start off looking at sleepwear that leans more sensible than sexy, but as you begin to wonder what he would think of each one, you quickly find yourself clicking on more and more revealing pieces.

It's when you're looking at a see through, drapey number that comes off with only a clasp between your breasts that your phone buzzes with a new text message.

You grin. You wondered how long it would be before he reached out to you. Now you're absolutely certain he's keeping tabs on you and saw how racy your searches were getting. Part of you was doing it on purpose—baiting him until he couldn't resist any longer. Even if it gave him away. You know better than to trust a coincidence.

Are you enjoying your first day of freedom?

"Immensely. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet." You're smug as you hit send because now you've added the thought of you in bed to his mental image of the lingerie.

Is that so? Sounds as though you're having a lovely morning.

Any other exciting plans for the day?

"Not unless you count a date with a book on my nightstand."

Depends on what kind of book.

"Well, there are two of them for me to choose from. One is a murder mystery. The other is a steamy romance novel." It's a lie. You have two art history books and an Amedeo Modigliani biography on your nightstand.

I see. Two very different types of thrilling.

"Exactly. On one hand, the murder mystery would stimulate my brain."

It takes a minute longer for you to get a response to that.

And what would the romance novel stimulate?

"My heart, David. What else?" You bite your lip in excitement as you continue to type.

"Now tell me which one you would like best."

If I had to choose between the two, I would prefer the murder mystery.

"Of course you would. But I meant which of the lingerie you would like best. Because I know you were watching me."

There's another pause.

All of them.

"All of them?! But there were so many!"

I'm certain. I liked all of them.

Especially since you'd be the one wearing them.

A pleasant heat unfurls in your chest and creeps up your neck at the thought of him sitting there, watching you browse, picturing you in every outfit…and maybe even saving a few of the links for later.

"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin."

I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.

Fuck.

The mental image of his hand trailing up your thigh—pushing the hem of the nightgown higher and higher while the fabric and his palm slide over your quivering flesh—flashes vividly through your mind.

You had been enjoying a morning of relaxation and contentment just a few minutes ago. Even with a bit of light teasing about the lingerie, it had been peaceful. Now? Now that feeling has been reshaped and is nothing more than a memory. Now a slick heat has ignited in your core, and you're left nearly panting and writhing in your blankets from the intensity of it.

How quickly he can send you reeling.

God, you're definitely buying that one. Later. Right now, however, you finally have the chance to flirt with him—really flirt—and you're going to take it. Because you know where this is headed. You know where it could have resolved yesterday but didn't because you were at work.

And you're so glad you're not at work right now, stuck squirming and struggling at your desk as you try to ignore the swollen ache between your legs. Instead, you're squirming in the privacy of your bed, and you no longer have to ignore anything. Now you have no intention of stopping.

This is how you want to respond to him.

You're also really enjoying feigning innocence, and you're curious to see how much longer he'll play along. Because you have no illusions that he's buying a second of it.

"I don't think I'll be getting the black one with the sheer lace top, though. It didn't look very comfortable. I wouldn't be able to wear it for long."

Before he can reply, you quickly type out, "Wait. You're not busy, are you? I should have asked first before carrying on about my online shopping. That was rude of me."

I'm not anymore.

"Just get out of a meeting?"

I just canceled my last meeting because I've suddenly found something much better to do.

"Is helping me pick out pajamas really that thrilling?"

You can stop playing dumb now. You and I both know exactly what you're doing.

"What am I doing?" You straighten up and hold your breath in anticipation. You must be getting to him. You expected him to hold out just a little bit longer. Not that you're complaining. Not when you know you have his full attention.

You're trying to get me bothered as payback for yesterday.

"Is it working?"

You know it is.

"And just how bothered are you?"

Very.

You let out a shaky breath as you sink back into your pillows and begin to settle in. "Good. But that's not the only reason I'm doing this, David."

Is that so? What other reason do you have?

"Because I want to. Because I'm enjoying having the freedom to respond to you the way that I want."

Intriguing. And how are you doing that?

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." You shift your phone to your dominant hand to keep it steady. Then your other hand disappears beneath your covers and continues traveling down to the waistband of your panties.

Will I?

"You will. As long as you continue to please me." You nudge the fabric out of the way to give yourself the access you need and eagerly slip your hand inside. When your fingers finally brush over your arousal, you groan with relief.

There's nothing I want more than to please you.

"Is that so? How are you going to do that?" You repeat his words back to him as you rub a little harder along your damp folds. The added pressure makes your eyelids go heavy with lust. You spread your legs wider, seeking even more of that friction.

By giving you what you need.

God, you want that. From him. The thought of it makes you ache. Your fingers move to circle over your clit, dragging some of your wetness with them, and you moan into your empty bedroom. You shakily type out, "And what do I need?"

Me.

Shit. You had planned to go slow and tease yourself. You wanted to draw out the banter so you could savor your first time touching yourself to him. Because, despite the fact that he's turned you into a horny wreck several times already, you've held off until now. But as you read his text—that single word—it's as if your body has been doused in kerosene and lit on fire. Your hand speeds up.

"You seem awfully sure of that."

I'm very sure.

Are you going to tell me that I'm wrong? Or are you going to be honest?

You quickly debate finding a way to deny it. To get him to push harder because his arrogant confidence is stoking the flame in your belly and you want more. But every response you come up with sounds so flimsy. You know it won't work. He'll just call out the lie. He knows exactly how you're responding to him now, and he won't let it go, like a shark sensing blood in the water.

Well, if he wants to circle, then you'll give him prey instead—something he can't resist.

"Honest."

There's a good girl. Then be honest for me. Tell me what you need.

You cry out and your hips roll to meet the rhythm of your fingers. Your other hand is still gripping your cell phone, holding onto it for dear life so you don't drop it and miss a single word. "You."

That's right. And are you thinking about me right now?

"Yes." You are. You're thinking about his hands all over you, driving you wild and breathless and working needy little whimpers from your throat.

Very good. I hope you're thinking about all of the things I plan to do to you when I finally get my hands on you.

"Tell me. Please." More, you think. God, you need more.

And spoil the surprise? You'll have to use your imagination for now.

You grunt in frustration. "That's a little difficult when I don't know what you look like."

That is unfortunate, isn't it?

He's so god-damned smug! Jesus, it's infuriating!

There's a responding surge of wetness beneath your fingers, and the slick sound becomes obscene in your quiet bedroom.

"I've told you, it's unfair."

Nothing about this is supposed to be fair.

Your grip weakens and your phone nearly slips from your grasp, but you frantically right it. You're getting so close… "David, please!"

I promise when we move forward, you'll find out for yourself. But only when you're ready.

Unless you're done hesitating?

You know he's dangling that in front of you, tempting you with what you want so you'll say yes. You want to say yes. You want to call him right now and let him hear you say it as you moan and beg into the phone.

But that's giving him too much.

You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in him—which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourself—and because he would delight in never giving it back.

"I suppose we'll see, won't we? I would hate to ruin the surprise."

Now who's being unfair?

"I'm only playing by your rules."

Clever.

My clever, beautiful girl. I can't wait to see you like this. I bet you look so good for me right now. Don't you?

"Yes!"

That's right. So fucking good and needy for me. God, I want you so much.

Your grip goes slack again, and this time you do drop your phone onto the bed. But you don't stop to pick it up. You're too far gone now, and you couldn't type even if you wanted to. Instead, you redouble your effort and greedily chase your orgasm, your hand moving in rapid strokes against your clit.

It's fast and messy and desperate. You haven't masturbated like this in years, but the tension has been building inside of you. It's grown under all of his teasing, his suggestive comments, his perceptive observations, and his unrevealing photos until you couldn't ignore it any longer. Now you need to release it at last—to immolate yourself in your desire.

For him.

"David," you moan. His name rolls off your tongue for the first time in ecstasy. It happens so naturally, as if you've said it that way a hundred times before. As if your mouth knows the way to give shape to your longing.

Hearing his name, when you're already poised on that edge, is your undoing.

You throw your head back into the pillow and arch off the bed with a cry as that tension finally snaps, sending a white hot fission through your veins in its place. Your toes curl and your newly freed hand bunches a fistful of your sheets, pulling them taut while your whole body shudders with every violent swell of pleasure.

As you come, all you can think about is him. "Fuck!" The movement of your fingers over your clit becomes jerky, but never slows. You're determined to make every second of this feel so fucking good. "David!" It rolls and rolls and rolls through you, weakening and yet seemingly without end as you work every last bit of rapture from your sensitive flesh—

Until, finally, you collapse against the bed with a whimper, and your hand flops weakly down onto the mattress next to you. You lay there, gasping for breath, your eyes closed, and your limbs and your brain and your belly humming in the heady afterglow of your release.

By all accounts, this should bring you a bone deep satisfaction. It should have quelled the fire that burns for him, even if only temporarily.

But as your mind clears, you feel quite the opposite. As if something has awakened inside of you, stirring from a deep slumber in that same way he roused your darkness.

And it's ravenous.

You grope along the bedspread for your phone.

When you pick it back up, your hands are still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

"I think I'm rather enjoying my new freedom."

So am I.

A groan is wrenched from your chest as you glance up at his previous messages and wonder just how much he was enjoying it. You have a pretty good guess.

"God, David. I miss you."

I miss you, too. But not for much longer.

"Would you like to chat now?" There's a renewed flutter of interest from your swollen sex as you think about doing this again, but for him.

There's nothing I want more. Unfortunately, I have some important personal matters to take care of this afternoon, but I promise the evening is yours. How does 6 o'clock sound?

There's a pang of disappointment in your chest. That's hours from now! But before you can pout, you remind yourself that you're an adult. You can control and entertain yourself until then, for christsake. Besides, he said the evening was yours. You'll have plenty of time to talk to him later.

You also really want to ask what sort of personal matters because you're curious about what they could be, and about him in general, but he would have elaborated if he wanted you to know. The word personal also denotes a certain level of privacy. So you leave it be. For now.

"That sounds lovely. I'm looking forward to it."

Me too. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your date with the book on your nightstand.

"I've changed my mind there, actually. I have a lot more shopping to do instead." You give your phone a little grin.

Oh?

"Yes. It's been so productive and satisfying thus far. Who knows what other wonderful things might result from it?"

I see.

"I hope you enjoy your afternoon."

I'm certain I will. Enjoy your shopping.

You end up purchasing some of the lingerie that gets you particularly worked up whenever you think about him—especially the maroon one. Then you spend the rest of your day purging your wardrobe of your boring work clothes and whatever else reminds you too much of your old life. The result is a sparse apartment and an even barer closet, but you like it. It's a reflection of where you are in life and of all the room you have to grow and rebuild the way you want.

You may occasionally take breaks from downsizing to browse for new outfits and dresses, but it's to figure out what you like so you can eventually replace what you're getting rid of. It's definitely not to keep David intrigued throughout the day and looking forward to talking to you again. Not when he's so busy. That would be cruel.

You can't remember ever smiling this much.

You log on several minutes early. You don't care that it's probably a little pathetic. You don't even care if it lets him know exactly how eager you are for this. You've been checking the clock since five and you were getting impatient. You can only pace so many circles in your living room before you lose your mind. Not that sitting there and staring at your own face is any better, but at least it gets you closer to him.

To your relief, he logs on a few minutes early, too. Possibly because he knows you're already here, but you hope it’s because he was impatient as well. The electronic chime makes your heart swell in your chest.

"Hello, David."

Hello, darling.

The image of you on the screen practically swoons at his greeting. There's no other way to describe the gentle tilting of your head, your dreamy smile, or how your eyes soften with affection.

You barely recognize this woman.

You're not sure you've ever made that face before now. Or if you have, it was when the National Gallery rotated Cornelius van Haarlem's Two Followers of Cadmus devoured by a Dragon back into display after you hadn't seen it in a while. Never for another person. Certainly not for a black square not even three centimeters wide.

This man is dangerous.

Getting impatient, were you?

"I knew you were going to say something," you grumble as you fight off a sudden wave of embarrassment.

How could I not? You have no idea how lovely this feeling is. It's gratifying to have such a beautiful woman wanting to talk to you.

You lean in close and lower your voice. "In that case, I was very impatient."

Hmm. I'm so very pleased to hear it.

Did you have a productive afternoon?

"I did, actually. I accomplished quite a bit."

Good. And did you have fun shopping?

"You know I did." You give the camera a heated smile. While it wasn't as risque as the lingerie, the clothes you were looking at—low cut silky blouses, high slit skirts, backless tops, skin tight pants—were still sexy, just in a more subtle way.

Do I?

You roll your eyes and ignore the obvious bait—something that would have irritated a response from you just a few days ago. "How was your afternoon?"

Also productive, despite the circumstances.

"Circumstances?" You cock an eyebrow, no longer able to ignore it. He really does know how to push your buttons, after all, much to your chagrin. "Do you mean with your personal matters or do you mean spying on me?"

Both, but I wouldn't call it spying.

"Well, I would! So it serves you right." Despite your fake outrage, you're thrilled he was still paying attention, even when he was busy.

Do you want me to stop?

You pause to consider your answer. You think you should probably be unsettled that he's monitoring all of your activity. If any other man did that, you would be furious and horrified, but he's not any other man. He's also not holding it over you, making you feel bad, or controlling what you're doing. So far—your answer would change if he were. He's simply looking.

And you enjoy knowing that he's looking. In a strange way, it makes you feel connected to him, even when you aren't chatting, as if it's just another aspect of your relationship. It also makes you feel like you're the most important and interesting thing in his life—you'll admit that particular feeling has become quite addictive. You enjoy being able to take advantage of it as well, like you did this afternoon.

However, there may be times when you do want privacy for a specific reason. He certainly doesn't need to know every detail about your hygiene purchases or your embarrassing Google searches. Well, future embarrassing searches, anyway. It also makes it very difficult to surprise him if he can see what you're up to.

"No, I don't want you to stop." Your lips curl into a seductive smile. "I like it quite a bit, in fact. I just have one condition."

What's that?

"If I do ever ask for privacy, you give it to me. No questions asked and no looking."

Of course. Then you'll have it.

"I mean it," you say seriously. "I need to trust you'll respect my wishes."

You have my word that I will give you privacy whenever you request it. You only ever need to ask.

"Alright." You relax in your chair, mollified by his response. Because you believe him. "Thank you, David."

You're welcome.

Now tell me about your productivity.

"That's not a very exciting topic of conversation, I'm afraid. In fact, most of it was quite boring."

Tell me anyway.

"Well, I went through my flat and got rid of everything that felt like it belonged to the person I was pretending to be and not me."

I see. That doesn't sound boring. You shed another one of your layers.

I bet it felt good.

"It did! It felt freeing. I didn't realize before how much my place felt like a stage. As if the performance didn't stop, even when I was alone. And when I had a roommate? God, no wonder I was always so miserable."

It's also probably why you grew to resent every roommate you've ever had, no matter how much you didn't mind or tolerated them when they moved in. It didn't matter if they were quiet or cleaned up after themselves. Their presence meant the only place you could truly let your guard down was your bedroom. It was exhausting.

"But now the set dressings are gone. No more calf length pencil skirts or tacky lingerie. No more gifted kitchen gadgets and holiday candles. No more cheap art prints of pieces that I don't even like.” Then you grumble, “God, I swear I had like, half a dozen versions of Irises.”

No more mask.

"No more mask," you repeat out loud with a sigh of relief. Even saying it feels incredible. "Speaking of, you'll be pleased to hear I've also been doing some reflecting since we talked yesterday." You can't help the smug grin that creeps onto your face.

Oh?

"Yes. I've figured out where my reflex to apologize when I think I've upset or inconvenienced someone comes from."

Have you? Does that mean you're ready to talk about your mother?

You huff out a laugh and shake your head. Of course. You should have seen that coming. "You're frighteningly good at that."

It's a gift.

You can feel his smirk through your screen. "So it is. And I'm glad to know that I'm predictable."

I never used that word.

"It's true, though." You shrug, unbothered by your own statement. "It's a behavior that's usually learned in childhood. In this instance, I'm not particularly unique."

I disagree.

"I just meant that a lot of people have troubled relationships with their parents." A lot of them developed the same issues from it as well, you think to yourself. Granted, the cliche is that women in the sex work industry have daddy issues, not mommy issues. So perhaps you're not entirely predictable.

And yet, they're not you. They didn't become what you are.

"And just what am I?" That's another thing you haven't looked at too closely. You've been so consumed with the "who," you haven't really considered the "what."

You're something entirely different. Something more like me.

"That's not an answer."

I assure you, it is.

"It's not, David," you insist. "I still don't fully know what that means!"

If you're expecting me to pathologize you instead, I'm not going to.

"Why not?" You tilt your head curiously. You weren't actually expecting him to, but now you're intrigued as to why he won't.

Because that's not an answer to your question either. Those terms and labels are just more costumes that don't suit you. You're far more than that.

Before you can object that you disagree and that it might actually help you understand yourself better, he continues on. As if he anticipated what you were going to say.

It would also imply there's something wrong with you. But there's nothing wrong with you, despite what anyone may have told you in the past.

"You really do have me all figured out, don't you?" There's more affection in your voice than you intended.

I told you. I see you.

"You do. And I'm guessing you see my text message history, too." You raise an eyebrow at the camera in challenge, daring him to deny it.

You thought a lot about what else he would have access to after he blindsided you with the knowledge of your side bank account. Reading your texts would be absurdly easy in comparison, so of course he knows about your relationship with your mother. It's also how he knew that threatening to tell her your secret would be so effective.

That as well.

"I think that's the first thing I know you've seen that I feel embarrassed about."

Why?

"Because it means you've seen the worst of my mask," you say quietly.

I wouldn't say that. I saw a daughter desperate for her mother's affection and approval.

"Oh, god," you groan as you rub a hand over your face, completely mortified by his phrasing, but unable to find fault in it. "That's exactly what I mean!"

You're not the one who should be embarrassed by those messages.

"I'm the only one that is. Or will be. Trust me, she thinks everything she's ever said to me was righteous and justified, and you can't get blood from a stone." You flop your hand back onto the desk—a little harder than you meant to—and it makes your webcam shake.

You can already feel that mixture of hurt and anger rising in your throat and threatening to spill out. You quickly swallow it down and take a deep breath to regain control over your emotions. You're not going to have a breakdown on camera because of her. You're done letting her hurt you.

It's not righteous or justified, but I'm guessing you know that already.

"I do, but I appreciate the reassurance anyway." You give him a soft, grateful smile. Then your face falls as you glance back down to your keyboard. "What else did you see?"

Most of your text conversations with her are arguments. I suspect your phone conversations are similar.

"They are," you confirm without hesitation. "I don't think we know how to communicate any other way."

But you're not the instigator, are you?

"No," you sigh heavily. "I do everything I can to avoid an argument because I'm just so tired of it, but it usually doesn't matter. She can always find fault with my tone or something I've said. And of course there's also the fact that I don't go to church, don't have an important career, haven't gotten married, and don't have or want children. You can imagine her disappointment."

I shudder to think.

What an exhausting, horrible woman.

"That she is," you can't help but laugh. Despite the heavy topic of conversation, his irritation on your behalf is endearing. "I hate calling her or answering the phone. And God forbid I need something! You'll note that when I needed money to keep my flat, I became a camgirl before I even thought about asking her for help."

I had noticed you never considered doing anything else. Then I read your messages and it wasn't difficult to understand why.

You try not to feel mortified once again at the reminder that he's seen those. Instead, you tell yourself that he saw them and he kept looking. They didn't disgust him or scare him off—from you anyway. Even after reading them, he still wanted you.

You truly understand now what he's always meant when he says he sees you. It's a very assuring, lovely thought.

"It turned out to be a wonderful decision, at least." You give the camera a coy smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I would have to agree. A very wonderful decision.

"She wouldn't have helped me anyway, so I knew it was pointless. The few times she did, she lorded it over me constantly. As if I should be forever in her debt because she paid for my university textbooks years ago."

Is that another reason you were so afraid to take my money? Or why you were worried about feeling as though you owed me?

"Huh…" You lean back in your chair as you mull THAT one over. You hadn't quite connected those dots yet, but now that he's pointed it out, you have always been bad at accepting any help or gifts. Every single one felt like it came with an unspoken expectation or debt of some kind that would be called upon later. Now you know why.

You briefly wonder what other sort of connections you'll make in the future. Because you're starting to realize there are still plenty of them left to be uncovered.

"I think that was part of it, certainly, but you have to admit, the circumstances were also a very big factor as to why I didn't want your money."

Of course. You thought I was trying to buy you.

"I absolutely did! And in a way, you were," you tease. "It was just my attention you were paying for."

I made no attempt to hide that what I wanted was you, but it really was a gift. I knew the money would give you the freedom to think about everything I said, and once you did, you could no longer ignore your mask. Then maybe you would finally rid yourself of it. I wanted that for you.

And I wanted to see what would become of you when your strings were cut.

"Well, are you pleased with your handiwork?"

Quite pleased. I'm enjoying seeing the real you and how beautifully you've flourished in the light, now that you're no longer hiding.

"I have flourished, haven't I? I feel at home in my own skin for the first time in my life." You arch your shoulders, stretching lazily as if to savor the truth of your statement, before resting your forearms on the desk. You look quite pleased with yourself as well. "For so long I've been afraid to peel back all those layers and confront what's underneath, but now that I'm finally realizing who I am and what I want, I can't stop picking. I like what's underneath."

So do I.

You deserve to be proud. You've been working very hard to find your truth.

A warmth radiates through your chest at his praise.

"I have." Then you smile sadly. "Unfortunately, the truth hasn't always been painless."

No. It's never that.

"But every second has been worth it to have this." You glance up at the camera and let the double meaning hang in the air.

I'm glad. And I would have to agree. Wholeheartedly.

After a hesitation, you say, "One of those painful truths was realizing that my mother probably had a big hand in making me what I am."

Darling, NO.

The only thing she had a hand in was making you feel ashamed of yourself or like you had to hide what you are. She tried to destroy something exquisite and she failed. You are what you are despite her.

Do you know why? It's because you're better than her. You always have been and she knows it. Why do you think she treats you the way she does? That woman is a monster and she doesn't deserve any part of you.

Your eyes immediately fill with tears as you read the chat box. No one's ever told you that before. You may have come to the same conclusion last night, but you had no idea how much you needed to hear it from someone else, so to speak. Now hearing it from him?

"God, David. I've never…" you trail off, your voice choked with emotion. It takes you a second to get control over yourself enough to continue. "Thank you. And you're right." You sniffle and quickly try to blink away the tears. Then with more force, you say, "I've endured her for too long. Thankfully, I never have to again. I blocked her number last night and I'm cutting her out of my life."

You did?

"I did. Once I realized there was nothing good there to hold onto, even the idea of removing her from my life brought me more peace and happiness than having her in it ever did."

Good. I hope it does.

"So far, so good." You give him a teary smile.

I'm sure that couldn't have been easy.

"It wasn't. Or at least the process of coming to that conclusion wasn't, but it was all far more anticlimactic than I thought it would be."

Is that why you sent me that message?

"Oh, god." Your face begins to burn with embarrassment as you remember texting him while more than a little tipsy. "Yes," you finally answer sheepishly while you glance up at the ceiling.

Why are you embarrassed by that?

"Because, if I'm being honest, I was two and a half glasses of wine in when I sent that."

Were you now?

"I was. I knew it was the only way I would be able to cope with that whole process."

And did it help?

"I think it did. I got through it, anyway. I'm just glad that I didn't call or text her. God, that would have been a trainwreck." You glance suggestively up at the camera and lower your voice. "I have far less self-control when it comes to you, apparently."

You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing that.

"But we should both be grateful that I didn't send you anything messier than I already did."

I don't know, sounds intriguing.

"See, you're thinking about me sending you something sexy, but I'm worried about sending you something frantic and emotional," you laugh. "Which would have been far more likely given the circumstances."

Hmm. I see your point.

"So anticlimactic really was for the best all around. And it's done now."

Good riddance.

"Do you want to know the worst part, though?" This time there's a bitterness to your smile, and it doesn't meet your eyes. "Through all of this, I never stopped wanting her to love me. I tried so hard. I never stopped trying, but she did. A long time ago. She'll never be the mom that I want, just like I was never the daughter she wanted. I know that now and I've finally made peace with that reality. Plus, realizing I would never understand or get any sort of closure was another big catalyst for me to finally pull that trigger the way I did." Your face finally softens. "But I never would have confronted any of that if not for you."

You would have gotten there on your own. Eventually.

“Possibly. I was getting exhausted from it. To the point that everytime my phone rang, I considered tossing it out the window rather than answer it.”

I could make her life miserable, you know.

If you asked it of me.

"Tempting." You let out a chuckle and wipe away the remnants of a tear drying on your cheek. "But I'd rather her not be in my life at all, even through you. I'm making a clean cut so she can no longer use me to build herself up, and for her that will be a worse punishment than anything you could think of."

I don't know. I have a very vivid imagination.

But I will leave it be unless you change your mind.

"I do appreciate the offer." You smile gratefully. "That's twice now you've given me the opportunity for vengeance."

It won't be the last, should you ever feel the need for it.

"Is it strange that I find the thought of you wanting to make someone miserable for hurting me sweet and endearing?"

No.

I would hurt anyone you asked me to, even if all they did was annoy you.

"You would?"

I would. Without hesitation. For you.

"Fuck," you gasp as you squirm in your seat, suddenly very turned on. "I really like the thought of that."

Do you?

"I do."

How much?

"This much." You bite your lip as you bring your hands to your top. Then you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. The heat that started between your thighs rises to your belly. This is finally happening.

There's a pause.

You're sure?

"Yes. I'm so sure you didn't even have to ask." Your fingers continue to methodically work each loop as you speak, driven on by determination. "I'm done hesitating. I want this, David. I wanted it last night before I got interrupted, and I wanted it this afternoon."

You’ve found closure for so much of your past—all the ties to your old life, your social media, your friends, your job, your mother—and you're done looking back. All you want now is to move forward. After all the emotional turmoil you went through to get to this point, all you want is to fall into him.

Once you’ve finished, your top spills open, revealing the cups of your bra and your bare stomach on the screen. The chat box sits, unmoving, and you realize he must be watching very carefully. So you slide the fabric down your arms, seductively arching your chest towards the camera to make a show of it, until it comes free. You toss it to the side without looking. Then you're left in nothing but your bra and skirt.

"I want you to see me. All of me. I want to show you what you're missing, hiding from me behind that screen. You could be here with your hands and your mouth on me, instead, you know. I want you to think about that, and I want you to touch yourself while you do." You look directly into the webcam with all of the desire, need, and heat that has been building up inside of you for the past week. "Because I plan to as well. Again."

You have no idea how much I’ve resisted doing all of that. It's taken every ounce of my self-control to resist you.

"Why can't we just give in then?" You beg for the camera. "Why can't we just skip this part? Come here now. Tonight. Touch me instead."

You aren't ready for that yet.

"I strongly disagree!" You scoff, almost offended at the implication that you don't know what you want.

Besides, I get to see you like this first, remember? I get to see you in a way no one else ever has. I've earned it.

"You have," you sigh in acceptance. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. "Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Not just because I'm too fucking horny to argue with you properly right now, but also because I said I would, and I'm still going to enjoy letting go for you. Just know that it's a poor substitute for you. Because what I really want is to hear your voice as you tell me how good it feels to fuck me. I want to hear the way you moan and gasp when you lose control of yourself inside of me. I want to know your face when you do. Because I want you, David."

It takes a moment for him to reply. You're aware you'll never get to know exactly how he responded to you. You'll never get to see the look on his face or hear the sounds he made as you said those things to him. But, you think with no small amount of smugness, you can take a very good guess.

Then you'll have me. Soon.

Until then, show me what I'll have.

Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to see you.

You stand up from your chair to do as he instructed. The angle of the camera means your face is no longer in view, and it reminds you so much of your streams that it's momentarily jarring. But once you unzip your skirt, you bend forward to push it down your hips, and the sight of your own face brings you back to the moment.

The one where you're stripping for your stalker slash blackmailer, and it's the sexiest, most romantic thing that's ever happened to you.

Your skirt hits the floor with a soft thump, and you step out of it as you nudge it to the side with your foot. If you remove one more thing, it will be the most he's ever seen of you. Now each step forward is not only new, but is one step closer to getting what you really want: Him.

The thought is thrilling.

So thrilling that you waste no time. You hook your thumbs into the thin elastic of your panties and slip them—slowly, inch by inch to continue teasing him—to your knees, baring your lower half to him.

You stand there for a few seconds, letting him take it all in. That's what he wanted, after all. To see all of you. For you to show him all of you. Every moment between you has been leading to this, and you won't deny him now.

When you sit back down, you slide your panties the rest of the way off. They get thoughtlessly added to the growing, scattered pile. Then you stay there on your repurposed dining room chair, bare skin on wood, and you wait.

As you do, you're very careful to keep your legs closed. It wouldn't do to rush this and give everything away all at once. Especially not when you currently hold all of the power. He may have earned this, but so have you. And you’re going to relish it for as long as you can.

Except there's still nothing new in the chat box. You tell yourself he's probably just settling in and enjoying the view, but the silence is unnerving. You have no way of knowing what he's thinking right now, if he's even enjoying it, and that makes you feel exposed. You’ve gotten so comfortable with the back and forth—of getting some feedback—that not getting it is a sobering reminder that you can't read his expressions or hear the tone of his voice. All he really is to you is text on a screen.

“David?” You call out hesitantly.

Another minute passes and you start to wonder if he's intentionally trying to make you squirm. He does enjoy it, after all. Or perhaps he recognizes how the balance of power has shifted, and he's trying to take some back for himself. It does seem like a very David thing to do.

Then, without warning, your mind offers up the possibility that he's disappointed. That you aren't what he was expecting and now he’s—

God, you’re beautiful. I knew you would be.

Relief courses through you, alleviating the weight that was settling in your chest.

Or maybe he was just taking his pants off, too.

I want to see the rest of you.

That's all the reassurance you need to banish that momentary doubt completely.

You reach behind yourself to undo the clasp of your bra. Rather than remove it, you hug the material loosely to your chest and give the camera a coy glance.

“You mean like this?” You tease as your fingers play with the straps.

Yes.

Take it off.

You slowly lower your arms, letting it fall away from your breasts. And just like that, you're naked on screen—something you never thought would happen. Something you swore would never happen. But there you are, running the tips of your fingers enticingly up the tops of your thighs and over your bare hips. For him.

Seeing you like this was worth every second of waiting. You're stunning. Just perfect.

“Thank you, David,” you say softly, touched by his compliments. It’s sweet, but if he keeps this up, you’ll be feeling more affectionate than horny.

You have no idea how much I want to be the one touching you right now.

That's better.

"Oh, but I think I know exactly what it's like to want you to be the one touching me. Do you have any idea how much I've fantasized about your hands on me since you sent me that picture? God, if I hadn't been at work, I would have made myself come so many times."

That's why I didn't want you distracted.

"I wasn't distracted this afternoon," you say in a husky voice.

No you weren't.

Did it feel good to finally give in?

"Yes." You bite your lip as you remember the way that growing tension in your belly finally gave when you moaned his name. "It felt so good to respond to you."

Did you think about me touching you like you wanted?

"God, yes. In every way I could think of."

Where did you imagine me touching you? Show me where you like to be touched.

You run a finger from your jaw, down the column of your neck, and then trace along your collarbone. "If you kiss me here, I'll be weak in your arms. But if I feel your tongue here, you'll have me begging."

Then I'll have you weak and begging.

Is that all?

"I was getting there." You smile playfully. “So impatient.”

You continue to run your fingers down your sternum, letting your knuckles skim against the swell of your breasts. You stop and move to cup the soft flesh with your hands.

“I want your lips and your hands here,” you moan as you start to gently massage yourself. Your nipples harden under your palms as you rub over them, causing a pleasant shiver to snake its way through you. Then you arch into your own hands as you think about what it would be like to have his hands here instead. Whether his touch would be gentle like this, or harsh as he wrenches a shudder from the sensitive peaks.

I'm going to enjoy doing just that. Especially if you'll be this responsive for me.

“More so,” you vow, breathlessly, "because it would be you. Are you touching yourself now?"

Yes.

“Fuck,” you hiss. "Are you imagining that it's me instead?"

You know I am.

"Good because I want it to be me. I'm aching to put my hands on you, too.” Your hands lower from your breasts to brush across your stomach. “Where do you like to be touched, David?"

By you? There's nowhere I wouldn't want your hands.

Intriguing, but you know he can give you more than that. "Then where should I start?"

There’s a brief pause that almost feels like hesitation.

My face.

"Your face?” You blink in mild surprise. You weren't expecting that answer, but now you understand the hesitation. He was preparing to admit something vulnerable to you. “That's very intimate."

Is it? Maybe that's why I've never liked it before, but I think I will if you do it.

Despite how sexy all of this is, your heart flutters at the sweetness of that line. He wants intimacy with you, not just the sex. You're reminded of what he said to you yesterday: ‘I want you to be mine in every way it's possible to want someone.’

“I like the thought of that.” You lean in towards the camera, letting your eyelids go heavy as you lower your voice to something both seductive and tender. "Do you want me to cup your cheeks and stroke my fingers over you as we kiss?"

Yes.

"Then maybe I could…” You drop to a half whisper, “kiss along your jaw as well."

It's like you read my mind.

There's a pleased flush in your chest that creeps onto your face as the hint of a smile. "Do you have facial hair?"

No.

"Good to know." You imagine your lips moving over smooth, tanned skin. You wonder if it will be soft, or a little rough with age.

Do you prefer beards?

"I don't have a preference. What looks good depends on the person." You tilt your head curiously. “Have you ever tried growing a beard?”

Once. It didn't suit me.

“Then I'd prefer you without one.”

You're assembling these new, small pieces together with your existing mental image of him. It's like staring at a magic eye puzzle—if you look hard enough, you can almost swear you see the shape of him. But then you blink and it's gone.

You need more.

“Where would I touch you next?”

My chest.

"Is that so?"

Yes.

"Please tell me you don't shave your chest, too. Promise me you have chest hair."

I promise I have chest hair.

"Oh, thank god,” you sigh with relief. “Because you have hair on the backs of your hands and wrists and it's so fucking sexy. I can only imagine how sexy the rest of it is."

You like that, do you?

“Yes.”

Then I think you’ll be pleased.

"Christ, I like the sound of that.” You squirm a bit in your seat. “Where else do you like to be touched?"

My cock.

You nearly choke on a whimper.

Up till now, this felt like an exploration—or as much as it could be with only you on the screen. You were expecting a buildup of teasing and touching and sharing before you both truly let go. Instead, he sent you reeling. Again. He must be getting impatient.

As you stare at that line, there's a painful ache of arousal between your legs. You unconsciously grind yourself down onto your chair to alleviate some of it. The seat is going to be a mess by the time you're done, you think.

"I plan to touch you there a lot."

Yes you will.

"Are you circumcised?" You can't help the curiosity that seeps into your voice.

I'm not going to describe my cock to you.

"David!" You pout at your screen. "I'm not asking for numbers, here. I just want to know what it would be like to stroke you."

And you'll find out eventually.

“That's not fair.” You are completely naked, after all.

I already told you it's not supposed to be fair.

“Yes, yes, you’re very mysterious,” you huff in disappointment.

Like I said, you’ll find out eventually.

“Soon, I hope.”

Soon.

Now I want you to go back to showing me where you want my hands.

“Do you?” You lean back in your chair. “You want more to think about while you're touching yourself?”

That's exactly what I want.

“Hmm, how can I ever say no to that?” Then you lean even further back so you can caress over the curve of your hips. “You can run your hands along here as you feel your way over my body. It will feel lovely, but I'll enjoy it even more if you grab me instead. Because I want to feel how much you need me.”

That's good because I want to grab you by the hips to hold you still as I slam my cock into you.

“Fuck, David!” You cry out. Your hands reflexively grip and squeeze your own hips at the mental image, your fingers digging almost painfully into the bone. Your sex clenches in anticipation, hoping you’ll get what he said would come next.

If he was there with you and not still on the other end of the call. God, you wish he was there.

After that, you also know the teasing and buildup has come to an end. You can't hold back any longer, and he's made it very clear that neither can he.

"Do you know where else I liked to be touched?" Before he can reply, you finally tilt your hips and spread your legs wide, exposing your sex for the camera. You settle your knees on either side of the seat of the chair with your calves tucked against the wooden legs.

You like to think, if he were there in person, he would have been opening his mouth to answer as the words died on his lips. Instead, you imagine his fingers frozen over his keyboard as he gets to see the part of you he's been waiting for. You're certain he's been going slow—stroking himself enough for it to feel good, but not so much that he loses control. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until he's gotten this.

You end the exploration of your body by reaching between your thighs. Then you cup your mound and begin teasing your fingers along your folds. God, you're already so wet. "Right here. Especially by a hand that knows what I need."

Show me what you need.

You plunge a finger into your entrance and moan at the intrusion. You can't remember the last time you did this. Usually you focus on just your clit with your fingers or your vibrator, eager for the release and not caring much about indulging in the process. You didn't have a reason for it other than getting off to relieve some tension.

Now, as you slide your finger out and draw it over that sensitive nub, you want it back inside of you. You want to be full as you think of him. So you press two inside of you instead.

"I want to know what you look like so badly," you gasp as your fingers begin to work your cunt.

Do you?

"I do. And I want to know what you feel like."

You will, that I promise you.

"God," you whine and slip a third finger into your opening. "This feels so good. I haven't fingered myself in a while."

Why not?

"I haven't wanted to. I just wanted a quick orgasm."

Then I continue to keep my promise, don't I? I made you want to.

"Yes! Christ, I want to," you gasp and rock your hips up to meet your hand. "I want to touch myself like this for you. I love knowing that you're watching me, David, and that you're getting off to it. But more than that, I love pretending that it's you."

If you're pretending that it's me, you need to go deeper because I intend to fuck you properly.

You slam your fingers into yourself as far as they will go, and your head falls back with a cry. “God, I want you to fuck me. Please!”

While I grab your pretty hips and make you take every bit of me?

“Fuck! Yes, exactly like that!” You whine. “I can't believe you're going to make us wait for this! Because you don't have to. You could have me now."

I could.

I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I?

You glance down at the camera, your eyes heavy with lust. "Would you like that?"

You're not answering the question.

"That's because I know better than to say yes," you pant. Your fingers are still working inside of you, stretching you in a way that is both satisfying and not nearly enough. It's driving you crazy.

What does that mean?

"We both know that if I bare my throat to you, you won't be able to resist ripping it out."

I would never hurt you unless you wanted it.

"I believe that you would never want to, but I see you, too. You couldn't help it.” Your hand slows, and you tilt your head as you consider your computer screen. “Could you?"

There's a moment of stillness from the chat box, and you briefly wonder if you've upset him, even though you know you're right. You know there's something about him that’s dangerous and predatory. He admitted as much himself. And it’s not like you feel the need to be overly careful or afraid of him. The thought doesn't bother you. You simply know that you can never tempt him by actually offering yourself up as helpless prey. Or he might just get a taste for it.

Because you can love a predator as long as you never forget, for even a second, that it's still a predator—no matter how much it shows you its belly and loves you back.

You know all of that. Instinctively. Logically.

And yet.

You do so love being his favorite little prey.

"It doesn't scare me, David," you say quietly to break the silence.

No?

"No. Quite the opposite." You draw your fingers out of yourself to rub over your clit with a moan. "It intrigues me."

I know it does.

Why do you think I’ve done all of this? I knew, from the moment I saw you, that you could want what I am.

“And what are you, David?”

Darling, did you really think I would answer that question? Where's the fun in that?

“But I want to know.” Your fingers speed back up against your bundle of nerves. “I want to know everything about you.”

You will.

“And I want to know every secret you keep from the rest of the world.”

Don't worry, you’ll know me completely.

Eventually.

His words feel like a promise and a threat. You shiver with pleasure.

You shift down far enough in your chair to get a better angle. Then you bring your knees up and plant your feet wide against the edge of your desk. You know this has the added bonus of giving him an even better view of your opening. It also gives him a hint of what it might look like when you finally lay back and spread your legs for him.

"Can you see how wet I am?" You drag your fingers over your clit with a gasp. “Can you see how much I want you?”

Yes. I can see exactly how eager you are.

"Good. As you're stroking yourself, I want you to think about burying your cock right here.” You move your other hand between your thighs. Without hesitation, you plunge your fingers into your entrance again. Now you’re pleasuring your clit while also getting that enticing fullness you ache for, and it feels fucking incredible. The sight of both of your hands moving on your screen only adds to the indulgence.

As if I could think about anything else.

"I wish I was watching you right now instead of myself."

You want to watch me stroke my cock to you?

Your whole body shudders, and you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. "Yes! I want to watch the way your hand slides over your cock and how it throbs and twitches in your fist. I want to see what I do to you."

What you do to me…

You drive me insane. I've never needed to fuck someone like I need to fuck you.

"Jesus!" You wail as your hips jerk forward, and your knees start to shake. “David!”

That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name.

"If you keep talking like that, I'm not going to last long,” you pant.

Good. I want to see you let go for me.

“But I want you to enjoy this!”

You think I'm not enjoying this?

I finally got to see how responsive you are to my words and hear the sounds you make when you're like this. This is everything I wanted. Better, even. Now I can't imagine how much better it will be in person.

When you're full of my cock instead of your fingers.

“Fuck!” You’re driving those fingers in and out of your cunt with purpose now. You're no longer giving him a show. This is you feeling your orgasm closing in on you and scrambling for it, desperate and needy.

Fuck, that's good. Look at you. You're so god-damned beautiful as you fuck yourself for me.

"God, yes!" You gasp as you arch in your chair. "For you."

Only me. Only I can see you like this.

Say it.

"Only you, David."

That's my girl.

Now you're going to come for me.

“I'm so close,” you whine.

And I'm going to come as I imagine your tight little cunt.

“David,” you gasp, barely able to speak now through your ragged breathing. “Please.”

It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore.

Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!

“Yes,” you barely whisper. You're not even sure the microphone picked it up, but you have nothing more to give. The tension building inside of you is becoming nearly suffocating as you read every word. You feel you might drown in it before you ever find release.

As you continue seeking your own satisfaction, a photo pops up in the chat.

At the top of the photo, there’s the edge of a laptop keyboard, which is sat on top of a very ornate and expensive looking wooden desk. But that's not the point of the photo. No. That's not what strangles your breath in your throat or sets a flame in your chest that licks at your cheeks.

The polished surface of the desk is streaked and splattered with come. His come.

You imagine him standing in front of his computer, urgently stroking himself until he's shuddering out his orgasm and spending himself across the surface. All while his eyes never leave you on the screen.

You made him do that.

Your hand speeds up—the circles your fingers are rubbing over your clit are becoming almost brutal and painful, even as pleasure rakes up your belly and your whole body starts to tense. You're so close. So fucking close. You didn't know it was possible to balance on that edge for so long without falling in either direction.

You can't tear your eyes away from that ruined surface or get the thought of him fucking his own fist out of your head as you keep chasing oblivion and—

This is what you do to me.

Oh.

You bury your fingers into your cunt just as your walls clench down around them, and you come undone for the second time that day. To him.

You open your mouth to cry out, to wail his name as part of your release, but it gets choked to nothing more than a thought as your climax slams into you so hard that it knocks the wind out of you. You throw your head back from the force of it. As you try to ride each pulse of ecstasy out against your fingers, the muscles in your legs tense. Then you're involuntarily pushing against your desk with your feet.

The front two legs of the chair lift off the floor.

For a brief moment, your stomach lurches and you think you're going to topple backwards. Instead, you stay like that, hovering between stability and free fall, letting a wave of fear and adrenaline wash over you. Perhaps that should have ruined this, but the additional sensations only heighten and sharpen every breathless shudder until all of your nerve endings thrum. You’ve never felt so painfully, blissfully, alive.

Once you're fully spent, you carefully let the chair fall forward, returning to its proper position on all four legs. Then you bring one of your own legs down to plant a foot onto the carpet to ground yourself and stop that feeling of weightlessness still lingering within you.

God, you're stunning. The most exquisite thing I've ever seen. You were wonderful for me.

You sit there, bonelessly draped back in your seat, sweaty, your arms hanging at your sides, with your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. And you try to smile for him anyway because, between his praise and your orgasm, you swear you’re glowing.

But you didn't scream my name.

You let out a breathless sound of protest. “Couldn't. I tried. Seeing what I do to you…it was too good, holy shit." You swallow hard and shift forward into a more comfortable position in the chair. "But I thought it, David. You were the only thing I knew while I came for you."

Mmmm, that's very good. But you're still going to do better next time. I’ll make sure of it.

"With you?" You ask hopefully.

With me.

FOR me.

Your face burns, and there's a weak twinge of arousal between your legs. Even though it's a mere shadow of what you’ve already experienced today, you’re amazed it's even possible after that.

…You still don't even know what he looks like, you think.

God, he's dangerous.

Won't you?

"Yes," you moan. "I promise I will scream your name until my voice gives out, as long as you're the one coaxing it out of me."

Yes you will.

You whimper. "When?"

Soon.

There are some things I need to take care of first. Then I will send for you.

Your heart begins to pound with nerves and anticipation. This is really happening. "How long?"

Only a few days.

A grunt of shock is ripped from your throat. "Days?!"

Now who's eager?

"I can't help it," you purr, softening at his teasing as you run your hand along your still trembling inner thigh. "I want to see you. And I want you inside of me."

You'll have that.

I'LL have that.

"How many days?" You're almost afraid to ask.

I'll have a car pick you up Monday evening.

There's a heavy drop of disappointment in your stomach. "That's three days…"

Enough time to have all of my obligations done and taken care of. I want to be able to focus entirely on you once I have you. Like you deserve.

“But that's so long!” It's taking everything in you not to pout. You realize now you’ve been interpreting “soon” to mean you might finally get to see him, say, tomorrow. Or maybe even still tonight. It never occurred to you that it might be longer and that you’d have to wait for him.

I know, darling. I don't like it anymore than you do. And I would never make you wait if it wasn't important, but I have promises to keep.

“Alright,” you sigh. You find that you're, once again, reminding yourself that you're an adult. You can be patient.

And now that you're thinking about it, this gives you plenty of time to prepare as well. You don't have promises to keep, but you can certainly think of a few appointments you should make. When the time comes, you want everything to be perfect.

Besides, after that you’ll never have to wait again. Will you?

“No, David.” You lean forward as you stare into the camera. “Once I have you, I intend to never wait again. Because once I have you, you’re mine.”

That's my girl.

Later that night, when you go to sleep, you take your laptop with you and leave it open on your dresser, facing the bed. On your side table, you prop your phone up into its charging stand and make sure it's positioned just right as well. You want to give him two angles to enjoy this time. Then you sprawl out on top of your covers, still completely naked.

On your phone, you carefully type out, “I hope you didn't think the show was over. Because I still have more I can give you, and it would be such a shame to waste it. Enjoy, David. X”

As you hit send, you reach into the top drawer of your nightstand and pull out your vibrator. Then you settle back, and—with a desire that feels nearly insatiable now—you work several more orgasms from your clit while you gasp and moan and scream his name.

All while you know he's watching.

A/N: See? Who needs therapy when you have fanfiction?? 😌 (Christine please ignore the 🚩💕) I debated about whether or not to write a phone call with her mom, but I realized I don't actually want to give her a voice. Because this story isn't about her or even the reader's past. It's about healing from trauma, moving forward as the worst version of yourself, and falling in fucked up love with a stalker/serial killer. 😌

#the devil makes us sin fic #david robey #david robey x reader #david robey x f!reader #x reader #luther the fallen sun #luther the fallen sun fanfiction #luther #luther fanfiction #andy serkis

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gyuluttony · 11 months ago

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i wanna see a nomin fic 👀 surprise me basically mwehehehe

ever since their little puppy play messages showed up on my tl, they've been like rotting my brain and i feel like at this stage, i'm like allergic to doing something that doesn't have mutual gain because it ticks like every box for me.

Waddle You Home

This is a feederism fic and features weight gain, mutual gain, breaking of clothes, stuckage, and smut. Don't like, don't read.

"C'mon, I'm sick of seeing you moping around the apartment whenever I go to hang out with Haechan!" Mark whined as Jeno flopped over on the couch.

"No, it's fine. I'm used to this sort of betrayal at this point." He spoke it so flatly that it was hard to take it seriously but his smile consumed all his features when he felt a sweater land on his head, the act of rebellion from his roommate as he laughed, "It's fine. You guys go have fun... I'll just order some food or something." He opened his phone to scroll, browsing potential places before looking up at Mark who was now hovering over him.

"Again?" Mark scratched his head as he looked at the door, "Bud, I know you're sad but you know that, food doesn't fill in the gaps of your heart right?" A good natured pat to Jeno's stomach, which didn't feel as firm as it used to as his face warmed slightly.

"Yeah, I know that?" Jeno replied as coolly as he could when Mark shrugs and walks away, seemingly satisfied with the answer as he walked out the door to text Haechan that he was on his way. The sound of the locks clicking shut made Jeno sit up as he processed what just happened.

He didn't think it would become noticeable that fast.

Jeno might have started the season heartbroken after a long requited crush fizzled out with no chance after he had gotten with someone else but it was quickly resolved when he met someone on a dating website. He knew there was a quickly eroding stigma with meeting people this way however, this wasn't the average dating site.

It was a site for those with a feederism fetish to meet and interact with one another. He had always been aware of his desire to make a guy grow as well as a quieter desire to grow himself so he lurked on there for a good amount of time, using the photos guys uploaded of their growing bodies as fuel during the lonelier months. He wasn't a completely blank profile, opting to upload shots of his toned body and a face photo in private in case he talked to someone.

The last thing he expected to find was someone who he could connect to but people met their matches in the most peculiar ways. Jaemin was someone on the app who had grown in popularity and waistline lately and Jeno couldn't remember whether he had messaged first or Jaemin did. The close proximity they lived to each other made it feel close enough that it didn't feel like it was on a place like this and the same age made them connect instantly.

From what Jeno learned, Jaemin was a student that was graduating soon and in the haze of his last year, had put a clean sixty pounds on his figure, adding a nice gut on top of arms that looked like they could choke someone out. Basically, Jeno was always losing it when he uploaded a photo and they started talking about how the gain had snuck up on Jaemin and slowly he learned that Jaemin was someone who could put his influence on anyone he spoke to... that or Jeno was incredibly attracted to him and was willing to do what he wanted to make him happy.

The conversations that they shared slowly became more than just the kink that they shared but as they continued to nurture a mutual understanding of the other, they realized how comfortable they were with the other. With Jaemin, he wanted something that could be a little more than typical feedist relationship and with Jeno, how he wanted to gain himself as well as try out being someone's puppy, which excited Jaemin as much as it did him.

His phone buzzed as he looked at what Jaemin had texted him. They swapped off of the in-app messenger and started to use their phone numbers which was making everything feel all too real now that he was registered as a contact in the other man's phone.

'he said all that???? lololol i mean it makes sense you've been eating like a fat ass lately so it was only a matter of time before it showed.'

Jeno felt his face flush while he watched the three dots bounce up and down.

'besides, i told you that i wanted a big dog and you're just catching up to me. i'm a big guy now so it wouldn't make sense to have a small dog.'

Licking his lips, he typed out his reply as he felt himself growing excited,

'mhm'

'c'mon, i don't like that response lolol you can do better samoyed'

'woof woof'

Jeno sees the speech bubble pop a couple of times as he deduces Jaemin's trying to think of a reply but is too flustered to keep his cool. Lifting his sweater, Jeno looks at his stomach again. It's no wonder Mark was noticing it more. It was bulging upwards even when he lied down. His pants were squeezing him as they showed off his love handles more and they were starting to grow more tight around his thighs. His bulge wasn't making it any less tight as he snapped a photo and sent it to Jaemin, pushing out his stomach more so that he looked bigger.

'mmm?'

He could tell Jaemin was probably jerking off to the photo as it wasn't until he was chowing down on the burgers that he ordered when he responded,

'you put on that weight faster than i thought. it's going to make that first meeting happen even sooner.'

Originally, they planned to meet somewhere in a couple of months... but the original goal was to see how much damage Jeno was going to do to his waistline in that time before they met. However, at the rate that Jeno has been expanding, they were going to meet pretty soon. He just had a knack for getting fatter apparently. As the multiple burgers in his order made their way into his gut, he burped and rubbed his bloated belly.

Maybe he wanted to meet him sooner and that's why his body was doing its everything in fattening him up faster and he couldn't say that he disliked the feeling.

It wasn't a farfetched statement to say that starting to talk to Jaemin was something that changed Jeno's life for the better. He had spent month after month pining for guys that weren't looking his way, consistently upset with his body despite being in peak physical condition year round and just overall unhappy with himself.

Coming to terms with his struggling in the dating pool and unconventional fetish of being into helping guys put on weight was something that was difficult for a gay man of this era so he had resigned all hope to just ignoring the part that makes him tick. Seeing guys put on weight and just generally lose their figure to gluttony.

Jeno had fully resigned to not ever indulging this side of his habits and living vicariously through pleasuring himself while seeing what gainers across the world were doing to themselves. But, everything switched when he got a message from Jaemin on the website that they were on.

He was the type to fall hard and fast and maybe that's why he was influenced by Jaemin's words so easily.

"you call that a meal? jeno you're such a big guy i'm sure you can handle more food than that."

"you said you were still hungry so what's stopping you from getting another combo... or three."

"that's what i thought... until i broke my pants earlier this week. i think you'll be on that path soon too. more like a pig than a dog now."

It was one thing to picture helping a guy get fatter through his own help but Jaemin was doing it so effortlessly, not realizing the impact that he was having on Jeno who was so eager to listen to the requests. Within the past couple of months, he could hardly remember the nights where he didn't go to sleep stuffed to the brim, rubbing his gut and seeing Jaemin's encouraging messages.

It's not like Jeno was putting on the weight alone. Some messages were shot the other way and he knew that Jaemin was always caught off guard when Jeno bit back in the way that he usually did.

"you said you'd leave treats for me but here you are so stuffed you can't even get up? who's the pig here?"

"jaemin, you'd think you'd wear things that fit but you keep busting your buttons just about every week. how long until your chair is next?"

"it makes sense your arms are so buff considering how much fat you have to lift when you touch yourself, jaeminnie."

Swinging out of left field was enough to get Jaemin to lose his mind with Jeno, taking more time to reply and he was familiarized with the idea of knowing Jaemin was getting off on the messages.

They had fallen into a fattening sync with each other and it was no wonder their growth photos had accelerated since they started talking. Jeno was more than eager to catch up to Jaemin's growth and with his desire to be his fat lap dog, it wasn't going to be hard to do so.

The day of their promised meeting finally arrived as Jeno pulled up to his apartment complex, more nervous than anything else. It was going without saying that the feelings that he had for Jaemin weren't something that were just in the feederism bubble.

He loved the fact that he had grown to this size. Being conscious of how his gut bounced with each step that he took. Choosing to take the stairs as he had to adjust to how much his thighs rubbed while he took a step up and how much weight was weighing him down. A simple stair climb that would have taken him about five minutes a couple months ago was now taking more than ten as he made his way up.

But, the feelings he had for Jaemin ran a lot deeper than just this feeling of wanting to grow under his hand. He wanted to be with him as a lover. They've already shared so much about themselves. Their insecurities. Their fears. What they aspire to do in life. It just so happened they connected through their mutual kink and mutual desire to help the other grow.

"the doors open when you get here."

Jeno caught his breath once he arrived at Jaemin's floor, already a little excited from the exertion that got him to this point before he ended up in front of the door. Twisting the knob revealed the empty walkway before he saw the man who was responsible for his physique move his way into view, his gut leading the way as he smiled.

"There's my puppy." Jeno couldn't help but jog over, reveling in the way his fat bounced and seeing the look on Jaemin's face that told him that he was doing the same. It felt better to be hugged by those strong arms he grew to adore than just admire them online but they were a lot softer than he once would have guessed.

Their bellies kissing made it difficult for the hug to be proper, fat melding into the other as Jaemin looked a little meek. "Ah, is it bad that I wanted to do things a little more properly... but right now, I don't think I can get just enough with a hug?"

Jeno felt his heart swell before he moaned as he felt Jaemin's hands wander his fat body, "You're even bigger than I thought you'd be. I can't believe I helped put all this on and I'm just getting to feel it now."

There's a cocky smile on Jeno's face, "Of course. I got this fat just for you and you're the one that spoiled me to this size." He fondled Jaemin's chest which got a surprise gasp from the man, "It's not like you're that small yourself though, huh, Jaeminnie."

They're so intertwined with each other that Jeno can feel the way that his words send a chill through Jaemin's spine as he smiles, "Some mouth on this dog. Maybe we'll have to see how many treats it'll take to make you nice and obedient."

In a whirlwind of kisses and exploring the vast bodies they had worked up, they end up in Jaemin's kitchen. Jeno hops on the counter after a few attempts, his belly spilling into his lap as he spreads his legs where Jaemin moves in closer, their bellies pressing into each other once again.

A small little peck, full of more endearment than lust is enough to make Jeno feel like he's just a lovestruck puppy before Jaemin opens the fridge and pulls out some cartons of heavy cream. Raising the spout to his lips, Jeno drinks eagerly, his hands on his belly as he feels himself inflate with each eager gulp.

The praises that Jaemin sings to him with each carton is enough to make him break any record that he once had with how much he could drink, feeling so full that he might burst. He burps before gasping as Jaemin moves his belly up, rubbing his crotch.

"I have to pet everywhere I can on my puppy after all. Belly rubs for a good boy." Thanks to how bloated he felt, the outward pressure of Jaemin's firm hands was coaxing more burps out of him and only adding to the pleasure that he felt like he was drowning in. His hand teased the fat pad, brushing it and running it over Jeno's length.

"You always look amazing but I think I love seeing you in this much pleasure, puppy." Jeno's eyes open wide at the revelation and Jaemin can't help but look a little embarrassed at the reaction. "Just... forget I said that."

"Say it again." Jeno hopped off the counter, wincing at how his belly moved at the sudden feeling before he wrapped his arm around Jaemin's fat waist, feeling his arm blending into fat as he looked at him with a smile so wide.

They seemed to just get each other perfectly as Jaemin repeated, "I love you."

Their lips crashed into each other as Jeno's hand snuck into Jaemin's pants after feeling the other man rut his erection into him. He pulled away with a smile, "Jaemin, do you really have nothing that fits because how did you burst your pants when I didn't even feed you yet?"

"I was just that excited to see you." Jeno chuckles before he hears Jaemin add, "And maybe I had a little panic meal before you got here."

He didn't expect to find something as perfect as this online but he wasn't going to complain and given how Jaemin's gut seemed to hunger for more, he knew that he was going to feel the exact same way about it.

#kpop feederism #nct feederism #gyuluttonous behaviour #chubby jaemin #chubby jeno #weight gain fiction

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ultra-creepy-fucker-things · 23 days ago

Text

A baby shower, but for crocodiles

Toffee attends an event celebrating the upcoming birth of his child.

The Septarian mating season had ended around a month and a half ago, and Toffee was pregnant.

After mating season, came the celebration. Between the first signs of conception a few weeks after hormones leveled out and the first chirps of baby septarians preparing to hatch, there would hang a festive air, the world alive with anticipation for the coming generation as expectant parents celebrated with their families.

And Toffee didn't have a problem with that. Really. He adored Rasticore's family, and the feeling was mutual. Seth, while not strictly related to either of them, was a supportive presence, as he'd been for the bulk of Toffee's life. If it was limited to the handful of individuals he considered family, he'd be fine.

Unfortunately, for a member of the Council of Septarsis, the celebration wasn't just limited to family.

"I can't believe we have to do this" Toffee grumbled, fiddling with the formal clothes he was expected to wear for the banquet.

"It won't be that bad, Odonte" Rasticore muttered back, putting a hand on his partner's back. "Hey, if you're having trouble, just signal me, and I'll get you out of there without making a scene"

Toffee knew Rasticore couldn't do anything without making a scene, but nevertheless, the reassurance helped. "I'm sure it won't" Toffee sniffed, "can't wait to become the proud owner of 300 pet rocks."

"Oh, it won't be that bad" said Rasticore. "Really"

"It will" he said grimly, "I understand they don't want to cause offence, but if that means having to find a place to put hundreds of river stones, I'd rather get nothing"

Rasticore sighed, fondly, "Never change, Mort" he said, "never change"

The venue was the courtyard outside the New Septarsis capital building.

Toffee tried to hide a little behind Rasticore as they walked up to the entrance, as though it'd hide him from the far too many people crowding the poorly manicured lawn.

Even largely limited to the septarian council members and their partners, the sound of dozens of banal conversations was near overwhelming. Rasticore socialized, somewhat awkwardly, with the people that came up to congratulate them, while Toffee stood behind him, trying not to be seen. His ill-advised choice in career stuck him with these people all day, the last thing he wanted was to speak to them on his 'free time',

His co-workers milled about, socializing. Most of them were septarian, although a handful of other species could be seen, individuals he knew would not take a pregnant septarian for a woman.

Not that he was any more inclined to talk to them.

A few long tables had been set up towards the middle, big enough to seat every gravid septarian in attendence, and when the dinner bell rang, Toffee cast one last longing glance at Rasticore before going to take his seat.

His eyes drifted to his watch as the head speaker--some scrawny old pencil-pusher from the propaganda arm--rambled on about the "light of the future" and "how much they'd accomplished" over the past 300 years and other trite nonsense.

When the food was brought out, he had to stifle a laugh; all that talk about how far they'd come, and here they were serving him the same barely edible dregs he'd had to choke down as a kid. But he kept it in check-It was hardly the organizer's fault that their crops had been burned, their animals culled, that the Magic High Commission had chosen to starve them out right when they were at their most vulnerable.

He took a deep breath in and exhaled through his mouth.

It was fine. He could deal with this. He would not make a scene; he would not leave in the middle of his meal.

He couldn't have people Talking again.

He let out a final shaky exhale, finally able to calm his pounding heart, and cut into the tough steak they'd managed to provide.

They must've slaughtered a work animal for this, it's body powerful, grazed on low quality swamp grasses and worked in the fields until every ounce of fat had been burned away, leaving only sinuous muscle.

With the young tender animals bred for this occasion dead and their fields rendered barren, the poor bastard must've been judged worth more in the empty bellies of expectant parents than its own lonely stall.

He ate slowly, aware that this and desert were all they'd get, but soon enough he found himself crunching through the bone, relieved that that, at least, was still worth eating.

He left his vegetables untouched. He couldn't force himself to eat roast carrot. Not today.

Desert was a no less sad affair, consisting of the saddest baked apple he'd ever seen, worm tunnels visible and spices nonexistent.

All too quickly, the meal was done with, and it was time to hand out the gifts- and Toffee thanked his lucky stars that he'd been spared the tedium of collecting an egg-shaped stone for every exhausting stranger.

One of the twins, Cera, came up to him first, stark white scales striking as ever in the dim light.

They blinked at him, nictitating membrane flashing across stark red eyes.

They reached forward, "May I?" they asked.

"Fine" said Toffee with a sigh, extending a hand.

Cera dipped their head, praying over him while he waited politely.

It was sweet, he supposed. He didn't believe, but the sentiment was appreciated.

When they were done, they pushed a basket of rolls before him, and that had him blinking.

Bread was expensive.

He glanced at the other septarian, trying not to look too puzzled.

He was shocked to see concern in their eyes.

Of course.

All the more miserable, he slid down in his seat, hurrumphing.

Of course they thought he couldn't hack it. A high-risk egg on his first season? He'd known people would talk.

He'd been prepared for judgement. He had not been prepared for concern.

The next, young Dominic--not technically a member of the Council yet but doing good work translating for the slime Prince Brrrgabog--pushed a wheel of cheese in his direction, blinking nervously up at him with strange, side-set eyes, a trait that he'd inherited from his size-shifter mother.

He turned his face away in a strained smile. "Thank you, Dominic" he said, trying to keep his mood out of his voice as he watched the younger septarian's face with half-lidded eyes"

Dominic's hopeful expression faltered, "Terribly sorry, sir" he muttered, scrambling away.

Toffee's heart fell from his chest, face going back to normal.

Abruptly, Toffee stood.

Dominic shied away from him, shrinking--literally shrinking--away from the initially shorter--now taller--Septarian.

Toffee urged himself to say something. An apology, a self-deprecating joke, a crack about old septarians and cheese, anything, but... He struggled even to make his mouth move.

"Excuse me a moment" he forced out, a touch too loud, before slipping inside.

He got to a quiet hallway and fell against the wall, sliding into a seated position with a groan.

His face fell into his arms, and he held back a sob, trying not to let himself cry.

He ground his teeth together, hissing in distress.

Why couldn't he just hold it together, damnit? Everyone else could, why not him?

He was shaken out of his self-pity session by the sound of footsteps pounding against tile- Rasticore. his mind supplied before he'd even had time to process it all.

He came into view, eyebrows no doubt pinched in worry, had Toffee had the energy to check.

"Odonte!" he called, rounding on the shorter septarian.

"Odonte!" he cried again, sliding to a stop next to him.

Toffee turned his face away, refusing to look at his partner.

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently reaching for Toffee's shoulder.

Toffee flinched away. "Of course I'm okay" he snapped, "I just... Needed to get somewhere quiet"

Rasticore frowned, "That doesn't sound okay, Toffee. Do you..." he hesitated, " Do you want to go home?"

Toffee climbed to his feet, "Absolutely not, we can't leave until the ceremonies are over. I'll just..." he hesitated, "Stay here a moment longer. Try and rest. I haven't been sleeping well, that's all"

Rasticore's fists clenched, and he took a deep breath. "I know you don't want to see it through, Mortodonte" he said, "You're always miserable at these things, and you always insist on staying. I don't get it. No one would care if you left, you know?"

Toffee looked away. "We can't leave until the ceremonies are over" he reiterated, "People will Talk-"

"They'll talk more if you have a breakdown in the damn hallway!" Rasticore snapped. "You are carrying our child, Odonte! How can you expect to take care of them when you can't even take care of yourself?"

Toffee flinched, and Rasticore backed down, his frills lowering in shame. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that"

"Leave me alone, Rasticore" said Toffee, "I just need to rest. Leave me alone"

"Let's just go home. People will understand-"

"Leave me alone. Leave me alone." Toffee repeated, his voice raising in panic and desperation as he found himself unable to say anything else, "Leave me alone"

Rasticore backed away, "Okay, I'm going, I'm going. Just... Please stay safe. I'll come back for you"

And with that, he left Toffee to stew in his misery, looking back one final time before disappearing around a corner.

Toffee spent the next hour or so laying there, feeling sorry for himself and hissing at anyone that tried to speak with him. He'd have stayed until Rasticore came back to get him, but there was a flock of kappa gathering at the end of the hall. He recognized a few of them, like Lady Von-Shrike, who's family had controlled this land before Solaria, and Killdear, her bodyguard.

It looked like Killdear was about to approach him, which he took as his que to leave, dragging himself to his feet and trying to look dignified as he walked the other way. As if she'd forget what she'd seen if he simply kept his back straight.

A few heads turned as he reentered the courtyard, watching him with worried eyes, and he realized he hadn't even bothered to brush off his suit. It would've been clear as day that he'd been crying.

That gave him pause.

He glanced over at his seat at the table, where Rasticore was having a conversation with a septarian he didn't recognize.

He sighed deeply through his nose. He wasn't ready to face him.

And so, he meandered over to a quiet corner of the courtyard, dusting off and adjusting his suit.

It was an old castle. Built before the mewmen occupation, if the rumors were to be believed.

He'd never seen it when the Von-Shrike family owned it. That had been before his time- but he had been born in time to fight in the siege that took it back.

He sighed, a nostalgic smile drifting to his lips.

It was the center of one of his few happy memories; after every mewmen soldier in the place had been driven off or killed, he and his fellow soldiers had started a fire in this very courtyard, singing victorious tunes and feasting on the whatever stores the mewmens hadn't had time to burn.

Of the soldiers he sang with that day, none but him would escape the siege on Butterfly castle.

Toffee sighed. It had been a victory, of sorts. The monster nations still held strong, mewmens having yet to take back half the land Solaria had stole, but... They were getting there. Starvation was an insidious weapon, more insidious than any magic, and the Butterfly family wielded it as brutally as they wielded the wand.

Subconsciously, Toffee's hand drifted to his stomach.

If his child ever hatched... What future would they have here?

He turned away from the wall and ended up catching the eye of Seth of Septarsis, head of the Office of Septarian Affairs.

Toffee quickly looked away, hoping he hadn't been noticed, but alas, it was too late.

The towering septarian ambled over to him, rumbling out in Gharialese "Hey, Toffee! I was looking for you"

Toffee slumped but smiled up at him. Not the fake mewmen smile, one that, to septarian eyes, more resembled an angry grimace, but a proper septarian one, eyes sliding closed as he turned his face away.

"Hello, Seth" he said, "What do you want"

Seth sighed, leaning down to press his gift into Toffee's hand.

Toffee blinked down at it, then smiled again.

"Thanks, this must've taken a lot of work"

Seth nodded, "I've been working on it since you told me you planned on trying"

That had been around a decade ago, and it showed- it was an intricately detailed Swamp Queen, a truly massive species of crocodile that had died with Septarsis, worshipped for their size, their power, and their love for their children.

This one had its tail curled around a nest, jaws parted in a very septarian-like expression of anger.

"A charm of protection" he commented.

Seth nodded.

"Heard you had one of your... moments" he said.

Toffee looked up sharply, "Who told you that?" he snapped.

Seth snorted, "No one" he said, "in fact, Rasticore was very clear that you hadn't"

"Well, you should've listened to him." Toffee snapped, "I didn't have one of my 'moments'; I just needed to lie down"

Seth nodded. "Ah, I must've misunderstood" he said, "my apologies"

He fell quiet. Right when Toffee expected him to leave, he spoke up again. "You know you can go home, right?"

Toffee looked away. "As people keep telling me." he said.

"I keep seeing you go through this, Odonte" said Seth, "You come to an event like this. You seem to enjoy yourself, and then you..." he trailed off, waving a hand as he searched for a delicate way to put it.

"I don't always do that." said Toffee. "I'm just tired. It's... Hormones, and stuff."

"Uh-huh, hormones" said Seth, looking unconvinced. "I can't make you do anything, but... Please, at least think about it. This is a social event, Toffee, nothing will fall apart if you aren't here" he hesitated, "And, I think you'd dread these things less if you let yourself leave early"

Toffee looked away, frowning. "I'm an adult, Seth. I can handle myself"

Seth opened his mouth, but then closed it again. "Of course." he said instead. After a moment, he spoke up again. "I'm proud of you"

Toffee looked away. "We don't even know it'll make it"

Seth put a hand on his shoulder. "It will. I can feel it"

Toffee rubbed his eyes and thanked him, feeling a little lighter.

By the time he felt like returning to the main event, Rasticore had gone.

Toffee scanned the crowd, and spotted him towards the back, chatting idly with a few mutual friends.

"Hey, Toffee!" said Rasticore, as he came over. He glanced around, then lowered to speak in his husband's ear, "feeling better?"

"A little" said Toffee, leaning back and shutting his eyes.

"Seth showed up, but I said you were busy. Ha, I see you ran into him"

"Indeed" said Toffee, setting the charm down on a nearby table.

"ooooh, he made that?" said Rasticore, gently picking it up and turning it over in his hands.

Toffee grinned, "Insofar as I can infer, yes"

"Oh, I see his signature right here" said Rasticore with a chuckle. put it back, stretching with an exaggerated yawn.

"Boy, I didn't expect this to take so much outta me" he said. "You know, there really isn't much worth staying for" he hinted. "The food's gone, everyone's handed out their gifts. There's no reason to stay till the end"

Toffee opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself. "Perhaps you're right" he ground out, heaving a sigh.

The moon had risen high over the marsh when they finally departed, riding on Toffee's beloved Septarian Tricorn, a mutt of questionable heritage he'd rescued from a feral herd as a hatchling.

Toffee sat in the front, holding the reins with Rasticore behind him. Between the swaying of the tricorn and the feel of his husband's arms around him, it was hard to stay awake.

He felt Rasticore's hands over his own, and he looked up at the taller man.

"Hey, let me take over, will you?" he said, gently taking the reins himself.

Toffee, too tired to be proud, let him. "Thank you, Rasticore" he said. "You know, it's times like these where I'm reminded why I married you"

#toffee svtfoe #svtfoe #tofficore #star vs the forces of evil #rasticore svtfoe #seth of septarsis #toffee of septarsis

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