#outward obedience

[madewithonerib]

Matthew 15:8 ‘These people honor ME with their lips, but their hearts are far from ME.

Charles John Ellicott, Theologian [1749-1905]

We have already seen in Matthew 13:14 how the Pharisees were taught to see their own likeness in the language of the prophet. Now the mirror is held up once more, and they are seen to have been anticipated in that very substitution of human for divine ordinances, which our LORD reproves them.

Matthew 13:14 | The Purpose of the Parables In them the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled: ‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.

Matthew Henry | Matthew 15:1-9

Additions to GOD's laws reflect upon HIS wisdom —as if HE'd left out something which was needed, and which man could supply; in one way or other they always lead men to disobey GOD.

How thankful ought we to be for the written word of GOD! Never let us think that the religion of the Bible can be improved by any human addition, either in doctrine or practice.

Our blessed LORD spoke of their traditions as inventions of their own, and pointed out one instance in which this was very clear, that of their transgressing the fifth commandment.

When a parent's wants called for assistance, they pleaded, that they had devoted to the temple all they could spare, even though they did not part with it, and therefore their parents must expect nothing from them.

This was making the command of GOD of no effect. The doom of hypocrites is put in a little compass; In vain do they worship ME. It will neither please GOD, nor profit themselves; they trust in vanity,

& vanity will be their recompense.

[eldritchamy]

I think I've figured out a good way to articulate one of the reasons Human Domestication Guide is hitting for me in a way really not much else has done for a long time.

HDG is an inverse fandom.

Whereas a lot of fanfiction (maybe just for the sake of the pun we can expand outwards, wink, and call them "transformative works") takes at the core of its nature a specific character or group of characters, and then transplants (sorry, I had to) those characters into Alternate Universes in order to keep telling altered, revised, and original stories with those CHARACTERS, while changing everything else, HDG does the opposite.

It takes the SETTING as the core defining feature, and creates original CHARACTERS in order to tell original stories.

And that's really cool for reasons that, of course, ended up becoming another gigantic one of Amy's Patented Infodump Posts.

Most fanfiction gets to appeal to its audience because of the associations and attachments readers have for the CHARACTERS, and then create a new story from there without having to spend time setting up WHO THE STORY IS ABOUT for you. I don't say this as a bad thing, that's just the attraction. The readers bring their attachment to the characters WITH them before they start reading.

HDG gets to assume you understand the SETTING as a basic premise, and then tell new stories with original characters without having to hold your hand through as much of the set up work, because you already know the SETTING going in.

So instead of discovering how the characters you know relate to a world you don't (and to each other within that context), you get stories where you get to discover who the characters ARE, in the context of a world you already understand.

It's not "what does a different setting do to these characters." It's "how do different people navigate this setting."

You get to meet and learn and identify with the CHARACTERS because you see how they as unique people react to a set premise.

So much of what I've read so far has done exceptional work establishing who the characters are, even making MINOR characters within the story feel like fleshed out people.

You'd think in a setting that takes at face value the premise of humanity being subjugated and doted on by a species that uses mind control drugs to turn them into docile, obedient pets, the stories would struggle a bit with sameness as the individuality of the characters failed to shine through or were inevitably suppressed over the course of the plot.

In practice, it seems like almost the OPPOSITE is true.

The Affini always win. But every character chooses to lose to them in a different way that speaks to who they are as people.

Getting to explore these unique stories through the eyes of unique characters seems like it's making it EASIER to latch on to what makes THESE characters the focus of the stories being told.

And so far the stories being told are fucking great, and have such a huge range to them.

The original story for the setting is a VERY non consensual medfet/drug play subjugation story where Elvira (captain of a ship for the Free Terran feralist rebellion) is ABSOLUTELY brought into domestication by force (at first), and we get to see the PROCESS of her being broken down and becoming something new over the course of (what we later learn has been ONLY) about three weeks. She's not the same person she was at the start of the story. At all. She's been utterly replaced by a new identity and personality that the old version of her would never have accepted. (Also it's kinda hot that it's actually good for her, and that she very much DOES end up happier for it. She's still Elvira. But she's safe, and she's loved.)

That's a pretty specific vibe for a story.

But the next story I read in the setting takes place over the course of several hours in-universe, and basically follows a dysfunctional, clearly neurodivergent woman stagnating in the limbo of having been failed by capitalism (or in her mind, failing at it) and having mixed feelings about the staggeringly powerful alien civilization that is currently part way through conquering her planet and its people.

The story starts off when she's so hungry after scraping through what scant, nutritionless garbage she was able to find in the capitalist dystopia that it finally overrides her fear, and she goes to the border of Affini-controlled territory in her city. She figures, they're going to do whatever they're going to do to the rest of the city within a few days anyway, so there's no sense pretending whatever outcome she's walking into wasn't inevitable, and even if it's not as good as the Affini promise, at least it's not what she's been stuck in. Fear of sameness finally becomes more traumatic than fear of change.

She proceeds to go on an adorable lesbian grocery date with a 10 foot tall plant that gently flirts with her while remaining very firm that all of this human's needs CAN and SHOULD and WILL be taken care of FOR her from now on, and it's OKAY that she has trouble focusing because it's OKAY that some people need more help than others.

She spends several chapters experiencing repeated Lesbian Bluescreens because of this sweet, doting alien who insists it's no trouble at all and she's happy to help. Then said alien takes her back to her apartment on the human side to make sure she feels safe getting there through the anti-Affini protests, and then in a matter of minutes she has cleaned this girl's entire disaster of an apartment and promised to cook her a nice Terran pizza.

Then the girl has a lesbian panic attack while coming to terms with how much misery she didn't have to be living with, and whether this future isn't exactly what she always hoped for and more, so the alien offers to give her some alien drugs to calm her down, and her now fuzzy brain accidentally crumbles under the weight of all the secret petplay fantasies that have been turning her face red all morning and she accidentally calls the alien "Mistress", and then she goes home to THEIR place back in Affini territory with her new owner and gets absolutely spoiled until she falls asleep feeling safe and loved for the first time in her life.

COMPLETE tonal shift from the original story, but the LOGIC of the story is fully consistent with the setting. It's just a different character responding to that setting in a different way.

The range of what's possible is ENORMOUS.

I went from there to "two humans captured at different times struggle to find their way back to each other and end up with neural implants plugged into each other's brains by their shared Mistress, and the feedback loop helps them domesticate EACH OTHER" and then from there to a mostly historical context story about an Affini who lived for almost 300,000 years and how she feels about the Compact's role in everything they've done to the universe.

And then I got to read "I have to pretend to be a good little floret maid at an Affini Compact hotel because that's my Genius Spy Cover WHOOPS it turns out being a maid means getting teased and played with a lot WHOOPS, OHHhhh NOOOoo~ I'VE BEEN TURNED INTO A FREE USE HYPNO DOLL because EVERYONE KNEW I WAS A SPY THE WHOLE TIME, I'm going to resolve my mixed feelings by erotically betraying my co-conspirator so we can be floret girlfriends together," which was cute, funny, and INCREDIBLY hot.

Seriously, chapter 10 of that story. Holy FUCK. I think my brain has turned fully inside out. I had a DREAM kinda like it afterwards that I wish I could remember more of.

I guess my point is HDG is less like a fandom and more like DND.

It's a shared universe of collaborative storytelling, even if any individual work within it was made by one person.

You get to play within a core set of rules for how the setting works, but the stories that can come out of playing by those rules are so incredible and diverse and interesting, and I'm really enjoying getting to explore all of that within the context of a basic premise that has absolutely grabbed most of my kinks by the throat, stared menacingly into my eyes, and smirked knowingly.

Also it's INCREDIBLY queer and very obviously made specifically for gay autistic trans women who take progesterone, so I guess just like the rest of the little Terrans, I never stood a chance.

[heizlut]

Hello! Can I plz request where Aether, Venti, Gorou, Kazuha, Itto, and Diluc find out that their s/o is a submissive in bed?

ooo i like this!!! thanks for sending this in!

tags: gn sub!reader, dom!characters, rut (itto), worship kink (venti), no use of y/n

cw: semi-public in diluc and venti’s sections

nsfw under the cut

Aether~

Aether was so happy to have an s/o who could keep up with him as he travelled across Teyvat. It seemed he never had to worry about you no matter what dangers you faced together. You were headstrong, always taking the initiative when it came to accepting commissions and speaking up for the both of you when someone’s request was particularly unreasonable. You certainly were not afraid to express your distaste when a request was quite..stupid for lack of better words. Aether didn't mind letting you take the lead when it came to those decisions, secretly cheering you on when you spoke your unfiltered thoughts and feelings.

After a tiring day of getting absolutely no where in finding his sister, Aether was particularly pent up with frustration. He tugs you close to his body as he begins pressing feverish kisses to your neck, "Need you now.." You moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access, "Want me to make you feel better?" He pulls away slightly, looking into your eyes with a smirk, "Oh yeah? How about you get on your knees for then?" Aether challenged you, only half-joking, not thinking you would actually do as he said. His eyes widen slightly as he watches you obediently sink to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with such a submissive look in your eyes as you wait for his next instruction. He can't help the way his cock throbs in his pants seeing his headstrong s/o being so submissive for him. Growing slightly impatient with him, you open your mouth sticking your tongue out showing that you were absolutely serious about this. He tugs his pants down just enough to let his aching cock out, all leaky and throbbing. Aether guides his dick to your mouth, tapping it on your tongue as if to test how patient and obedient you would truly be. When you don't move on your own, he smirks and pushes his length into your mouth as he begins to fuck your throat, letting his frustrations melt away, "So good for me... fuck."

Venti~

Your relationship with Venti had the very obvious dynamic of golden retriever and black cat, with him being the golden retriever and you being the black cat. The people of Mondstadt are often baffled at the sight of you two together, wondering how such a cheerful bard could be with someone so... intimidating. Venti often joked that he had scary dog privileges with you by his side. Despite your outward demeanor, you were honestly quite silly and happily went along with his shenanigans. On this particular evening, you had found yourselves making out behind the Church of Favionious. Your lips press against his feverishly. You pull away slightly, looking at him with absolute adoration as you softly say, "Let me worship you properly" Venti lets out his signature laugh, his eyes hold a mischievous glint, "Oho! You wish to worship your archon~? Let's start with you worshipping Lord Barbatos on your knees then~"

Gorou~

Gorou was so proud to have such a strong warrior for an s/o. You fought by his side formidably, even helping him strategize against the Shogunates. You also weren't afraid to put any disrespectful soldiers in their place. He had to admit that your strong-willed and fierce attitude turned him on, but he secretly wanted to test if he could turn the tables. Gorou had no idea that watching him command other soldiers and lead the frontlines during battle had you wanting him desperately to show that side of him to you in the bedroom.

That night you approach his tent with a rather shy look on your face which instantly catches Gorou's attention. He rushes over to you checking you over for anything that might be causing you to behave this way when suddenly you gently cup his face in your hands, "Gorou.. I want to try something new.." You trail off, a blush falls over your cheeks as Gorou looks at you a little confused, "Something new? You mean you have a new battle strategy?" You shake your head, forcing yourself to look up at him, "I.. want you to command me like how you command the other soldiers.. I want you to... Take control of me.." Gorou's face heats up at your words, his cock begins to harden as he processes your words. His face quickly morphs into a sly smile as he pulls you close to him, his hand holding your chin with slight pressure as he tilts your face up to his, "You want me to be in charge?" He breathes out a small laugh, "Well, that can certainly be arranged. Now be good for me and get on the bed. Now."

Kazuha~

Kazuha enjoyed watching you help Beidou dish out orders to the other crew members. You looked like such a sweetheart, but you had quite the sharp tongue, never failing to catch unsuspecting people off guard. They never thought the s/o of gentle wanderer Kazuha to be so sharp with their words when the situation called for it. When you and Kazuha finally have your first intimate moment with each other, the poet of many beautiful words is suddenly...at a loss for words when you tell him that you prefer to be the submissive one. Kazuha takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss on top of it, "And here I thought you would be the one to want to take the lead... Not that I mind this development at all. In fact, I'm rather pleased." He leans forward pressing a kiss to your cheek and lowers his voice for only you to hear, "Although, I hope you realize what you've just signed yourself up for, darling."

Itto~

Itto loved being with you so much. You weren't afraid to get into a bit of trouble with him and the rest of the Arataki gang. Often times people would mistake you or Kuki as the actual leader of the gang with the way they would watch you both take charge of them in your own ways, with you leading the mischief and Kuki chastising you all when you get yourselves in trouble with the Shogunates.

It was nearing spring time which meant Itto would have to hide himself away from you, not wanting to overwhelm you with the rut he would have to endure as an oni, especially when you two haven't gone further than making out and feeling each other's bodies. You were concerned when Itto didn't show up today for the onikabuto battle he promised you, so you make your way towards his home completely oblivious to his rut. You barge right in as you usually would only to be quickly tackled to the ground by a large body, "Gah! Itto! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" You look up at your oni boyfriend only to notice his eyes are darkened with lust, "Sorry... Couldn't help myself. I.. need you" He ruts against your core causing you to let out a pathetic sounding whimper as he whispers apologies over and over, "It's my rut. Spring makes us oni a little..." You place your finger over his lips, "You don't have to explain. Use me however you please." Itto's movements halt momentarily, "Y'really mean that? Don't go saying stuff like that right now..." You roll your hips upwards to meet his, "Please..." A low growl rips from his throat as he tears your clothes off with his sharp nails. You definitely weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Diluc~

Having you as his s/o is like a sigh of relief. So many of his burdens with the winery and Angel's Share seem to lift from his shoulders when you take the initiative in organizing client orders and business deals so that he can have some reprieve. His heart swells with pride when you have no qualms in kicking out particularly rowdy guests from the tavern or even straight up denying Kaeya and Venti of more alcohol when they've clearly had more than enough of their fair share (and when Venti's tab has clearly met its limit).

After the tavern closes for the night, Diluc watches as you bend forward over a table while wiping it down and feels his cock stir to life. He approaches you hesitantly as he wants your first time with him to be meaningful. You straighten up only to feel him and his hardening cock pressed against your back. You bite your lip as you turn around to face him, looking up at your lover as he stares down at you with desire burning in his eyes. He gently caresses your cheek and softly asks, "May I kiss you?" You smile at his gentle approach to intimacy and you nod. He leans forward, softly pressing his lips to yours and then pulls away, "Was that okay?" You let out a soft laugh and place your hand on his chest, "Diluc... You don't have to be so gentle with me you know. I would do anything you want, no questions asked. I just want to make you happy and make you feel good." Your words make him pause, "Anything...I want?" You laugh softly again and repeat your words as you look up at him with love in your eyes, "Anything you want. No questions asked." He doesn't spare another minute in hoisting you up onto the table, immersing you both in hungry kisses and rough but sensual touches. You really have no idea what you've just sparked to life inside of him. Diluc can only hope you truly meant what you said because he wasn't going to hold back now.

a/n: pretty sure i blacked out while writing diluc and aether’s sections🥴 i tried to keep them as in character as i possibly could and i think i succeeded? i hope you liked this, anon!

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

Blessing

Pairing- Ao'nung x Sully!reader

Summary- You are the twin sister of Lo'ak who is the complete opposite of each other, and when you move with the Metkayina you caught someones eye.

A/N- This was a request

You are the complete opposite of your twin brother, his was rambunctious you were always calm, he was rebellious you were obedient somewhat. He wanted to fight you wanted to collect plants make medicine help to heal people. But somehow you fit each other just right, he was your best friend as you were his.

One time Lo'ak got into major trouble and at communal dinner someone made a joke calling you "the better twin." And it irked you to the bone. "That's not funny." You would say before returning to your previous conversation. And with all of this your father was very protective sometimes you think it's because he sees your Uncle Tommy in you doesn't wanna lose you how he lost Tommy, he never does talk about your uncle but you can just feel it.

When you had to move to the Metkayina clan it was hard but you tried your best to be happy. And when you got there it was nothing like you expected. They said you had demon blood, that hurt but you deflected it as much as you could. And then there was Ao'nung, when he first saw you he thought that his heart was going to explode in his chest your beauty was undeniable. But he was a big teaser at you and your siblings but his sister smacked some sense into him.

He would leave flirty remarks, "Looking good Y/N." When you would swim or, "How's my favorite forest girly doing." He would say or your personal favorite, "Pretty girl." and you would just reply kindly, with a "Thank you Ao'nung." Or a small, "I am fine how are you." and that just wrapped him into your love spell deeper.

Then he started to help you with things, even when you didn't need it. He just wanted a reason to be close with you. You thought he was just being helpful, but sometimes you couldn't help but get butterflies in your stomach when his hand would graze yours when lifting something into the docks, or when he addressed you as pretty girl and it drove you insane.

And now he here he was looking at his reflection making sure his hair was right before he went to talk to your father, Jake Sully. The Toruk Makto. Hell yeah he was scared but it would all be worth it. He walked into your families mauri only Jake was there sharpening his dagger. Ao'nung gulped a wad of saliva. His palms were sweaty and sweat threatened to spill all over his body.

He took a deep breath composing himself. "Hello Jake." Ao'nung spoke bringing his fingers from his forehead outward towards Jake as a sign of respect. "Ao'nung." Jake spoke suspiciously. "If you are looking for any of my kids I do not know except Y/N she's out collecting pearls for her little sister." He said sighing afterwards.

"No sir I just came to ask you something important." Ao'nung said Jake stood up at the seriousness in the younger males voice. "Yes of course what is it." Jake said. "I would like to ask for your blessing to court your daughter." Ao'nung spoke quickly and swiftly. And it seemed all the color drained from Jake's face. "M-my d-daughter Kiri?!?" Jake said running his hands over his face distraught. "No! Not Kiri, Y/N." Ao'nung corrected the male.

Jake turns to him, protective dad overload. And just before he could speak you walked in. "Hello fathe- Ao'nung, hey." You say indigo painting your face as Ao'nung says hello doing the forehead motion to you as he did to Jake, but Jake could tell he was flirting, right in front of him!

Jake looks at the interaction dread filling him. "What are you doing here?" You ask softly putting a bag filled with pearls down looking at him. "Oh I was just asking your father," Ao'nung took a deep breath once again before telling him he was asking for your father blessing. "His blessing to court you." He said turning back to his father.

A sense of excitement and happiness could be felt anyone in a ten foot radius of you. You looked at your father huge smile plastered on your face shaking your head up and down, yes. Your father took one deep breath and closed his eyes before he spoke, "Yes, you have my blessing." Jake said and Ao'nung turned to you and gave you a smile just as big as yours. "But," your dad said making you turn your attention to him. "You don't go anywhere alone I was a teenager not long ago I know what's going through that pea sized brain and I am not, repeat not having a baby under this roof, so help me god I will kill yo-" "Dad!" You yell stopping the threats being thrown at a shocked Ao'nung.

Oh and, when your brothers found out you were being courted all hell broke loose. "How could you let my baby sister be courted but that fish boy!" Neteyam spoke. "I am not a baby." You say as you finish separating fruits as your mother instructed you to. "I refuse to be brothers with that fish." Lo'ak said shaking his head. "I'm not happy about it either but if he makes her happy then let it be." Your father said to them. "Oh you are acting like children." You say throwing a price of fruit at your father.

[hazbinshusk]

husk x afab!reader. you're a kept pet in the casino, making your way as husk's personal assistant. you've got a good working relationship, but unfortunately he's finding it harder and harder to concentrate around you. the solution is simple if he doesn't want to send you away: he needs to fuck you and those sexy little stockings of yours out of his system. 1.8k

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He doesn’t know how much more he can take of this.

Husk has been distracted. For days now. And an Overlord distracted, in or out of a gamble… it’s far too dangerous for Husk to let it keep happening. He knows better, he really does. And he’s usually far better at keeping control of any given situation. So, why can’t he stop watching you?

It’s not his fault… it’s yours.

Yours, and those fucking stockings you’re wearing.

You’ve been his personal assistant for the last six months – an owned soul tied to his casino and earning your keep running his day-to-day business. Most of the staff here are owned by him, and they ensure that they don’t end up among the chips on the table by doing a good job. And really, he’s had no complaints about you – you’ve done your job well, even seemed to enjoy it. But still, every damn day you’ve come dressed in a short skirt and a button-down and those motherfucking stockings. They shouldn’t be so distracting… nothing about your clothing is overly sinful, especially by Hell’s standards. Occasionally he’ll see a flash of cleavage as you bend over, a sliver of skin above the waistband of the skirt if it comes untucked… nothing more.

But the stockings… they always seem so professional, but when you sit down, he can see the hem of your skirt ride up on your thighs and the lace lining the top of them will be exposed. And despite the fact that Husker can confidently say that he’s just about seen and done it all since he’s arrived in Pentagram City, he hasn’t been able to stop fixating on you since he’s realized you wear thigh-highs.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself as he realizes he’s misplayed another hand, a low growl playing through the back of his throat. You’d just passed the table to set a drink in front of him, and his eyes had turned to that brief glimpse of the swell of your breasts as he’d caught the scent of your perfume. He tosses his cards on the table, tossing back his drink and slumping back in his chair.

He sits like that for a moment, claws circling the rim of the heavy crystal tumbler, his tail twitching back and forth. The other players have sensed the shift in his mood, and even the ones benefitting from his bad luck know better than to comment.

Husk stubs out his cigar in the nearest ashtray, turning his gaze towards you.

“Doll.”

You look up from where you’re standing obediently against the wall.

“I need a word.”

You nod, training your face into a well-practiced mask of professionalism despite your confusion at the sudden request. He stands, waving a hand towards the elevator to his penthouse, and you follow after him without a word. Husk doesn’t say anything until he has you upstairs, and every moment in the ride up has you burning with unspoken tension. You twist your hands together behind your back as your only outward show of nerves. It isn’t often that your Overlord is displeased with you, and even then, he’s never pulled himself away from the table to reprimand you. Hell, you’d started to think that he might even be growing fond of you, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. You were just a pet, after all.

Husk set himself down in a plush, velvet armchair the color of merlot, and you move automatically to the bar in the corner to fix him a drink. He takes it from you with a gruff hum, his claws brushing against your fingers. Husk nods, indicating for you to stand in front of him, and you do so immediately.

His tail is still twitching back and forth by his feet.

Husk watches you over the rim of his glass for a long moment, and something in his gaze makes your insides burn. You swallow, squeezing your thighs together. He notices, and embarrassment floods through you as his gaze drops to your skirt.

“You’re a distraction.”

You blink, surprised. “I’m… sorry, sir?”

He blinks, slowly, taking another sip of his drink. He sets the glass aside. “Do you like your job here, doll?”

“Yes,” you nod, and mean it. You like… spending time with him, even if only to fetch him a drink and manage his schedule with the other Overlords and potential new contracts. And as far as soul contracts go, you'd heard of much worse treatment.

“Good,” he tells you, holding out a paw. You hesitate, confused, before taking it, breath catching as he tugs you closer to him. Your knees are caged in by his own, your shins meeting the edge of the armchair. “I guess that means you’re not distractin’ me durin’ my business on purpose, hm?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t—”

“I didn’t think so,” he continues in that velvet voice of his. You can feel the power of it between your thighs, send a tickle down your spine. “Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you, doll?”

You nod, a soft whine slipping past your lips despite yourself.

Husk smiles, huffing a quiet, amused breath. “So, does that mean you’ll do something for me, pet?”

Swallowing, you nod again, just once. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he replies, shifting back against the chair more comfortably. “Then come here, and stand over me.”

The instruction stuns you for a moment, but he doesn’t repeat himself; he just arches a brow expectantly. You do as he asks, toeing off your shoes before letting him retake your hand and help you up onto the armchair. You stand with a foot on either side of him, flushing as you stand with his face set only a few inches lower than your crotch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and your breath hitches as he runs his paws up over the back of your legs, sweeping them from ankle all the way up to your thighs. They settle there, squeezing at them. He watches the way your flesh bulges ever so slightly over the edge of the lace. “Now, lift up your skirt.”

Your hands shake as you do as he commands, eyes squeezing closed as you hear him hum his approval. You feel the cold shock of his nose brush against your inner thigh before his mouth is suddenly against your clothed cunt, and you moan, almost collapsing on top of him.

“Fuck…” he mutters, his tongue tasting you through your underwear. Even dulled by the fabric, the rough texture of it makes your eyes roll back, your hands curling into fists around the skirt you have bunched up by your sides.

Husk’s claws dig into your flesh, an arm banded around each thigh to hold you in place over him, his fangs tear at your panties and he tastes you in earnest, tongue lapping at your clit before dipping into your already dripping hole. He groans against you at the flavor of it, the threads of your stockings popping under his claws. You find yourself rocking your hips against his mouth, the alternating sensations of his cold nose and his rough tongue against your clit making you see stars.

“Fuck, sir,” you moan as you feel one hand move up to clutch at your ass beneath your skirt, and you’re rewarded for the sound by him sucking on your clit. “Fuck!”

“Taste so good,” his voice is muffled against your cunt, the heat of his breath teasing at the slick skin of your inner thighs, and your knees shake. He lets you lean them against his shoulders, and when you dare to curl your fingers in the fur by his ears Husk groans aloud, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood. “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“God…” you whimper, and when he purrs your legs shake beneath you, threatening to collapse out from beneath you. “Please…”

“Hmm…” he sounds, pressing a biting kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above the lace of your stockings. “‘Please’ what, baby?”

“I need… I need…” you whine as he returns his mouth to your cunt, eyes rolling back. “Please can I…”

“Need to say it, pet.” he tells you, the claws on your ass rising further to untuck your shirt and stroke almost absently at the small of your back. It makes you shiver. It drops away then, and you hear the sound of a zipper lowering, the steady sound of his fist stroking at his cock.

“Need to hear you say it,” he continues after a moment, his voice more uneven than before as his own pleasure builds quickly now that he’s finally taken mercy on himself. “Ask your daddy for what you want.”

“Please can I cum, sir?” you choke out, and you swear you can feel him grin against your flesh. “Please, sir, I need…”

Your whole body seizes as you feel a vibration roll from his mouth up into your clit, his dusky voice now layered over the steady thrum of his purring. “Soon, baby… you’re doin’ so good for me. Don’ wanna disappoint me, do you?”

You shake your head, humming a ‘no’, and he rewards you with a deep, rumbling. “That’s my good pet.”

You can barely breathe by the time Husk finally gives you permission to cum, his tongue on your clit as your whole body curls forward above him. You clutch at the back of the chair behind him, white-knuckled, and when you thank him in a shaking, high-pitched whine he cums too, cursing as his head falls back and his hips rise off the cushion. You can feel the warm threads of his cum land on your calf, and the Overlord catches hold of your waist before you can collapse on top of him.

Husk helps you down from the chair onto shaky legs, and he exhales slowly, the mask of detached, professional Overlord returning. He picks up his abandoned drink, raising an eyebrow at you and nodding pointedly down towards his lap. Still, his voice is softer than he intends. “I’ve got a game to get back to, pet.”

You move forward obediently, color flooding your cheeks as you drop to a kneel in front of him and tuck his softening cock back into his pants. He groans lightly at your touch, tossing back the rest of his whiskey as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

He sets the glass aside without looking away, letting himself enjoy the view of you kneeling between his thighs. Your fingers linger against his zipper for a long moment before you remember to pull them away.

“Get yourself cleaned up, doll. You’ve got twenty minutes before you’re expected back downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husk watches you rise and pull your skirt back down over the lace of your stockings. His eyes never leave you as you do as he ordered and exit the room, and he heaves a long sigh once you’re gone. He closes his eyes tight, raising a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

“…Fuck.”

[lucrativesoul]

The Neighbor

summary: you just moved into a new condominium and have the pleasure of meeting your new, older neighbor, Leon. instantly, you are smitten, and he wants to know more about you. oh, and you work as an online cam model.

pairing: id!leon kennedy x fem!reader

word count: 7.3k

warnings: smut, fingering, masturbation, turning leon into an obedient little boy

a/n: take a shot every time i use a boring title... this plot came to me in a dream. of course, i immediately had to turn it into a leon story. sorry for being gone so long! life has been crazy for me. don't worry, i'm still here and trying to think up new ideas! help is always welcome. I'm still getting love on my other fics which is soo appreciated. i hope you all enjoy this one, and i will be back with another!

You were exhausted from the day, and you had to take a moment to splay yourself out on your floor, taking in your new environment. You worked to bring yourself here, so you will enjoy it however you please for the moment.

You found yourself in a new location, able to move out of your one bedroom apartment into a large condo, with the addition of a loft and second bedroom. Surely you knew it was more than you needed, but the satisfaction of knowing you could make this price back easily was too much to resist. 

Pushing yourself up onto your hands, legs still stretched outward on the carpet, you grazed your eyes over the large boxes you had spent all day moving into this room. You had friends helping you all day with furniture and other boxes, but these you knew you had to take care of by yourself, in case one of them accidentally opened. Yes, your closest friends knew what you did for work, but you would prefer to keep it to your small circle. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself up onto your feet, immediately getting to unpacking and setting this room up. You were sitting on a small stockpile of content to post white you were in the process of setting up, which you did warn your audience about and were slowly posting your way through, but you were too eager to put this room to use. It made you want to turn on the camera at the mere thought.

Two hours later, the sun was now kissing the tips of the trees and the sky was golden. The windows all around were open, cooling you off, and before you could comfortably retire for the night, you had one last touch to your filming room.

You reached into the final box, intending to pull out the tripod, but seeing the box empty. 

“What the…” You mumbled to yourself, looking around the room. You knew it was the last box, and were sure you didn't already take it out. You signed, almost a groan. “Fuck.” At least this would be the real final trip to the car.

The air felt nice on your heated skin, and with every passing minute it got darker. You popped open your trunk, rifling through the miscellaneous bags that were littered back there, probably with shoes and clothes that you could take in later. The tripod was buried underneath them.

Closing the trunk, you were about to stalk back inside when a figure off to the left made you jump. A man was standing by the street, headed your way.

You almost ran for it. You had your anxieties related to doing what you do, but you kept very cautious, and knew no one except your friends knew where you were located. Plus, there were units all around. You had to assume this was a neighbor.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” You shook your head in an it’s alright response. A man with a medium build and a few inches on you walked over, and stopped a few feet from your car. At least he had the decency to keep distance. “I live right next to you. I was watching everyone bring boxes in earlier, please know I would have helped if I wasn’t home for only an hour in between my shifts. I’m Leon,” He held his hand out to you, you shook it, and responded with your own name.

“No, please don’t worry. We were totally good with help, there were almost too many people in there.” You giggled lightly, no longer feeling an intimidation off of him. “One day was all we needed. I’m sure I’ll be unpacking for months to come though.”

He chuckled. “That’s how I was when I was younger too, I moved a few times and put all my friends on an unpaid job to move and pack for me, saved me a ton of time, but that was the last time I trusted them to not lose any of my things.” In the last wisps of sunlight, you could see the golden light bouncing off his hair, long-ish, almost fell over one of his eyes, but cropped behind the ears. Stubble framed his strong chin. Good to know I have an attractive neighbor.

“I was keeping a very careful watch over them, trust me.” You shifted on your feet, recognizing the feeling creeping up inside of you. The urge to bare yourself for your audience, the innocent look in this man’s eyes, but your thoughts were forcing his face into itself. You almost felt guilty, you were sure Leon’s family would not appreciate these thoughts. “Glad I got to meet you, though, better sooner than later, so I can feel familiar with at least one person so far.” You looked towards his house, kitchen light on. “Hopefully I can meet your… um, wife?” An audible question on the last word, you could only assume he was old enough to be married.

He laughed stronger this time, but not at you. He shook his head. “It’s just me.” He said softly. His eyes grazed down to what you were holding this whole time. “You’re a photographer?”

You looked down, remembering what you had come out here for. “Oh, um… not really, I… make content. Like, youtube.” It was the safest option that you could throw out on the table, definitely not about to air out your business to this man you just met a minute ago. You were suddenly glad your filming room didn’t have any connecting walls to his space. 

“Hey, that’s cool, I can’t say I’m familiar with that profession, but I can imagine it's more fun than a 9-5.” Oh, it definitely is, you thought. “I don’t want to keep you out here, go get settled, I’m sure it was a long day.” He took a step backward, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “If you ever need something, I’m here. Don’t be shy.” With a greeting, he disappeared into his house, and you soaked in the air to cool your skin before you knew you would be heating up again in due time.

–

Nothing but waves of bliss racked your body. It was exactly how you planned on ending this night.

You can’t really recall when you made this decision to switch from your original career path to this. A basic, calm life just wasn't what you were looking for. You liked the thrill, you liked doing what you shouldn’t be, and baring yourself online to hundreds of strangers was the furthest thing from your old path of being a teacher. Naturally, it attracted you, and it took over your life. You were always rational about it, no one on your page knew what you looked like, and you always found that ironic, how you felt so comfortable showing anonymous people you masturbating, but got nervous at the idea that they knew who you were. You didn’t care, though. It put you in this new home.

You closed down your stream with many thanks and gifts from your audience, and simply laid there for a moment, cooling down and catching your breath. Your phone showed it was 10:33 PM. You probably could have gone for much longer, but the day was finally catching up to you, and after a shower, you knew you would be sleeping instantly.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was the immediate dreams about your older neighbor, whom you had just met hours before.

You felt his large hands over your waist, on your neck, pulling you in to be closer to him. His body enveloped yours, the heat between you two spreading, his soft mouth gracing the skin of your neck, and you ached to be with him. The touch was so real, you were melting under him. You needed him to keep touching you, you felt him all over you. With every inch he moved his hands, you felt fuller by the second, ready to explode if he told you to. 

You rolled over, face hitting the pillow, the last of his touch fading off of your skin. You sighed deeply, annoyed that this dream put you in this mood first thing in the morning, not even a chance to wake up.

Pushing your dream aside, you still had a ton of work to do in your new home. Boxes were still laid about everywhere, and it felt like it would never come together at all. Now or never, and you dragged yourself out of bed.

–

The evening was already closing in, and you stood in your opened garage, breaking down the boxes that no longer needed to serve its purpose. You had gotten more done than you were expecting, and subconsciously, every time you stepped outside to dispose of more cardboard, your eyes darted sideways to your neighbor's house. You hadn’t seen his car when he walked over last night, probably parking in his own garage, so you had no idea if he was home right now. You didn’t risk staring, as you could only assume the dark windows meant he was working. It at least gave you a little peace of mind while you worked.

Your phone started ringing a few seconds later. Seeing your friend’s name, you sighed, grateful for a moment of relief. Typically, these moments turned into an hour or two, but you weren’t complaining, you had done enough organizing today.

As predicted, you spent the next thirty minutes leaning against your car and chatting with your friend, who, yes you had just seen yesterday, but still had more to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw headlights pull down the street to your unit, and swung in and disappeared next door. Your stomach involuntarily lurched, being nervous to see Leon again.

You weren’t sure why, the interaction you had yesterday was nothing extreme, was barely anything at all, and the dream lasted a minute at most. It couldn’t have been anything besides the dream, it felt all too real for you to just forget it happened. Now, you knew, you were cursed with this knowledge that you had a sex dream about this man. 

You watched as the garage door shut behind his car, let out a sigh, and changed the topic of conversation.

“Okay… something odd happened last night.” You spoke to your friend, keeping your voice low.

“Odd? Oh god, it’s not haunted, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, it’s not haunted. I met my neighbor.”

You heard your friend gasp. “Oh, my god, and he's totally hot, right?” You could hear the fake voice she was putting on. “This is just like a lifetime movie. The hot neighbor, the little shy girl.”

“Shy girl? Where are you getting these ideas about me?” You smiled as you heard her laugh. “But, no, you’re like, right. He is hot. I don’t know how old he is, but definitely way older than me. I said I would look forward to meeting his wife, too, but he said it was just him. He was literally in my dream last night. I don't know what’s come over me.” You sighed, peeking to your left again.

“Woah, so, what I’m hearing is you’re making a movie with him.”

You scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I am not telling him. This is way past his time. He probably thinks it’s whore-ish.”

“Gotta prove him wrong, though.”

You pondered it, but knew it was no use trying to think it into reality. This was the one thing you knew you couldn’t tell anybody, they might say it doesn’t bother them, but it always did. Leon was nice enough to introduce himself the day you moved in, and waiting even any amount of time to tell him what you do would be a huge mistake. Better to let him keep thinking you did youtube-type content.

“Thanks for the idea. I’m definitely not taking your advice.”

–

You were standing in your kitchen, washing the few plates you used for your own dinner when the doorbell ringing out through the home made you jump. It was probably a friend, but you were confused at the lack of warning before showing up. At least you weren’t upstairs.

Opening the door, you were stunned in a momentary silence when none other than Leon was standing at your doorstep, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his mail. 

“Oh, hi Leon, I thought you were one of my friends.” You opened the door wider, but stayed planted, letting him stay outside.

“I guess I don’t have a great track record for not scaring you so far.” He smiled and tilted his head gently, and you responded with a smile. “I got some of your mail by accident. Couldn’t open your mailbox back up so, just thought I’d bring it by since I saw your light on.” You reached out and took an envelope from him, realizing it was from your cam company. Your stomach twisted for a moment, but you just hoped he didn’t recognize the name.

“Oh, thank you, I hope you won’t be making this trip too often for just that, then.” You lowered your hand, and suddenly remembered a problem you encountered earlier in the day. “Actually, Leon, since you are here, do you think you could help me quickly? I was trying to put things into my kitchen cabinets, and I accidentally pushed something too far back, and I can’t reach it now.” You bowed your head bashfully.

“Yeah, of course, lead the way.”

You stepped aside to let him in, and after shutting the door, walked through the hall into the kitchen. You pointed up to the cabinet above the refrigerator, instructing Leon on what you needed to be pulled forward. You stepped back, watching.

He acted like it was nothing, while you had struggled to even reach it in the first place. With one hand bracing himself on the counter top, he reached up. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the hem of his shirt, which lifted with his body movements, and you were in a trance immediately. His waistband was sitting just a hair below the band of his underwear, which sat delicately on his hips. You could see the curve of the muscle along his torso, clearly evident that he works out or has an active job, and from the side, the thin hairs of his happy trail were showing, disappearing into his pants. It lasted for all of a few seconds, but it burned in your brain. It was all you needed.

When you looked up, hoping to cut yourself off, Leon was already looking at you. You had no words, hoping he had something to say, knowing he for sure saw you staring.

“Easy fix. Try not to push it too far back all the time.” He turned around, giving you a lingering glance, a small grin on his face. You followed him back to the door. “Unless you just need more excuses to talk to me besides a mail mix up.” You nodded, standing at the threshold while he hopped down the stairs, turning his head and throwing a wink at you before disappearing. It took another ten seconds of collecting yourself before you could shut the door behind him.

–

It was not long at all before you saw Leon again, you couldn't resist needing to see him. There was no way he didn’t catch you staring when you invited him in, there was no chance he couldn’t tell the way you were looking at him. God, you barely knew the man but there was something about him that made your stomach stir. You were thinking about him while filming your content, the thought of him made you finish harder than you had ever made yourself finish before. You teased the thought of filming with him, even, and that had you weak. You knew he would never do it, whatever he did for work, it was probably much more legit to society than yours was.

You had invited him to come over tonight for drinks a few days ago. He was on his way out as you were on the way in, and decided to rip the bandaid off and invite him over to spend time with you. What brought this on? Nothing except the onslaught of thoughts of him, and a little convincing from your best friend, of course.

Taking a shot in the dark, you had on a small black dress. It was casual enough to be worn around company, but styled so it read obviously as, we’re drinking at my house and I need you to look at my body. You hoped the message would be received. 

The nerves were starting to boil up, and he wasn't even in your house yet. You unscrewed the nearest bottle of clear liquor and threw back a shot, needing to warm up your system and shut down your nervous response. It wasn’t going to be a big deal, he’s just the neighbor.

There was no time for the shot to kick in before knocking was heard through your quiet home. Swallowing the heartbeat rapidly rising in your throat, you stalked over to the door and swung it open.

Leon was casual, but looking the same as he did the night you met him. Nothing about it deterred you, it only drove your inner lust even further.

“Not too early, right?” Leon grinned as you slid aside for him to enter.

“Not at all. Maybe even late, I’m a few drinks ahead already.” He laughed as he followed you, and you were hyper aware of the way your body was moving throughout your house. You grabbed a glass and offered him what you have, and sat next to him at your island, facing him with a wine glass in hand.

“What do you do for work, by the way? All I remember is you mentioning your odd hours.” You took a sip as he started answering you.

“I work with the government, technically. I used to be a lot more active when I was younger, but now They have me just go in whenever they need me. Used to be a lot of physical work, but I’m not that good anymore.” He had a shy grin on his face and lowered his gaze into his glass.

“What? You’re kidding, You still look like you’d be perfectly fit for an active job. I don’t believe that.”

He looked up and made eye contact with you. “I’m glad you think so, someday I’ll have to prove it to you.” A lapse of silence, for once the alcohol didn’t give you a prompt to respond with. Leon was still looking into your eyes, and you felt a heat rising in your chest. He straightened up suddenly. “You know, I’m curious how similar this unit is to my own, I’ve never been in any of them. Tour?” He grinned, and you slid off your seat after a giggle.

You walked into the dining room. “Still empty, obviously, I probably won’t ever use this, I like eating in my kitchen more.” Leon kept his drink in hand as you two walked. You left the dining room and down the short hall into the living room. “Maybe one of my favorite rooms, I love looking up into the loft.” You both looked up to the high ceilings and the loft railing to the left.

“Let’s go up there.” He lowered his gaze from the loft to you. You felt your stomach twist momentarily, knowing exactly what was up there, but you couldn’t say no, that would make it all the more suspicious. You nodded after a second, leaving the living room and turning left to take the stairs. You could feel his eyes on you, your body felt hot, and you hoped to god that you shut the door when you were done last night.

At the landing, you sighed with relief, seeing the closed door. You needed to make sure it stayed shut.

“This is just… storage, really. Since my room is downstairs and I don’t have much stuff.” You walked further down the landing, gesturing to your left as you did so. “And the bathroom. Is this similar at all to yours?”

Leon approached you. “It actually is, just a little different. I guess I should have expected that.” He let out a low chuckle, and you mirrored him. You turned back to the railing, looking down into your living room.

“Once I think I’m really settled, I’m probably going to paint these tall walls. I really love the idea of a dark space, hopefully the office will sign off on a dark color, you know how they are sometimes.” After no immediate answer, you continued. “It’s crazy moving into this space, my old apartment was like… the size of my entryway, so I barely have anything to fill it here, but I have high hopes.” Lost in your daydreaming, the silence snapped you out of it. Leon was not standing next to you like you thought.

Turning your head to the right, you found him standing in the doorway of your filming room, which he had cracked open and flicked a light on inside.

“Leon!” You could only stand there as he remained still, looking into the room, hand on the doorknob. When he turned his head to look at you, he was grinning.

“Sorry to pry.” He stalked back over to you, not bothering to close the door. “I get curious sometimes.” You stared at him with wide eyes, no words coming to your head. “You make… youtube videos?” 

You could practically hear the light goading in his tone, the smile still on his face. You didn’t need to look into the room to know what he saw, and now he knows you were lying. 

You weren’t exactly the tidiest person, especially when it comes to this room. While you are on camera, you shed your clothes and lingerie and toss them off to the side, and usually don’t pick them up until the next day. You were no stranger to using toys during performances, and you were sure there were plenty of those lying about on the floor as well. You couldn’t see them, but you knew you used them last night, and don’t remember putting them away after cleaning them.

You struggled to think of something to say, the silence was stretching thin now, and you hated looking so… guilty. His grin was growing by the second. It was making your stomach churn.

“I… never actually said youtube.” You sputtered.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that almost made you weak. “No, I suppose you didn’t. So, what kind of videos then?” He tilted his head, obviously knowing the state he is putting you in right now.

You took a deep breath in, tying together all of your courage to maintain eye contact with him. Quickly, you assessed the situation. One: He liked what he was doing to you. He seemed entertained by the embarrassment he was bringing you right now, much to your annoyance that you would deal with later. Two: He caught you staring at his body the other night when you asked him for help. He didn't say anything at the time, but you locked eyes right after you were staring at his muscle ridges, and he had that same shit-eating grin on his face. Three: He was not deterred by the idea of you doing this for a job, in fact, it seemed like he enjoyed the idea, just as much as he enjoyed teasing you.

After these brief thoughts, you forced yourself to spit out words that you never would have otherwise.

“Would you let me show you?”

Leon’s head slowly straightened, and the grin melted from his features, but his eyes never left yours, and the fervor in them only grew stronger. His dark gaze pierced into you, and you felt it straight in your heat, and in that moment, you knew you had your answer to that question.

With the hand that was free from your drink, and eyes never leaving his, you took Leon’s into your own, the rough, warm skin heating your fingers and palm, and you walked past him into your filming room, and you heard him close the door behind you.

You turned around, wasting no time in ridding your hands of both of your drinks, and you stared at him again for a moment. You couldn't help the shaky inhale, overwhelmed with the absolute excitement of getting to do this right now. You took a step towards him, lifting your hand up and gently placing it on his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

He immediately responded to the touch, his lips pressing into yours. His hand snaked around your hips, pulling you in closer, and you could feel his torso on yours, the heat radiating, adding to your burn. You could feel his grip, and by the mere workings of his mouth alone, you could tell he wanted this just as much as you did. 

He backed you up a step, pushing you further into your room, feeling the plush carpet underneath your feet, knowing he was most likely going to try and attempt to lower you onto your bean bag behind you, but you had other plans. 

Right before Leon could lift your legs to set you down, you stood up straight, breaking away from his mouth with a thin saliva string. He looked caught off guard, mid-lean into a kiss, opening his eyes to watch your moves with confusion.

“Sit down.” You whispered loud enough for him to hear. He obeyed your request, sitting on the plush bean bag looking eager. You sunk onto your knees in front of him, watching as he leaned forward with anticipation. You gave in to one last urge– you leaned in and kissed him briefly– before leaning back, supporting yourself on your hands and your legs presented in front of you. You watched as his stare worked all the way down your body, over your chest, onto your legs, in between them. You were sure your lingerie was on display under your dress by this point, but this was the exact reason you put it on. 

“I want to show you my favorite kind of video to make.” You spoke without shame to him, wanting to see the reaction you can pull out of him. You could swear you saw him visibly swallow at your words, aching to see what you were going to show him. “You’re going to listen to me, okay?” He locked eyes with you, deep and sultry, and slowly nodded. “And you aren’t going to touch me until I tell you to.” He audibly sighed at this, both frustrated and turned on by the idea of only getting to watch. You felt slick gathering, stomach in a knot still, all too excited about the show you were about to put on.

“Tell me what kind of videos you think I make, now.” You never broke eye contact, but he wasn't ashamed to let his own eyes roam. You could tell they were glued onto the black panties plastered onto your wet pussy.

He sighed, and shuddered quickly. “You probably show yourself off to a whole audience.” He tilted his head, looking further into you. “Do you play with yourself on camera?” 

You leaned forward, shielding your core from his gaze, and he met your eyes. You pulled your legs under you, sitting up on your knees, slowly peeling your dress off your body from the bottom hem, bringing it over your head. Despite being momentarily blinded, you knew he was looking at every inch of exposed skin. The tiny matching bra didn’t leave much for imagination, your nipples clearly on display under the mesh fabric.

The dress was thrown behind you without grace, and you returned to your position in front of Leon. He was practically sliding off of the bean bag, wanting to touch you all over, but listening to your earlier command. 

“Did you think someone like me could do something like that?”

In between rapid heavy breathing, he replied, “I… I don’t know. I do now. Your body is incredible. You could.” 

“Would you watch me?” He nodded, spitting out a few ‘yes’s. “What would you want to see me do? I usually do what people ask me to do.” You slowly leaned in closer, bringing your face just under his, waiting to see if he would move. You backed up again, scooting backwards on the floor, and with a gesture of come closer with your finger, he followed, sitting on the floor now, still not touching you. 

“I would want you to take it all off. I want to see your body.” You giggled at his request.

“I could make that work… eventually.” He groaned at this, and you couldn't help but smile even more. “What else? Tell me.”

He sighed again, still locked in a stare with all your bare skin. “I want to see you play with yourself. I want to see you finger yourself… and play with your clit.”

You felt a sharp sensation travel straight to said clit at these words, and your thighs quivered with anticipation. You were sure you got your dominating point across– as dominating as you could stand to be in this situation. Leon was struggling, visibly, at that, and you were, too, but you were enjoying this too much to want to stop.

“Would you be touching yourself while I fingered myself?” Your legs fell open wider at the knees, feeling your folds peel apart. You needed contact there, but you could wait. 

Leon nodded. ”I would. I wouldn’t be able to help it.” Only at this moment did you decide to divert your gaze, leaving his sculpted face to look at his crotch, an obvious erection straining against his pants, and his face almost contorted in pain from the pressure of it. 

“Do you want to touch yourself now?” 

He groaned again, his head rolling to the side. “So bad… I want to touch you so bad.”

You took a moment to examine the state of this grown man in front of you. You didn’t even know his age, but he was at least more than ten years older than you. He was practically begging for you to do something, for you to let him do something, sitting on your floor, falling apart at the seams, probably going to cum in his pants if you exposed yourself to him right now. You almost wanted to see it happen.

You held out your left hand to him. “Give me a hand.”

He wasted no time in outstretching his right hand to you, and once you had it in your grasp, you leaned forward and closed your mouth around his middle and right finger. Even just the contact of your tongue on his hand was enough to have him writhing, wanting more but not asking for it. Your tongue circled each finger individually, both at the same time, biting lightly to tease him. He was leaning as far forward as his body would allow without crashing into your body, and you couldn’t remove your eyes from his face, pleasure written all over it.

You were in full performing mode now, but this was a whole new level, giving you the added adrenaline for the moment. You knew exactly how to seduce, and while that had never been a problem for you, you felt like a professional right now with the way Leon was falling for you.

With one last long lick to his fingers, you removed his hand from your mouth and held it out in front of you. “You get to touch me, I want you to finger me,” His eyebrows furrowed for a split second, relieved at hearing those words. “But you can only use this hand.” He came even closer, but didn’t touch you yet. You still held his hand in yours. “Okay?”

“Okay…” He whispered breathily, and without even blinking, he watched as you propped yourself up onto your knees and pulled your underwear off of your body, casting them aside, and resuming position.

Your heart thrummed erratically in your chest as you felt totally in control of what Leon could do to you right now, you felt like you might die. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your naked core, fucking you with his stare, and you felt that twist in your gut again, wanting to make it happen, but needing to show him who was in charge. 

He sighed, sounding like he was, too, having a hard time holding himself together, and he didn’t waste another second before you felt his hand make contact with your aching pussy.

It started with the pad of his thumb, you almost bucked your hips up in relief at the feeling of him pressing firmly into your clit, you allowed yourself to shakily exhale at the feeling of being touched, but you kept your half lidded eyes trained on Leon.

He tentatively rubbed circles into your sensitive bud, and you softly whined at the contact, not letting your guard down while he worked your sweet spot. He had his head still tilted, eyes flicking in between your core and your face, and every time he looked up, you held contact, and silently egged him on. After a few more circles, and eliciting more whines from you, he ran his spit-slick fingers over the length of your opening, you sighed, needing him inside of you. Without removing his thumb, he pressed the tips of his two fingers into you, pushing past the resistance, and both of you sighed in tandem when they were in all the way.

You rolled your head back slightly, enough to still be able to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to disobey your orders. He was breathing heavily as he worked his fingers into you, making sure to deliver you the utmost pleasure, and also seeming to be pleasured from it himself. You could see the twitching of his cock through his jeans, and you were dying to get your hand on it, dying to get his own hands on it. You wanted, you suddenly decided, to get the both of you off at just the work of himself. 

Watching him now, you knew it would happen, he was about to release all over the inside of his pants if he kept this up, if any more lewd whimpers and moans spilled from your lips, he would be finished. He seemed like the type of man to do more than one round, and you could definitely put that to the test.

Leon crooked his fingers upward in you, causing you to lose monetary control of your body, and your hips bucked upward slightly. You were fighting against it, but you used it to your advantage, using it to see exactly how your pleasure would affect Leon. He groaned at the way you writhed for him, writhed because of him, and he shifted his legs, allowing his denim to be the source of his own friction. You almost felt sorry for him, if only you didn’t enjoy seeing him so submissive for you.

Wanting to get the words out, they caught in your throat as he continued twisting his fingers and hitting every spot inside of you that had your legs trembling, and you could feel that you were close. His thumb was still pouring over your clit, making it harder to stay held together. 

“Leon…” You moaned out. He looked up at you sinfully, understanding the way he was affecting you, but not halting his movements to hear you speak. You didn’t command him to stop, so he kept going. “You make me feel so good…” You whimpered again, letting him work you loose. “Listen to me, keep going,” He followed those orders, still watching you. “I want you to take your cock out. I want you to take it out and leave it out, don’t touch it until I tell you to.”

He groaned at this order, most likely relieved that he could finally touch himself. As much as you would want to be the one doing it, you’ll save it for round two. 

“Can I stop to take it out?” His voice was nearly cracking, his emotions overflowing all at once, threatening to burst.

You cocked a tiny smile. “No. Keep your fingers moving.” 

He visibly gulped, and his movements started stuttering as he attempted to do the two tasks at once. 

You were now focusing less on his initial task just to watch him struggle with the new one. He sat at an odd angle, using his free hand to undo the button and pull his zipper down, trying to move himself just enough to pull his waistband down, but not enough to separate from your throbbing heat, which he stayed glued to like he was being sucked in. 

Finally, it was low enough for you to see the bulge and wet spot from the precum on his boxers, and you were drooling with anticipation as he pulled the elastic down, freeing his girth from its restraints. Now, you were the one in a trance as his hard cock sprang free, hard as ever, straight at attention pushed against his abdomen as he did his best to not touch it as he took it out.

You sighed loudly, and when he was done, he looked back up at you. “Is that good?”

You nodded slowly, feeling his fingers come back to life inside your pussy, which was now aching for more of a stretch. “So good. So good…” You moaned out the last words, and you noticed Leon had to clench his other fist to stop himself from doing anything you didn't ask of him.

“Go ahead,” You whispered, but you knew he absolutely heard. “Slowly touch yourself. Follow my directions…” He immediately wrapped his other hand around the base of his dick, choppy moaning spilling from his lips as he did so. 

You watched as he hesitantly tugged at himself, not helping any of the sounds he was making, but it was only helping you to climax. Half of the time he resorted to keeping his eyes closed as he did both at once, undeniably being overcome by waves of pleasure. You watched as strings of thin precum followed on his fingers every time he stroked himself, the pink head of his dick looking so neglected, so soft, you wanted to put your tongue on it and lap up all of the sticky, stringy precum to clean it up for him. 

You could practically feel the texture of his dick in your mouth as you watched him, knowing it was becoming harder to hold yourself back.

“Stroke it at the same pace as your fingers.” You mumbled, clear enough to be heard. “I want you to bring me close, but I need you to tell me when you are close, too.” 

Leon was practically panting as he continued to finger you and pump his own dick, with every up and down stroke of his cock, his fingers went in and out, the sound of squelching becoming even louder with every movement, everything he did made you more wet by the second. 

Your forearms were burning from holding yourself up for this long, and your thighs quivered occasionally, and right as he hit the sweet spot inside of you again, you couldn’t help the squeak it produced from you, and you had to lower yourself to your elbows. Despite this, Leon was still obeying you.

You took a hard inhale before speaking, needing to collect yourself more than expected. “You’re so good at listening to me, you know that?” You half moaned out, feeling yourself get closer to the edge. You saw him nod meekly. “You’re doing so good, so good for me.” He kept groaning every time his hand hit the head of his dick, the sensation probably becoming overwhelming, the need to cum bubbling up inside of him, and of you.

Another beat went by before you spoke again. “Why don’t you pick up the pace a little bit? I’ll let you go faster.”

“On who?” He answered almost immediately, as if his brain was hardwired to only be obedient to you, and nothing else. That notion alone brought that flame closer to exploding in you.

“Yourself, bring yourself closer. I’m almost there. You feel so good.” Your breathing was matching his now as the both of you were panting loudly, and you fought the urge to close your legs as the sensations were sending a series of twitches down your thighs and calves. 

Leon wasn’t shy with his reactions any longer as he continued to moan loudly every time he pumped his dick, you could see how red it was from both the rough friction of his hand and the neglect from having been bound up in his pants. It hadn’t even been that long, but you knew he was close. You could tell.

His thumb pressed hard into your clit and you shrieked again, unintentionally closing your legs as the heat rocked through you, you clenched down on his fingers and your hands gripped the carpet as much as they could, you were much closer now, and you were drinking up the feeling of him untying all the knots within you. 

“Oh, Leon… I’m gonna cum…” You let your head fall completely back now, reveling in the feeling of him working on you, your stomach tightening every time he puts more pressure onto your clit.

With another sharp inhale, and a few strokes of his fingers, you felt yourself collapsing at the hands of him, your body shuddered and you felt the walls of your aching pussy tighten, spasm, and a flood of relief and relaxation poured over you.

Mere seconds after, you looked over to see Leon fisting his own dick, fingers still inside of you, overstimulating you, shooting ropes of cum onto his hand and shirt. He gasped with every spurt, his hand never leaving the base of his dick, his white cum dripping over his knuckles, his dick twitching gently after he was finally drained.

He slid his fingers out of you, eliciting another soft moan from you, and held eye contact while he gingerly licked your juices off of his hand. You swore that sole action made you ready all over again. 

Leon pulled his hand off of his dick, the cum making a sticky sound as he did so. You slowly sat up, legs feeling more like jelly than you were ever used to, grabbed his hand, and licked a stripe up one of his fingers, thick slime coating your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

“I’m afraid I might get addicted to this.” He whispered, coming closer to you.

“And if I wanted you to?” Staring deep into his eyes, his pupils blown out, you could see in him that he, much like yourself, wasn’t done either.

“Your audience might not like that.” His voice was low and gravelly, a sound you wanted to get used to hearing. 

You chuckled breathily. “Not if we let them in on it…” Your fingers slowly traced circles onto the back of Leon’s hand, letting the implication of your words hang in the air.

You saw a quirk of a smile in the corner of his mouth, and his eyes flitted behind you where you knew you had your camera set up. He met yours once more. “They might not be interested in round two.”

A full smile spread across your lips, and you gripped the front of his shirt to pull him in for a deep, hot kiss, which he instantly returned. Sure, maybe not tonight, would your audience see you fully fledged out for this man, one round in already, but you were sure they would be watching next time from the beginning.

[domesticgoddess22]

A night With Joel Miller

Dad's enemy!joel

Ao3 | masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings : dub-con, unprotected PIV, breeding kink, mild gun violence, dark!joel miller, raider!joel, deep throating, spanking, daddy kink, creampie, dom!Joel, dad's enemy!joel, praise kink, captivity word count: 4.1k summary: You're scavenging around an old CD store in Austin when the notorious Joel Miller catches you alone. Clickers swarm the street, so he takes you upstairs to hide out for the night. He says you were free to leave, but you stay and things get steamy.

a/n: This is my little one shot I posted to Ao3 awhile back. I've been considering making it a series once I finish some chapters of Wish Upon A Cowboy. Also this is the first time I've ever posted a fic on Tumblr so I hope I'm doing it right<3

~~~

You were always the adventurous type, always exploring, always curious. Never doing what you’re told and trading obedience for the sweet thrill of temptation. Your old man only caught you traversing through Austin by yourself a handful of times now. Those were the times you were lazy, slipped up a little, enough for someone in the faction to notice you were missing and rat you out. Your dad would send his guys after you like you were some fucking kid that couldn’t handle yourself out there. The other 300 times you did it, he had no idea you had even left your room.

Tonight was another one of those nights. 

You were on your way to an old CD store to see if you could scrap up something new to listen to. It was time to put Sweet Home Alabama to fucking rest and change up the tunes, and if you were lucky, maybe you’d find an old Nirvana CD still intact.

The beam of your flashlight reflected on what little shine the CD cases had left to offer, most of them dusty and scratched, tossed across the rubble like relics. 

The sound of a gun clicked behind your ears.

“Don’t move,” a low, smokey voice breathed into the shell of your ear. Instinctively, your arms shot up, palms facing outward. The Nirvana case crashed at your feet, fragments of plastic splintered this way and that. “Turn around. Slowly. ” 

You obeyed, heart hammering, blood pumping, eyes beginning to tear. When you do turn to face him, you’re blinded by a blaring flashlight pointed at you. 

“‘s just you here?” 

“Yes–yes it’s just me, I swear it.” 

“Ain’t it a bit dangerous for a little thing like you to be runnin’ around Austin…?” He aimed the light away so it’s pointed somewhere off to your left, scanning the room before his eyes lock back onto yours. “... Alone. ” 

You could see him more clearly now, tall, broad shoulders, face lined with stress, and eyes so cold, you’re sure he’d seen death more than you ever had. You were no match for him either, even with the revolver strapped to your ankle and a knife in your bra. He was too big. Too imposing. 

“I uh…” you swallowed the acidic bile creeping up your throat. “I like to live on the edge.”

“Mmm,” he licked his teeth, studying you. “That ain’t very smart. Lot more out here to be ‘fraid of than infected.”

He’s going to fucking kill you, isn’t he?

“My dad will raise hell if anythin’ happens to me.” 

“Your dad, huh?”

“Mhm. Old man is probably on a wild goose chase lookin’ for me as we speak.”

He chuckles darkly, “I ain’t scared of your daddy.”

“Look, man, I don't have much on me,” you plea, eyebrows knitted inward. Maybe he’d pity you and let you loose.

“Not much, but sounds like you got somethin’.”

“Got a granola bar.”

“Think your life is worth a granola bar?” He cocked his brow.

You rolled your eyes. “Got a revolver on my left ankle. Map in my back pocket with some marks where my dad hides his shit. Happy?”

His lips tugged into a smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes, “Atta girl.” 

In one flood motion, he binds your wrists together with one hand, tucking his gun back into his belt and then patting down your pant legs searching for weapons. When he reaches your ankles, he takes the revolver. 

“‘s only got one bullet,” he grumbled.

“Times are tough.” People are out there stealing your faction’s shit.

He straightens, your arms are pinned against your head now and his eyes are dark, boring into yours. His grip tightens and he steps closer, a greedy hand sliding into your back jean pocket, you wince at the feel of a man’s hand on your ass.

“Other pocket.”

He grabs your wrists with his left hand, letting his right hand explore your left pocket this time, his fingers grabbing the little paper you told him about.

“Easy, cowboy.” You drawl, eyelashes fluttering, eyes trailing up his washed-out green flannel. Up, up, up until they land on his wide chest. His thick shoulders. And then finally, his eyes, dark and matched with an expression so stern and sharp it could cut glass. 

His stare burns into you like he’s turning your flirtatious words repeatedly in his head. And then his gaze falls to your lips. The weight of his hand is hot on your waist now, even through layers of cotton, you can feel his heat in this late October cold.

There’s a distant sound of a soda can rolling down the pavement, knocking into rubble, and then feet shuffling.

“What was that?” 

The man looks over the shelves to see what you can’t at your height.

“Clickers. Come on.” He tugged you by the waist, guiding you to the back exit and up a flight of stairs. 

“Woah, where are we going?” You whispered harshly.

“You’d rather stay out here?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and your gaze follows. There was a dozen clickers roaming around. How convenient. 

“If you give me my fucking gun back, yeah.”

“You got one bullet, kid. There’s fuckin’ ten of ‘em out there.” You step into an old apartment and the front door clicks behind you. He scopes out the rooms. “It’s clear. We can stay here for the night. If we gotta fight, better we do it in the daylight.” 

“I’m not stayin’ the night here with a stranger. Especially not a hunter. ” The word was thick on your tongue. Hunters were despicable people who stooped to the lowest of the low.

“By all means darlin’, you wanna test your luck, go right ahead. I ain’t stoppin’ you.” 

You scowled at that, but he was right. It seemed like you’d finally got yourself into a pickle, and despite your attempt to look calm and collected, you were scared shitless right now. Either you were going to spend the night with this random guy or try to dodge all the clickers and make it back home.

“Fine,” you rolled your shoulders in defeat. “But I’m not sleepin’. As soon as the sun comes up and the clickers disperse, I’m out.” 

“Don’t sleep then,” he murmured, looking through the cupboards and drawers for any remnants of the past.

“Still got that granola bar? ’m gettin’ pretty hungry.”

You threw the granola bar at his chest and he smirked, tearing the wrapper open.

“Thanks, Darlin’.”

“Not like you were gonna give me a choice.” 

Joel sat on the old couch and leaned back, arm propped against the back cushion. Legs spread. Brown eyes on you. He had removed his green flannel, exposing just a simple black tee barely holding onto his muscles. It took every ounce of sense in you to ignore how fucking good he looked. 

“Like what you see?” He said, a cocky grin on his face. Your eyes flicked elsewhere, dancing around the room to find something else to occupy your mind with.

“Don’t flatter yourself, old man.”

Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

“What’s your deal?” he pried.  “You runnin’ away from your daddy or some’n?”

“Nah.”

“Then?”

“Just like goin’ out. Seein’ the world.”

He scoffed. “‘m surprised he lets you run ‘round Austin all by yourself.” 

“He doesn’t. Doesn’t think I can handle myself out here.”

The man cocked a brow, challenging you.

“I can handle myself. I’m twenty-seven years old.” 

“You wanna handle yourself, darlin’, you better scope out places before hangin’ out in ‘em,” he grumbled, chewing on the granola bar. He pointed the rest of it in your direction, nodding his head in a gesture for you to take the rest.

“You’re lettin’ me have the last bite?”

“Take it, ‘fore I change my mind.”

You snatched it from him. “Did ya finally learn you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”

“You sayin’ I won you over, sweet thing?”

“Not a chance. I still don’t trust you.”

“Probably for the best.”

“That so?”

“I ain’t really a good guy.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. You robbed an innocent girl, nearly killin’ over a damn granola bar and a half-empty revolver. Swell guy.”

“Hey, you woulda been dead without me.” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and pointed a finger at you. “Clickers woulda chased after your dumb ass, loud as you were with those old CD cases and whatnot.”

“Whatever,” you slumped into the armchair across from him. “Wouldn't of made noise and dropped Nirvana if you hadn't surprised me.”

“Nirvana ain’t worth dyin’ over, kid.”

“Then what is?”

“Som’ else.”

“Go on,” you waved your hand, urging him to enlighten you on what he considers music worth dying for.

“The Eagles. If I see you again after this, I’ll give ya a listen. Got a few CDs of my own.”

“Okie dokie, random hunter dude that robbed me.” Because intentionally hanging out with a hunter sounded like a smart plan.

“Joel,” he leaned back against the cushion again.

Your blood was ice in your veins.

“What?” 

“My name. It’s Joel.” Your eyes were still wide in shock as Joel shook his head, tossing his hands like what don’t you understand?

“As in… Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?”

Joel fucking Miller.

This whole time you’ve been with the heartless hunter your dad cursed daily. 

Now that you could put a face to the name, it was hard to believe he looked so attractive. With the way your dad talked about him, you imagined Joel as an ugly troll.

“My dad would have a heart attack if he knew I was with you right now. He hates your guts, ya know.”

“Your dad? You’ll need to fill me in, sweetheart, I got a lotta guys that hate me.”

You tell him about your dad and watch the way Joel’s head nodded slowly in recognition.

“He’s had it out for me ‘n my guys for some time now. Can’t say I blame ‘im.” His eyes shifted to the left in thought, probably flashing back to the terrible things he’s done, and then his brown orbs fell back on you. “If I’m rememberin’ right, you must be…”

He tastes your name on his lips with a southern drawl as sweet as tea. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I know a lotta ‘bout your faction. Stole from ya ‘nuff times.” 

“Lovely.”

“Gotta survive, baby. Ain’t got somebody to do the dirty work for me like you do.”

“And what are you implyin’?”

“‘m just sayin’. And you’re dad ‘n I ain’t so different. Just survivin’ the best way we know how. Only difference is, he probably does what he does to protect you. I do what I do just… ‘cuz. ”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pretend you know anythin’ about me or my old man.”

“I don’t have to pretend. You’re an open book, darlin’,” he says with that same damn smirk on his face.

“Nah, I’m not,” you fold your arms across your chest and turn your gaze to the world outside the window. Below is a congregation of clickers on the road, confirmation that you were trapped alone with this man for the evening. 

The couch creaks when Joel stands, a divet in the old cushion left behind in his absence. He steps toward you, his belt buckle a few inches from your face. Saliva builds in your mouth and you swallow. Hard.

Rough fingers grip your chin, tilting your head upward to look into the dark eyes that gaze down upon you. 

“You look like you’ve been cravin’ some fun. Daddy’s been keepin’ you cooped up, ain’t he?” He exhales, a whiskey aroma riding the small breeze from his lips all the way to yours.

There’s an ache between your legs and your cheeks feel hot with shame. Your pulse quickened, and Joel fucking knew it. He could feel it. 

You had two options: deny it and look away, or embrace the thrill.

“Joel… What are you…” Your voice trailed off and you look bewildered, but your hand finds a place on his thigh. The denim feels hot on your palm.

“I can help you with that. Make you feel good.” He’s leaning down now, his breath on your lips. “Anybody ever made you feel good before?”

“N-No one,” you stutter, glossing over the memories of one of the guys from your faction. You were both young, inexperienced. It was nothing but a night of experimentation and pain, and then it never happened again.

Joel nodded slowly, releasing his grip on your chin and then moving back to the couch, eyes dark, right arm relaxed along the backside of the seat, left hand lifting two fingers that gesture for you to come hither.

If you were being fucking honest, the attraction began the second he pat you down and only deepened when you found out who he was. It felt like a dangerous thrill knowing you were with the very man your father would forbid you to be near.

“Come’re,” Joel pat his lap.

Without batting your eyes, without even thinking twice, you obeyed. You found a spot on his thigh, thick enough for you to have ample space to sit.

The gray bristles in his beard were more noticeable up close. You guessed he was in his mid to late 40s. He slowly tugged your jeans off and tossed them on the floor.

Joel’s palm rested on your naked thigh, kneading into your skin with his face buried in your neck, licking and biting and licking again, growing increasingly heady with each one until he was sucking on your neck so hard you could feel it turn purple. Then his fingers brushed the fabric of your panties and you squealed from the sudden contact.

“You okay, sweet thing? He breathed into your hair.

“I’m nervous.”

“‘S okay,’ his voice was a low whisper into your clavicle, followed by soft kisses on the side of your neck. “Why are ya nervous?”

“Um… just shy, I guess… Never done this much.”

He groaned when the tips of his fingers felt your dripping heat. “Fuck–you’re so wet.”

Eyes lidded with lust and back arched to give him more access, you start to grind on his hand. Moaning at his touch,  the wet heat that pools between your legs and soaks his hand, the way his fingers caress your folds in a circular motion.

“Good girl.”

The praise sent a tingling feeling through your core.

You were a good girl for him.

He rubbed your little bud more furiously now, picking up the pace and then he slid a thick digit into your slick. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that came in uncontrollable tidal waves as he pumped his finger in and out, in and out, in and out.

Just when you think you’re going to reach your peak, he firmly grips your waist on either side, lifting your ass until you crash down onto the seat of the cushion. His lips were on your pussy, before the two of you ever even kissed, you noted. He groaned the second his tongue glided across your wet slit, and the sound vibrates against your soft lips.

“Couldn’t resist… Baby… Fuck–Taste so fuckin’ sweet.” He babbled into your dripping lips, the stone-cold man from earlier was long gone, and now in his stead was a man drunk with lust. He was melting from your pheromones, your scent, your wetness. It felt good to know that you had that effect on him.

Joel bucked his hips into the couch with each lick and suck, growing more sporadic and sloppy in his rhythm. You weren’t an expert in the matters of men in the bedroom, but he clearly wasn’t going to hang on much longer–that much you knew. 

A rough hand cupped your mound and then toyed with your sensitive nipple. He pumped his finger back into you, his tongue still keeping the pressure on your bud. Joel slid in another finger, and then another until three of his thick digits are stretching you to the brim, viciously fucking into you until you were screaming his name and begging him for more. He conceded, guiding you to the sweet bliss of the finish line. 

Your chest was heaving, forehead tacky, and eyes planted on the popcorn ceiling above you as you came to. Two blinks later, the sound of a zipper snapped you out of your daze and you shifted your gaze to the space between your spread legs.

Joel had his cock out, thick and angry, veins pulsing. 

He was huge.  

Your mouth watered at the sight of it as you watched him jerk himself off to your body. 

You got on your knees, bending to show him the nice curve of your backside, face now inches away from his cock. He lets go as you place a hand on his jean pocket and steady yourself, and then he plunges into your mouth. 

Joel’s hands snaked through your hair and latched onto the backside of your head, pumping his cock into the back of your throat in five relentless thrusts. You choked from the sudden penetration and he quickly pulled out, his head sliding out of your lips with a “pop.”

“Too much?”

“No.” You wiped the string of saliva that connected you to him. “I like it.” And you liked that as cold and mean as he played off, he cared about whether or not he was hurting you.

His eyes went dark and there was a ghost of a smile pulled at his lips in satisfaction. And then his cock was sliding past your lips again and gliding against your tongue. You rolled your tongue around and suck him in as far as you could. He groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Ain’t gonna last long. Got me… all wound up.”

You moaned affectionately as he picked up the pace, thrusting and groaning, mumbling profanities. You even swore he said your name as his hot cream pumped into your mouth. 

Hands now pressed to his lower back for support, he was so deep that his balls were pressed to your chin and you felt him straining to release every drop. You realize that his gun, and yours, are tucked into his belt right by your hands. When he settled, you leaned back, swallowed, and licked your finger.

“You look so sexy right now,” he said, voice deep and gravelly, thick with the aftermath of sex.

You’d never felt this sexy before. Hair disheveled, naked ass resting on the back of your ankles, T-shirt barely covering your womanhood but leaving just enough to the imagination, and your breasts peeking out of the V.

Joel bent down until his body was completely imposing yours, caging you in. Your brows caved inward, looking up at him doe-eyed and uncertain of what he planned to do next. He wrapped one around your waist, pulling you into his embrace while his other hand creeps across your neck. 

He surprised you with an intimate kiss. It was romantic, demanding, and dangerous. Joel commanded your tongue to dance with his, exploring your mouth with fervor like he belonged there. 

“Turn around. Face down. Ass up,” he says in a husky whisper. You look up at him wide-eyed. “Now.” He commanded.

“Yes, daddy.” 

Ass up, just like he asked, he slapped your asscheek. You felt his chest against your back and his breath on the shell of your ear.

“This might hurt a little, just be a good girl for me, okay?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded eagerly.

“What was that? ” He said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Atta girl.” 

He slapped your ass again. The head of his cock was jabbing at your entrance, pulsing with desire. He bucked it in his hand and lined it up to your slit and pressed in. Hard.

“Fuuuuuck.” He groaned and you screamed in an odd mixture of pain and pleasure.

He was so big he nearly ripped you in two, yet the way you wrapped tightly around him, sucking him in felt so right. The wetness of his tongue glided up your back and along the side of your neck.

There was a little bit of relief as he pulled his cock out, but then he thrust back in, his balls slapping against your lips so deep it had you seeing stars. Rinse and repeat. In and out, in and out.

His thrusts were angry and unrelenting.

The way he twisted your nipple and squeezed your tit was downright cruel.

You were putty in Joel’s hands and he fucking knew it.

“Please. More. Please, please, please.” The voice that left your lips was hoarse and desperate but you needed it. You needed him.

At the back of your neck, you felt the weight of his calloused palm pinning you down. 

“Such a tight little thing. Fuckin’ mine.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eye. “You got that? Say it.”

“I’m yours, Joel.”

Somehow, his cock pulsed and stretched you even more to the brim. The feel of your slick mixed with his juice was oozing out of you, trickling down your leg.

One hand still pinning you down, Joel’s other hand was now petting your swollen heat. 

“Fuck, baby, I ain’t gonna hold out much longer. You’re so good to me. So tight. ‘m gonna cum in this wet pussy.”

“Joel, I’m gonna cum…” You trailed off, but you were already on the edge. His fingers were rubbing you at just the right speed, and his dirty sweet nothings were setting you ablaze. 

He continued to rub and thrust at just the right angle, the squelching sound of his cock pumping in and out of your sex only further heightened your arousal. 

In the heat of the moment, you didn’t even care that Joel was on the brink of filling you with his seed. You were dazed, delirious, and desperate. The three dangerous Ds, because condoms and birth control were a thing of the past. The apocalypse was a gamble for those who wanted to partake in life’s good old-fashioned pleasures.

You were ready to take that risk for the brief moment of pleasure because Joel had you wrapped around his finger and you were ready to swallow his seed. Hell, your unhinged state didn’t even care if you got pregnant with his baby as he sloppily slammed his cock into you, groaning and threatening to cum inside you. 

He didn’t seem to care either.

“H-Harder.” You beg, and that was it. That’s what set him over the edge, pouring into you like an explosion of white-hot milk and screaming profanities. He rubbed your clit while he rode his high, and then you came together, jaws slack, eyes rolled. 

Two people who, for a brief moment in time, could indulge in the comfort of each other’s bodies and forget that the world had gone to shit.

Joel flipped you over, his cock still buried inside of you, and leaned down to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss this time. The kiss of a lover. 

There was an undeniable spark between you that transcended beyond a mere one-night stand. Neither of you spoke a word of it. Instead, you fell asleep in his arms, and with his cock going limp inside you.

—------------

“Good morning, Joel.” You pointed two guns at the man as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

When he made sense of the situation, he chuckled darkly, wiping his face with his hands.

“Oh, darlin’, you are full of surprises ain’t ya?” His chocolate-brown eyes landed on yours and you felt your heart skip a beat, your grip on both guns loosened in a moment of weakness.

“Told ya I know how to take care of myself.”

“I can see that.” He put his arms behind his head, looking far too relaxed for a man who had two bullets aimed at him. “Did your daddy send you out to do this?”

You smirked, eyes flicking over to the old map that you made sure to leave on the table.

“I’m not gonna shoot you. Just wanted to say goodbye.” 

He licked his teeth and nodded.

“See ya, cowboy.”

And then you left him there and something tugged at you to stay but you didn’t, because you knew that it would be the death of you if you did.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you have Joel Miller’s gun?” your dad asked when you made it back to the base.

Dad had found out you left and had his guys check you for bites. When they did, they found the gun marked with an ‘M’, which was something Joel did to all of his weapons. Weapons that he stole.

“I was just helping us out a little, Dad.”

[kink-creator]

THE RUBBER DOG

Short Story

The council has voted: the handsome jock will become an obedient rubber dog.

--

"You can't do this!" he yelled, to the councilmen's amusement. The chamber filled with gas. His panic only made him breathe deeper.

Slick black rubber spread across his skin. He felt something form in his ass—a silicone plug. It grew bigger and outward to shape a long black tail, bobbing gently as he shuddered from the feeling.

A thick rubber dog mask formed over his face, darkening his vision. His mind was growing cloudy. He let out a muffled groan of protest: "You won't … get … away … w—WOOF!" He stood still for a moment, shocked at his sudden loss of … something. He couldn't remember what.

He breathed the gas, deeper and deeper. It made him relaxed; euphoric.

It started to feel so good to be a dog—an obedient, slutty rubber dog. He dropped to all fours and trembled with pleasure. He panted greedily and wagged his tail in the air. Degrading himself, with the councilmen watching, made him so hard.

Ten minutes of ecstasy passed, and the dog couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He came inside his rubber suit, whimpering, growling, panting stupidly as his body convulsed. With that pathetic ending, his transformation was complete and irreversible.

The gas receded, and the chamber door opened. Still quivering, the dog crawled out toward the councilmen. He was desperate to lick his masters' boots—desperate to suck on their bones.

--

If you like what you see, check out my other AI videos:

The Conversion Pool

The Red Singlet

From Prep to Pig

A Gimp is Born

The Drone Factory

The Vampire's Thrall

A Hero Corrupted

And short stories:

The Rubber Dog

[not-too-many-eyes]

A Study on Mesmer Jr.

(Also Known As: Nott is obsessed with the bigot autistic girl from the time travel gacha game and its her birthday tommorow so lets talk about her.)

(CWs: Ableism, racism, child abuse) I Love Mesmer Jr. Which isn't a secret to any of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about her at length. I cannot get her out of my head. I think she's fantastically written, fun to read about, and just an all around interesting character.

As such, I want to take a moment to pull apart Mesmer Jr, and consider her place in this story. To contemplate why she acts the way she does, and to connect to the themes relating to her character. I hope you enjoy reading this.

A Curious Impression

Mesmer Jr makes an interesting impression when you first meet her. For one, she immediately causes alarm bells to rings when she talks to Sonneto, one of her earliest conversations, who she says she enjoys talking to because of their "shared values" she feels the need to say that she would have liked talking to her more if she were a "full-blooded human."

Which is something that you see a lot whenever she's complimenting an arcanist, or considering arcanists in any positive light. Even if it's inappropriate in the context, she feels the need to assert her beliefs, to say that:

Mesmer Jr, Praise: As an arcanist, your performance really amazes me. Wish you were a pure-blood human.

Of course, as we know, Mesmer Jr is an arcanist. She's a full-blooded arcanist. Being noted to be from a very Important family, and even being implied to be more talented than most of her family in their line of work: (The Fallacy of Idealism)

Nobody is more talented in this than Mesmer Jr. Her bloodline gives her outstanding ability and keen senses, which makes everything clear and intelligible to her.

She's also startlingly obedient. She has no noticeable outward negativity towards what Constantine has ordered her to do to Vertin, despite it seeming to cause pain or stress. Insisting that this is the normal treatment given to patients despite Madam Z's opinion, and we learn Much Later that her boss had an ulterior motive to all this.

She's even noted before we meet her to seem like a:

(Open Sandwich)

???: It is the other one- the one with indifferent outlines that makes her look like a refined machine.

Evoking images of perfectly programmed robots and droids that do what they are ordered to perfectly without question.

Of course, in the same part this line is from, the game is already nudging us to be open-minded when it comes to interacting with her. As the first thing we learn about her isn't her personality, isn't her appearance, isn't even her Voice.

It's her abuse.

Dirtied Hands

Open Sandwich is one of my favorite bits of writing in this game. It creates this incredible tension where you just waiting for the bad thing to happen, the line about how the child labor laws were turned into paper to wrap the sandwich is wonderful, and I love it.

But it's also the first time we ever actually hear about her. It depicts her having a Sensory Meltdown. Caused by her family's uh- blatant disregard for children's rights, and exposing her to a patient at age 12 because her skill was useful for the treatment. The trauma of the event marking the start of her "nightmare."

Of course this isn't the Only Thing she has gone through at the age of 12. The entire events of Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien happened during when she was 12. She might of had even more traumatic experience before that, considering she went to SPDM, a school that we know Very Well for their child abuse, and she Certainly had traumatic experiences afterwards.

She Is a 16 year old therapist taking care of The Foundation's most "unstable" patients, after all:

Mesmer Jr, Suitcase Climate: Those insane people screamed and rushed out of the guardroom. They kept meaninglessly and repeatedly roaring. Then, their blood shed on the snowy ground. I've seen that a lot.

The Rights of Children Don't Matter when there is Scarcity. Her needs are secondary to The Company's. Her welfare simply isn't important for the Foundation's Beautiful Future. Only the skills and infromation she can provide.

Constantine even manipulated Mesmer Jr into telling her the plan. Purposefully traumatizing her so that she would become scared and anxious. She Asked her to help them, trusting that Constantine, an adult she trusted, would be able to help. Constantine just lied, and made her continue to treat these people even when the experience mind numbingly traumatic for even fully-grown adults.

As a result, Mesmer Jr has developed multiple mental illnesses. Most notable OCD, but she seems to hallucinate in her Monologue.

She's not exactly a healthy person, which really compounds how much you Don't want her to be a therapist.

Of course, it's not like she would ever seek actual proper treatment for it.

For many reasons.

For one, Reverse 1999 is not exactly a kind world to the mentally ill, and she herself is a good example as to why.

Proper Treatment

Let's go back to the first thing I mentioned about Mesmer Jr. She's a bigot, she's a certified racist to every arcanist she ever talks to. She thinks humans are the superior race that will overtake arcanists.

She's also ableist. Just horrible ableist. These two bigotries are intertwined in Very important ways. Her hatred of arcanists is informed by her hatred of the mentally ill, and is further informed by what she has been taught about arcanists.

Reverse has established that the way arcanists and humans are generally viewed is that arcanists are the more emotional, unstable, immature ones and humans are the more logical, stable, and mature ones.

Now, this is a stereotype, one that has been proven wrong time and time again. There is nothing logical, stable, or mature about being so upset at a 12 year old you think killing her friends is a good idea.

And similarly, there is nothing actually inherently wrong about being a weirdo, or mentally ill. For one, uh, everyone is a bit of a freak sometimes, and two, Mesmer Jr treats it as if for the world to get better arcanists need to fully disappear and be replaced with human rationality, but Madam Hoffman says it best:

(Chapter 6 Part 15: With Hope Rekindled)

Hofmann: We have all heard it, humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional. Hofmann: Their sensitive to the darkness of the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality Hofmann: But, if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents... Hoffmann: Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive immature and unstable Hoffmann: And that's why it sometimes dawns on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback... Hoffmann: These 'instabilities' might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.

But Mesmer Jr really does believe wholeheartedly that being a "freak" is bad, and that being an arcanist is to blame for why she is one.

Mesmer Jr, Hat and Hair: Thanks to it, we are all freaks now. Haven't you ever blamed your brain? Haven't you for once vomited due to the sound or whisper in your brain? How naive and ignorant.

That being an arcanist is something inherently wrong, and as a result of that inherent wrongness, that inherent "insanity," they need to be controlled by humanity.

Mesmer Jr, Chitchat II: I can only stand those arcanists from the Foundation and the Laplace. After all, their insanity is contained by humans.

She believes that humans are destined to overtake arcanists like it's natural selection. That it's only inevitable that arcanists will be overtaken by a species that in her eyes, is logical and understandable.

Mesmer Jr, To the Future: Just like Homo sapiens wiped out Neanderthals, arcanists will be eliminated as well. This is not a prediction, but a predestined fate.

This is, of course, due to the systemic part of Reverse's world constantly pushing this idea that arcanists are Inherently more immature and chaotic.

Constantine and her family deeply traumatized Mesmer Jr and then told her it wasn't actually their fault but this Other Group that She is also apart of but Don't Worry it can Be Controlled.

Mesmer Jr: It's not just about age. It was never going to be suitable for me. Mesmer Jr: Unless one day all the arcanists are gone. Pandora Wilson: Then you and I will be gone, too. Mesmer Jr: Exactly, along with the source of my pain

However, Mesmer Jr's own mental illnesses and susceptibility towards being overwhelmed by others emotions does really mean that she finds being around highly emotional people Taxing. She also finds that the unpredictable of life and other people Tiresome.

She was friends with Vertin in the rest when she was younger sure, but even then she did find arcanists overwhelming and "scary," even when she wasn't in the full thick of it, she saw them being treated and found it unpleasant and painful.

(Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien)

Mesmer Jr: But I'm not interested in arcanists. They are all mad people, and we had to treat them after all...They looked scary.

Now, usually, you grow out of this. She's not Born To Be Racist Forever.

In a better world she very much could have, I dunno-

Be able to actually internalize that arcanists aren't actually inherently a harmful thing, but that her needs sometimes conflict with the needs of others and grew up with the tools necessary to understand that this is a fixable problem that doesn't actually need a whole group of people including herself to die to be solved.

Or, something like that.

However, this isn't that world, this world thinks Mesmer Jr is a good therapist, and that her treatment is humane.

So she's seeks to create stability in the world as a result of that lack of support.

Mesmer Jr, Hobby: What you see is the alignment and tidiness. What I adore is this orderly state.

As much as she understands that it's a sign of her own "franticness" that she does this, it gives her comfort knowing that she has things that she Can Control. That her life isn't actually dictated fully by things out of her understanding. That she has the ability to direct her life in a small, maybe even insignificant way.

Cause, she really just doesn't have much control over her life.

Press the Button

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: ...Achieve the function.

A lot of Mesmer Jr's idolization of humanity comes from this idea of efficiency and simplicity. She talks so much about rationality and "tidiness," but as I've already established Reverse is full of so many instances of "human insanity" so it's plain ignorant to ascribe this trait to humans.

Which, well one she is ignorant, and also racism isn't rational and Mesmer Jr was taught human supremacy of course it's not going to be aligned with actual reality.

Which is true.

However, I do think it's interesting these traits that she idolizes are not from humans but from:

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: Humans are like machinery, simple and efficient. Arcanists are quite the opposite.

That's who she's actually idolizing here, isn't it? She's not really idolizing humans, that's just the framework she was given. She's idolizing machines and going "Wow humans are so cool."

Her Udimo is a machine.

Not just any machine, but a machine invented in part By Her Workplace, and even when she was 12 the narrator describes her as a "refined machine." Indifferent and rigid.

This is the beautiful controlled being that she is seeking! The beautiful tidy, orderly, calm being that just proceeds with whatever order is given to it. One that has...completely no control over it's life, and what to do with it.

Because, traditionally speaking, Machines do not have the ability to self-determine. They don't exist as people with conscious thought and emotion, but as Things and Tools that can Achieve Functions.

I noted way back in the start that Mesmer Jr is startlingly obedient. She does what she is told, and encourages others to do the same.

She's glad that Vertin:

Mesmer Jr, 100% Bond Conversation: ...Anyway, I'm glad you gave up on those insane plans.

Before saying that she doesn't want to be forced to Lobotomize Her, and that she doesn't actually want anyone to end up in Artificial Somnambulism.

But she doesn't say she won't do it. Just that she's happy Vertin did "give up" because it means that she probably won't have to. This seems to be her general approach. Even if she's not happy, she'll do it, her wants don't matter.

She assumes that she has no other option and that her only path forward is following orders from her boss. That the only path forward is the one set for her. There's no point in fighting it so she's just gonna continue on that path, and others should do the same or else they'll get Hurt. Learned Helplessness.

Sonetto is similar to her in this sense (Mesmer Jr says so herself,) and Sonetto is shown to hold quite a lot of repressed emotions, and to deviate from the rules or what is logical when she feels something is at stake.

After all: (Is ABA Really “Dog Training for Children”? A Professional Dog Trainer Weighs In.)

We all know that we can feel angry without expressing anger. That we can smile when inside we are crying. You can stop someone from expressing an emotion, but that doesn’t make the emotion go away. A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.” When you read about a dog attack that came “out of nowhere” and “without warning,” it is because this sort of method was used to handle “problem behaviours.” Studies show that dogs trained with these sorts of methods actually have an increased rate of aggression, because punishing aggressive behaviour doesn’t deal with the underlying fear and anxiety that caused the aggression in the first place.

But Mesmer Jr, in contrast to Sonetto, who has an interest in poetry and curiosity in the outside world and has the aforementioned repressed emotions. Has no real distinct personal identity. She does not own anything that shows her interests, unlike her other coworkers who usually have at least Something on them. All of her items are stuff made by Laplace and exist unaltered. Even her cute little headband is a EM amplifier is part of the uniform.

She holds no control, no identity, no agency. She exists as a machine that someone can press the buttons of and achieve whatever function she needs to achieve at the given moment.

This is her current state of existence, and it's not something that's exactly sustainable. The cracks in this machine-living have been showing since she was 12. How many more do you think have been created now that she's 16?

The Foundation

Now, this is really depressing, but that's because Mesmer Jr is just a bit of a depressing character. She can't really get away from her job. For one, her parents are horrible, two The Storm means that the world is always on the verge of ending. Where else will she go?

But, as said previously:

A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.”

Similarly, a girl trained to not develop any sort of identity will crack Someday.

I have no knowledge of what could happen next in her story, nor am I interested in theorizing about it. But I do find it interesting to think about.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part VIII

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Wooooh we're finally back! Hope y'all enjoy this infuriating little tale of will they won't they XD

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, suggestive dialogue and actions, it's an angsty one

Masterlist | Part I

Jake senses Bradley stiffen in the seat to his right and suppresses a scowl. He's been regulating the outward expression of his feelings for you since the day you met, so what's a couple more hours?

Bradley cranes his neck, watching you step out of the car while Mustang examines his taillights with a frown. You shut your own door and join him near the trunk when he finally straightens his back. Then the two of you head for the entrance.

“I fucking knew it,” Bradley mutters.

Jake releases a steady breath, trying his best to mask his own misery. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with her?” he says casually.

Bradley looks at Jake with a sour expression. “You spend more time with her than I do these days. You tell me.”

Jake swears under his breath as Bradley rises from his chair. For a moment, he considers completely ignoring you and your piece of shit excuse for a boyfriend. ­Ex-boyfriend, he reminds himself adamantly, finally getting out of his seat. He's not sure why Bradley's so distraught by Mustang's presence, but he's getting tired of all the mystery.

He looks up when you walk into the restaurant, his eyes meeting yours the moment you enter. You’ve got your arm hooked through Mustang’s and Jake nearly sits back down.

But the smug look on Mustang’s face makes him reconsider. Jake Seresin isn’t one to shy away from a fight, if that’s what it comes down to. And whatever your reason is for arriving with this jackass, Jake deserves to know it. He steps around the table and marches alongside Bradley as he approaches the two of you.

You glance between Bradley and Jake innocently, as though you’ve absolutely no idea why the two men are stopping you before you even reach the table.

“Is everything okay here?” Bradley asks commandingly, his eyes sliding between you and Mustang.

You give him a jolly smile that is so far from genuine, it borders on comical, and say, “Of course.” Jake narrows his eyes at you, but you avoid his gaze and blink up at Mustang instead. “Shall we find a seat?” You're carrying a gift bag that's big enough to fit a small toddler and you look as though it might tip you over at any moment.

“Hold it,” Jake says sternly.

Mustang gives him a sharp look, but Jake keeps his eyes on you. You meet his gaze reluctantly.

For a split second, Jake wonders if he’s the crazy one. If he’s been so infatuated with you that he’s completely misread the situation. Maybe he’s got no reason to be upset. Maybe it was just a kiss. Two, he reminds himself adamantly. It was two.

You transfer the gift bag from one hand to the other impatiently and shake out the unburdened arm.

Jake reaches for the gift bag and takes it out of your grasp, holding it out to Mustang pointedly. This idiot can't take a hint, apparently.

Mustang stares at the bag and then blinks up at Jake, so Jake shoves it forcefully into his stomach. “Try to make yourself useful, son,” he says flatly.

Mustang takes the bag obediently even though his features are still twisted in confusion.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” Jake asks, returning his attention to you.

Mustang snaps out of his trance and steps forward as if to assert his dominance, but you place a hand on his arm and nod mutely. “I'll meet you at the table,” you say gingerly.

Jake gestures for you to lead the way, not even bothering to grace Mustang with a farewell.

You take a few steps away and stop, but Jake is right behind you and gives you a slight nudge to keep you moving. You glance up at him and he nods toward the back of the restaurant. You oblige, navigating the narrow spaces between the tables on your way to the rear while Jake keeps a couple of fingers on your lower back.

You round the corner into the corridor leading into the kitchen and turn to look at him with a blank expression. Jake studies you quietly for a moment, wondering if you might try to explain yourself before he has to ask. When you raise your eyebrows questioningly, he scoffs, saying, “What the fuck?”

You appear taken aback by his brusqueness, but he isn’t overly concerned with hurting your delicate feelings. In fact, riling you is probably the easiest way to get you to talk.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he asks, taking a step forward.

You compensate by taking a step back. “We’re working things out,” you respond nonchalantly, as though Jake should have seen this coming.

Jake watches you broodingly until you finally lower your gaze. “No, you’re not,” he says finally.

You look up at him abruptly and he can sense the hostility in your eyes. “What do you want, Seresin?” you ask irritably, like he’s getting on your last nerve.

“I want you to tell me what he’s doing here,” he repeats, taking another step toward you.

You swallow uncomfortably but don’t retreat again. “We decided to give it another shot,” you say, shrugging.

Jake shakes his head when you avert your gaze once more. “You’re lying,” he says. He knows you, and something about you feels off.

You let out a frustrated sigh but obstinately keep your eyes on the ground.

“What about yesterday?” he asks.

You glance up at him reproachfully. “What about it?” you say with a grimace.

Jake takes a final step forward, towering over you while you lift your face to maintain eye contact. “Want me to remind you?” he says quietly, each strike of his accelerating heartbeat growing closer to his throat.

You roll your eyes, apparently completely unfazed by his advances. “It was just a kiss, Seresin,” you say. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Jake makes another attempt. “It was two,” he points out.

You sigh, glancing over Jake’s shoulder anxiously to check that the two of you are still alone. “One, two, twenty – who cares?” you say jadedly.

Jake tightens his jaw, not even attempting to conceal the bitterness in his voice. “Are you really just gonna stand here and pretend like you don’t feel it too?” he says. Normally, he’d have walked away by now. But he’ll be damned if this doesn't work out on account of your stupid ego. Or his, for that matter.

“Come on, Jake,” you say cynically, crossing your arms. “You’re not the feeling type.”

Jake exhales forcefully; you’re not wrong, but he doesn't want to get into it. How could he possibly explain that this assessment is no longer as accurate as he’s led you to believe? How could he tell you that things have changed in recent weeks – that he’s changed?

He can’t. Not without baring his soul. And he’s not prepared to do that for anybody.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, taking your elbow gently and drawing you forward. He detects a hint of citrus as you near and it dizzies him. “I actually don’t give a shit about you at all.”

He sees the twitch of your lips as you attempt to hold back a smile and lowers his head to rest it over yours. “There he is,” you mutter softly.

“Couldn't care less,” he adds, coasting his fingers up your arms as you unfold them.

“Sounds about right,” you breathe, and he can feel your fingers slowly twist into the material of his dress shirt. It’s all he can do not to steer you backward into the wall and run his hands up the curves of your waist and capture your mouth in his and –

He lets the tip of his nose brush the bridge of yours lightly while the torrent inside him rages on. “You drive me up the wall, I swear,” he admits, his voice cracking as a short-lived chuckle escapes with his words.

“It comes naturally,” you respond, and he can hear your smile without having to see it.

“I bet.”

“I can’t stand you,” you mutter as your fingers tangle further into the gaps between the buttons of his shirt.

Jake closes his eyes when said fingers make contact with his skin. “I don’t blame you,” he whispers, his mouth hovering just above yours.

Your hands relax slightly as your fingers graze his stomach through the slits of his shirt. “Anything else?” you ask, your eyes lifting to meet his gaze.

Jake nods slowly. “You’re really fucking annoying,” he says, bringing his hand up to trace the outline of your face.

Your smile widens. “I’m sorry about that.”

Jake shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding his hand behind your head and pulling you forward. But, being the complete idiot he is, just before kissing you, he asks again, “Why’d you bring him?”

You let your face fall slightly, so that your forehead lands right on his lips. He doesn’t miss this opportunity to kiss it. “He and I aren’t together anymore, Jake,” you respond. “We’re just here as friends,” you add, but you still withdraw slightly.

Jake isn’t sure how to respond and his hands fall away from you as you retreat. Your message is fairly straightforward, but your tone has an air of ambiguity to it which gives him pause.

“He’s trying to be nice,” you continue. “He offered me a ride.”

“I could’ve given you a ride,” Jake says impulsively; defensively. There’s no way this asshole is here because you were short on a mode of transportation.

You sigh. “There’s more to it.”

“No shit,” he responds.

“Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you snap. “Just – don’t get involved. Please.”

Jake fixes you with a defiant sort of scowl. “Did he threaten you?” he asks, his voice somewhat gravelly as he tries to suppress his anger.

“It’s not like that,” you say quickly. “Let it go.”

Jake juts out his jaw and sucks in his cheeks, nodding. “Okay,” he says finally. “Go ahead and enjoy your friend’s company, then.” He gestures for you to go back into the dining room.

You give him a sardonic look and approach him with a small smile. “Try to behave,” you say in a soft, sultry voice that sends a ripple through his body.

He turns to follow you and lowers his head to mutter, “Did you give Mustang the same instructions?” just as the two of you enter the dining room.

You glance up at him with a chuckle. “I’m far more concerned about you.”

Jake grins. “You’re concerned about me?” He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m touched.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you approach the table. “Behave,” you repeat.

Jake pulls a chair out for you as you greet the rest of the party. He leans in to whisper, “No promises,” as you lower yourself into the seat beside Bradley.

…

“They’re not together,” Bradley states with a hint of skepticism as he observes your interaction with Mustang at the bar.

Jake watches the two of you sourly. “They’re just friends,” he confirms as Mustang aims a broad grin in your direction and hands you a tropical looking drink.

“He’s a chauffeur,” Bradley adds with a shrug.

Jake nods, still staring you down as you take a sip and smile, pretending to enjoy the beverage. “She hates orange juice,” Jake states.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and looks over at him.

“Why doesn’t she just tell him that she hates orange juice?” Jake asks irritably, shifting his weight restlessly as he debates walking right up to Mustang and communicating the information, himself.

Bradley glances back at you. “She doesn’t seem to mind it.”

Jake narrows his eyes, marvelling at how easily you carry out the charade, wondering what your angle is.

“Is that cake?” Bradley says suddenly, interrupting Jake’s train of thought.

Impassively, Jake looks over at the table where the party guests have begun to help themselves to the assortment of desserts. “It’s from the bakery across the street,” he mutters, returning his attention to the bar where Mustang appears to be sliding closer and closer to you, nearly pinning you to the counter.

“You brought cake?” Bradley sounds bemused.

Jake sighs loudly. “Of course, I brought cake, Bradshaw. It’s a damn birthday.” Meanwhile, he sees you laughing at something Mustang said as though you actually think he’s funny.

“What kind?”

Jake looks back at Bradley absently. “What?”

“The cake?” Bradley asks.

Jake grimaces. “How should I know?”

Bradley stares at him in confusion. “Are you okay?”

“Is he flirting with her?” Jake says distractedly, watching as Mustang places his hand on your back and leans his head in to whisper something in your ear.

Bradley looks back over at you and shrugs. “I wasn’t buying the whole friend thing, anyway,” he says.

Jake grunts in response. “You want cake?” he asks, seeing you pull Mustang toward the table of sweets.

Bradley hesitates. “It depends what kind –”

But Jake doesn’t let him finish. “Yeah, me too,” he says, starting to shove Bradley in the direction of the dessert table. He arrives at the same time you do and gives you a tarty look while Bradley clears his throat uncomfortably.

“How’s it going?” Bradley flashes a quick grin in Mustang’s direction.

You eye Jake nervously before lowering your gaze and it nearly kills him that Mustang’s got his hand planted snugly on your hip. Just friends don’t grope one another, and Jake is about to point this little tidbit out when Mustang speaks. “I think we need to start over,” he says in a grandiose tone, extending his hand to Jake.

Jake slowly tears his eyes away from you to give Mustang a stony look. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he responds coldly. He can feel your aggravation without even looking at you, but this doesn’t discourage him in the slightest. Your soft spot for Mustang is slowly eating away at him and he can’t help the animosity that’s burning up his veins.

Mustang laughs off Jake’s curt response and puts a second arm around you, as though he means to claim his territory. Jake narrows his eyes at him, clenching his jaw as he watches you pat Mustang on the belly before casually squirming out of his embrace. You give Jake a stern expression and then aim a gracious smile at Mustang. “Don’t mind him,” you say. “Jake doesn’t play nice with anybody.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the pointed glance he receives from Bradley.

“Can’t we all just get along?” Mustang offers, shooting Jake a smarmy grin.

You nod your head at Mustang, apparently completely missing the blatant insincerity of his statement, and Jake could swear this gesture makes his blood boil. He shifts closer to you and, before he can stop himself, he lifts his hand and hooks a finger through one of the belt loops on the back of your shorts, giving you a small, but purposeful tug.

You glance at him over your shoulder but, otherwise, act like nothing is amiss. Of course, despite being amply aware that this sort of stunt isn’t altogether becoming, the fact that you don’t seem overly opposed to his discreetly possessive behavior gives him a fair bit of comfort. So much so that he even gives the loop another soft pull, bringing your back into his chest. It’s a microscopic movement since the four of you are already jammed so close together in the midst of the crowd, but he swears that you lean into him for a moment, letting your shoulder blades rest on his pecs before you straighten your posture.

“Want to catch a movie tonight?” Mustang asks you, grabbing a plate for himself once he reaches the table.

“She’s busy,” Jake responds before you can say anything. He takes a plate from the stack and hands it to you, ignoring your arching eyebrows as you give him an incredulous look.

He also ignores Bradley’s amused expression even as the latter turns away, pretending not to have heard the exchange.

When you open your mouth to protest, Jake meets your gaze and says, “Trust me, you’re busy.”

You purse your lips, but Jake can tell that you’re suppressing a smile, so he swipes his thumb over the delicate skin of your lower back, just above the waistband of your shorts. He savors the fleeting lapse in your façade; the subtle flutter of your eyelids as you experience the thrill of his touch – however faint it might be. And it rattles him. Your momentary slip, the nearly imperceptible manifestation of pleasure that hijacks your features, rattles him, as though the arousal had been his own.

And he wants more. He wants to witness every cadence of bliss on your face. He wants to savor every single intake of breath. He wants you, alone, uninhibited.

His grasp constricts around the loop of your waistband, tightening its circumference around your waist. You submit willingly to this additional tug, letting your backside connect with his body as if you want him to pull you closer. To hold you firmer. To grip you harder.

…

“Can I buy you a proper drink?” Jake asks, approaching your seated figure at the bar.

Your gaze drifts up Jake’s body as he situates himself on the stool beside you. You let out a humorless laugh, pointedly pushing away the Screwdriver you’ve been nursing for the past hour.

“Having a good time?” he asks after hailing over the bartender to put in the drink order.

You eye him warily before dropping your gaze into your lap and dragging your teeth over your bottom lip. Jake glances around to confirm that there’s nobody nearby. He hooks a hand behind your calf and rotates you to face him on your stool. You lift your eyes carefully. “Are you?”

Jake holds your gaze. “Not particularly.”

You lift your eyebrows unsympathetically. “You should work on your people skills. Might make social gatherings more enjoyable.”

Jake suppresses a grin. “Are you lecturing me on people skills?”

“As a matter of fact, I get along with everybody but you,” you respond haughtily.

Jake smiles, his gaze drifting down to your mouth as you try to keep a straight face. “That’s because you’re not comfortable being yourself with anybody else.” His hand is still tucked into the crevice behind your knee, and he squeezes the muscle of your leg gently.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

Jake skims his fingers along the underside of your thigh. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your eyes slide over Jake’s shoulder. “He’s just outside,” you say, your voice suddenly on edge.

Jake tilts his head to the side as though he’s puzzled. He’s not; in fact, he was waiting for this reaction. “Your driver?” he asks brazenly.

You give him a flat look. “Oh, you’re being a dick. What a surprise.”

Jake shrugs, curbing the nausea in the pit of his stomach – which definitely doesn’t need a label – with a gulp of beer. He’s not the jealous type. “Why would ‘just a friend’ take issue with our conversation?”

You watch him coolly without responding. Finally, you turn back to the counter and Jake drops his hand from your leg.

Despite his frequent quips about your tendency to distribute your opinion like it’s a courtesy to mankind, the irony of finding himself wondering what’s actually on your mind is not lost on him. Not your stance on the import of exotic fruit or the numerous ways he could reduce his carbon footprint. Not even your unfortunate disdain for his beloved truck, although he might circle back to that one at a later date.

No. These aren’t the things that matter. Not immediately, anyway. What you’re holding back is far more personal. And, with an unpleasant – and therefore significant – pang, Jake realizes that he wants to know. That he isn’t just a stand-in, waiting for Bradley to swoop in and provide timely emotional support. He isn’t an acquaintance making small talk just to pass the time. He isn’t a friend of a friend. Not anymore. Not for a long time. And he cares. He cares about you and your feelings and he cares about your ridiculous principles. He’s unplugged his goddamn table fan, for crying out loud. He mowed his lawn.

“Why did you bring him?” he asks. It’s the same question as before but it’s vulnerable this time around. He’s not demanding an answer. He’s begging for one.

Absently, you twist the stem of your fresh glass between your fingers. For a moment, Jake thinks you might ignore the question. Then, you let out a heavy sigh. “I need him,” you say.

Jake narrows his eyes. Need can take on many forms and he could use an elaboration. “In what sense?” he asks, a little hurt that you don’t seem to need him.

“Can we just move on?” you say irritably, taking a sip of your drink.

Jake shifts his jaw, considering your request. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

You look over at him sharply and he can tell that his response has taken you by surprise. If he’s being honest, it’s a bit of a shock to him as well. He’s not one to dwell on matters that don’t concern him. He’s not one to pry. So why won’t he just drop it?

But he’s on his feet before he can process his own actions. He’s speaking before he can gather his thoughts. “You know where I stand, princess,” he says in a low, but assertive voice, somewhere far too close to your ear to resemble a friendly exchange. His hand drifts along the hem of your shorts before he finally turns to walk away.

It takes exactly two seconds for you to call out, “Jake!”

He rotates slowly to look at you, swallowing uncomfortably as he awaits your next move. He watches you calmly, trying his best to quell the hope that’s disturbing his breathing.

You’re gazing at him anxiously, as though the last thing you want is for him to depart. And the regret on your face makes him believe you might reconsider keeping him in the dark. So, against his better judgement, he takes a step back toward you.

And what a relief this brings; as though you’ve got him hooked on a tension cable. But before he can take another step, he hears the front door open, and Mustang’s voice carry confidently over the other patrons’ conversations.

“There’s something I need to get off my chest!” he announces as he makes his way toward the bar.

Jake witnesses the lightning transformation of your face as he nears: confusion – alarm – a forced but terrified smile.

Mustang crashes into the counter clumsily and throws a heavy arm over your shoulders, the weight of which makes you wince. You whisper something indiscernible to him, but he waves a dismissive hand at you before you even finish.

“We wanted to wait until after the party,” he continues in a booming voice as your eyes slide nervously to Jake and then search the restaurant for Bradley. “Because we didn’t want to take away from Mickey’s birthday celebration…”

“What the fuck is going on?” Jake turns to see Bradley at his side.

Jake shakes his head. “He’s hammered.”

Bradley looks down at his watch. “It’s barely noon.”

Jake narrows his eyes as he watches you fidget under Mustang’s arm. This can’t be what you want out of life. It just can’t.

“But I suck at keeping secrets,” Mustang continues with a chuckle.

This piques Jake’s interest. If you’re not going to share with the class, perhaps he can get the necessary intel from Mustang. And he’s almost pleased with this turn of events. Until, that is, Mustang speaks again. And shortly thereafter, Jake feels like he might just throw up.

Mustang grins broadly and looks down at you lovingly. He cups your cheek with his hand tenderly. He kisses your forehead. And then he turns back to the growing crowd of spectators. “We’re engaged!” he declares. “We’re getting married!”

Read Part 9

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you guys liked this chapter! Sometimes I wanna shake these two and say, in my best Mav voice, "Don't think just talk!" They still have a ways to go.. Until next time! xoxo

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[mumms-the-word]

Choosing to Live

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo

You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears. 

At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.

But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.

You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.

Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.

Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand. 

But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.

He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.

You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.

“Gale?”

You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”

“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”

He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive. 

“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."

“But you didn’t—”

“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”

He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too. 

You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.

“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”

He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest. 

It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.

It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.

The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.

He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.

But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.

"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”

He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes. 

He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.

———

You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.

You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.

He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.

Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.

Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.

The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.

You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“Gale?”

He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.

“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”

You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.

As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.

And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.

“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.

“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.” 

He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.

“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”

“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”

“But I could have—“

“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”

He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries. 

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.

When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.

“I love you,“ you say.

“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”

“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“

“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”

“Want what?”

“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”

You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”

He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.

Away from the darkness and into the light.

[merakiui]

I can't get Alien Jamil out of my head. He lives rent free now 😭

Alien Jamil who uses his ability to hypontise darling to spread their legs for them, maintaining eye contact to keep the spell. Darling being under his control as he filled darling up with eggs. Only looking away once he was done and Darling's stuffed to the brim <3

Then let's say Darling's a researcher for his species and is now being made to carry it for research purposes

(cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, breeding, oviposition, hypnosis, ntr/cucking)

:O !!!!!! Imagine being a researcher alongside Kalim... omg and Jamil watches day in and day out from his enclosure as Kalim attempts to get closer to you. Despite his outgoing and friendly personality, he's a little awkward with some of his flirting methods and so Jamil is able to pick up on Kalim's romantic interest in you fairly quickly. At first Jamil thought nothing would come of this, as you always seemed so absorbed in your research and you were always paying so much attention to him. Jamil is nice enough to act obedient and polite when you step into his enclosure to study him up close, feigning a harmless outward appearance. You're the only one who is allowed to do this; everyone else is frightened away or threatened with low hisses and sharp, piercing glares. Jamil has a soft spot for you, but he hides it with stoic indifference, choosing to look unbothered while you lean in close to admire his scales or the many snakes that make up his hair. You're so lucky he has an admirable amount of restraint, otherwise he would have plastered you to the ground and fucked you full of eggs months ago.

But it's when you actually start to entertain Kalim's interest that Jamil begins to worry. First the two of you would have dinner together (in front of Jamil, much to his annoyance) when you had to work late in the lab, and Kalim was just so irritatingly sweet to you. So genuinely himself. And you kept smiling and your body temperature was rising because you were flattered and happy and appreciative... Jamil refuses to lose you to that airheaded researcher. And then you'd work so closely together, side by side, shoulders nearly touching. Jamil is much too observant for his own good, which is both a blessing and a curse, because it only proves that you've warmed up to your fellow researcher.

It starts small. You can't understand Jamil unless he's hypnotized you, and then those fearsome hisses sound like the sweetest song, lulling you into a daze. For a while you seem more scattered than usual. There are gaps in your memory, and you're not sure why you always seem to come to in the lab. You could have sworn you were in your bed, sleeping so soundly until the whispers of something snake-like invaded your dreams... You're always led to Jamil. Maybe you really are so dedicated to your work that you're unconsciously drawn to it even when you're asleep. Kalim worries, insists you should rest more and that he can handle everything at the lab, but you don't want to push more work onto his plate. This is a team effort, after all.

It's like push and pull. Jamil holds you under for longer, slowly but surely snuffing your interest in Kalim, and releasing you from the spell of hypnosis before anyone can question it or grow suspicious. You're not going to love Kalim. You're going to love the specimen you look after. You're going to love Jamil. This is how it should have been, and this is how it will be.

Ultimately, it culminates in claiming. Jamil must stake it, must mold you to his form so that you'll only ever know him and no one else. The look in your eyes is empty and dazed, but you're smiling at him, entrapped in the coils of his tail, and it's a happy, drunken sort of smile. You're such a pretty human, so sweet for him when you open yourself without complaint or struggle, shedding that pesky clothing to reveal all of the curious parts to your anatomy he finds absolutely riveting. He fucks into your tight, slick warmth for hours, bodies pressed flush and never separating. Your moans fill the enclosure, adding to the sinful sounds of sex, and he falls for you all over again. You're truly so precious, so blissfully dumb and obedient when you're taking his cocks like the good researcher you are. Jamil can't resist; he has to fill you up, make this claim one you'll remember. And you can't object. You're not allowed to, not when he controls your every reaction. If he tells you to cum, you will. If he tells you to take just a few more eggs, you will.

And you'll like it because that's what you're told.

Only once you're filled to bursting, tummy packed full of his clutch, does Jamil gaze sidelong at Kalim, who looks on with concerned horror. Jamil tilts his head, acting as if he doesn't understand the smallest of human cues. He does, but Kalim doesn't need to know.

He smiles, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. You're Jamil's now. Forever and always. As you were meant to be. And no one shall come between you.

[jjkeremika]

Goofy (pt2)

description: levi fucks some sense into you

Goofy pt1: (you think levi’s too serious. he thinks you’re too goofy)

pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

warning/disclaimer(s)?: NSFW/MDNI; hair pulling; light choking; blow job/throat fucking; obedience; spanking; angry/rough/punishment-kinda sex

“oh, have i got a real fucking good joke,” levi answered darkly, licking his lips as he read your expression, as he barely leaned in.

you lamented when he took a step back, but squeaked once he tugged on your bony hips, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

you were his height like this, your lower half sat on the table, feet hovering above the floor. the anger flaring in his eyes branded into yours.

his thumb dug into your right hip, and you winced slightly at the pressure. “titans ripping us limb from limb,” he stated coldly, his thigh rubbing against yours.

your face visibly dropped and your body recoiled lightly, your mouth formed a slight oval. you narrowed your eyes. “that’s not funny.”

his answer was immediate. “no, it’s not, is it?” he chortled darkly, his fingernails squeezed your thigh, a light ache spiraling outwards. you stopped breathing. “but that’s how all these jokes will end.” he narrowed his eyes, his fingertips sharply digging into your skin like they risked breaking through your pant fabric.

“you goof off in here,” he spoke despondently, pointed at the ground, then to the windows, “you kill us all out there.”

you rolled your eyes, the dull ache from pushing them too far into your skull prominent. “we’re not stupid,” you muttered softly, feeling yourself curling inwards, the security crumbling beneath you, “we wouldn’t joke out there.”

“what do you think we’re teaching you?” the irritation tainted his words like venom in snake bites.

both hands moved to your thighs, grabbing on like life support in a raging river. his glare swept through your soul and settled uncomfortably in your gut, each breath not filling your lungs because his hold squeezed the air out.

a faint twitch of his eyebrow caught your eye. “do you think you’ll survive out there acting like this?” he asked incredulously, a temporary shadow casting over his face. “i’ve seen people die for less.”

your silence was deafening, and the words rattled in your head like there was nothing else in your skull. the heels of his palms slowly slid up your pants, pushing into the muscle, stopping near your hip bones.

levi continued, his expression littered with repressed guilt, his eyes flooded with memories, “i’ve watched colleagues die following every step in the book.” he made chilling eye contact, his eyebrows sternly frowned. “you will get everyone killed.”

the conflicting heat built inside you. “maybe we’ll die of boredom first.” it slipped out, and it was a sentence you regretted the instant you saw the flame spiral uncontrollably in his eyes, saw the deep grey twist into a fiery mess.

his jaw locked, his body tensed, his veins displayed, and the hand that was originally on your hip rocketed to just under your chin, holding your neck with a tight grip.

levi leaned in, kept his face millimeters away, so close you could feel the tiny hairs reaching out for him.

you felt your lungs stop, your heart beat racing faster than ever before, pulsing in every extremity.

your brain was numbing it out, all thoughts and incoming feelings drowned out by the roaring of your arteries, brining your attention to the strong desire in your chest to close the gap, to touch him back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you,” he said it so quietly you almost missed it, your brain taking seconds to listen and process. it wasn’t a question, he wasn’t asking. he didn’t care.

you noticed he stopped breathing too, noticed the veins popping out in his neck and the muscles hugging his collarbones so tightly you wondered if you could taste the iron in his blood, under his skin.

“wel—” your mouth was moving without any forethought.

your sentence was interrupted with his grip on your neck and a tight hold on your upper arm, yanking you off the desk and shoving you to your knees before your feet could even touch the ground.

your knees started throbbing lightly, but you couldn’t spare any attention from the heat radiating in front of you, from the absolute glare and curled lip and intimidating stance.

“shut the fuck up.” his hands moved to his pants, your eyes following the movement, your eyes widening slightly, pupils dilating, mouth parting, as you watched him unbuckle his waist band, seamlessly slide his zipper down.

you moved to stand, but his hand whipped to your shoulder, pushing you back into the position. “where do you get off? running your fucking mouth like that.” his tone deepened to an octave you’ve never heard, one you didn’t know possible.

your eyes flicked back to where his pants had fallen to his knees, where his hard cock eagerly waited your attention, shading the same bright red that settled on your cheeks.

“oh my go—” you whispered, cut off by a strong hand pushing the back of your head closer, until your face was right in front of his throbbing cock, your jaw starting to quiver as you became aware of how very dry your throat felt despite the saliva building on your tongue.

your mind was reeling. you’d never seen a dick in person before, the reality supremely larger than you’d imagined from the occasional awkward glance at a poorly hidden erection from the boys or ymir’s lewd drawings or even in the uncomfortable few sex ed classes the garrison held.

“what the fuck did i just say?” the hand tangled in your hair and you desperately watched with dilated pupils and shifting eyes as he lifted the shaft with his other hand, bringing it to your lips.

you thought of licking the liquid leaking out the tip, drooling down the sides. your eyes shifted around, trying to take in as much as you could.

you looked up at him as he spoke, the heat washing over you tempting you to look away, look literally anywhere else, but his hand tightened around your head and you couldn’t control it anymore. or maybe you just couldn’t bring yourself to want to.

the eye contact was chilling, an immediate tether that couldn’t be torn apart. “i’ll teach you to fucking listen,” he practically spat, his stare alone sending shivers through your spine, settling heartily in your pelvis. “i’ll teach you to fucking obey.”

the tip was at your lips and pushing itself inside, your jaw reacting immediately and molding itself around the thick extremity, pushing against the limits of your lips.

levi gave you no time to adjust to the sensation, no time to even notice the taste of his precum as he immediately started shifting his hips deeper into your mouth and pushing your head farther down, fighting a gag complex you never knew you had.

your knee shifted under you, startled by the sudden rocking of your body syncing with his hips.

“fucking suck it, baby,” the groan rumbled from deep within his chest, an unprecedented spout of neediness erupting with increasing speed of his hips. your lips burning with the heat from the softest, silkiest skin, your throat aching with the pounding, your roots threatening to rip from your scalp.

the noises were obscene, and he repeated himself when you didn’t react, as you fought the gags and boldly glanced up, looked into his eyes.

electricity ran down your spinal cord, screamed for you to follow his order, to hollow your cheeks and listen.

“fucking do it.” you closed your eyes, couldn’t bear the weight of his unbroken glare, pupils absorbing and memorizing a sight he frequently imagined and never thought possible. you obeyed.

you cautiously brought your hands to his thighs and ignored the hot tears on your waterline as your throat burned from the fast friction, his thick, long cock threatening to curve down your esophagus with each thrust.

aside from short, deep moans and exerted grunts, levi was quiet, listening to the echo of his labored breathing, of his cock stretching against the roof of your mouth and gliding inside, reconciling each noise with the sight of you on your knees, taking almost most of him.

suddenly he pulled away, snapped his hips back faster than he soared in omni-gear. you chased after him, moaning lightly at the itching in your pelvis, your brain finally having space in your to process your own racing heart beat and throbbing clit, a wetness spilling out of you with each pleasurable pulse.

“fuck, take your pants off,” he demanded breathlessly. “now,” he added when you didn’t move.

your brain was still processing, the blood still loud in your ears. your body was frozen, still didnt move even when he stepped forward, felt the chill from his looming shadow trigger goosebumps on your neck. “do you need me to fucking do it for you? now.”

your lip curled into a taunting smirk, felt a powerful burning set fire to your chest. the muscles in your calves and thighs burned with pulsing hot blood as you stood up, maintained his gaze.

“why did you stop?” you were surprised by the sound of your voice, deeper and raspier. you ignored the sore tissue in your throat, the burning at the edges of your lips as the smirk grew wider, as you took a subtle deep breath. “getting bored?”

your pants made a noise as they hit the floor, but neither of you heard it over the squeak of levi’s shoes as he rushed the grab your hips, digging his thumbs and settling into the dips once he’d turned you around and pushed you into the desk.

you felt the bruise form as his palm collided with your back and shoved down, bending your spine as your torso collapsed onto the table and curving your bum over the edge. “that’s a yes,” you mused, softly giggling.

your giggle was cut short by a shove forward and a sharp sting to your bare left cheek. you squealed as another smack landed on the squishy flesh, felt the fat jiggle in response. you curled your spine, pushed back into the feeling.

“count,” levi ordered, his stinging hand slapping against your pink and plushy cheeks, a lighter imprint on the skin from the immediate contact.

you tried to scoff, but the force forward was pushing the air from your lungs. your stomach dropping to your pelvis when you realized you weren’t keeping track. “and if i don’t?” you ventured, your voice breathless and shaky from each smack. you thought of lifting onto your arms, but you were relaxed into the awkward position. “you’re going to spank me anyway.”

the next smack was harder, bending into your back and digging the table into your wet upper thighs. he grunted, goosebumps pushing to the skin near your ears as he spanked you again on each cheek, a sharp delayed sting racing up your spine like an exclamation mark.

he smacks you again. “oh, there’s one,” you breathed out, a sad excuse of a chortle as your lungs struggled to function, as your pelvis hoarded the blood supply. the skin throbbed as the heat of his hand disappeared, as you felt yourself dragging after him like you were on a string. “oh! two!”

“shut the fuck up,” he grunted out, a light breathy laugh escaping, a smile on his face that he couldn’t repress—didn’t even want to.

you smiled widely at his tone, could feel the warmth coming through. “you told me to count!”

both of you went still as the air echoed with distant laughter. the hairs on your neck stood up as you and levi listened closely, wondered if it was the same boisterous, struggling-to-stay-quiet laughter you two were so, intimately familiar with.

you lamented that you rapidly sat up, catching ymir and sasha’s faces peaking from the door window. you two rushed to get dressed, felt a different heat of embarrassment underlying a stronger need to smile, biting deep into your bottom lip as you wondered how much they saw, as you recalled the entire event and rubbed your throat and bum.

he gave you a look, an apologetic flash in his eyes for rushing out, but the deep red on his chest and face screamed he needed to leave. you followed levi out, and he rushed off. his heels echoed as he walked down the hallway.

you immediately noticed sasha and ymir running up to you, and you covered a wide, repressed smile with your palm, enjoyed the giddy heat in your abdomen. “i’m guessing i don’t have to tell you much.”

you turned to see sasha jumping up and down, giggling and squealing with excitement and grabbing at your arm. you resisted the urge to jump with her, but you excitedly held her hands in return.

“in the fucking boots!” ymir cackled, wrapping her arm around the other side of you and sasha, “that’s some queen and king shit.”

“uh, you have to tell us everything!” sasha said, glancing to historia who had pink cheeks. “we didn’t even see his cock,” she added in faux sadness, pushed out her bottom lip and pouted.

“that’s because it was in her mouth the whole time,” ymir laughed, playfully rolling her eyes, bumping her arm into yours.

“did he tell you off?” historia asked cautiously, still anxious about whether or not they were going to be separated. “did he say anything?”

“oo, dirty talk,” sasha sang, shimmied her shoulders lightly and wiggled her finger, pointed at ymir, “now thats sexy.”

“n-no, i meant—”

“he told me to shut the fuck up,” you confessed, feeling the blush at the memory, knowing it was visible, still wondering how much they knew. sasha and ymir laughed.

you finally noticed admin near the wall, bright pink cheeks and shifty eyes. he was rubbing at his elbow.

“armin, what are you thinking?” you asked, noticing the light distress he was in as he rubbed at the back of his neck, kept switching his weight between his feet.

he shook his head, and ymir rolled her eyes. “armin, you swore your clitoris. you can tell us,” she said as sympathetically as she could, but it still came off a sharp tongue.

“it’s just,” he made brief eye contact with historia, ymir, and sasha before settling on you, “is he going to do that to us?”

[zesty-alt]

Though the concept of cumming deep inside your boy, over and over, trying to knock him up but getting negative test after negative test...

And then you start feeling sick to your stomach, yet somehow your appetite increases, you start to gain weight, your belly swelling outwards, and you think to yourself that all this trying for a baby has started messing with your mind.

Your boyfriend seems to love your new "dad bod", never able to keep his hands off of you, especially your belly, which seems to almost be swelling...too fast, even given all that you eat? And all that weight is going straight to your stomach, which seems so round...and you swear your nipples look bigger, and they feel kind of sore sometimes...

Your boyfriend kisses you and says it's just your body preparing to be a dad, and encourages you to keep trying to give him a belly to match. But you feel yourself starting to slow down as you fuck him, your knew bulk making it harder to move, so he has you lay down while he rides you instead. His hands never leave your swollen middle as he bounces himself on your cock, moaning out, "You're getting so big and round for me, daddy, growing so well", and as you cum, your mind's not on knocking him up but you getting bigger.

Another week goes by, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you can't help but feel you look...

Don't say it. You're just exhausted from trying so hard with no results, your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your boyfriend's hands slip around your waist, massaging your stomach as he kisses you on the neck. "How are you guys doing?"

You assume he's joking and laugh, and then wince - did you just feel something move inside you?

Your boyfriend distracts you by asking, "Are your tits still sore?" and you want to argue, but there's no denying it - your pecs have swollen out and rounded almost as much as your belly.

And they are sore - tight, swollen, almost as if...?

Your boyfriend starts to massage them, and your head empties as you throw your head back and moan; the pain and tightness remains even through the pressure, and you encourage your boyfriend, "Harder."

He smirks and obediently starts squeezing and kneading your - tits - and you think you feel something stirring in your belly again. But you can't concentrate on that; you're dying for some relief in your sore, bloated chest.

And then it comes, and you moan heavily as the pressure finally starts to ease...and you feel something wet.

"Looks like your milk came in early!" your boyfriend exclaims, and you stare in the mirror as he continues to massage you and...milk continues to trickle out from your plump, perky nipples.

Your boyfriend kisses your neck, and you feel another kick from the baby you know is growing inside you.

"Finally caught on?" he says with a chuckle. "You're gonna be such a good dad."

[emo-emu64]

The Princess's Favor

Knight! Zack X Princess!Reader

Isaac Foster was considered a monster by most, a threat by all. A dangerous beast of a man, cut-throat, and stone faced. A valiant soldier that quickly climbed the ranks of the palace's guards. Ruthless in his endeavors to protect the royal family. In his endeavors to protect you.

That was how everybody else saw him at least, you considered him a giant teddy bear.

"Pretty please?"

It wasn't often that you were seen without your personal guard but, his patrols along the outside of the castle walls were supposed to be an exception. 

That became more and more of a rarity, however, as you asked him more often that not to accompany him. And he never quite figured out how to say no to you.

"Princess, it's not safe. Have you even asked your father?"

He avoided your gaze as he tended to his horse, knowing that he couldn't resist the big doe eyes that seemingly granted you everything you'd ever wished for.

He didn't mind though, not really, he'd conquer every kingdom this side of the sea if you looked at him like that.

"My father trusts you, I don't have to ask him about every little adventure. Besides, it's perfectly safe as long as I have you!"

He heaved a sigh as he finally met your gaze, big eyes and a hopeful smile, "Go get your bag."

You cheered, wrapping your arms around him briefly as you thanked him, then pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, running back to the stables where you had put your belongings.

A fortunate enough thing for Zack, as he was able to briefly stifle the smile that graced his lips.

Although, he couldn't say the same for when you came sprinting back, satchel slung over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

Zack helped you up into the saddle first, like a true gentleman, before sliding comfortably in place behind you. 

You leaned back into his warmth, a comforting and familiar feeling. Safe, like home.

You brace yourself as the horse takes off like a shot into the woods. Zack weaves through trees and branches with ease, and his horse keeps a steady and sure footing on the mossy and mud-caked earth.

The wind in your hair is as exhilarating as always, and you raise your arms outward, throwing your head to the sky to cheer.

Zack pretends he doesn't find immeasurable joy in your joy by lightly flicking the back of your skull, leaning down closer to you so you can hear him over the rushing wind in your ears.

"Hands on the saddle, princess, gotta bring you back in one piece if I wanna keep my job."

You laugh as you bring your arms back down to your sides, keeping a firm hold to the horn of the saddle, simply because he asked you to. No matter how much danger he thought you may be in, you knew there was never any danger of you falling. Not with his strong arms on either side of you holding the reins. You felt invincible. 

Zack slows the horse to a stop as a clearing comes into view, filled with wildflowers and ferns of all kinds. You and Zack have found a plethora of spots during his patrols, but this one was by far your favorite. 

You often convinced Zack to eat lunch here. Bringing a basket of snacks from the kitchen, which was probably more sweets and pastries than an actual meal, but who's to say?

Zack dismounted in order to help you down, gently taking your hand.

As soon as your feet met the ground you quickly searched through your bag until you found the familiar feel of a small tin, opening to pick out a single sugar cube. You flattened your palm, holding the sweet treat out to the horse.The horse in question took your offering gratefully and gently.

The horse had an ashy coat, with a tail and mane of deep ebony. He was tall and strong, obedient from years of battle. His name was Mortifer, a fitting name considering his rider, meaning death bringer. Although, enemies of the kingdom often called him Pallidus Equus. 

The Pale Horse.

"You're going to make him fat," Zack chastised. 

"Zack, this is the most physically active horse in the kingdom, he's not going to get fat."

You turned back to the horse lifting you hand to stroke his neck, and he huffed gently nudging you with his nose, "You're not fat, huh? Zack's just a big meanie." You turned back to face your guard, "See? You made him sad."

Zack smirked and rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss you gently, "Whatever you say, princess."

Zack became so much more comfortable outside the castle walls, he was convinced that if your relationship was confirmed and brought to light, the two of you would be separated.

Of course this wasn't the truth, Zack was a hero in the eyes of the kingdom, not some lowly knight trying to quickly climb the ranks, it would be fine, encouraged even for him to marry royal. Not to mention the two of you were the worst kept secret in the kingdom. You went everywhere together, he looked at you like you were the sun, and you looked at him like he put the stars in the sky. Even the castle's head baker, a very kind but also very blind old man, could see that.

You lower yourself to the grass, leaning against the largest oak you could find, pulling out your most recent cross stitch to occupy your hands. Zack soon joins you, sharpening his numerous blades with the whetstone he keeps on hand.

After a good while of simply enjoying each other's company, you decide to break the silence with the question that's been plaguing your mind since you first heard the rumor from your father's associates.

"Zack?"

"Hm?" He looks up from his knife, twirling it in his hands. When he finds your face, his brows crease, taking in the sad look in your eyes.

You put down your project and turn to face him, hands gently settling in your lap, you look downwards as you play with a blade of grass, "Is it true that you're being sent on that campaign that my father is planning?"

Zack's lips form a thin line, and he sighs, "Figured you'd heard about that."

He feels his heart crack wide open when your face saddens, your usual cheeriness completely drained, "So you're going?"

He nods, and frowns, gently cupping your face as he sees tears form in your eyes, "It won't be long, princess, I promise."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to, I just... hadn't thought of how yet, I don't like seein' ya sad like this."

"You got hurt really bad on the last one Zack, I didn't know if your were going to make it."

The tears rimming your eyes fall freely down your cheeks now, and he gently wipes them away with his thumb. 

"I always make it, pretty thing, can't go leavin' ya all by yourself can I? You'll make my horse all fat and slow."

He smiles down at you as you giggle, and wrap your arms around his neck. 

"Oh!"

You jump to your bag rooting through it for your gift.

You pull out an embroidered handkerchief, pushing it into his open hands.

He opens it and grins at the stitches, its a field filled with flowers and trees, Zack thinks it looks very much like the one the two of you were currently seated in.

"You have to live, in order to bring it back to me. It's my favor."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "You'll have it back in no time, princess."