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sweetjekyll · 4 years ago

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Leave Your Pretty Dress On — KJI/Kai

pairing: Kim Jongin x Reader

genre: smut, one-shot, established relationship, Mafia AU inspired but it’s entirely smut without plot rating: 18+ . IF you are not of legal adult age, please do not under any circumstances read this work as it is not meant for underage readers. warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot (it could have the tiniest allusion to what could be a mafia au plot if you squint very hard), explicit sexual content, slight choking kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!!), degradation kink, pet names, implied consumption of alcohol, drunk sex, consensual. (Please read carefully the warning tags in the masterlist and those at the beginning of each work to avoid any unpleasant misunderstandings.) count: 1.8k

Requested by anonymous: keyword “undress” + sentence “If we both stick to the story, they can’t prove anything.” from this writing game post.

Masterlist

A/N: to the anon who sent just the keyword and the dialogue, I hope you enjoy this surprise member very much! I couldn’t help myself when you told me to have fun with these two combos. I’ve never ever written smut like this before, so this is quite a step for me in terms of writing sexually explicit content. I edited this pic too, there’s just something so powerful about Jongin’s eyes here that makes me go crazy oof

To my dear readers: feedback is highly encouraged and important! as it gives me motivation to write with more passion, knowing that you like what you are reading. My askbox is always open for questions or to chat ❤

Enjoy! ❤

His breath was ragged and fanning hungrily over that sweet spot below your left ear, you could smell the scent of refined wine as Jongin covered your skin with dark love bites. Both of you were in such an inebriated state after a full bottle, yet your brain could still picture the deep burgundy color of the nectar you consumed, filling your flaring nostrils as you too struggled for a deep breath, shameless moans were rolling off your tongue while his whole body was pressed against your back.

“Jongin,” you drawled his name with such desperation in your voice it made his eyes snap open immediately and focus on your hazed expression. Your back arched as you further pressed your bottom to his hardened manhood, constricted by his tight clothes. His left hand quickly moved from your hip and he brought it up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him over your shoulder.

There it was: that look of utter devotion and unadulterated lust in your dilated pupils, illuminated by the lamp on his work-desk as he further pressed your legs against it, slightly parting them with his knees despite the skirt of your silk cocktail dress restraining your movements. His devilish smirk graced his face once more as Jongin attacked your parted lips with a sloppy kiss, uncaring of the way the once rich color of your rouge lipstick was smeared and faded around the corners of you mouth.

“My gorgeous goddess,” he mused in a deep, sultry tone after your swollen lips parted. “I’m so close… So close to taking everything that is rightfully mine.” Jongin purred in your ear as he rubbed his aching erection against your clothed ass, earning a delighted gasp from you.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me…” You softly confessed your worries to him, but he kissed your cheek reassuringly. He did it so lovingly that you almost forgot in your inebriated mind how much you wanted Jongin to just bend you over the desk and finally fuck you into oblivion.

“No one’s going to take me away from you.” Jongin felt a slight ache in his chest, almost as if something was about to melt in his ribcage, knowing you loved him despite all the cruel things he was capable of as a man with too much money and power in his hands. “If we both stick to the story, they can’t prove anything.”

A cunning smile finally graced that beautiful face of yours and you kissed him with such hunger and passion that your attention immediately shifted onto one thing only before you got lost in your drunken thoughts again. “Make love to me, but fuck me like a whore.”

“I’ll give you anything you wish for, Baby Doll.” The deep chocolate of Jongin’s eyes appeared to catch on fire under the only light illuminating the home studio, his golden skin was starting to glisten with sweat from anticipation of what he was about to do. He finally let go of your jaw and, with his right hand pressed against the exposed skin of your back, he pushed your chest towards the surface of the desk and then did quick work of hiking up the skirt of the dress. You whined as he barely grazed your butt cheeks with his slender fingers, goosebumps making you shiver in sweet yearning for him to just touch you where you most needed him. A loud smack echoed in the room along with a surprised moan from your lips, your body jolted forward on the desk while your hands gripped the edges of the desk. “I have barely touched you and you’re already a mess, Y/N.” Jongin chuckled as he massaged your right butt cheek to soothe away the sting caused by the palm of his hand. “How bad do you want me, sweetheart?” He asked you as he pressed his clothed hips to you once again and gave you other butt cheek the same treatment her twin received. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip when you whimpered, meanwhile Jongin reached up with his hands to get rid of the blazer of his suit and undid the tie around his neck, both discarded on the floor behind him.

“So bad, baby…” You whined while trying to get any sort of friction by rubbing your ass up and down his crotch. Jongin thrived off your need and desire for him, you knew that so well that you took as much pleasure in making him feel needed and special like no other man had ever been to you. Jongin loved being dominant in bed with you and you gladly fed his ego when you weren’t teasing him back like a spoiled brat, because you would rather die than give yourself like that to any other man who wasn’t him. “I want you so bad right now… I want you to grab my hair and fuck me like a bitch in heat.”

Jongin laughed softly in satisfaction and felt himself throb in his trousers, his body was desperate to finally be inside of you, yet he took his time working on undoing his belt, so torturously slow, until he finally pushed down the layers of fabrics which then pooled around his feet. His erection slapped against your skin making you look back at him over your shoulder, patiently waiting as his fingers hooked around the soaked fabric of your lingerie and pulled it to the side.

Your eyes met as he aligned himself with your dripping entrance and you held onto your breath. “God, I love it when you know exactly what you want me to do with you.” Your brain didn’t have enough time to elaborate his words, because as soon as he said that, he eased himself inside of you and took a fistful of your hair, making you look forward while your body arched painful against the flat surface of the desk. With a long, drawn out moan mixed with incomprehensible curses and chants of Jongin’s name rolling off your tongue, he immediately set a harsh pace as he pounded into you mercilessly, just like you asked. Your core was so slick and wet that your body immediately adjusted to his gifted size, your walls were clenching and constricting around his length he wasn’t sure he could hold on for much longer, not when he was still affected by the wine you had both consumed earlier.

He slowed his harsh thrusts until he came to a halt still buried deep inside of you. Sweat glazed your back and his face while both of your breathings were labored, but you still forced yourself to speak— no, beg. “Please, please baby don’t stop!”

Jongin found adorable the way you cried out for him to give you more. “Turn around, Baby Doll,” he instructed you as he bent to kiss between your shoulder blades, then you found yourself empty of his girth. You weren’t sure if you would be able to turn around on your heels as your knees were wobbling out of pleasure coursing through your veins, but Jongin’s hands never left your body as he helped you sit on the desk and then hastily made you wrap your legs around his waist.

“You’re still too clothed for my liking.” You growled as you slid your fingers between the two layers of fabric of his shirt and tore it open; the buttons that once used to hold the piece of clothing together bounced off the surface of the desk and onto the floor, rolling away as your hands roamed your lover’s body without a care for anything else but him.

Jongin slid the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders and down your arms, revealing your breasts to the cool air of the room. You shivered under his intense gaze but his attention was diverted to one of your perky nipples, which he took between his plump lips and licked with so much care that your head lulled back and your eyes closed, moaning soft praised and asking for more.

You bucked your hips and urged him to fill you up once again and he complied, leaving wet kisses and dark marks on your chest and neck until he reached your lips, kissing you with such fierceness you forgot how to breathe... or maybe it was he fact that his lips had been replaced by one of his hands, squeezing ever so softly as he fucked you on top of his desk like an animal in heat, raw and desperate for a sweet release.

“Such a good girl.” Jongin panted against your bruised lips, feeling you clench around him, chasing your high yet you hadn’t even touched yourself yet. “Are you going to cum on my cock and make a mess?” He whispered against your ear, nibbling on it just above your diamond earring.

“Y-Yes...” You stuttered out a breathless reply. “Yes, I’m so close—“ You met his lustful eyes once again and he placed his forehead against yours, completely focused on only you and nothing else.

“Then come for me, you little slut,” Jongin growled as he slowed down slightly just to push your back down against the hard surface of the desk, then he hooked his arms under your knees and resumed his pace from a new angle. “Scream my name so loud that even the guards outside of the house know exactly the only man you belong to.”

More curses followed from your pretty lips; there you were half undressed on a wooden desk as the love of your life made you feel so good and wanted like nobody else did. You slipped your fingers between your thighs and rubbed circles against your wet bundle of nerves, until you felt the knot tighten in your belly and then came the sweet release that rocked your body. You were chanting Jongin’s name like a mantra while your walls clenched around him, a devilish smile graced his sculpted face as he watched you unravel in his arms. Fast paced thrusts became sloppier as he helped you ride out your high, but he still hit all the way inside you with loud smacks. You were so beautiful in your fucked out state that he couldn’t help himself from spilling all of his juices inside you with a deep groan of your name, both your moans mixing like a sinful melody.

Jongin bent forward while keeping still inside of you, satisfied smiles on your hazy expressions and you snaked your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer for a chaste kiss, as if you weren’t screaming profanities just moment before and begged him to go harder and faster. “You should wear this pretty dress more often,” he whispered against your lips as he ran his hands down your body, latching his fingers around the silk of your dress wrapped around your abdomen. “It drives me crazy.”

#exosnet #exonet #exo #exo x reader #exo x you #exo smut #exo scenarios #Kim Jongin #Jongin x Reader #Jongin x you #exo kai #kai x reader #kai x you #exo mafia au #mafia au #kim jongin x reader #kim jongin x you

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

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Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents.

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?"

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach.

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple."

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?"

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level."

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully.

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly.

Everything was going according to plan.

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all.

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised.

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious.

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised.

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted.

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look.

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled.

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you."

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…"

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!"

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No."

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue.

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck.

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock.

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit.

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled.

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment.

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit.

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second.

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-"

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner."

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine."

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow.

"Is someone a little sensitive there?"

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight.

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock.

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful.

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing.

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go.

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was.

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down.

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off.

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious.

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around.

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards.

Jack swallowed roughly, confused.

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you."

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth.

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this--

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair.

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that."

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!"

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning."

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing.

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again.

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

#jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character #agent whiskey imagine #consensual noncon #whew where did this come from #enjoy!#working things out

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years ago

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Chapter 5 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

When Naruto let go of that pitch, Sakura knew their school had won. She hugged Hinata who was also overjoyed, and she turned to her side to give Sasuke a high five then she realized he was still not back.

As she moved along the bleachers, she rallied her schoolmates to give a resounding yell routine. Disappearing within the noise, she moved along the halls below the benches, and there she found the group.

When the fist made contact with her face, she almost blacked out. The pain came rushing in after a few seconds of numbness, her sight a complete blur, a slight disorientation, and her hearing muffled. The scuffle played out before her as her eyes refocused, Sasuke kicking and punching the goons on the stomach, but it seemed she got it wrong when Kakashi’s eyes drifted to her as a pair of glaring daggers.

His one foot was on the wrist of the guy who punched her. When the blood finally dripped from her broken nostrils, Kakashi broke the guy’s hand, thankfully echoed by the screams from the bleachers. “You’ll get expulsion and multiple restraining orders just for the hell of it.”

While Kakashi called the security, Sasuke went to Sakura’s side with a mix of an irritated but worried look on his face. Ah, he was wondering why.

“I’m okay,” she tried to say despite receiving no question, but the words came out wrong. Oh my gods, are my teeth broken? How embarrassing?

As if summoned by her thoughts, he stood before them right after the guards took away the passed-out bullies. “Let’s get you two to the clinic.”

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

“I can’t call Naruto. I left my bag with Hinata,” she tried to say again but the words were coming out jumbled like I con kor Nar-u-o…I re ma ba wi Hina-a…

Kakashi was trying not to laugh as she communicated with Sasuke who was on the other bed, being checked by a doctor with curtains drawn. The school clinic recommended them to go directly to the hospital.

“He would have to wait for our congratulations,” Sasuke replied.

“I see you wincing in pain, young man. That’s a broken rib right there,” the doctor noted from the other side. When the curtains were swept to the side, Sakura saw her raven-haired classmate clutching at his side. When his eyes opened to find hers, he glanced away and let go of his pained expression.

“Ms. Haruno, I will be referring you to our plastics. Would be a waste if your student council president loses her pretty face.” The doctor tapped Kakashi’s shoulder as she walked out of their ward.

“Thanks, Nohara,” he called out after her.

Sakura deduced he was friends with the doctor, but she could ask him that some other time. She looked a bit older than the Math teacher so they might not be together. Regardless, shouldn’t she be more engrossed of having a crooked nose in front of Kakashi than his personal love life? When he turned her attention to her finally, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.

“Sakura, you should tilt your head upwards, just a little bit. You had a nosebleed earlier, didn’t you?” She did what he said, but gods, this was so embarrassing. She tried to look at him through her fingers, and his beauty mark moved as he chuckled. Ugh, why is he so perfect?

His phone suddenly pinged, and he took a moment to read the message. “Hmm. I need to leave and go explain things to the board. Nohara might advise bed rest and school leave for at most three weeks so get well soon, all right?” Then, he turned to Sasuke. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sakura wondered if she should ask a favor from Kakashi. Asking him to stay was a tad too much, and asking him to contact the council would be too irresponsible. Maybe she could sneak out after his exit and find a way to contact the council. She should also call Naruto – second on the task list. He would be devastated without their congratulations.

A hand on her head stopped her thoughts. “Stop thinking at hundred miles per second, and rest. I will take care of the council and inform Uzumaki of your situation. I assume you three are friends?”

“No.” “Yes.” Sasuke and Sakura answered respectively.

Kakashi smiled, finding amusement in their dynamics. “See you soon.”

“Shi yo,” she muttered through her broken nose, unaware of her fingers already fidgeting the rubber band on her wrist.

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

She was back in the hospital the following week. While Sasuke was advised to be confined, she was sent for home care. The mandated rest did not even last a day because she needed to show up to her shifts in the café and showed up she did in some elaborate mask to cover her bandaged nose and a sketchpad for conversations. To appease the constant nag and flood of messages from her councilmates, she stopped showing up in school for three days and turned the tables on them by doing all the nagging and demanding daily updates.

On the fourth day, she was up and running through the school halls to reach the board inquisition in time. She gladly accepted an annoyed litany of precautions and reminders from Kakashi.

“I never thought you could be this stubborn, Sakura.” He was visibly exasperated. “I can’t tail you every time and remind you that you’re injured.”

But you could. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I promise to not push myself so hard for the next days.” Sakura gave him a peace sign which he jokingly waved away.

“Pull your energy back, like 60 percent of it.” He patted her head softly, like an adult would to an unreasonable kid, and never have she felt more insulted. “If only I could take care of you.”

Like a babysitter would? She immediately put distance between them, feeling angry for no reason, and she stormed off, leaving him clueless in the middle of the hallway about her sudden rigid behavior.

Now she was back in the hospital after a week of mild recuperation. When she went to check on Sasuke, she found him asleep, probably from the sedatives. It amused her that even in slumbers, his brows would furrow, yet a part of her worried that there must be something looping him in nightmares. She left her presence with a basket of fruits and a medium-sized carton of tomato juice which Naruto mentioned was his favorite. Several juice boxes of the same flavor were stacked on the other side of his bed and a plastic bag filled with instant ramen bowls. She would ask the maintenance staff later to take out the trash.

When she finally reached the door of Dr. Aki Nohara, her assistant gestured for her to wait for a while outside. She figured she can loiter in Sasuke’s room and have one of the nurses get her until she heard Kakashi’s voice inside the room.

“I know you literally accelerated throughout school, but you need to act more like your age.” Her doctor scolded her teacher like an old friend. She was aware of her eavesdropping, but she hoped to learn more of his life. “I’m saying you should visit Rin.”

“Does she miss me?” It was and wasn’t his voice. She didn’t hear his usual nonchalance when he blurted out those words. Ah, a weird ache was forming in her chest.

“Do you even need to ask that from me when the answer is already so obvious?”

“Hmm. I’m just not ready….yet.”

“Well get on with it and put a ring on her finger or others will!”

Ah, her sensei was apparently planning to get married? So he had someone after all, someone named Rin. Sakura felt the room crowd her in, almost suffocating her, and she accidentally bumped into a passing staff and a tray cart of medical supplies.

Her small disturbance brought the occupants outside the room. “Ah, Ms. Haruno, you may come in now. You look pale, dear.”

Kakashi waved at her, his teacher persona already up in arms, then he turned to Dr. Aki. “Your medical advice for my heart is noted, but not now, maybe in the far, far, far future.”

Dr. Aki tsked at him. “Off you go Hatake. I have a patient waiting. Oh thank heavens, the color is returning to your face.”

He’s not marrying her……yet. Would it be silly to think I have a chance?

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

A whole two weeks have gone in secluded rooms – a week alone in a hospital room because of Itachi’s connections and another week alone cooped up in his apartment. He got radio silence from his brother, and he almost wished he gave him an earful of insults instead – many of which should have called out his cowardice, especially when the clash had an avoidable casualty. He looked so stupid next to cool Kakashi, Kakashi who was only five years older than them, Kakashi who smoked and read with baseball playing on the background, Kakashi who took on all four people at once with no scratch on his body, Kakashi with his silver hair being friends with doctors and bigshots, Kakashi with his beauty mark laughing at Sakura.

If there was any further downside to this, that was also the angry flood of texts he got from Naruto the night of the game, and then nothing. He was too drugged with sedatives he didn’t have the right mind to reply and process them. He was too drugged to wake up with a clear mind even. He didn’t bother to text or call back. Whatever, whatever, whatever. He took a look again at his phone, checked the time, found no new messages, and put it back on his side table.

His past self would have enjoyed this momentary social isolation, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling of missing company however, he can’t bring himself to admit this aloud.

The next time he opened his eyes, he scrambled out of bed in panic and cold sweat. Someone was incessantly ringing his doorbell. When his eyes tried to find the clock, he found that it was already eight in the evening. He was sure he wasn’t expecting any guests tonight.

He trudged on to his door and mustered some strength to look through the peephole. Blue irises looked back at him, moved away a few steps, and struck a pose with a pink-haired girl with bandages still on her nose. The door never opened so quickly during the length of his stay.

“Are you stalkers or something?” were the first words he spat.

“Dr. Aki Nohara said it’s okay to visit you now!” Naruto whined. “And Sakura brought food!”

Sakura presented several paper bags. “It was Naruto’s idea actually. He nagged me for a week.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t understand her in the first few days,” the blonde said, rather straightforwardly.

Sasuke held back the urge to slap his hand on his forehead, but he moved to the side as he allowed them to venture inside his apartment. On second thought, did he put his underwear on the laundry basket?

“We figured you didn’t have dinner yet,” Sakura told him as she laid out the food containers on the dining table. “Mind if we use your utensils?”

“I forgot to say please make yourself at home,” Sasuke snapped sarcastically.

“Eeew, you’re still in your pajamas.” Naruto made a face at him while he opened his fridge and scoured for water and fruit juices. “That makes the two of us who didn’t shower!”

“You idiot. I showered this morning.” Nevertheless, Sasuke sat on the seat beside Sakura, allowing her to give him a bowl of ramen and some serving of okonomiyaki. A large platter of takoyaki was placed in the center of the table, first to be consumed by impatient hands and hungry mouths. Sakura had one hell of an appetite and fast metabolism to boot.

“Anyway, congratulations idiot,” he said while munching on the last piece of takoyaki. “Aren’t you supposed to travel to Fukuoka for the semis?”

“Yeah, next week! It doesn’t start until next month, but Captain Haru said we need to train,” Naruto replied as he proceeded to open a bowl of instant ramen. “The board also granted us exemption from exams. My brains are saved.”

“Your training camp really coincided with the school field trip,” Sakura noted. “Maybe we could visit you in between?”

“That would be the best!” Naruto grinned sheepishly, but Sasuke swore there was a tinge of red in his cheeks.

Finally rid of all food and dishes, the three lounged around in his living room, browsing titles in Netflix – Sakura wanted gore, crime, and horror while Naruto wanted adventure and fantasy films.

“What genre do you want, Sasuke?” Sakura asked. She was in possession of the remote and was seated on the other end of the couch. Naruto was on the floor with an open packet of chips and soda.

“And if I said romance?” he chided, weirdly enough to catch them offguard, but Sakura landed on the Twilight series and pressed play without second thoughts. “I was joking.”

“And it’s now starting,” she said back.

“How long are you gonna stay here?” He lost track of time – not the first instance this happened but the first occurrence without the burden of something heavy. “It’s past midnight.”

“I thought I was slow but you’re actually slower,” Naruto teased. “We’re staying over, grumpy.”

“I would love for a vampire to bite me,” Sakura quipped out of context.

Sasuke figured he didn’t have the energy to refute their uninvited sleepover at his unit. By the time New Moon played on screen, Naruto was sleeping on the floor with his mouth hanging wide open, and Sakura was lying fully on the couch, her feet stretched out on his lap. He slid out of this awkward entanglement and strode quietly to his drawers where he took out spare blankets to cover them with. On his bedside table, his phone lit up with a message notification.

Happy birthday, Sasuke. – Itachi

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 6

#SCPS #student council president sakura #sasusaku #kakasaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uzumaki naruto #team 7

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bomberqueen17 · 4 years ago

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how you say, “normal”

mikkeneko replied to your post “sabra-n replied to your post “ancient sea progress: Geralt’s...”

god, bondage as a kink for geralt has the potential to be so characterization JUICY for him given his general control issues

oh gosh, and here we could get into some sort of... autochorissexual issues too. I mean-- not to digress and self-insert too much, but I’m on the ace spectrum [like, for sure on the sex-pos side but like, still definitely on it] and have never quite been able to nail down how to describe it, but I definitely have a ton of things I think are super hot in porn that I would never ever ever ever ever want to actually do in real life in any way*? and so a lot of times when I consume porn I do not do so as myself, right? Like, ok, I should explain that-- I think of this as perfectly normal, so it’s hard for me to imagine what “””””normal”””” people must think/feel, but like. Just as most people, I guess, take the gender of their intended partner into account primarily when looking for a sexual partner, which is super alien to me but seems to be genuinely the case for the majority of people, so too I am led to assume that most, or at least many, people connect pornography to arousal by imagining themselves as one of the participants?

But, see, I think a lot of people do feel like I do, where most erotica/porn isn’t particularly consumed #1 directly for titillation or #2 with the reader projecting themself directly into the role of one of the participants. But those two things are, I’m led to believe, super common.

(cut for length, and i digress about Geralt’s ability to consent given his incredibly low self-esteem as well, and the complicating factor that Yennefer can read minds and is not exactly what you’d term an uncomplicatedly good person)

Anyway-- I think it’s likely that a lot of things Geralt thinks are hot are not things he has ever imagined himself doing. Like, I feel like he’d be super-practiced at compartmentalizing in such a way that like, he can read a book where there’s something he finds super-hot and maybe even actually literally gets off reading about, without ever imagining it really happening to himself the way he exists physically in reality.

[*footnote: This is distinct from the issue of liking things in porn that are too Problematic to pursue in real life, like noncon or logistically-impossible or morally-indefensible things. Like, that’s a separate issue and no I am not arguing that people who self-insert in rape fantasies are immoral or anything like that-- again, sexuality is not moral, and me being demisexual does not make me morally superior {like, by my orientation i have no real impetus to cheat, that does not make me pure somehow, anymore than being naturally skinny makes someone healthier than me} {not that anyone has said anything like this, I’ve just seen some Bad Takes.}]

So like-- the idea of someone being restrained during sex can simultaneously be something he finds incandescently hot to contemplate, and also not something he wants to do or have done to him.

BUT. I also feel like he’s possibly compartmentalized too much, and that a lot of the things he finds hot are things he would actually enjoy having done to him in real life (like... all the cherishing and being loved and whatnot). And so, yes, it’s perfectly likely that he would actually really really really like being handcuffed to the headboard (or entirely tied up like in the elaborate rope bondage thingies fandom loves) (which, just for another example and not to be TMI, I like reading about and like looking at but have never so much as seen in real life and have zero interest in ever actually trying, given my poor RL communication skills and hypermobile joints and suchlike, absolutely no thank you-- just for an example!) -- so, yes, this was a long way of saying you’re super right about that and I completely expect to find this fascinating to explore.

Ah yes, and I’d forgotten-- earlier in the series I’ve had Geralt’s POV point out that he’s not super into masturbation, which could partly be a valid, like, ace thing, and could partly be a kind of trauma response, where he’s convinced he’s so disgusting that he often can’t even bear to pleasure himself, or just that he finds it too distressing because it makes him realize how unfulfilled he is (which is at least the motivation I’ve had him state to himself).

Side note: in every canon Geralt loves sorceresses and in most of them he seems pretty goddamned whipped by said sorceresses, and while that surely says a lot about him and his pretty well-established deep-seated belief that he is fundamentally unlovable and must make up for it by being as agreeable as possible in every scenario he can manage to do so, does it not also say a lot that his preferred sexual partners are people more powerful than he is? Does that not seem to indicate that he is afraid that he could hurt people and wants to protect himself from that by seeking out partners who are more powerful so that he can’t? And so, just to riff on that, having Jaskier, who is innately much less powerful than he is, both physically and, like, personally, have physical power over him by tying him up-- well, I just think that’d be interesting, but unfortunately having Yennefer there shifts that balance quite a bit. (Well, and there’s another question-- would Jaskier even be capable of actually restraining Geralt in a way he couldn’t escape? but Yennefer sure would.)

Which leads to a fascinating issue to contemplate, which I was discussing with @akilah12902, which is that a gentle, loving partner for Geralt would really have to struggle with a lot of this, because 1) Geralt’s bad at boundaries and can’t meaningfully differentiate between Hard No Because No vs No Because He Thinks It’s Not Allowed, and 2) Geralt’s fucking terrible at consent anyway and hasn’t got a great boundary between Yes I Want That and Yes I Will Do This Even Though I Don’t Want To Because I Fully Believe That If I Ever Tell You No You Are Absolutely Never Going To Offer Me Anything Again, and he seems to invoke that latter one for shit that makes no sense to be like that about.

Which brings up the side issue that 1) Yennefer can read his thoughts, 2) he knows Yennefer can read his thoughts and hates it, but 3) if she reads his thoughts she can tell the difference between the four above conditions and so he is more likely to get what he wants, except that 4) of course #3 violates his consent in a huge and fundamental way. Which is fodder for a really, really juicy fight between Jaskier and Yennefer, who is used to not being trusted and yet is really going to be hurt by Jaskier not trusting her that 3 is the least worst option she feels she has, there.

And @akilah12902 was good enough to share that she’d been having a convo with @laurelnose on that topic, and he’d pointed out that given Yennefer’s own past she certainly isn’t great at understanding boundaries either, which is certainly a good point and also is separately fascinating to contemplate-- would she even have the framework to understand that Geralt cannot generally enforce most of his boundaries in any meaningful way because of his absolute terror of rejection, and so while talking him into things he wants but doesn’t think he can have is reasonable, overriding his clear non-consent for something important like his fundamental right to privacy in his own mind is not even if her intentions are good. You could really, really, really do some fantastic and juicy character work with that premise.

#mikkeneko #akilah12902 #laurelnose #asexuality #autochorissexuality

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tsukkinami · 4 years ago

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a heathen’s touch

fandom: The Last Kingdom (TV)

pairing: alfred / uhtred

rating: Explicit

chapters: 1/1**

15. Alfred / Uhtred, Alfred likes to watch Uhtred fuck, Uhtred likes to put on a show. Power play.

**This fic is Uhtred’s perspective of the prompt, and is part of a larger piece written with @minimartian, who’s work the cross that burns is written from Alfred’s POV. Please go check out her part to get the whole story!

read on ao3 here

It took longer than Uhtred had expected to grow used to life beneath the thumb of the throne of Wessex, but he had managed. Alfred’s mercurial tolerance of the Dane was to be measured by the day—Uhtred still had yet to learn the patterns of his actions which would garner the king’s tepid favor, or invite his quiet wrath. He had almost begun to believe there was no pattern, and that Alfred merely punished or rewarded him based on the wind, or whether or not his God had been speaking to him through prayer. But no, Alfred is smarter than that; he does nothing without a reason, even if that reason is miles ahead of anyone else’s sight. Uhtred’s especially.

All the same, the king had seemed more agitated with him lately. It is a subtle change—a sharpened tongue in conversation, a watchful eye when the Dane had yet to make a false move warranting one, a scathing look that raked along his form like a blade pulled fresh from a forge. All of it unprompted, as far as Uhtred knew, but then again, he tried his hardest never to dwell.

So when Alfred calls him into his writing room one evening, Uhtred keeps his head held high and his back straight on purpose. Either he is about to be scolded pointlessly for some escapade that somehow violated God’s divine plan, or Alfred is going to prattle on about England at length and Uhted’s sworn duty to protect it. Neither is desirable, so the Dane sets his mind to merely keeping his mouth shut.

Alfred is seated in a shroud of candlelight at his writing desk as Uhtred approaches, dismissing the guard who had escorted his invitee with a tight smile and a flick of his chin. The heavy metal doors shutting behind the Dane sound rather more the sealing of a tomb.

“Uhtred,” the king deadpans in greeting, his eyes cast downward to his work. He appears, as always, more priest than king, the sleeves of his grey robes hanging loose from his wrists as he scrawls across a fresh sheet of parchment with a deft quill. When he finally peers up at Uhtred with those observant eyes of his, cast amber in the candlelight, Uhtred struggles to fight the tension seeping across his shoulders.

“Lord King,” he replies flatly, glancing at the ink stains along Alfred’s fingertips to keep from returning that chilling gaze. Slowly, the king sets the quill down and pushes away from the desk, standing with a palm to his abdomen as the other braces upon the table. “I’ve an assignment for you, if you’re willing,” Alfred states plainly, and Uhtred’s brow crinkles. He gets the sense that his complacency in the matter is of little concern—more than that, he cannot fathom what assignment worthy of his time the Lord might have.

“That depends on the assignment,” the Dane tests, clasping his hands together in front of himself. He did not come here merely to be sent off into the Mercian countryside on a scouting mission, nor fulfill whatever task it is Alfred believes him freely capable of.

Alfred’s face remains almost the same, though Uhtred notices his eyes darken, flickering down to the Dane’s fidgeting hands before he turns away, stepping in front of the window to stare down through the weakening sunlight at the thinning bustle of the castle courtyard. He looks pensive—rarely is there a moment when evidence of his ceaseless mind is not written plain across his face.

“It is of a… personal sort,” he elaborates quietly, fingers twining behind his back as he glances over his shoulder to the floor beneath Uhtred’s feet. At that, Uhtred’s brow crinkles; Alfred is not one to readily place privileged matters into the care of someone he so publicly distrusted.

“Lord?” he inflects. Alfred turns finally, his steps purposeful as he approaches Uhtred, halting a mere foot away. The look he fixes the Dane with is as unsettling up close as it was from afar, in a manner Uhtred cannot put a name to.

“I wish to know my enemies,” he admits, voice smooth and level like the flat of a sword. “The Danes. You yourself are a Dane, Uhtred, so you will help me in this aspect.”

Uhtred leans away on impulse, his gaze flitting to the king’s lips as he speaks. He doesn't much appreciate the insinuation that he, sworn by oath and proven loyal time and time again, remains an enemy, despite all he has done for Wessex, for the Saxons. Alfred included.

“What would you want to know?” he replies hesitantly, already breaking his private vow to remain quiet. But the king had caught his attention, damn him, snaring Uhtred with curiosity yet again.

Alfred steps forward, and Uhtred feels his nostrils flare with the small breath he pulls to his lungs. The king’s eyes strike him, a spark on a flint shard, as do his words spoken smooth as honey. “I have heard tales of Danish prowess,” he lilts, purring over the last few syllables. Uhtred’s heart seizes for a fleeting second, the blood beneath his skin going icy. “But I’ve yet to witness it for myself.”

Alfred’s eyes are no longer on Uhtred’s, having dropped instead to his lips. His gaze is an iron brand, heavy and burning as it slides across them, and Uhtred fights not to blot them with his tongue. His own gaze flickers along the planes of Alfred’s stony expression for some kind of reprieve. None comes.

“You will teach me,” the king continues, chin tilting up and lashes fluttering along his cheeks, “of their… bodily weaknesses.”

Behind them, the candlelight flickers.

Understanding floods Uhtred’s mind and crashes against him with all the unstoppable force of a tidal wave. It seeps into every corner, every vessel in his blood, every facet of his being as he processes Alfred’s wolf of a request, wrapped in sheep’s clothes around his silver tongue. The Dane blinks, letting his eyes fall away from Alfred’s face to fix at a spot just above his head, and swallows roughly around his reply as it bubbles against the back of his throat. It’s a needless inquiry—he knows, and fears, the answer already.

“What… weaknesses are of interest to you, Lord?”

Alfred’s lips pull tight into the smallest of smiles, adorned with amusement and mottled by a sultry hue that fits him just a bit too well.

“It is a matter of curiosity,” he explains, stepping back towards his desk and running two nimble fingers along the woodgrain. Uhtred’s gaze follows him like a hawk—or rather the mouse caught in the hawk’s sight. There’s a stir in his gut he’s no title for, familiar as it may be. It is out of place here, with Alfred as its agitator, though the warrior would be lying to himself if he claimed never to have felt it before.

It twists when the Lord turns, the heel of his hands braced against the table’s edge as he leans against it. “I find the subject of your people’s hedonistic practices to be… troublingly intriguing,” he says. In his eyes lies a dangerous invitation, the stormy blue of his irises stippled with a restrained lust Uhtred had not known him capable of. It lingers over the warrior’s body, sizing him up—more likely undressing him.

“You will sate this curiosity for me, Uhtred,” the king demands as he gracefully props himself upon the table, his knees parting and the fabric of his robe rucking at his hips. “You will do exactly as I tell you.”

Uhtred’s grip on his own wrist tightens as Alfred’s smile pulls a hair’s breadth wider.

“And I will watch.”

When Alfred beckons, it is not aloud. It is not a word spoken into reality, nor is it a flick of the chin or crook of the finger—it is a feeling, a gravitational pull, as steady as if the king had gripped the leather laces of Uhtred’s armor and pulled him forward himself. The Dane’s feet move without his permission, staggered with trepidation, with uncertainty. The air turns dreamlike, and Uhtred halts a mere step away from the perfectly-spaced niche of Alfred’s legs.

A voice in Uhted’s head screams out like a prey animal, fighting with his hand as he reaches out to ghost his palm up Alfred’s thigh, never quite making contact with the linen beneath. It fades to silence when Alfred’s hooded eyes peer up to his, silent and piercing as an arrow in the night.

“What exactly—” Uhtred whispers, mouth dry as he peeks his tongue across his lips, “— would you have me do?”

Alfred roams his face thoughtfully, though Uhtred is sure he had already something in mind. The king’s fingers curl around his belt buckle, drawing him that final step closer as he makes his orders known.

“Touch me.”

An unsteady breath fills Uhtred’s lungs as the overwhelming desire to obey crushes against his chest. “Where, Lord?” he asks, a twitch away from snapping.

Alfred’s eyes go black, and Uhtred’s thoughts go with them. “Everywhere.”

The hand Uhtred had held over the king’s thigh clamps down upon it as their lips collid in a messy union. It’s wet, hot like hot had never been, searing down Uhtred’s spine and spreading across his body entire. He pulls a sweetened breath from Alfred’s mouth, feeling the Lord do the same to him as they vie for dominance amidst the chaos of their kiss, though it seems for all the world that the king is, for once, playing to lose.

Uhtred can't restrain the groan that slides from his throat when Alfred reaches up to tug at the ratted braids woven near his nape, the sting of it more an instigation than a detraction. The Dane slides his tongue hungrily along the king’s bottom lip, only for it to slip from his touch as Alfred yanks his head roughly backwards, jarring him out of their kiss. The Lord is the picture of sin with his cheeks flushed pink like that, his lips gone slick and red from Uhtred’s ministrations as they tick up into a crenulated grin.

“Not so fast,” he says, and a hot flash of irritation whips across Uhtred’s vision. Had he not asked for this? Was this not the very thing he'd ordered Uhtred to do?

Before the Dane can gather enough breath in his lungs to protest, Alfred is slipping from the table to his feet, gliding like water from beneath Uhtred’s weight to float across the room towards the adjacent door to his bedchamber. He pauses with a hand upon the knob, dark eyes cast back upon Uhtred’s own, burning with anticipation, as he crooks one slender finger in the warrior’s direction.

“Follow,” he orders. Uhtred doesn't need to be told twice.

The room is as quiet as the one that had preceded it, nothing but the sound of Uhtred’s heartbeat in his ears and the crackling energy between the two of them to fill the silent space. The warrior struggles to place his eyes anywhere other than Alfred, attempting vainly to focus elsewhere so as to avoid staring. He spies a full length mirror situated oddly at the far end of the bed corner, facing the center of the mattress. Alfred is already unbuttoning the top clasps of his robe as he makes for the bed, that same dangerous invitation written across his face as he casts a glance over his shoulder.

This man is going to eat you alive.

The thought is drowned out handily by the simultaneous crashing realization of exactly how far the king had plotted for this night to go. Uhtred's eyes flit from him to the mirror and back again before Alfred snaps him back to reality with his silk-strung voice.

“Touch me,” he’s ordering again, shrugging off his robe and letting it pool at his feet. Heat shocks Uhtred’s core as he drinks in the sight of the king’s half-bare figure, donning none of the frailty he would have expected. He is lean, certainly, but it is a leanness lined with sinew, the quiet power he’s come to expect from a king such as Alfred hidden beneath a thin frame. The iron cross round Alfred’s neck dangles loosely on its black cord, swaying just above his naval, and it flashes in Uhtred’s eyes as if baiting him, daring him to cross the gap and defile its bearer with a heathen’s touch.

For a moment, Uhtred’s gaze stumbles to the mirror once more, bearing the reflection of Alfred’s back and taut shoulders in its silver face. The king’s words ring clear in his mind—you will do exactly as I tell you. And I will watch.

Uhtred’s nostrils flare. This bastard thinks of everything.

Amidst his exasperation, the very thought of Alfred working through this moment before it had even transpired, deliberating over it and determining how exactly he wanted it to go, makes Uhtred’s gut clench. He wonders if Alfred took into account just how much the Dane enjoys being seen, being witnessed. That joy had never made it to the bedroom before, and certainly never to the king, but, knowing Alfred and his everworking mind, he’d merely read Uhtred’s manner like a book, memorizing every word.

The hesitation that had laced Uhtred’s steps before dissolves with an unbridled rush of want, surging him forward to crush his body against Alfred’s and collide their mouths in a chaotic assortment of lips and teeth. He drags skittish palms down the warm firmness of Alfred’s waist and hips, fingers reaching the pliant swell of the Lord’s ass and squeezing possessively—he’d been instructed only to touch, but he had every intention to claim.

The Dane is not sure when they stumble into the bed, nor how he finds himself straddling Alfred, gathering all the restraint he can muster to not grind down onto his hips with animalistic intent. What he is sure of is his vexation with the layers still stuck between them, the clammy cotton around Alfred’s hips which he tugs at adamantly before Alfred stills his roaming hands with a touch of his fingertips to Uhtred’s wrist. His earlier command of obedience resounds in Uhtred’s mind once more, warring with the near-unbearable desire to override, until Alfred tugs smoothly on the drawstring of his breeches and fixes Uhtred with expectancy.

Taking the hint, the Dane slips his thumb beneath the band and pulls, ridding Alfred of his constraints and pausing once he’d tossed the offending garment aside to admire his discovery.

Alfred’s cock is already half-hard as it bobs against his thigh, adorned with a crown of black curls at its base. They’ve the feel of downy feathers as Uhtred’s fingertips brush across them, nail grazing up the sensitive skin of the king’s shaft. Alfred sucks in a short breath, gliding his hips deftly up to meet the contact of Uhtred’s hand before he’s fisting his own in the Dane’s hair once more to draw him back in forcibly.

Keeping true to form, Uhtred lets his touch roam along every inch of Alfred’s exposed flesh as he dips his head down to the king’s neck to kiss roughly along his pulse point. He drags a sharpened cuspid across the bob in Alfred’s throat and feels him arch upwards, twitching at the foreign sensation of the king’s cock pressed flush against his inner thigh. It’s sinfully delightful, in the most wicked sense, to know that Alfred’s arousal is for him.

A groan, indiscernible in origin from Uhtred’s mouth, is muffled against the pale stretch of Alfred’s throat which he blots with small bruises and possessive nips. As he turns his head, his hazy eyes glimpse themselves, reflected in the mirror. He is startled first by the hunger roiling in them, near too dark to be recognizable as his own, but they are not what keep his attention—no, it is Alfred’s eyes, staring back at him through the silver surface, cheeks flushed in dewy rose and his lips the hue of glacé cherries. Uhtred watches as the king’s lashes flutter in time with a ragged sigh, torn from the king’s throat when the Dane suckles at the soft spot beneath his jaw.

“You burn,” Alfred rasps, the declaration vibrating under Uhtred’s teeth and, as if it were the incantation of a spell, the Dane feels his skin flare hotter still, burning from the inside out like sacred flame. Seeing Alfred speak in the mirror does nothing to quell it, though the sudden sharp pinch of the Lord’s fingers through his hair, wrenching his head up and dizzying his vision, certainly gives it some pause.

Uhtred hisses, no longer possessing the wherewithal to be surprised at the primality of it, looking now to Alfred beneath him rather than through their reflection. His jaw clenches, shoulders tense as confusion and want battle in his belly. His mouth feels strangely empty without Alfred’s flesh beneath it to worship, to devour—what is it about the king that lures the wild animal in the Dane out of its cage?

As he reels, Alfred lurches upward, nimble tongue swiping across his warrior’s bottom lip, sucking it between his front teeth before letting it go to snap back into place. Uhtred whines, chasing the contact as it recedes only for the searing sting of Alfred’s hand to yank roughly on his hair, locking him in place like a chained dog.

“Shall I blindfold you?” Alfred whispers, the polish in his voice unmarred by the heftiness of his breath, drawn swiftly from Uhtred’s mouth as he leans up again to tease the Dane with his tongue. “Would that provide an incentive to obey my orders, perhaps?”

Uhtred’s whine turns to a growl, fingers curling where they grip tight at the king’s hips as his nails press reddened crescents into unmarked skin. Alfred snatches his head back again, pouring his last words against the exposed angle of Uhtred’s jaw and punctuating them with a graze of his incisor.

“I commanded you to touch me,” he hisses, lips branding in flame where they glide along the bob in Uhtred’s throat, “yet no such permission was granted for you to spectate. You will keep your eyes where they belong, or you will lose them.”

It’s not the breed of threat that should be anything but menacing, but it sends an exhilarated shiver down Uhtred’s spine all the same, straight to his neglected cock. A sawtooth smile twists at the corners of his lips; Alfred wanted to watch, not to be seen. How agreeable, then, that the Dane’s own desires ran so perfectly parallel.

“Yes, Lord,” he purrs, and when he brings his mouth to Alfred’s neck again, he is careful to keep his eyes closed, focusing instead on the salty taste under his tongue and the twin burn of Alfred’s eyes upon him through the mirror.

It isn’t long before the king grows restless, tugging at the fabric on Uhtred’s shoulders and canting upwards with growing frequency. “More, Uhtred,” he bids heatedly when the Dane twirls his tongue around a pert nipple, arcing in fluid motion with Alfred’s body as it spurs upwards. The layer of pure want in his voice is as undeniable as it is intoxicating, and Uhtred is certain that measly kisses and teasing ministrations will no longer be sufficient if he is to continue to keep his word. It’s almost disappointing—he quite enjoys the vigor that comes with feeling the most powerful man in the kingdom writhe beneath the labor of his heathenous mouth.

Yet he obeys, branding Alfred’s chest with a final searing kiss before sitting up on his knees. His lips part in inquiry—admittedly, he is not so adept at these sorts of escapades as he is with others, but he has enough experience to know what comes next—and Alfred answers before the question even leaves the Dane’s mouth.

“The drawer,” he pants, gesturing with a tilt of his chin to the nightstand by the headboard, and Uhtred’s gut clenches with understanding and anticipation.

He detaches from the king, ignoring the sorrowful lack of warmth against his body as he rummages around the designated drawer, fingers closing around the vial once he locates it, not bothering to close the container as he turns back towards Alfred and nearly lets the glass vessel slip from his grasp.

Alfred is shifted onto his stomach now, his head turned towards the mirror still as he rests it in the crook of one arm. His other hand snakes under his body, and Uhtred spies where it disappears beneath his hip, fingers no doubt wrapped securely around his cock. The arousal that dips low in Uhtred’s core at the sight is like a punch to the stomach, stunning him as he drinks in the frankly sacreligious image of the Saxon king, prone and flush on his belly like an alehouse whore.

“Now, Uhtred,” the Dane hears Alfred utter between groans, catching his gaze in the mirror once more and seeing the irritation in his tone reflected in his stormy eyes—if his intent had been unclear at any point, it now stands naked in the midsummer sun.

Uhtred has never stripped so quickly in his life, nearly ripping his shirt as he heaves it off over his shoulders and discarding his breeches in similar fashion when they bunch at his feet with a single swift kick. He returns diligently at Alfred’s behest, gripping at his ankles where they had hooked together and pulling them apart to settle between the king’s thighs once more. He wastes no time in uncorking the vial of oil, spilling it generously across his fingertips before dipping them down between Alfred’s cheeks.

The king tightens on impulse, and Uhtred leans over his back to kiss soothingly between his shoulder blades, thumbing along the red line of a scratch he’d left earlier as he presses his middle finger against Alfred’s entrance. It’s overwhelming, the salacious aura of it all making Uhtred’s body shudder and his cock twitch at the thought of how it would feel to soon be sheathed inside that ardent heat.

Alfred’s spine bows in a perfect curve with Uhtred’s intrusion, the planar muscles of his back shifting and tensing like the roiling surface of the sea at high tide. It is Uhtred who deigns to sail, pliant and flexible with every unsteady rock, every thrashing wave that threatens to knock him overboard—he crooks his finger, watches the king’s body entire alight with an electric pulse that flickers from the base of his spine all the way to the white peaks of his tightening knuckles on the crimped bedsheets. A trail of goosebumps shudders in its wake, their prickle mollified with a brush of the Dane’s lips over Alfred’s flushed shoulder.

It’s a rhythm, a push and pull—Alfred rocks backwards in pursuit of Uhtred’s touch, and the Dane responds with torturous clemency, too lost in the satisfaction of seeing the man who for so long had forced him to his knees, now upturned and on display for his eyes only. What eye had Alfred perused him with? What sacrilegious urges had Uhtred stirred deep within the king to bring him here? Perhaps it was another game of sorts, the sort that Alfred seems so fond of—cerebral and meticulous, never a false move made or an improper hand played. Much like God, Uhtred supposes, the bastard’s ways are not his own, and his plans are ineffable.

“Fuck me, Uhtred,” Alfred utters, so quietly the warrior can hardly parse it for the synchronized sibilations of their labored breath, and all at once his image of the king’s divinity crumbles as the sins of his mind and flesh make themselves known. The demand burrows itself square in Uhtred’s chest, flying down to his core like a skittish animal. It’s one he’s heard before, barked or whined or moaned from more than a few he’s had beneath him. But it rolls off Alfred’s tongue like water off the scintillating feathers of a waterfowl, natural and easy. It cuffs neatly across his teeth, lip curling by the end of it as Uhtred does the same with his fingers again, if for no other reason than to hear it once more poured from his lips.

Uhtred’s wish—his prayer, perhaps—is answered with surprising haste, prefixed with a lewd moan and punctuated by Alfred’s hand, thrashing around to grip securely around Uhtred’s wrist, both a warning and a decree.

“Fuck me.”

Let it never be said that Uhtred of the Danes is not a keeper of his promises. That when the Saxon King gave an order, he did obey. It is not the kind of command beseeching a third iteration, for when it slinks from Alfred’s mouth, all bared fangs and vixen-like prowl, Uhtred’s vision clouds at the fringes, a sharp breath singing against the roof of his mouth as he pulls his fingers from Alfred and quickly shifts to align their hips.

A shiver wracks the two of them in unison as Uhtred’s cock brushes against the perfect swell of Alfred’s ass, nestling in the valley of it as if tailor-fitted. The Dane rocks forward, watching it slide across oiled skin and slicking with excess as his hands ghost parallel down Alfred’s flank and thighs, guiding them to hook securely around his waist. Settled, the king makes a noise of urgency, tilting back against the steady pressure of Uhtred behind him, pleading without further voice.

Uhtred does not need to look to know that he is being watched—judged. He feels the heat of Alfred’s eyes, has felt it since the moment they began. This is the moment, of truth blissful or otherwise, the crux of the story, as it were.

And I will watch. Then, it would be best to put on a good show.

Silence wraps around the mismatched pair as Uhtred curls his hand beneath the divot of Alfred’s hip, the other directing his cock steadfast and sure into Alfred’s entrance. It is not an easy breach—certainly Alfred has never had another like this. It is tight, constricting, in every way different from the snug fit of the Dane’s fingers. He keeps his pace slow, his eyes sentinels and his heartbeat clamorous in his ears as he listens to every breath, every whimper and quiet keen. Leaning down, he weaves uneven patterns of kisses and soft bites, interspersed with his own low moans, down the center of Alfred’s spine, coaxing him through until, finally, the warrior is fully seated.

There’s no comparison; what to compare it to but to itself? It is heat, uncanny and immeasurable, compact and passion-woven at every soft curve. Uhtred can exercise restraint on the battlefield easier than he can now, his limbs trembling with the barely bridled desire to rut like a savage into the king and hear him cry his pleasure to the heavens—that was his given order, after all. But he keeps still, awaiting Alfred’s cue proper, assuaging himself with a nip against the soft of the king’s nape in the interim.

The warrior’s hesitation, it seems, does not go unnoticed, nor unpunished; Alfred fixes a fiend’s eye upon Uhtred’s twin in the mirror, though the husky acerbity of his words are for the Dane’s true self alone.

“When I give you a command,” he utters hoarsely, the gritty undertow of his voice vibrating at every point of contact between them, “I expect it to be obeyed. Or is that not what your Dane brethren have taught you? I requested for you to teach me of them and so you shall, lest you be found lacking by your king.”

Uhtred’s brow knits, the makings of a growl rising in his throat. Despite everything, Alfred still holds his crown up high over his head and the Dane himself at arm’s length, just enough so as to stay out of reach. Alfred had come to him with this, had practically begged him under the ramshackle guise of commandment for it, and yet his Saxon pride still barks loud and clear his perceived inferiority of Uhtred, his usefulness and his utility as a means to an end.

But the Dane’s body is warm, and his heart beats like every other. Alfred can think what he wants, can let this union they’ve formed be nothing more than a dark spot on an otherwise clean Christian record for the King of Wessex and his warlord Ealdorman. But he had asked for schooling, to know his enemies, and Uhtred wants nothing more than to show him the truth—of himself, as much as all Danes—that his people’s prowess is no mere dip in the water; it is a headfirst dive.

And with the way Alfred has been acting tonight, Uhtred is of a mind to baptize the king himself.

“Yes, Lord,” the warrior whispers in Alfred’s ear, his palms bracing beneath the king’s chest and his back curling as he thrusts his hips forward. The synchronous groan pulled from his mouth and the king’s alike is a reverie, and Uhtred sits up and repeats the motion again if only to hear it once more. Fire licks at his thighs where Alfred’s come in contact, sticky already with sweat and gripping tight along his hips. The pull of friction with every run of flesh over flesh is staggering, stilted with their first few arrhythmic drags until they find their stride together, the Dane’s broad palm spanned over the small of Alfred’s back to hold him steady as he fucks into him with all the passion and devotion deserving of a king.

Sinner he is, Uhtred cannot help but give in to temptation—amidst the canting of his hips, the heavy aspirations and the marveling at the way Alfred’s body rocks against his own, the warrior deigns to send a flickering glance to their reflections, against his king’s orders. His own eyes stare back at him for a moment, hooded and brimming with a wild lust, before tracing along their tandem motion—his thighs rising to meet the underside of Alfred’s with every quick thrust; the dig of his fingers into the pale of the king’s hip; the gentle ripple of energy igniting at their cores and skimming along their flush-tinted skin, rebounding in a constant cycle. It is beauty in motion, redoubling the heady ardor already coursing through Uhtred’s veins.

A smile creeps up his parted lips, one both of amusement and prurient admiration, as he turns back to the real body beneath him, leaning forward to run his teeth against the thrumming heat of Alfred’s shoulder.

“You said you wanted to watch,” he lilts breathlessly, tongue darting between two delicate freckles just below the king’s collar as he pitches his hips sharply upward and turns his head again to catch his eyes in the mirror. “So tell me—how does it look?”

Alfred goes rigid, a barely-muffled cry against the bedsheets escaping his kiss-bruised lips as he bucks backwards into Uhtred’s brutal pace, hellbent for more. “You—ah—you are not the one… to be asking questions, oh God—!”

The Dane gives no quarter, no line for the king to grasp at as he sits up, gripping tightly at the red-lined flesh of Alfred’s thighs and driving into him with equal parts force and speed. It’s a filthy display, blurring Uhtred’s vision and igniting his body from toe to tip—were it anyone else but the two of them staring back at him, he may even begin to feel something akin to shame.

But then the king slackens, his fixed shoulders slumping forward as his cheek presses flat to the bed. The warrior watches in awe as his eyes roll back into his head, lashes fluttering like crow feathers across his sweat-dewed cheeks in a look Uhtred has seen more times than he can count, but never like this. Never on a king. Never on Alfred.

Arousal coils at Uhtred’s gut as he is certain it does in the Lord’s, snared taut down his spine and snapping with all the power of a loosed arrow as he cries out wantonly against the king’s nape and spills over inside his unyielding heat. His climax cuts through him like jagged glass, aching with every drum of his heart and jarring gasp sucked into his lungs. Quivering, he seals the last few pulses of euphoria in deliberate kisses against Alfred’s shoulders, releasing his vice grip on the king’s thighs and instead smoothing his calloused palms beneath Alfred’s belly, sticky with perspiration and the Lord’s own release.

When they separate, it is unceremonious, Uhtred detaching himself from Alfred to spread out beside him on his back, staring with unfocused eyes at the high ceiling of the royal bedchambers. They flutter closed as he works his breathing back to normal, the exquisite rush in his veins trickling down to a tepid drip of afterglow.

Alfred’s weight shifts, and Uhtred blinks his eyes open again to find the king rising from the bed on wobbling legs, bending to recover his clothes from the floor and slipping them back on without a word. A chasm widens in Uhtred’s chest, filled quite suddenly with the all-too familiar dread that frequently follows moments like this one.

“This will not leave this room,” the king decrees as he tugs his robe over his shoulders, clasping the first few buttons as his eyes catch Uhtred’s, blue on blue, firm to soft, and the Dane fights to look away. Alfred had voiced what he already knew to be true, a sentiment he shared for many reasons, not the least among them being his own pride.

Still, despite the years of animosity between the two of them, something had shifted. Uhtred feels it like a change in the wind, ruffling beneath his ribs and tickling with the queer desire for more. Curiosity, maybe, at what more the king had lurking in that shadowy mind of his. Or perhaps he had merely become addicted in such a short span to the new attention paid to him by one who had never given him a second glance.

Uhtred quells it quickly, tucking it away where it belongs, far from thought or fretting. “I… understand, Lord,” he says simply, rising from the bed to dress himself and make quickly for the door. His welcome had been stayed, his task fulfilled.

“I did not say you could leave yet.”

Uhtred freezes with his hand hovering just above the woodgrain of the door, his stomach flipping in a combined flurry of confusion and anticipation. Turning, he spots Alfred striding towards him, hands behind his back as he slips between Uhtred and the door.

“It would seem,” he whispers, eyes dropping to Uhtred’s mouth, expression unreadable. “that I have much to learn yet. If you are, perchance, interested in becoming a tutor.”

Uhtred’s eyes trace the line of Alfred’s neck, his collar hiding the worst of the bruises the Dane had left there but failing to conceal them in their entirety. He watches Alfred pluck at the pendant, tucking it against his palm as he meets Uhtred’s steady gaze with query in his eyes and on his lips.

It would not be written that on this day, Uhtred of Bebbanburg did visit the king of Wessex in his private chambers. There would be no retelling of their saga within anything but the walls surrounding them now, or in the sanctity of their own minds. It would be another on the long list of secrets kept privy to the annals of history, lost moments flitting silently into obscurity as they pass. All the same, it would not be written that the Dane Slayer was a breaker of oaths, for he was bound by word and fate alike to the Saxon Lord—now too, it seems, by heart, for his skips at the notion Alfred lays before him, and he smiles gently.

“As you wish, Lord.”

#tlk #the last kingdom #tlkfff #tlk fanfic #uhtred #alfred #tlk uhtred #tlk alfred

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robbyrobinson · 5 years ago

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Tales from Cherryshrub, Mississippi: Kidnapped By A Demon

In the early 2000s, a man collapsed in front of a police station. He was completely naked and possessed a skeletal frame. Bystanders saw this action transpire, but they continued their stroll out of the assumption he was merely a drug addict who had become dependent on whatever substance he was taking. The chief of police came to the station not too long after the man fainted. Without much delay, he sends for some of his men to collect the man and bring him inside.

The man awoke in the interrogation room with a warm, wool blanket around him. His eyes were sunken in most likely from weeks of insomnia. He shakily had a cup of coffee in his hands: every instant he went to take a swig of the beverage, he spasmed in his chair, spilling the hot liquid on the floor. He looked behind his back constantly during the interview. He brought his cup down on the table and cupped his face hiding his shame.

"Sir, I'd like to introduce myself," the interrogator began, "My name is Officer Mackenzie, and I would like to ask you a few questions."

The man shook his head violently. "No! No! I can't!"

"Sir, we found you naked within arm's length of the station. We want to know what happened."

"I can't! He'll know where I'm at!"

Officer Mackenzie took a deep draw of his cigar and breathed out a ring of smoke. He waited a bit for the interviewee to recuperate. He set his timer to sixty minutes. During those minutes, he talked pleasurably with the man on unrelated topics to make the interviewee more comfortable in hopes of making him more lenient on elaborating what brought him there. The man breathed in slowly and took a final look behind his back before answering.

"Are you able to tell me what incidents brought you to our station?" Mackenzie asked.

"Yes," he said, "it may sound crazy, though."

Officer Mackenzie leaned backward in his chair, motioning for the man to continue. The interviewee's hands started to shake again, but he was able to choke out a mumbled line of words. "Have you...ever heard of the Popobawa?"

Officer Mackenzie stared at the man and then at his fellow officers. "No. I haven't."

The man sighed in relief. "You don't know? That's good."

"What does this...Pippy-Ba-Ra have to do with you?"

"That thing," the man drew out the last word, "is not of this Earth." He rubbed his eyes that were laced with eyebags. "He is some monster from this country I never heard of Zanzibar."

"Zanzibar?" Officer Mackenzie reiterated. "We live just north of Cherryshrub, Mississippi, son."

"My co-worker told me about the legend," the interviewee clarified, "I didn't believe it at first. Some bat thing from Hell who...well you know."

The interviewee was laughing nervously at the last note of his dialogue. Ugly tears began to fill his eyes as he deteriorated back into a sniveling wreck. "But I was wrong to encourage him like that. With my disbelief."

"What happened, son?"

"He...he appeared to me as a black cat that I pass on the way to work. That didn't intimidate me much. But each time I took the long drive home, I could've sworn I've felt a... dark presence watching my every movement. At night, as I laid in my bed, that same feeling of being watched arose in me. I saw a dark figure with a flaming eye glare at me from my closet. First, it was just a wing. Then another wing. His feet appeared immediately afterward. For an entire week, this thing stalked me, robbing me of my sleep. I held the covers firmly over my face by the time I saw his terrible, hideous eye. He spoke out to me in a voice only I could hear. That mocking, giddy voice continues to haunt me."

Officer Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. "So, this...creature from a country you never heard of kept you up at night and whispered to you?" Officer Mackenzie smashed the end of his cigarette butt onto the ashtray. "I understand being petrified by an urban legend, but what are we supposed to do about it?"

The interviewee shook his head defiantly. "No, you don't understand!" His shaking returned more violent and unprovoked than earlier. "He snatched me away in the night and took me into his world! He put his disgusting body on top of me and pressed down against me. My ribcages hurt so much, I thought he would crush them! He whispered horrible things to me and kept me as his prisoner for two months!" He broke down and banged his hands on the table. "He took me back home, and he made me do…horrid things to my wife and daughter. Amelia, baby, please forgive your foolish father!"

Without warning, he gripped his arms and brought his forehead down onto the table. He bashed his head once, twice, three times. Office Mackenzie watched the display with disturbance and ordered some of his fellow officers to restrain the man from bashing his head further. His forehead split open causing blood to trickle down. The ambulance was alerted to the situation an hour later, and they wheeled the man away in a gurney.

That night, Officer Mackenzie found himself further disturbed by what the interviewee had disclosed to him. Popobawa? Zanzibar? Mind control? He was barely able to comprehend anything that he was informed. In the middle of the night, he decided to conduct some research into this strange monster. A few hours on the internet proved fruitful. He was what the natives of Zanzibar referred to as a shetani or an evil spirit. From the looks of it, he was giving the populace quite the scare. Mass hysteria erupted in his wake; some were even killed under the false notion of them being the Popobawa. He thought back to the interviewee and how his lower regions were bleeding (contributing to him collapsing from what seemed at the time to be blood loss.

The Popobawa's origins were…sketchy at best. Some cite him being conjured by a sheik who was angered with his neighbors but as with any curse, it backfired tremendously. It had a perverted love for the most deplorable of the cardinal sins and in each of the cases, it broke into people's homes and violated them, or possessed family members into committing the crimes before leaving them to psychologically deteriorate from the realization behind their actions. That called to mind something that the interviewee had mentioned about the creature making him do indescribable things to his wife and daughter. Mackenzie couldn't help but cringe at the thought.

"So, what he apparently hates the most is when people vehemently deny his existence?" he pondered. He shrugged his shoulders before yawning. Whatever the case, he had spent too much time online researching something that very well sounded ridiculous.

Life continued normally for Officer Mackenzie. He oversaw the training of new officers and wrote and filed reports on the occasional changes the police department mandated. In July 2001, Officer Mackenzie was reviewing the latest police report, one of his lieutenants ran in.

"Sir, you may want to see this."

Without delay, Officer Mackenzie followed suit of his lieutenant to an apartment building. The road was blocked off by the ambulance. Yellow crime scene paper aligned the scene of the crime. From what the witnesses could describe, a man jumped off the second floor through one of the windows and collided on the roof of a car. Not much of his body survived the impact. Prior to his death, he complained of being stalked by some bat-winged monster who he blamed for his crimes of sexual abuse on his family. Even without a body, Officer Mackenzie didn't have difficulty with the identity of the man.

Officer Mackenzie excused himself from the crime scene, deciding to take a stroll. Along the way, Mackenzie walked past an alleyway. Before turning around the next corner, he heard a small rustle in the dumpster. Curious, he walked into the abandoned alleyway. He readied his gun under the belief that an assailant was making that noise. A cat's head popped up from the slashed garbage bags with a tilt suggesting curiosity.

"Wait, that's a black cat," Officer Mackenzie noted. The cat arched its back and jumped out of the dumpster. It landed by Mackenzie's feet letting out a tiny "mew." It rubbed itself against his legs, indicating wordlessly that it wanted to be picked up. Mackenzie sighed and complied to the feline's wishes. "I guess you can come home with me."

He arrived back home with the cat in tow. He was greeted by his wife and his son. His wife planted a kiss on his cheek while almost not noticing the feline in his hands. "Dear?" she asked, "why is there a cat?"

"Oh, I found this little scoundrel in the alleyway when I was notified of an incident."

His wife shook her head. "I've heard about what happened. I hate that the man took his own life. How tragic."

The couple's young son became enamored by the cat, naming it George W. Bush. The two would often seclude themselves to play with each other. However, strange occurrences began to befall the home. Items were disappearing, and there was knocking throughout the home. The couch and other sofa were getting clawed open by George W. Bush. From there on, Officer Mackenzie placed George W. Bush in the garage. Nevertheless, mysterious happenings were continuing to plague the family.

One night after a grueling hour of work, Officer Mackenzie collapsed onto his bed and immediately slipped into sleep. Around 8, a chill ran down his spine for some unknown reason. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he found his eyes wandering towards his closet which was now open. He tried to rationalize it as just being the case of a gust of wind, but he stopped in his thoughts when he saw something large protruding from the closet. In the moonlight, he could make out a batwing. However, it belonged to what may as well be a larger species than the ones native to his county.

"You have yet to believe that I exist?"

Mackenzie wanted to scream, but he felt something pressing down firmly on his abdomen. His arms were glued to his sides just as paralyzed. The door creaked open further when the wing began to beat in and up and down fashion. The scent of sulfur filled the room. Another bat wing emerged from the closet. The monster's footsteps echoed on the floor. The large frame of the creature erupted from the restricted space. What Mackenzie saw next was the creature's singular, flaming eye.

The Popobawa darted at Mackenzie like a speeding bullet. He swept the chief of police off his feet and made for the windowsill. Mackenzie's wife shot awake from the sound of the glass breaking. Mackenzie regained consciousness and awoke to find himself in a strange realm. Within the realm, he saw what appeared to be emaciated skeletons in piles around the Popobawa. The realm was laced with a yellow hinge, explaining the smell of sulfur.

"Where am I?" Officer Mackenzie finally asked.

The Popobawa acted hurt. "You don't remember me? As your cat, I was certain that you would recognize me."

Officer Mackenzie's eyes widened. He went to pick himself up, but he was still paralyzed. The large bat monster towered over him. Popobawa bent downwards with a demented smile on his face. "I'm so happy to have a new playmate. I once knew this man who also refused to believe in me. I stalked him relentlessly for weeks until I drove him mad."

The grip that Popobawa had on Mackenzie increased. Mackenzie felt his ribcage straining from the monster's weight. If the Popobawa did not relent, his ribcage would be crushed into a paste in no time. Warmblood was seeping out of Mackenzie's mouth. His words came out in a garbled hush. "Please, Popobawa, what do you want of me?"

The Popobawa's sadistic smile flared again. "You didn't believe I existed. That other fool also refused to believe I existed. I kept him in my realm for a solid week, but the rules of my world do not even begin to resemble your own." He cupped Mackenzie's cheek with one of his single-fingered hands. The weight was now becoming unbearable. "I can't decide whether to emasculate you here or now or crush you to nothingness. Either one is a fine idea for me."

Mackenzie's bones were on the brink of splintering. He was done for, he thought. His lungs were getting compressed as with his lower body. He was losing consciousness quickly. His eyes glazed over from the restricting of oxygen flow.

"I'll tell others. Just please…"

The last thing he heard was the shrill laughter from Popobawa. He felt himself drifting away, certain that he was about to enter the Pearly Gates. The creature's eye was glowing deeper. "Remember to tell others about what happened to you, or it will be worse next time."

''Beep! Beep!''

A blaring alarm stirred Mackenzie awake. Somehow, he was in the middle of a four-way way. His clothes were missing. More alarms sounded as the irritated drivers slammed down on their horns. Fully awake, Mackenzie sprinted to the side and called his wife. His wife was noticeably upset even though he felt that he was only gone for an hour. She arrived with fresh clothes and embraced her husband.

"We all thought you were dead, dear!"

"What? I was only gone for an hour."

They returned home, the first person greeting them being their son. But something felt off about the development. Before he was kidnapped by the Popobawa, his son was eight years old. And yet, the boy before him was now 23 years old. Like his mother, he hugged his perplexed father.

"Son? What happened?" Mackenzie inquired, "when did you grow up so fast?"

His son was confused. "I got older, Dad," he replied.

"But how can you be? You were still 8 years old when I disappeared."

His son had a look of depression on his face. "I was 8 years old. 15 years ago."

#cherryshrub #mississippi #Popobawa #cryptids #Zanzibar #incubus #monster

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jortsman · 6 years ago

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4, 5, and 14 for Please Don’t Leave Again!

woooo, I just read this one again because of this, and I haven’t read it since I wrote it and it was weird because my brain forgets things instantly, so it was like reading it all brand new, which was cool. Yayy for my bad brain! Sometimes it’s neat.

4. What is your favorite line of dialogue?

“The first thing that he wanted when he woke up was to know her name.” I know it’s super simple and not at all one of the more poetic or visual lines, but I’m just sappy as hell and I feel like this sentence sums up a lot about their mutual connection. The fact that he wanted to know her name, and the fact that him asking her stuck in her head just makes me feel like it’s these very simple, easy to say but not easy to truly express, moments that sort of define the depth of their relationship in a way that pages and pages of prose can’t.

5: What part was hardest to write?

Oof, the ending. Just, ending anything in general is hard, because I always want to keep exploring ideas more and more. And keeping certain things short was hard, too. Like her going to steal his file; my thinking started going off the rails into making that this huge, elaborate scene, but then I had to put myself back on track and not double the length by writing a scene that was ultimately not super necessary, yknow? So yeah essentially the hardest part of writing for any part of any story for me recently has been restraining myself from describing like, every fuckin footstep of every character, because 1. I don’t want to burn myself out and 2. I don’t want to make stuff that is a slog to read.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I think this was mostly for me to learn how to write a more succinct, complete story as well as breaking into the idea of AUs. I haven’t been too into the idea of AUs and prefer stuff that fills in the spaces of canon. I’m not entirely sure why, and I just kind of got stuck thinking about that and trying to analyze my feelings. So, I tried to expand my thinking on it and -- when I listen to music, I sort of get storylines going in my head, so the next time I had a moment like that, I decided to use that as a prompt for blupjeans specifically, instead of just letting it be its own tidbit. (The songs were Sweet Nurse by Katatonia and The Nurse Who Loved me by Failure). So uhhhh yeah, it was mostly for my own learning, but if I had to retroactively say that I wanted other people to learn something from it, it would be to step out of your comfort zone with writing and just try out stuff, especially stuff that you maybe don’t really ‘get’ or things that you think you can’t do.

AAah thank you! That was fun, and I’m glad that I re-read that story and got to talk about it and also re-listen to these songs!

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timahina · 6 years ago

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snippet of labyrinth au fic cuz i wanna share something

Zarc didn’t allow her to finish as he appeared before her, only a hair’s breadth away from her. Ray could hardly look away, not with how his gold eyes held such confusion, his expression grave and brows furrowed. “Why… are you wet?” Ray glanced down at Sawatari for a brief moment but Zarc’s hand raising up and caressing her check brought her attention back to him. She flinched at his touch and he grimaced from the coldness of her flesh. She hasn’t expected his fingers to be gentle and Ray felt her heart quicken, watching as his eyes traveled down to her lips, his thumb grazing along her bottom lip. “Your lips are blue, Ray.”

She wanted to turn away. To push him away. But instead, she could only watch as he stepped back, unclasping the cloak around him and wrapping it around her smaller frame. A kind gesture.

But still.

Ray gripped tightly onto the cloth and backed up. She couldn’t fall for any such low and underhanded tricks. Even if he did come and help her again… why did he always come? “So what is this, a vow of surrender and gesture of good faith? Very well, I accept. Just give me back Reiji and-”

Zarc raised his hand and used the other to muffle the sudden laughter, his body shaking from the barely restrained snickering. “Sweetheart, I’ll have to stop you there. I have no interest in stopping this game. I’m quite enjoying you fumbling about.”

“I’m not fumbling.” Ray glanced down at Sawatari, who still kept his head down low – clearly, he was trying to make himself not part of the situation. And Zarc hadn’t acknowledged his presence. Of course he wouldn’t; why would he when she was right there in front of him? “I’m actually pacing myself.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow. “So you are… purposefully slowing down?”

“Well, yea – obviously. I wouldn’t want to damage your ego too terribly by finishing early. I bet I could finish in half the time.”

The smile was gone and so was the worry of earlier from his expression. His lips formed a thin line and his gaze was intense. Ray hardly felt Sawatari’s hand on her ankle, as though trying to pull her away from this moment. She held herself firm and tall, staring back at the Supreme King. He wasn’t so tough, and twenty-four hours was plenty of time. Not too much could’ve passed – she could solve it. Especially since she has someone of this world by her side.

A giant clock appeared next to the archway where Zarc arrived from – large, ornate, elaborate and a quarter of it was black out. It was the strangest clock she’d seen. “Can you now?” He scoffed, taking a step toward her and reached forward, taking hold of one of her pigtails. Her red hair against his fingers; Ray wanted to pull away, but she was certain he’d pull her closer and she’d scream from the pain. “My apologies then, my darling dove. I shouldn’t have underestimated you so intensely.”

What?!

And the clock ticked and ticked and ticked.

Ray watched the hours go by, the hands moving much too rapidly. Each stroke of his fingers within the strands of her hair, she lost another hour.

One stroke. Two strokes. Three hours.

And four.

And five.

And ten.

Thirteen in total.

Ray was shaking as the clock disappeared and he released his hold on her hair. “I shan’t make that mistake again.”

“That’s not fair!” She found her voice again, protesting loudly. He took away thirteen hours away, more than half her time. She had less than half the original time, only a fraction of the length now.

“But it is, more than enough. You said you could do it in half the time, so I took half of your original time. Well, another hour to add… you were being cheeky after all.”

#big bang woes

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superbeitmenotyou · 6 years ago

Photo

Let’s face it. half the accessories administration “the top information” so you might seize improved landscape photographs are rather general. certain, straightening the horizon and photographing all over laureate Hour might also accept a favourable influence to your photos, but will they accomplish you a more robust columnist?

As a substitute of looking at these basics, I want to share 7 a little distinct but equally crucial guidance. This advice isn’t activity to immediately enhance your photography, however, they’re aimed toward making you a stronger columnist. make an effort to study and check out them, and that I suppose you’ll initiate seeing a difference in the close future.

#1. Landscapes aren't restrained to the ‘Golden Hour’

I wasn’t going to speak in regards to the golden hour listed here, however, it’s such a standard piece of tips that I will be able to support bringing it up. whereas most Americans myself protected some years in the past say that you should picture right through the break of day or sunset to get better photos, I’m going to alternate that this is not the case.

decent mild can take place at any time – don’t keep on with only photographing throughout the laureate Hour

yes, the gentle within the hours surrounding daybreak and sunset is smooth and smart, however, that doesn’t mean respectable mild doesn’t abide throughout the leisure of the day; it quite simply depends on what you’re photographing.

This may come as a shock, however many of my own favourites are photos captured all the way through the day i.e. not at Golden Hour. sometimes it’s a bitter climate that creates dramatic light round majestic peaks, different times it's harsh midday solar that gives wonderful patterns and lightweight within the deeply wooded area.

in place of limiting yourself to only photographing a couple of hours a day, be trained back the most appropriate gentle will hit the surroundings you’re planning to the graphic.

#2. The fee Tag of Your digital camera is irrelevant

to have you ever ever heard somebody accomplish a remark alongside the traces of “That’s graphics, you need to have an elaborate digicam ”? I’m certain that sounds generic to best. but is there any fact in this observation? Does a pricey digital camera at all times grasp more advantageous pictures? No…

It doesn’t matter if your digital camera prices $200, $2,000 or $20,000. that you may steal harmful images with probably the most expensive cameras and you may choose decent images with some extent-and-shoot.

An an old favourite that changed into captured on a budget digital camera

The essential issue is to be aware of how to consume the camera and to grasp its obstacles. on the conclusion of the day, it’s the columnist in the back of the camera who makes the image.

#3. study the suggestions in an effort to damage them

If you’ve examined any of my articles before, you understand that I don’t like to focus on suggestions in panorama images. I’d quite view them as guidelines that remember to be aware of.

It’s critical to be trained and take into account guidelines such as the rule of Thirds, main strains, and different compositional rules, but it surety's much more essential to grasp back to spoil them. the rule of Thirds can do wonders for your compositions but you could without delay restrict your adroitness if you abatement into the entice of following the manner for every single photograph, you are taking.

It’s crucial to understand the suggestions however even more important when to spoil them

Believe about it. some of Heritage's most excellent items of paintings ignore the ordinary guidelines and incorporate the exact opposite. Be originate to exploring with such ideas.

#4. Don’t at all times want a Tripod

No. I anchorage's lost my intellect I know you’re afraid your head presently.

Again, I want to argue that you simply shouldn’t listen to the ordinary a tip that tells you to always spend a tripod. I’d say here's absolutely disagreeable and will do greater damage than respectable to your photography.

There was no should use a tripod so as to catch this photo.

It’s vital to take into account should you want a tripod and if you don’t. There’s no abstruse that in certain cases a tripod is simple. here are the scenarios the place you'll want to spend one:

when photographing in low light instances and the shutter velocity is just too sluggish to get a sharp handheld picture

in the event you’re forced to increase the ISO in order to keep a brief bang pace

in the event you’re the use of neutral density filters or need to do long exposure images

In most other scenarios you usually don’t need a tripod. in case you’re photographing all through daylight hours and your shutter velocity is 11000th of a 2d and the ISO is one hundred, the usage of a tripod will now not accomplish a difference.

#5. explore Focal Lengths Don’t restrict your self to one Lens

I don’t think to make sure to restrict yourself to handiest the usage of one lens. once I aboriginal began panorama images, I handiest used a large-attitude lens; in fact, I didn’t personal anything for a 12 months or two.

nowadays I’ve got the entire range, from extremely-extensive-attitude to omelette and I always discover an area with quite a few focal lengths. accomplishing this has helped me pay more attention to the particulars surrounding me and it makes me search for facets that I otherwise would stroll straight by way of.

Exploring diverse focal lengths armament you to seem past the admirable panorama

#6. endurance outcomes in greatness

sometimes I wish it changed into so effortless that I might just arrive at a place and trap a few brilliant pictures right abroad but that’s infrequently how it works. top notch photos are often the result of endurance. excellent pictures are the outcome of returning to a vicinity over and over once again unless you’ve got the very best circumstances.

i do know this isn’t always viable when touring however so far as it’s viable, I strongly advocate returning to a spot until you’ve captured an attempt you’re in fact satisfied with.

#7. picture the Hotspots however be athirst to explore

Couturier media has changed panorama photography in many approaches and likely places are more established now than ever earlier than. It’s no longer not going that you justly be accompanied by lots of-of alternative photographers when photographing one of the most efficient views on our planet.

There had been many discussions about these hotspots and the way so-known as “bays hunters” are ruining the trade however I’m not so satisfied that you'll want to fully stop photographing the hotspots, principally if you’ve simply begun photography.

This arch offers one of the greater astounding angles on the Lofoten Islands and has to turn into a hotspot for panorama photographers

I are likely to view the hotspots as images with practising auto; you’ve viewed thousands of photos from there before and be aware of exactly a way to strategy the vicinity. This can be an advantageous way to put your self into the attitude of photographers you adore and, if you are trying, it could possibly help you remember why they’ve fabricated certain choices in the container.

But I don’t feel you should definitely keep on with the hotspots continually. I consider analysis is a huge half of outdoor images and once we lose the will to discover, adroitness directly starts crumbling. exhaust the abilities you’ve best up from photographing the hotspots and follow it in the field back photographing new locations.

in regards to the Christian Hoberg is an abounding-time landscape photographer who helps ambitious photographers enhance the knowledge

necessary to catch appealing and impactful photographs. The opinions expressed listed here are entirely those of the author. download Hoberg's changeless guide 30 information to enrich Your landscape images and initiate the doors to your dream existence. Hoberg is additionally the founding father of Capture Landscapes. which you could locate greater of his assignment on his site and . this text turned into additionally posted here.

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anomalagous · 3 years ago

Note

also just--speaking as someone who always knew they were ‘weird’ but did not discover their own autism until they were an adult attempting to get their child diagnosed: there is (apparently) a huge difference between most neurotypical ‘i’m really into this thing’ and ‘this is my hyperfixation’.

For example: I tend to pick one special interest and stick with it for years. My current one is coming up on ten years running, now. As it always is when i have an active special interest, basically everything gets made about that thing in my head. My brain will just kind of automatically do whatever flips and twists it needs to do to relate just about any situation back to the interest, even if the logical jumps don’t make sense to anyone else at all. Since my current special interest is a fiction TV series, a lot of it turns into lovingly crafting elaborate AUs and crossovers of that series constantly. Sometimes!!! Sometimes my brain just literally chants the series name or the concept of the series, regardless of whether I want to actually be thinking about it or dwelling on it.

I have a lot of hobbies. I have a lot of things I’m interested in, like anyone else does. Most of these things I can speak about in length when it’s appropriate to the conversation, but I don’t have a problem not derailing a conversation about, say, restoring old cars with completely unrelated facts about what yarns I like best to knit with. I do, however, have to actively restrain myself from sharing about all of these barely-related tidbits about The Old Car that features in the Special Interest, because nobody else cares. Regular interests never make me feel ashamed for sharing with others. They are easy to contain to their appropriate spaces. The Special Interest, otoh, always makes me feel nervous to even acknowledge unless I’m in extremely well-known and trusted company. Just the idea of people having any idea how much I really am thinking of this thing during the day makes me a little anxious.

It’s kind of like having a song stuck in your head for years and feeling mortified if you slip up and catch yourself singing it or even just humming it while others are around.

At least it’s how it is for me.

im almost certain being super focused on something that you like is actually more normal than most folks think, but feels significantly less normalised when it's not about certain things

Like if your hyperfocus/spec interest is something "academic" its probably more normalised than say, a very specific piece of media. So if someone is like "I'm super into space" or "CHEMISTRY" or "MATH" its like 'oh damn thats cool go be an engineer'. But at the same time there's so many folks obsessed with say horses or mythos or, hell, make up or sports. Have you ever listened to some folks talk about their sport of interest?? Or some people get into the nitty gritty of different foods or preparations?? It's distinctly human to love things with your whole heart!!

But I think a part of it is also the weird concept that you shouldnt be attached to things when you become an "adult" that makes it hard to express a Big Like without seeming "irresponsible"/like you're wasting time. I'm largely Neurotypical but I know that I can rarely talk to certain family members about the series' ive been into for years because im worried it'll be seen as "lesser" or a waste of time

This isn't like, neg or critiquing i just had a lot of words in my head haha;; feel free to ignore!

💖

im not feeling attacked, lol. and yes sure, just-- please also consider how many people in academia are very not neurotypical, and i'm not exaggerating. there is an honest difference in the depth of all-encompassing dependency on a Thing and just really loving Thing or being very interested in it, no matter if it's a show or book series or music theory or trains or fantasy football.

i definitely hear you on the stigma of adult attachment, and that's really loud on places like tumblr and in places where you're surrounded with either conservative people or simply folks who were taught incorrectly that "we must put away childish things." i know for sure that i'm old enough that i own my weirdness, and don't give a shit if people give me sideeye for all the comic book and ska band stickers on my car, but i've also got educational system "laziness" scars that will never entirely go away.

at any rate, it IS distinctly human to live things with your whole heart, passionately and purely.

it's *not* a universal human experience to have the thing be the only thing that gets you hype, that makes you feel better, that makes you wake up and feel alive.

here is an illustration that may help:

keywords when googling this are going to be dopamine, adhd, reward-based, hyperfixation, asd, autism, special interest

if, upon reading more by people less rambly and vague than i am, you find that the reason you're protesting is actually because you relate, you might not be as neurotypical as you thought! or you might find that someone else is a LOT better at putting words to it than me, and that's great too. :)

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jiminniethemarshmallow · 8 years ago

Text

Needs (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This is a drabble that I wrote when I was bored. It’s short (in comparison to my other writings) and it’s probably not that good but I wrote this at like 4am so I didn’t expect much tbh. Anyway, I hope you enjoy 😊.

“Stop moving!” Jimin grunted as you fidgeted on his lap for the 5th time since you sat down not even 2 minutes ago.

“I’m sorry I’m just trying to get comfortable.” You lied. His thighs were a perfect seat and it was like your butt was made for his lap. Getting comfortable was not the issue.

“I know what you want, but I’m not going to give it to you so just stop it already.” Jimin replied playfully, discarding your comment as you wiggled a little more against him.

“But whyyyy?” You whined as you leaned back against him, your head resting on his shoulder. It had been a while since you two had sex and you were tired of being celibate. You didn’t know exactly how long it’d been but you decided that it was long enough so you started making active attempts to seduce him. Recently all of your attempts had failed and you were beginning to get frustrated.

Jimin sighed. “There’s no real reason. I jus-”

“Don’t love me anymore? Don’t want me anymore?” You interrupted and went on before he could respond. “I guess I’ll just have to live like a nun from now on. Forever abstinent until my lowly existence ends. I’ll die unwanted, unattended to, my vagina will dry up and then no one will want to fuck me-”

“Stop,” Jimin laughed at your melodramatic monologue. “I do still want you, don’t say things like that.” He reassured.

“Then why won’t you fuck me?!” You shouted. “I have needs ya know.” There was no shame at this point, you were willing to beg just to feel him again. Why was he torturing you like this?

He thought for a moment before a smirk crawled up his lips. It wasn’t a kind look, it was mischievous and devilish, the type of smirk that made butterflies flutter in your gut. You prepared yourself for what he was about to say.

“Ok I’ll take care of your ‘needs’ but under one condition. You have to beg.” His smile grew as he felt you take a deep inhale of annoyance, but you didn’t protest.

“Please Jimin? Please fuck me, I just want to feel you inside of me.” You batted your eyelashes innocently and turned your head towards him, hoping it would be enough.

“Continue.” He mumbled as he planted soft kisses on your neck and shoulder, moving your oversized shirt away from the skin.

“I’m so horny right now, please. I need you. I can’t stop thinking about how good your cock feels, how good you make me feel when I cum around you.” Such lewd words fell out of your mouth naturally, but you couldn’t be bothered enough to be embarrassed. “Please, I want you!”

Jimin pondered your words for a second as he sucked on your sensitive skin, careful not to make marks that were too dark. He finally sighed and moved his mouth to your ear so he could whisper to you. “Ok, I think you deserve it.”

In an instant you jumped up and began removing your clothes, the fabric couldn’t leave your body fast enough. Jimin on the other hand, took his time stripping himself of his clothes. His hands fiddled with the belt casually and it seemed as though there was no urgency to his movements. By the time you were completely naked, Jimin was just sliding down his boxers, eyes never leaving your body as a grin threatened the corners of his lips. You looked at him with wide eyes, hesitant to rush him but feeling your patience grow thin. He winked at you when he kicked his pants and boxers away and you took this as a chance to come closer to him. When your steps stopped a foot away from where he was, so did his movements.

“I’m feeling a bit lazy today so you’re gonna have to do all the work.” You gave him a questioning look and waited for him to elaborate. “This is an open invitation for you to use my body to pleasure yourself. I’ll just sit back, relax and enjoy to show.”

Without too much thought, you accepted his offer and reached for his shirt, tossing it over his head quickly and moving to straddle his waist. Your hands roamed his toned chest and you watched hungrily as his body reacted to your touch, muscles flexing as your fingertips ran across them. Despite his calm demeanor, you could tell Jimin was turned on by the way his cock hardened beneath you. As you leaned forward to capture his lips, you reached down and grabbed his shaft, pumping it slowly as you guided it to your entrance. You pulled away from the short kiss to look down at where you were aiming. He was still only half erect but it was good enough for you, he would get hard soon enough, so you ran his tip along your folds before sinking down on his length slowly, trying to adjust to his girth.

Your wetness allowed his entry to be smooth but your tightness slowed you down a bit. The stretch felt amazing no doubt, but you had to take him little by little to reduce the slight discomfort you felt. Jimin sighed as you rocked your hips gently to help ease him inside you. He was now fully erect and it made things easier because you didn’t have to hold him up.

“Shit, (Y/n) you’re so tight.” Jimin quipped, eyes locked between your legs to watch you engulf his length.

“It’s been a while.” You let out a short breathy laugh but it quickly turned into a gasp as you allowed yourself to drop farther onto him.

Once you were all the way down on him, you started moving immediately. An idea popped into your mind as you stared at Jimin, his expression still smug and relaxed. You wanted to get a little revenge for having to grovel to him so you decided that teasing him and making him beg for you would be acceptable pay back. Currently, he was content with the moderate pace you set, staying true to his word and not doing any work except for the occasional thrust upward. You slowed the pace exponentially just as he got comfortable, closing your eyes and throwing your head back in exaggeration. It did feel good, however, you would rather ride him hard and fast instead of slow and gentle. But that was not your objective in this moment and teasing Jimin took to priority.

His fingertips dug into your thighs when you continued, but you ignored it and moaned his name. Jimin’s breathing became unsteady as he tried to restrain himself, your moans and light movements arousing him and frustrating him at the same time. You tightened around his dick purposely and were pleasantly surprised when it evoked a groan from his throat.

“Baby, stop teasing,” He whined and you could feel his eyes piercing through you. “I’ll have to intervene if you keep testing me like this.” The warning wasn’t at all intimidating to you, but somehow his tone of voice made you anxious. Excitement built up inside you and suddenly you wanted to see what would happen, deciding to push his buttons further. Your walls clamped down on him again when you rolled your hips on him hard, rolling your head to the side to look at him with innocent eyes.

“But you said I could use you to pleasure myself and right now this feels so good.” You emphasized your words with a moan and a lip bite, Jimin unconsciously copying your actions as he stared at you.

He couldn’t argue with you. He did say that and he knew it, but that didn’t prevent him from getting worked up. A thin sheen of sweat was starting to form on his forehead and his hands had made their way up to your waist, subtly pushing you down onto him but you put up some resistance and stuck with the slow pace.

You alternated between bouncing on his lap and slow grinding, your lack in consistency driving Jimin crazy. When you bounced on his cock Jimin took advantage and pulled you down hard. The thing that really made him snap, however, was the fact that you never bounced on him for more than 5 seconds, reverting back to gently rocking against his hips just when he started to get into it. If he tried to buck into you, you would slow down even more to keep him in check. He had virtually no power. Sexual frustration built within Jimin quickly and he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Wrapping his hands under your ass, Jimin stood abruptly and headed toward your bedroom. You looked at him with wide eyes and tried to read his emotions as he carried you out of the room, cock still buried inside of you.

“What are you doing?” You asked innocently, wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

“I gave you a chance to satisfy yourself but since you wanna play games, we can play.” The dark lust swirling in his eyes turned you on beyond belief. Your walls tightened around his member unintentionally and caused Jimin to grunt. “Are you enjoying making me frustrated?”

“Now you know how I felt every time you rejected me.” Your smart ass remark makes Jimin scoff and roll his eyes at you.

When you enter the room he kicks the door shut behind him with his foot and places you on the bed beneath him, immediately attacking your jaw and neck with kisses. His hips move idly against yours and you moan at the feeling of him rocking inside of you. He pulls back and drags you to the edge of the bed by your hips so he can stand comfortably. With hungry eyes, Jimin looks down at you and licks his lips.

“I’m gonna fuck you the way I want since you don’t want to do it right yourself.” He growls before snapping his hips into yours, making you slide up the bed a little. He pulls you back into him as he rapidly slams into you, not giving you enough time to react. A gasp gets caught in your throat from his actions but it quickly turns into a moan. This is what you wanted all along. For him to pound into you and satisfy the ache between your legs that has been bothering you for what felt like an eternity. His sudden aggressiveness let you know that he too has been craving you and it made you wonder why he had been depriving himself.

But you had no time to ponder such things because Jimin angled his hips and hit your spot perfectly. A surge of pleasure rushed through you and forced you to grab onto his biceps. Your back curved off of the bed and noises escaped your throat before you had a chance to contain them. A deep hum rumbled in Jimin’s chest as he felt and observed your body’s reaction to him.

“Tell me when you’re close.” He knew you wouldn’t last much longer, it had been too long. He could see it in the way your body tensed up when he went faster and harder, could feel it in the way your legs started to tremble and tried to squeeze together. His palms ran up the inside of your thighs to grip your knees, pushing your legs farther apart and holding them open. Jimin looked at your face to see you peering up at him though your lashes, moaning his name and speaking to him with your eyes. He couldn’t resist the allure of your lips and bent down to steal a kiss, changing the motion of his thrusts. With this angle he was almost flush with you so his pelvis rubbed against your clit every time he ground his hips into you. There was still power in his movements as he did body rolls against you and the combination of the intimacy and strength had you teetering on the edge.

“Baby,” You pant out against his lips. “I’m close.” The words were moaned and barely coherent but Jimin understood and pulled away from you. Then you felt his hips slam into yours harshly, making you jolt up the bed.

“Don’t you dare. Not yet.” He warned and suddenly his thumb was rubbing circles into your clit. The added stimulation made his request seem impossible. Your eyes squeezed shut as you fought against your body, abdomen tightening to hold off your convulsing walls. You were looking so forward to cumming but now your impending orgasm seemed like a curse as you tried to hold yourself back. Jimin knew exactly how much pressure to use as he rubbed you and you wanted to scream at how good it felt.

“Jimin please!“You pleaded desperately and you felt like you were fighting a losing battle. Your hands were gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles were turning white and your breathing was so labored you felt like you were going to pass out. But Jimin knew your limits and just how far to push you to max out your pleasure.

“Just a little more,” He mumbled before reaching down to peck you on your trembling lips. He could feel your self control slipping away so he took mercy on you and granted you release. “Let go sweetheart. Cum for me.” At his words you let your body go limp and it was suddenly out of your control. Your hips moved on their own accord to move against Jimin’s thumb and the added friction was enough to push you over the edge. Jolts of electricity shot through your body from your core, traveling up your violently shaking legs to your toes, forcing them to curl in delight, and through the base of your spine and up, making your back arch high away from the mattress. Tears of bliss pricked the corners of your eyes and slid down your flushed cheeks as moans that resembled Jimin’s name flew from your lips along with profanities and sighs of pleasure.

The sight of you coming undone beneath him was too much for Jimin and he also found his orgasm fast approaching. The thumb that was still stroking your bundle of nerves moved to rub circles into your thigh instead when you became too sensitive. He pulled out of your dripping cavern and quickly grabbed your wrist to guide your hand to grip his throbbing member. Your eyes opened slightly to see the glazed look in Jimin’s and you tried your best to finish him off. Your hand jerked quickly along his dick and a string of groans and sighs left your boyfriend’s beautiful mouth. Soon after that you were surprised with his hot semen shooting from his roaring red tip onto your breasts and stomach. His hips moved into your hand to ride out his high before you pulled away and watched the sexy look on his face as he reveled in the pleasure.

With shaky legs, Jimin made his way onto the bed and pulled you up next to him. You shuddered as relief and the aftershocks of your orgasm washed over your body along with fatigue. After a few minutes of recovery, you felt Jimin get up and grab an old shirt from the floor to clean up the masterpiece he had painted on your body. A question popped into your mind as he wiped you up and you mustered up some strength to speak.

“Why did you deprive me of sex for so long?” You intended to sound angry but you failed.

“It always makes us orgasm harder.” He says with a smirk and you can’t help but agree. A sigh leaves you.

“Well in that case, it was worth the wait.”

#park jimin smut #jimin smut #jimin scenario #bts jimin #bts scenarios #posting on mobile #sorry I haven't posted in a while #btssmutclub

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keaalu · 7 years ago

Text

Remember Me, chapter four

Title (chapter): Remember Me (04)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: In which Slipstream realises just how big this thing might be that he and Dash are caught up in, and Starscream finally gets back from New Vos to a hostile welcome.

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

The command centre on Nemesis was every bit as sickly purple and ostentatiously oversized as Slipstream remembered it.

He didn’t remember ever seeing it from this angle, though.

“Show proper respect to your new master, scum!”

The shove to one shoulder made him stumble and fall to his knees. Before he could recover, scramble clumsily back to his feet, something heavy – and hot; someone’s thruster? – pressed down on the back of his neck, forced him to bow his helm.

Slipstream snarled in pain and bucked, trying to squirm his way out, but the bigger mech just kept increasing the pressure on the back of his neck until he was almost crushed flat to the floor. Ultimately it hurt too much to keep struggling, and he went limp. The scorching weight on the back of his neck disappeared.

“Good boy,” a condescending voice cooed, close to his helm. Felt like Dirge. “Keep this up, and maybe we won’t feel forced to use you as target practice… quite so much.”

The ripple of unkind laughter which simmered through the crowd was quickly replaced by a weirdly expectant lull, broken only by the sound of mechs jockeying for position, and the sound of approaching footsteps.

A new voice spoke up, somewhere just above and in front. “I should admit to being impressed, Ramjet. Your trine have actually done well, for a change.”

Well, there was no mistaking those gravelly tones. Suddenly, Slipstream didn’t really want to get up, any more.

“Thank you, mighty Megatron. It is an honour to serve!”

There were jeers from the rest of the assembly. An honour to serve! Get up off your belly, Ramjet; who’d you think you are; Screamer? Yeah, well done for kidnapping a sparkling.

Someone caught a hand under Slipstream’s shoulder and hauled him upright. He had to work hard to restrain a flinch.

Barely an arm’s length away, Megatron sat scrutinising him – elbows propped on his knees, leaning down towards him. The warlord looked good; not the scruffy, half-starved bundle of desperation the youngster had expected, from the disparaging way his family had taken to describing him. Poor Megatron, stuck on the wrong side of the spacebridge, squabbling with Autobots.

No, the mech sitting staring down on him looked clean and capable, well-oiled and powerful. Every inch the nightmare that could flatten everything on Cybertron, if he wanted.

“Slipstream,” he said, at last. “Considerably larger than last time we met.”

Slipstream didn’t recognise his own voice – thin and fracturing. “Yes, sir.”

Didn’t hurt to be polite, even if you did feel like purging a tank, right?

“I did expect more from you,” the old warlord finally said, at last, relaxing back in his chair. “As a sparkling, I could see the potential in you. A small mirror of your sire, who had been loyal to me for a very long time. With a little…” He wafted a hand. “…coaching, in the right direction? A little reminder of why this was the only faction that would ever truly understand you? The two of you could have been valuable assets in my campaign.” He elaborated a sigh. “Instead, I see just another unimaginative, whining Autobot, with the lack of ambition that comes as standard.”

Slipstream bristled. The words might have still been faint, but they were out before he got the chance to evaluate whether they were actually sensible to say; “I don’t think I asked for your approval.”

The blow came out of nowhere – an almighty, needlessly violent kick to the head, it sent him skidding across the deck. He fetched up against someone’s legs, puffing softly in alarm.

The bellow chased him across the floor; “Watch your manners, dirtcrawler!” Only just able to pick up the words through a haze of distortions, he wasn’t even sure who was yelling. The owner of the legs used their feet to hustle him back to the centre of the room.

He could feel a trickle of… something… begin to ooze down from his temple. His diagnostics couldn’t make up their mind on what they thought it was. He hoped it was only energon.

Megatron watched with a smirk. “Please don’t kill our guest before we’ve had the chance to make use of him.”

Dirge chose his moment perfectly. “Don’t worry, sir. If that one gets broken, we just use the spare.”

When the blue jet didn’t immediately elaborate, Megatron lifted his head briefly off his hand, and waved his fingers, impatiently. “Go on.”

Dirge waited until he was sure every optic was on him before opening his cockpit and extracting something small. He strode through the centre of the mass and with a flourish, placed it into Megatron’s hands. “First-instar sparkling,” he said, for the benefit of anyone without optics.

“Well this is very interesting,” Megatron purred, holding the small body up in front of his face; Skydash curled up, facing away from him, hugging her knees. “Dirge, I am very impressed.”

Dirge preened at the praise, thumbing his nose at the jeers from his comrades. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now. Where did you come from, I wonder.”

“Well, the little superstar here…” Dirge gave Slipstream a little shove and knocked him sideways, “was meant to be looking after it. Wasn’t counting on us coming along to spoil his orn, I guess.” He snorted and waited for Slipstream to wobble back to his knees before pushing him back over. “I figure they were so disappointed with their first effort – I’d be disappointed; I mean, not only a dirtcrawler, but an Autobot, too? – they decided to try again? That or Skywarp just never understood the concept of protection.”

“Always disappoints me when I realise you might be right. There’s grounder in it, again,” the warlord said, disappointedly. “Just can’t keep from polluting his code, can he? I can’t tell if it’s desperation leading to this lack of standards, or he’s just that easily swayed by a pretty face.”

Thrust leaned closer to his wingmate. “Does this mean you’re gonna lay off with the Primusawful Pit-screech, now?”

Dirge flattened his hand over his wingmate’s face and gave him a shove. “That’s one noisy little scrap of tin. Next time, you can try flying with it caterwauling in your cockpit.”

“She’s not caterwauling. She’s scared,” Slipstream spoke up, quietly. “I’m surprised a bunch of cowards like you don’t understand that. She’s had no part in your squabble, leave her out of it.”

“Did you forget the part we’re at war, you worthless nonentity?” Dirge closed a fist on the antennae spreading from the right of Slipstream’s helm, and dragged him halfway up off the floor. Slipstream squeaked in pain and scrambled to get his feet underneath himself. “That makes everybody fair game.”

Thrust folded his arms and glared. “Good going there, scrappy. He was almost in a good mood, there. Now I’m gonna have to put up with him sulking all night.”

Megatron set the sparkling down on the arm of his chair; Skydash stayed huddled in the smallest ball she could manage, but looked too scared to try and escape. “Oh, I have a very specific reason for wanting you, Slipstream. I’m not going to make either of you fight.” He propped his chin back on his hand. “No, there’s one thing I know I can always get from your kind of pathetic, snivelling coward. You make excellent bait.”

Slipstream stiffened. A very large penny had apparently dropped.

“I know your, ah… family… will feel obliged to rescue you. Starscream won’t be able to resist the urge to try and show me up. Skywarp won’t be slow to follow, since he doesn’t have the brainpower for anything else. As for Thundercracker, well, when has that ditherer ever made a decision on his own, hmm?” Megatron sighed and shook his head, as though in regret. “But when I have finally destroyed all three traitors, in full view of the watching planet, no power in this universe will be able to stop me taking back what is mine.” His lips curved into a smirk. “It was so kind of that fool Starscream to do all the work for me, even if ultimately all he has created is another bloated, stagnating Autocracy. Waiting for me to step in and develop it to its true capacity.”

“They won’t come here. They’ll know it’s a trap. They’re not stupid!”

Megatron actually snorted. “If thousands of vorns of war has taught me one thing I can rely on with absolute certainty? It’s that your sire is most definitely stupid.” He gave the smaller mech a flat look. “Disappointing that it appears to run in the family.”

* * *

Starscream made remarkably good time back from New Vos, but didn’t appear to have the most appropriate target for his frustration in mind, as evidenced by the raging scarlet ball of temper that appeared in the empty infirmary doorway, wings hiked high on its back. “Remind me why I seem to be the last person to find anything out, around here?!”

“Excuse me?” Skywarp rounded on him so fast, Starscream actually flinched a step or two backwards. “I told you within a handful of breems of finding out for myself. You shut me down, saying I didn’t understand how important what you’re doing out in Vos is. Now you’ve apparently decided I wasn’t being a total moron for interrupting you, I should have told you faster?!”

Starscream puffed himself up, trying to avoid the need to admit Skywarp’s unexpected pushback had made him jump. “You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“No? Educate me.” Skywarp leaned in. Their faces were almost touching. “What did you mean.”

A soft, fracturing voice broke through in the brief silence. “Guys… please?”

With one final glare at each other, they turned to find Thundercracker perched on the edge of the empty berth, looking surprisingly small and sick, helm propped in both hands, wings drooping.

“You’re both being kinda loud right now. I think this is gonna turn into a migraine and I really don’t want to be laid up for five orns, again.” He drew in a long stabilising sigh of cold air and shuddered, wingtips trembling. “I haven’t even started to think what I’m gonna tell Lara.”

“Primus, dude.” Skywarp leaned down and bumped cheeks, briefly. “I’m sorry. Lemme find you a cold pack or something.”

“That’d be good. Thank you…”

The medical supplies in the adjoining office weren’t strictly for machines to help themselves to, but most staff had learned that Skywarp wasn’t the sort to be put off by rules and regulations, and making things hard to obtain just increased the likelihood that he’d make an unholy mess while searching. Thundercracker’s personal supply of icepacks were in a small easily-accessible chiller just inside the doorway; his ‘migraines’ were thankfully infrequent, but fairly infamous as well, and having an icepack on hand sometimes made the difference between it lasting one orn, or six. And him being able to still see.

Skywarp helped himself to two, and waved a threatening finger under the nose of the mech that had followed him into the office. “Don’t. Even start.”

Starscream put his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t going to. I’m sorry, all right?”

Skywarp grumbled wordlessly through his vents, but appeared somewhat mollified. “What then?”

“I was going to say, once we’ve got TC comfortable, maybe we should go home.” Something dark passed through the smouldering scarlet optics. “Someone wants our attention. I don’t feel inclined to keep him waiting.”

#remember me #blue au #sbm4 #starscream #skywarp #megatron #transformers #slipstream #skydash #thrust #dirge

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princeescaluswords · 3 years ago

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I feel that I have to elaborate, because my goal was not to make individuals feel bad, but to express my own emotional reaction to what I think is the reality: as Fandom has formed in recent years, it has evolved into an institution where casual racism has become socially acceptable. Of the guiding principles of the phenomenon, the supposed isolation from real-world political realities due to the core act of celebrating fictional scenarios is the source of this. I don't think the OP or anyone who is a fan of Isaac who reblogged this consciously meant to imply that Melissa cared more for Isaac than her own son. I think they've been encouraged by Fandom's attitude toward untrammeled transformation to ignore the consequences of their expressions.

I've seen this repeated in my own fandom and in other fandoms. Recently I've watched the Star Wars fandom treat Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker as a culture hero while treating the Third Sister/Reva Sevander as a frustrating annoyance even though the show Obi-Wan Kenobi purposefully mirrors them in both personality and actions. It's so blatantly obvious that the dislike of the character, and her actress Moses Ingram, is fueled by casual racism.

It shouldn't have surprised me, though. After all, Sterek still exists. Even this morning, a new chapter in a story I was reading repeated the calumny that Scott McCall's romantic inclinations caused him to neglect his friendship with Stiles Stilinski, which is absolutely a function of casual racism. It's not demonstrated by the show -- Scott has more scenes and more screen time with Stiles than any other character until Season 6. It's so ridiculously easy to demonstrate that Scott puts Stiles on equal or greater footing with every other character that I have to restrain myself or this post would approach novella length.

But the idea persists as one of fandom's beloved transformations because it essentially allows the casual racism of insisting that their fictional involvement be centered on white male stories. Scott is seen as neglecting Stiles for his romances not because he fails in his duty to Stiles but because the show had the audacity to give Scott's romance stories with Allison and Kira narrative importance at all. There is no requirement that in order to celebrate Sterek one must piss on Scott's feelings, except to exact petty revenge for a Latino having an emotional relationship with someone who isn't a white man or approved by white men.

The fandom does this way when they purposefully downplay Scott and Derek's evolving relationship, rendering Derek and Scott as indifferent toward each other or outright hostile. They don't do this because it enhances Sterek; they do this in a form of emotional vengeance for the fact that the show had the nerve to display Derek having more emotional investment in a Latino than a white man. It is pretty much a defining characteristic of Sterek that they steal the emotional beats of Scott and Derek's relationship and give it to Stiles and Derek, because they can't imagine Derek having as much emotional attachment to a Latino than to a white person.

I'm more than willing to debate as well. Perhaps I've become overly sensitive to the casual racism in fandom -- it's a possibility -- but I feel that's so much better than becoming inured to it that I let it pass me by.

Mama McCall Do you have any regrets? If so, what are they?

#fandom racism #teen wolf fandom racism #star wars fandom racism #anti sterek

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queenbethbdb · 7 years ago

Text

Medical release

Medical Release with @Murhder_SASBDB and @TenaciousDoctor

Murhder: *The door to the medical suite opened and a male stepped out while mumbling something about freaks. I took a step to the side giving him space to exit but he stopped and pinned me with a disgusted look “What do you want?” came the abrupt question.

People were friendly in this fucking place. Must be something in the water.* I’m here for a general medical check-up to go out in the field. *I replied with less hostility than I aimed for. He looked like medical staff. He was wearing a white coat like doctors do and he had the manners of a ham sandwich. Yeah gotta be a doctor. Human doctor from the smell of him. What the fuck where the Brotherhood doing bringing humans in here. Half breeds were bad enough but full on humans? Fucking disgusting.

Humans were good for a few things. Warm a male’s bed when the need arises and serve food and drinks but they were kept at arm’s length. They had no business in our world. Our survival depended on them not knowing about us. Fuckers can’t live with anything that is slightly different or unknown to them. They can’t even co-exist with each other. Rats without tails the lot of them.

“You can speak to Jane. She’s inside” The human replied and walked off down the tunnels. My hand reached out and pushed the door open. The room was set up as a medical practice. Similar to what I’ve seen at Havers’s clinic. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. A small framed blonde female looked up and smiled. Fucking Scribe! My heart stopped dead for a few seconds. I tried to breathe but came up with nothing but gaping sounds. The female rushed over to me and did what she shouldn’t have done. She placed a delicate hand on my arm.

FUUUUUCCCKKKKK.

A deep hungry growl vibrated through me. My whole body trembling from her touch and as if that wasn’t enough she placed another hand on me to lead me over to the bed. I closed my eyes and concentrated on getting my act together. I hadn’t fed in some time and two females in a short space of time causing my cock to say hello wasn’t unusual but the reaction I had to this female was fucking embarrassing.

The female’s voice was soft and caring as she tended to me. What was she doing?*

Jane: *Manny left after another argument and I felt my shoulders slump forward. I was about to lay my head down on my arms when I heard Manny speaking to a male outside the room. I caught most of what was said and got up to welcome him. Wrath filled me in on the newest member of the brotherhood, or old member returned, as it were. Wrath was concerned about his mental state and wanted me to give him a medical to establish a connection. The idea was for Eliahu to feel comfortable to talk to me about anything and everything, but a medical was the norm for all fighters before they were cleared to go on rotation.

I was supposed to get into his head, so to speak, but at first glance he looked a bit pale. Maybe a medical was a good idea after all. The man started gulping for air like a fish out of water and I shot forward and grabbed him by the arm before he could go over and led him to the gurney* Sit, and try to relax. Take a deep breath. That’s good… Just breathe slowly and steadily.

*I started going into action and checked his blood pressure, his heart rate and listened to his chest* your blood pressure and heart rate is slightly elevated, but nothing I would be concerned about for now. We’ll keep an eye on that though *his chest was clear as expected and from what I could tell from a quick check, he seemed merely flushed. Like he’d been doing exercises*

Have you been exercising before you came here? *When he didn’t answer I continued* Did you just come from the gym? You were supposed to come see me before you did any exercises. The instructions were clear that I was meant to be your first stop after you settled in.

*The blank stare on his face had me doubting my own diagnosis. Did I miss something? The only way to find out is to look a little closer and do some routine tests. I placed the stethoscope around my neck and grabbed the file I opened for him* Let’s go over your medical history before we begin.

*As I looked down at the pen in my hand, my eyes caught the bulge in his pants. Oh… That would explain the slightly elevated blood pressure and heart rate. I put the file down on the bed beside him and took a step back. My voice soft and matter of fact as I spoke* Would you like some privacy? The bathroom is through those doors to the left.

Murhder: *What was the female saying? Something about heart rate and medical history and huh? The bathroom? Is she on crack?*

What? *I asked confused and irritated. She smiled kindly and pinned her eyes down south. I followed her gaze and jerked off the bed. FUCK.

Walk it off. Yeah that’s gonna work you dumb fuck.

I should go. Now. I shook my head and started for the door. The female blocked my exit and boy oh boy didn’t that just give my cock another reason to go for gold.*

GET. OUT. OF. MY. WAY. FEMALE.

*I snarled at the blonde. It was for her own good. My self-restrain was slipping fast and if I didn’t get away from her right now I was gonna grab her and rip her clean white coat off and fuck her six ways from Sunday all over this room until she begged me to stop.

When she opted to give me a pointed stare instead of moving I backed away against the far wall. She calmly walked over to the adjoining room and opened the door. Her body language was strangely reassuring and I followed her through the door and into another room. She opened the door on the left which led into a decent sized bathroom and stopped before closing it. What now? Was she gonna give me a cup to pee in or something?*

Jane: *The vampire was embarrassed about his situation, but I wasn’t about to let him out of this room without him taking care of that first. There were a lot of beautiful females in this mansion and right now he was a ticking time bomb. I would contact #Phury to send one of the Chosen over as soon as he relieved himself and the medical check was complete.

I blocked his escape route and reached behind me to lock the door. When he backed up against the wall, I walked over and opened the other door, leading him to the bathroom* Take all the time you need. I will close the inter-leading door to give you enough privacy.

*This wasn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a male needing a fix and it sure wouldn’t be the last time. I closed the door behind him and went on to close the inter-leading door between us. Back in the main room, I unlocked the door and stepped out to get myself a cup of hot chocolate, locking the door behind me*

Murhder: *Thank the Scribe for this female. But then again I wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Either way. I was locked in the bathroom alone and my hand shot straight down to open my pants and palm my throbbing cock. Thick long fingers wrapped tight around the width and my hand started working back and forth strokes. A vision of the queen flashed in front of my eyes and was quickly replaced by a vision of the female Doc. Her white coat on the floor. Naturally she wasn’t wearing anything under that coat and her tits perked up and begged for a taste. I shot my load before I could even get to imagine the taste of her. My release accompanied by a roar that rattled the door and windows.

Round 2 started immediately and this time I got to taste her nipples and her soft rose bud. My tongue flicking greedily over her until her back arched and her orgasm pulled her into a full spasm of pleasure. My cock shot out ropes of cum and the aim was not controlled. I didn’t fucking care. Walls and toilets seat got coated but what should be getting coated was that female on the other end of the door. It should be her kneeling down and swallowing this down.

It took another 5 rounds before I cleaned up and tucked myself back in. I washed my face and headed back out the door and to the room where the doc sat in a chair behind her desk.*

Thanks. I’m done.

*Didn’t I feel like a fucking fool. The male who can’t control himself. I nodded and headed for the door. Locked. Fucking great. She could read minds? She knew I was gonna try and bolt?. Fuck.*

Jane: *The noises coming from that bathroom were animalistic in nature and I felt a tinge of guilt for returning when I did. I didn’t think he would be in there this long and when I finished my hot chocolate, I came back to see if he was done. He wasn’t but I was sure he would be any second. That was a half hour ago. He was in there for almost an hour and whether he realized it or not, I had a feeling he was gonna try and leave when he came out. Locking the door was a precaution and I watched as he walked into the room and headed straight for it. The look on his face would have made most females cringe, but I squared my shoulders and pinned him with a determined look*

Have a seat. Unless you’re not eager to get out in the field? Then we can reschedule?

*He shook his head and walked over to sit on the gurney. Just as I thought. I picked up his medical file and stood in front of him, starting with the general details like name and address. With vampires there usually wasn’t childhood diseases etc. to go over, but I still asked all the general questions and ticked the relevant boxes. When we were done with the history check, I sat down next to him and asked sternly*

I have been briefed by the Brotherhood and have been informed that you had a history of mental illness. Can you elaborate on that for me?

Murhder: *I hate being backed up in a corner and this is what it felt like to me. The female had the upper hand here and it pissed me off. I growled as I headed over to take a seat on the bed and when she started with the questions I got more annoyed. None of these questions were relevant. Didn’t she fucking know that?

Then came the mental illness question and duh… that is what this is about anyway. Let’s get it out of the way and get this show on the road.*

Yeah I lost my shit a good few years back. It’s personal and I don’t want to talk about it but I’m not crazy. That’s what your ultimate concern is here. You can’t have a crazy brother here in the mansion. So write down on your little chart that I’m not crazy. End of story.

*She didn’t write down anything. Instead she fucking looked at me. Green eyes looked right through me and into my soul.*

Don’t look at me like that? *It was a request and a warning. I didn’t want her judging me but having her look at me like that while sitting on the bed next to me could only amount to one thing. If she kept that up she was gonna be sprawled out under me.*

Jane: *I studied the new male as he spoke, and shook my head at his remarks. His voice had a warning tone to it as he asked me not to look at him, and a shiver ran down my spine. Straightening myself, I placed the clip board on the table beside the bed and folded one leg over the other*

Having a mental illness does not mean you’re crazy, and anything we discuss here, stays here. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to, but I am here for you if you feel the need to do so.

*I placed my hand on his arm, but pulled it back as he jerked away as if my fingers burnt his skin. I had been concentrating to remain corporeal the entire time, but he was clearly affected by something and maybe I was the problem. Maybe he needed someone like Mary to talk to. She was much gentler and sympathetic* We have others here you could talk to if you’d like. I could arrange it whenever you are comfortable with the idea. But I do strongly suggest that you talk to someone about what you went through. If the brothers think it was a big deal, then I believe it’s worth a shot.

*I got up and stepped back from the bed. The male was on edge and he needed space. Something about him sent out warning bells, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was. For now I would let him go and put in a recommendation of gym, but no field work yet* We are done here for now. You may leave, and let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’ll arrange with the Primale to have a Chosen sent over to feed you.

Murhder: *My skin burned where the female touched me. I ached for more. Ached for her body against mine. I want to taste her and be inside her. My arm jerked away automatically and I cursed myself for that. She pulled back and got off the bed.

Then more yada yada.

Whatever. I wasn’t talking and that was final. I don’t need to talk about my personal past to get a medical clearance.

What I wanted was more time with this female but she pulled away before I could reach for her. Maybe that was a good thing ‘cuz if I grabbed hold of her now I wouldn’t let her go.

I forced my body to get off the bed and walk to the door. Stopping just as I reached it.* A Chosen? I can find my own female to feed from. I don’t need a Chosen. Thanks anyway.

*That was a lie. I didn’t know any females this side of the world anymore but I did know where to go to get one. There were a few clubs in Caldwell that were frequented by the feminine sex of our species. That’s where I’d go if I needed a female. By the throb in my groin I may pay the clubs a visit tonight.

I nodded and watched as the female unlocked the door. I bolted out faster than a bat out of hell. One more second and I wouldn’t have been able to leave her at all.* #MedicalRelease #SASBDB

#Murhder #Jane #Medical Release #SASBDB

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