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0mg-bird · 6 months ago

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i would love it if you did a fic about bob finally introducing his shyer!girlfriend to the daggers! cute teasing, fluff, all the works <3

unrelated, but would you ever consider making a masterlist?

Hi! Thank you for the ask! And yes, I will be working on a master list soon, it just takes too much work for me to do as of this moment 😭. Bear with me y’all! I’m new at this! Anyway, here’s the story, hope you don’t hate it <3

Bob Floyd x Shy!Girlfriend Reader

“No.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Absolutely not, Robert.”

Bob sighed, leaning against the door while he watched you comb your hair. He’d brought up the idea he’d been toying with all day, only to get the answer he suspected he was going to get from you.

“Honey, it won’t be horrible. Look, the squad wants to meet you, and I want to introduce you to them."

He's hard to resist, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes of his. You understood his reasoning, but the idea of being surrounded on the beach with a bunch of cocky aviators...well, that was something you didn't really like the idea of.

You groan, looking at his reflection in the mirror before fully turning to face him. You give him a pouty look, one that makes him come forward and hold your face in his hands. "They're not gonna like me." You say, muffled from the way your cheeks are squished in his hold.

"Yes they will." He says.

"I'm boring."

"Your the most interesting thing in the world, honey."

He was always so sweet with his words, he calms your nerves every time. You know it means something to him to have his squad know who his girl is, so you try and be brave, pushing your worry out of your mind. You smile reassuringly. "Okay." You say. "It's a date."

Bob smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips, then your forehead. "It'll be a good day, I promise."

As you get into his bed, surrounded by the scent of him, he pulls you closer. "Maybe then they'll stop saying I'll never get laid." He states, making you look at him with disbelief.

"What, are we in middle school?" You ask.

He lightly chuckles. "You're gonna see the level of immaturity these guys have on Saturday, then you'll understand."

And when Saturday came, you gripped onto his hand like your life depended on it. You wore a white baby doll dress over your bikini, your sandals in your hand as you walked across the sand. As the two of you come closer, you see the group of pilots all gathered, setting up camp.

"Well, look who showed up." One of them call out as you come to join them.

You immediately blush at the amount of eyes on you They all look you over, almost like they were detectives and you were a case they needed to crack. You get introduced to them and quickly come to learn just what Bob meant, this group of the best fighter pilots in North America were no better than kids.

"I uh, I brought some snacks if y'all want some." You say, laying out multiple floral tupperware containers that were filled with homemade goods. Immediately, the boys were on it, fighting over who got what. They reminded you of seagulls.

Natasha, who was the most excited to meet the girl who Bob spoke about non stop, is yelling at the boys to mind their manners. "You wouldn't even think they were functioning adults." She jokes, making you smile.

You wait till the last minute to take your cover off, looking at the well built bodies around you made you retreat to modesty as a defense. You didn't put on your usual bathing suit because Bob said you should wear his favorite one. One that showed more skin, one that drew more attention to you. Stupidly, you agreed with him and put it on. You regret that decision now.

"Aren't you hot?" Nat asks as she pulls her tank top off.

"Oh no, I'm good." You say, giving her an awkward smile and then dig in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen.

You didn't really think it'd be embarrassing to pursue the routine you always have with Bob when you come to the beach, so as he, Hangman, Coyote and Rooster stand, talking about something way above your pay grade, you come to Bob's side. You try not to interrupt their conversation, but words slowly start to slow and they get distracted by the way you pull Bob's glasses off his face. You squirt some of the sunscreen out and into your hands, then you gently apply it to his face. The three others stop and watch, faces full of amusement as you make sure he has an even coverage. Bob doesn't mind, he was never one to be embarrassed of the loving acts you do for him, so you find it strange when you turn around and see the guys watching you.

"That's awfully sweet of you." Coyote comments, and you make the mistake of taking him literally.

"Bob, do you get your mom to fly in and do it for you when she's not around or do you just risk the sunburn?" Hangman teases, making the other two laugh.

You look at the tall aviator. "Sunscreens important, Jake, do you need some? I could help you with it or I'm sure your boyfriend here could do it for you." You say, motioning to Coyote.

Rooster bursts with laughter, wheezing at the joke you make, and behind you, Bob stands with a proud and smug look on his face.

Jake fumbles with his words, in disbelief that you’re being outspoken.

Back at your beach blanket, you clip your hair up and look around, making sure no eyes were directly on you as you pull your dress off and drop it into your bag. Any previous jokes that some of the boys made about Bob finding a goody-two-shoes for a girlfriend, are immediately regretted when they see how great you look in a bikini.

Payback looks ultimately confused. "Anyone else wondering how Baby on Board gets to sleep with a girl like that?" He asks out of ear shot from you.

"Probably because he's not a total dick like you are." Nat suggests.

"Bobby?" You get his attention as you lay on the blanket, holding up the sunscreen, silently asking him to get your back so you can tan for awhile.

At the sound of the name, some of the boys laugh, making you blush.

"Hey, Bobby, will you get my back next?" Fanboy teases, making Bob glare as he sits beside you. "Did he just glare at me?" He asks, in utter disbelief that Bob was capable of it.

Bob undoes the back of your suit, gently running his hands over your bare skin. "Are you good here for awhile? We're gonna play a game of dog fight football." He asks.

You turn your head to look at him. "I'll survive."

He ties your suit back together, then meets your lips as you lean up to kiss him.

It was peaceful, laying and watching the aviators goof around, running up and down the beach. You had no idea that the questions being asked between plays were all about you.

"What'd you do in order to win her over?" Rooster asks, grunting as he throws the football.

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Bob huffs, blocking Fanboy so he can't intercept.

"She's cute, doesn't talk much though." Fanboy adds.

"She does, just not to people she barely knows." Bob defends.

As Hangman runs by, he pauses. "Be honest with us, Bobby, you ever get bored of her?"

Bob looks at him like he's crazy. "Never. One of these days, Hangman, you'll learn that crazy bar girls don't make girlfriends. Maybe my girl's shy but she's a whole lot better than whatever new girl you can't make stick around."

The ones around them laugh at Hangman getting called out for the second time today.

"Jokes aside." Rooster says. "I'm happy for you, man, she seems good to you."

Bob looks back at you lazily reading a book, your feet kicking back and fourth in the air behind you. "Yeah, I really like her...actually I'm gonna ask her to move in."

They all gasp.

"We'll say a prayer for you man." Coyote shakes his head.

At some point, you had rolled onto you back and let your hair down, sunglasses on your face as you rest your eyes. Though, your sun is covered by a shadow after a while. You open our eyes, gazing up at the man who's standing above you. You prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Hi." You grin, watching as Bob pulls his sweaty shirt off, revealing his toned upper body. You move your sunglasses down your nose to get a better look, then take them off entirely.

"Hey, you ready to go into the water?" He asks, making you shake your head.

"I'm good on dry land, sailor."

Bob gives you a smirk. "Now, that's just not going to do."

"I'm okay here, Bobby, go have fun with your squad, they're already in the water." You say.

"So you want me to join them and leave you here?" He asks, making you nod in agreement.

He hums, pausing before leaning down and scooping you into his arms. You gasp, flailing in his hold but his grip is too strong. "Bobby, no! Put me down!"

"Not a chance."

You form a death grip, arms holding tightly around his neck as he makes it to the water with you. "Don't do this." You laugh loudly.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"No! Bobby!"

He loosens his grip, pretending to drop you, making you yell and tighten your grip around him even more. The dagger squad starts chanting ‘overboard’, and you feel the cool water slosh up against you as Bob walks further in.

“Bobby!”

“One.”

“No, baby, please.”

“Two.”

“Robert Floyd!”

“Three!”

He falls sideways into the water with you, making you sink under before you pop back up, wiping your eyes. You can’t help but laugh, splashing him as he pops up in front of you.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, wrapping your arms around him.

He grins boyishly. “Sorry, honey.”

The squad watches as the two of you swim beside each other.

“So…Bob is getting laid.” Coyote says.

“He’s the only one who is.” Rooster adds.

#top gun fandom #top gun maverick #bob floyd #fluff #lewis pullman #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #top gun one shot #send asks

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dyaz-stories · 1 year ago

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put your arms around me and i'm home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

summary: In the dead of winter, you have to do a run to go get fuel for your generator. Things go wrong, but fortunately, Hyun-Su is here to save you.

word count: 3.7k

warnings & tags: canon-typical violence, gore, monsters, hyun-su and reader get injured, reader briefly thinks hyun-su is dead, monster!hyun-su makes a brief appearance, hyun-su needs a hug and he gets one!, angst, hurt/comfort, season 2 canon compliant.

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A/N: this can be read on its own, but there is another one-shot, if you're interested! for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman.

You’re not one to get caught off guard, not usually. You’ve always been cautious, measured, far-sighted. It had been an advantage back in high school, and you’re pretty sure it’s what kept you alive thus far.

Yet, in this new world that you never asked to be a part of, unforeseen complications were the norm. You could plan, and plan, and plan ahead, but here you were, freezing in your living room, because the biting cold of the lasting winter meant that you’d run out of fuel for your small generator, and everything else you used to generate electricity wasn’t functioning the way it should.

If you didn’t want to freeze to death, you had to act, and act quick.

You’d already held out a few more days than was reasonable, hoping that the weather would clear and your solar panels would be useful again, or — but you hadn’t dared to voice that thought — that Hyun-Su would come by, and you could ask for his help. He’d offered before, after all, even if he had always kept you at arm’s length whenever you’d returned the favor.

But things were dire now, and you couldn’t wait any longer, so you’re kneeling in your living-room, preparing yourself for a hazardous trip in the outside, shivering as you do. Things are dangerous enough on a good day, but the snow that’s been continuously falling only makes you dread it more. It swallows sounds, means you’ll leave tracks behind you, and you’ll consume twice as much energy just to move around.

The last thing you pack is a map, which you make sure to keep available, though you hope you won’t need it in between breaks.

You’re heading for a four-stories parking lot, where you hope you’ll find fuel in one of the cars, but that’s not the dangerous part. What’s risky is that monsters love these kinds of places, with all their nooks and crannies, all the dark places to hide, and fear already has your heart beating twice as fast as usual before you’ve even opened your door.

Still, you take a steadying breath, haul the backpack over on your shoulders, and exit the house without making a sound.

Everything is quiet outside. Snow is falling gently, and the sight would be heart-warming, if it wasn’t for all the overturned cars, the gaping hole torn into the building opposite from yours by one of those missiles a few months ago, and the worrying fresh footprints going towards the river. The snow also covers the decomposing bodies, and you can only hope that you don’t accidentally step on one as you start walking.

At least it fills your tracks behind you. By the time you’ve reached the other side of the street, which was one once an impossible task due to how bad traffic you used to be, nothing leads back to your door, and you leave with, at least, the reassurance that home will still be here waiting for you when you come back.

If you come back.

There’s comfort in knowing that you’d planned well, this time, to get to the parking lot. You get to your destination with only expected complications. You spot the monsters before they spot you. You have to reroute twice, but that had been accounted for, and you don’t even have to pull out your map. You reach the building right before noon, and after surveying it for a few minutes, you let yourself in before you can chicken out.

In the dark, you make your way to the first floor, where you will be able to have the greyish light of the day, instead of having to use precious batteries for your flashlight.

It’s not long before you’ve picked out the car, a familial minivan with an untouched baby seat in the back. You try not to think about the people it belonged to as you kneel by the side and prepare to siphon the tank. You make quick work of preparing it, with the tanks and hoses you’d brought for that purpose.

Maybe it’s your confidence that’s to blame for what happens next, or maybe it’s another one of these unforeseeable accidents. Either way, you catch movement from the corner of your eye and you jerk your head back as a reflex, but you’re not fast enough and unnaturally long claws dig into your cheek.

You manage not to scream despite the pain, scramble back and away from the van. There, standing on the roof, is a creature. Though it stands on two legs, there is nothing human about it anymore. The side of its face are sagging and drooping like it’s centuries old, covering where you assume its shoulders would be. It brings its claws to its lips, and your realize with horror that your blood is dripping from them.

Bleeding, in this world, might as well be a death sentence. You don’t bother wasting energy in stopping the tears from spilling from your eyes.

“Younnnnng,” the monster screeches. “Give— meeeeee…”

It at least snaps you out of the stupor, and you grab your bat, unwilling to go down without a fight.

But it’s not much of a fight, not when the scent and the noise are waking up all the other creatures hibernating around here.

You swing wildly as the thing, and manage to send it tumbling back. It’s only a short respite though, considering pain is only ever short lived for them, while blood is dripping down your chin and onto the concrete.

You throw your backpack on your shoulders with trembling hands and grab the first cannister that you’ve filled, abandoning the rest behind to start sprinting towards the exit.

You already know you won’t make it. You know you’ll have to run through the pitch dark ground floor, which is no doubt filled with more of those nightmares, and that the chances you’ll make it out on the other side are slim to none.

But you owe it to yourself fight until the very end.

As it stands, you don’t even make it to the downward slope that leads there. There’s the sound of something charging towards you, and then the— the head, it has to be, of a bull-like thing catches you in the ribs, and sends you flying into a car. Your breath is instantly knocked out of you, your vision goes blurry, your head starts reeling. You’re aware of the thing crashing into a concrete pillar. It at least stays there, struggling to pull itself out, but that’s barely any relief, because soon enough the first creature is calling out to you again, stretching out a skeletal arm towards you.

“Younnnnnng… Give meeeee…”

It kicks you in the ribs, and you roll onto your back, only to be met with the horrifying sight of its arm in the air, claws out and ready, preparing to cut your throat open.

You refuse to close your eyes.

And then, just as you think everything lost, someone steps in between you and the monster, blocking its arm with your very own baseball bat. You stare blankly at the large back, the unkept black hair, as the man forces it to step back and kicks it in the chest.

Then Hyun-Su turns around, and holds his hand out towards you.

He looks nothing like what you’re used to. He’s usually so lost, so hesitant, when he comes to you. Now he’s focused, purposeful, and in many ways, he reminds you of the boy you once knew, the captain of the football team who would without fail lead his team to victory.

“Let’s go,” he urges you, and when you weakly take his hand, he pulls you to your feet effortlessly.

You wheeze as the two of you run to hide behind a car. You press your free hand against your ribs, hoping to lessen the pain — it doesn’t work, of course.

“It’s going to find me,” you mumble to Hyun-Su as he keeps an eye on the thing. “It can— It can smell my blood.”

Hyun-Su’s head snaps towards you, and his expression darkens at the sight of the wound on your cheek. He lifts his hand halfway, as if to touch it, then lets it fall down again.

“You should—” Your voice breaks. “You should go. If it can find me… It’s not the only one.”

A strange expression that you can’t quite decipher passes on his face, before he shakes his head firmly.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

The relief you feel when he says those words is immediately overshadowed by embarrassment. You shouldn’t be happy. He needs to go, or he will die here with you, and what would the point be in that?

“What— What are you even doing here? How—”

You don’t know if he doesn’t answer on purpose, or if he hears a sound that takes his attention away from you.

“Can you run?” he asks you, glancing over the car.

Your body’s going to hurt like hell when the adrenaline wears out, but for now you give him a decided nod.

“Do you trust me?”

You should probably take your time to answer him, actually think about the question.

“Yes,” you answer instead, like it’s a reflex.

He exhales quietly, squeezes your hand in his.

“Then run.”

Then he’s pulling with him, running at full speed towards the open wall of the parking lot. Fear spikes through you. Even though you’re only on the first floor, it’s still too high to land comfortably. That fear is completely erased by the sight that greets you, briefly, of monsters stumbling and climbing all over each other to make their way up from the ground floor. There is a whole swarm of them teeming here already, and you can’t think of any other way to make it out alive — frankly, you have a hard time believing that this will work. But you cling to your faith in Hyun-Su like your life depends on it, because it does, and when he yells for you to jump, you do it without question.

While you’re flailing in the air, you feel him pulling you towards him. Strong arms wrap around you, and keep you caged and safe. You hit the ground brutally, rolling on the floor until you land on top of him.

“Fuck,” you mumble, painfully pushing you onto your elbows. “Hyun-Su, are— are you okay?”

The obvious answer to the question is ‘no’, and yet Hyun-Su doesn’t look worse for wear as he sits up, his eyes instead going over your body to make sure you weren’t too badly injured.

If you shiver when his hands run up and down your arms, it isn’t because of the cold.

“Let’s move,” he says, letting go of you all too quickly.

But, by the time you’re both on your feet, monsters attracted by the smell of your blood have started falling from the parking lot. The two of you sprint, but you’re no match for them and you know it. You regain the tiniest hope when you make it past a corner, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the snow will swallow your smell if you hide well enough — and then something wraps around your ankle.

In a second, you’re torn out of Hyun-Su’s grasp, and when you manage to roll onto your back to see who your assailant is, all you can do is let out an inhumane scream.

This particular monster has eight legs, like a spider, and its somewhat human torso and head is completed by two long mandibles instead of a jaw. You manage to grab a knife from your pocket, but by the time you can cut its— web, you suppose, it’s charging towards you at full speed, and it’s close, too close for you to even get on your feet before—

When it attacks you, the first thing you see is what you first identify as a black wing, before you realize that it’s made out of a complex mix of flesh, bone and other materials that you can’t quite recognize, instead of feathers.

The wing pushes the creature back, and then Hyun-Su’s back is in front of you once more.

It’s his, you realize, brain awfully slow all of sudden. The wing. It’s attached to his shoulder, and all you can do is stare in confusion and horror. It flutters as he turns around to look at you.

You’re not fully in control when you scramble back, whole body shaking — because of the second near-death experience in ten minutes or because you’re terrified, you don’t know. What you do know is how hurt he looks, and how he turns his head the other way to face the monsters that are still coming after the two of you.

“You should run,” he says, low enough that you could miss it. He sounds hollow again. “Don’t turn around.”

You shake your head quietly, try to form some words. They all fail you. You don’t— you have no clue what’s happening. All that you know is that Hyun-Su is a monster and that he’s just used that to save your life.

The wave of monsters reach him just a few seconds later, before you’ve managed to decide anything. He pushes them back with practiced ease, one by one. You hate that you’re just sitting here, unable to move, as he fights for your life, yet your body just refuses to answer to you, even if you’re begging it to react.

Soon, the spider is the last one standing — or rather, the last one who hasn’t yet decided that you’d make a fairly meager lunch, considering how hard it is to get to you. It keeps attacking, and Hyun-Su keeps pushing it back, again, and again, until the creature manages to ensnare him in its web. Hyun-Su writhes, manages to pull his wing free, but it’s clear that he’s now at a disadvantage, and the mandibles click threateningly as the monster gets closer and closer to him.

Finally, your body agrees to react.

You run.

You don’t go very far though. You find the cannister you’d dropped and then you’re rushing back to throw the gasoline at the creature, half emptying it. The monster wasn’t paying attention to you, too busy trying to bite Hyun-Su’s head off, but its head snaps towards you when the liquid reaches it. It lets out a threatening hiss, which you ignore.

Instead, you find the lighter in your pocket.

Aim.

And throw.

The screams start right away, but it drops Hyun-Su, at least, as it tries to escape the fire.

For a second, you think you’ve made it — you’ve both made it, that is. Hyun-Su pulls himself to his feet. The wing flutters again, slowly starts to retreat back into his body to go back to a human arm.

He looks at you, expression unreadable.

And then one of the spider’s limb pierces through his chest. It’s not even calculated this time — just a movement it’s making as it tries to free itself from the flames that are consuming it.

You hear yourself scream. You don’t remember asking your body to move, this time, but you know that a second later you’re reaching Hyun-Su as he falls to his knees, and your arms are around him while you cradle him, pulling his head into your lap. Tears fall down your cheeks and onto his, as one of your hands tries, and fails, to apply pressure to the gaping wound, even if you know there is no point.

“No,” you beg. “No, no, no, no… Please, please, someone, please…”

You don’t know how many times you say it, how long you stay there. Snow starts to cover both his body and yours, and you realize you have a decision to make, if you don’t want to freeze to death. You just can’t bring yourself to do it.

Until Hyun-Su’s lifeless body arches in your arms with a gasp.

When his eyes open, they’re a clear, cold, uncanny blue.

You don’t dare to do anything then — not to let go of him, not to move away, not to break eye contact. It makes no sense, but you’re afraid that the slightest movement would have him gone again.

Slowly, his lips curve into a smirk, an expression you’ve never seen on him before. You’ve seen him smile, bright and sincere, and more recently, soft and subdued. But this amused, flirtatious smirk, that is completely new.

“You’re still here,” he comments, casually getting up, like nothing happen, like he can’t feel pain, like there isn’t a hole in his chest.

Even his voice is different. There’s a drawl to it, light and lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

“Hyun-Su?” you say, unsure of what’s happening. He was dead a minute ago. Then again, now that he’s breathing again, your brain is able to form the thought that he is a monster. An abnormal one, sure, and you don’t know enough to draw any conclusion, but it could be an explanation.

The smirk widens.

“Close enough,” he answers. “Are you scared?”

You’re not sure. You think you’re too emotionally exhausted to be scared.

“Should I be?” you ask. Maybe you shouldn’t trust this version of him to tell you the truth, and yet— All your senses are telling you that this is still Hyun-Su. And you don’t think he’d do anything to hurt you. Ever.

“It would break him if you got hurt,” not-Hyun-Su says, tilting his head. He lifts his index finger to tilt your head up. “I don’t want him broken.”

“Is he—” You interrupt yourself, unsure of what even is happening right now. But before you can start asking for answers, there is something you need to know. “Is Hyun-Su okay right now?”

He scoffs.

“He’s taking a break,” he replies. “He’s worked hard.” A beat while he seems to think about it. “Also, he thinks you hate him now.”

“I could never hate him,” you say, too easily, because it’s just the truth.

“Well, he is a monster,” not-Hyun-Su says with a shrug. He doesn’t seem to mean it as an insult, just stating a fact. You suppose he’s not wrong, and yet…

“The people I loved all turned into monsters,” you whisper quietly. Your mother, before you even made it home. Your best friend, who begged for death so she wouldn’t hurt others. Your father, who disappeared to protect you. You miss them all so much it sometimes feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest, and you’d give anything to have them back. So, if there is any way that you can still have Hyun-Su… “As long— as long as he’s not trying to kill me, does it really matter?”

The man watches you with interest, tilting his head to the side. It’s interesting. You haven’t been hurt by this world the way others have. Monsters caused death and destruction, but you watched half-monsters doing their very best to avoid hurting others, not unlike what Hyun-Su is doing right now.

The monster in him wonders what it would take, to destroy that ill-placed trust in others around you. The rest of him… is far too intrigued to give in. He grabs your chin between his thumb and his index finger, pulls your face closer to his.

“Doesn’t it?” he echoes your words. “What if I do hurt you?”

You swallow, call back the images of Hyun-Su easily taking out these monsters earlier. But you can’t forget that he’d been doing it to protect you.

“Y–You won’t,” you reply, even if your stutter betrays your lack of confidence.

It’s a leap of faith, but it seems to amuse him.

“For now,” he says, before his eyes roll into his head and Hyun-Su collapses in your arms.

You stumble back, barely manage to keep him up, before he seems to regain some control over his limbs and starts coughing. Even then, you don’t let go of him. You wrap both of your arms around him, head resting against his shoulder, and keep him there, against you.

Hyun-Su remains still for a while, breathing pained and ragged. The snow is still falling, but his body is warm.

“Are you okay?” he whispers with a hoarse voice.

“I am,” you answer. “Thanks to you.”

He lets out a pained sigh.

“Did he— Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head, barely moving away so you can look at him. He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes — black again, you note — fixedly in the other direction.

Like he can’t bear to know which emotion is on your face right now.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” you say quietly. “I thought— I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Silence.

“Don’t leave me,” you beg, voice so low and broken you don’t think he’d hear if he wasn’t inches from you.

Hyun-Su’s body starts shaking against yours. Finally, finally, he wraps an arm around your waist, burying his head in your neck, and wet tears roll down your collarbone. In the freezing cold weather, they feel burning hot.

“Don’t hate me,” he begs in response, crying in your arms, fingers digging to the fabric of your clothes in a desperate attempt to keep you there, against him — even if there is no need for that right now.

You wish you could tell him that he just saved your life, that he’s been a guiding light in your cold, dark life this past few months, that you love him more than words can say. But that would take too long, and the situation calls for something shorter, more direct, and just as meaningful.

“You’re the only good thing about this world,” you say instead, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Under the snow, for long minutes, Hyun-Su holds you like he never wants to let go.

When the two of you eventually detach from each other, he keeps your hand in his the whole walk home.

i hope you liked this installment! i'm probably going to write something much softer next, still for this couple (but it's hyun-su so it's still going to be angsty). if you're enjoying this, please let me know your thoughts, reblog or send in an ask. hearing from readers is so motivating and makes me want to keep writing!

next part

#hyunsu x reader #cha hyun su x reader #sweet home #sweet home netflix #cha hyun su #sweet home x reader #sweet home season 2 #hyun su x reader #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsoo x reader #hyunsoo x reader #my writing

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alrightieaphroditie · 8 months ago

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wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones! an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format! check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps.

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life.

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection.

Because it was a different story, now.

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it.

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face.

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today.

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning.

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

And so, that’s what you did.

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling.

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread.

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway.

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up.

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body.

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows.

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response.

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils.

And the occasional sniffle.

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about.

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body.

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go.

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously.

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see.

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking.

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response.

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream.

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace.

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps.

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it.

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material.

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it.

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever.

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him.

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice.

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared.

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him.

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin.

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours.

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven.

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body.

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh.

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg.

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close.

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed.

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you.

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream.

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core.

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out.

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down.

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you.

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open.

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?”

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock.

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger.

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm.

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers.

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.”

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body.

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested.

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body.

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up.

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even.

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours.

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together.

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure.

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless.

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure.

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.”

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you.

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit.

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent.

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours.

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse.

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed.

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh.

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house.

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly.

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm.

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body.

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach.

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself.

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?”

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men.

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open.

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up.

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up.

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom.

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours.

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.”

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

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dukeofriven · 2 years ago

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In Star Trek TNG the Enterprise computer is my informative and caring friend who only gets things wrong sometimes because sentients gave her confusing orders. In real life smash every Alexa with a hammer. Rip Siri out of your phone with your bare hands if you can. Laugh at the four people using Cortana but then drive a tire iron through the built-in microphone before gouging-out the CPU with a grapefruit spoon. (Then please recycle your electronics responsibly.) Robots are not your friend. AI is not your friend. VAs are not your friend. They are not sentient, they are not people, they have no intelligence, they have no being, they are not proto-people just waiting for the fancy line of code in a future patch that will make them real like Pinocchio. They have no intrinsic pathos save what marketing teams would love you to grant them. All of that is fiction, it has no grounding in reality, these are objects that harm. They are not there to help you, they are there to exploit your need for aid.

For future reference

#star trek #TNG #enterprise #majel barrett #Siri #Alexa #Cortana #AI #tech dystopia #I'm sorry but yes this is also true of your roomba #'but it's really helpful for people who-' at what cost?#at best the accessibility argument always ignores the framework of harm in which accessibility assistance is a trojan horse #the functions that these things are-filling in for those with needs are ones that should be managed by a caring society #not outsourced to a techbros bottom line #and when it is no long convenient to them to sell these products they will go away and you will again ahve nothing #there is no salvation in tech #and I get the viewpoint that its 'better than nothing' but I don't agree with it #the true cost has been kept from you: you don't really know what you've paid and are paying for it

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heretherebeturtles-comic · 4 months ago

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Hello! Many people have said this but ill say it too, I LOVE YOUR COMIC SO MUCH ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

I really wanted to ask you about how you do the backgrounds? (Something i struggle with) whats the process? Like from start to finish, also, to do the rise backgrounds do you use reference from the show and generally real photo of ny? Or do you come up with them? And last question- The shadow and light on the background- Like HOW

i know it’s a lot of questions but i’m just so curious qwq and wanna learn to be better, thank you again in case you read this and respond, in case you don’t, i hope you have a nice day and a wonderful life uwu keep up the great work! (≧◡≦) ♡

Backgrounds are a really broad subject and I'm always a little overwhelmed when asked this question. Just like drawing the human body, backgrounds take time, repetition, and practice!

My answer got a bit long, so it's going under a read more :) but if you digest info better in video format I found this on youtube

youtube

It pretty much goes over everything I wanted to say, but in a much better way. I wish I had found it before writing all this out lol

ok, first of all, I'm not a teacher nor was I built to be one of those cool helpful art tutorial people who do a full coloured tutorial filled with illustrations. This is just going to be a messy "how I do backgrounds / environment layouts from start to finish." kinda thing.

... lets start with a sight tangent.

Sketch from Life!!!

If you want to get better at backgrounds I recommend doing some sketching out in the real world!

When I was first getting into doing backgrounds I went to cafes and parks to just sketch the buildings and objects. Sketch rocks, flowers, clumps of grass, garbage cans, bottles, tables, street signs, etc. If you are drawing a tree observe how the trunks twist, how the bark flows, or how the leaves are bunched.

If you can't leave the house the same still applies! Sketch the interiors of your house, the walls, or common objects like chairs and bookshelves. How are objects stacked? items on the floor?

If you aren't comfortable with drawing outside or in public you can take some photos to draw from! They are good for practice and you can use them again as references later. Alternatively you can find pictures online of buildings and objects to sketch as practice.

All spaces have objects in them, it becomes easier to draw those kinds of spaces when you already have spent time observing and sketching them.

ALSO! They don't have to be good sketches! It's just to build out your mental catalogue and strengthen your perception of perspective.

now the actual thing...

BACKGROUNDS

(the pictures used for this are my own. I dug them out of my 2022 folder)

Backgrounds have slightly different rules based on what you are making them for. Videogame Environment Concept Art vs Animation Layouts vs Comic Backgrounds vs Illustration backgrounds.

They all follow the same basics, which I will go over here, but the intention and function of those designs are going to be different. It's all about how you set up the scene and what it's purpose is!

Brainstorming and Thumbnailing

I like to think about a location as though it is a character. An abandoned old house with creaky sagging floorboards is very different from a futuristic space ship with sharp metal floor panels. A gas station has a very different feeling from a library.

I usually start by asking what is this location's story? Why was it built and for what purpose? What kinds of things does this room need to fulfill that purpose? You don’t need solid answers, but its good to be thinking about it while you are working.

Next, sketch some ideas for how this place is going to look. For me, this usually involves drawing the idea from multiple angles and then making lists & small sketches of the objects I think should be filling the space.

Example: The main character of my original work is a Wanderer. They collect a lot of things on their travels, but those items have to be small enough to be easily carried in a backpack. I wanted his room to be in the corner of an attic, walled off by curtains, and filled with trinkets. You can see some of my brainstorming above.

References

I only look for references after I've done some sketching and planning; this is to solidify my idea first so that I don't accidentally copy anyone else's work. I will make a moodboard with pictures of lighting, colours, items, rooms with specific ceiling beams, old chairs, etc. basically whatever I feel fits the vibe.

Honestly, I don't use references as much as I should. For ROTTMNT fanart I look at backgrounds and screenshots from the series to study the style. I also reference actual photos of NYC to get a feel for how Rise condenses the visual information.

In general, it's good to have references of real life objects/locations, because there are so many details like cracks in pavement, stickers on polls, crowning on buildings, fancy fencing, weird chair legs, etc. that you might not think of. It's the imperfect details that can make a location feel more alive.

Perspective

Once you have your chosen sketch we move to.... the infamous perspective boxes. Doing backgrounds is just learning to be comfortable drawing So Many boxes and carving items out of them.

Many better artists than myself have made videos on perspective, vanishing points, and all the technical bits. Videos like THIS ONE and THIS ONE are helpful (this post is great too!!). There are probably a lot of classes to be found on Skillshare or Schoolism. I learned a lot of this in my college art course, so I can't give you a specific video which helped me.

You can get by and be a good artist without learning this stuff. There are quite a few successful artists who have admitted they never bothered to learn perspective (one of these people even made a whole graphic novel series).

I personally avoided properly learning this stuff until I was in my 20s because I thought it would be boring and difficult to do. tbh I really wish I had learned it earlier because it's so much fun to make those silly little boxes imo. It looks scary and complicated but, just like drawing humans, it just takes time, repetition, and practice to develop the knowledge and skills.

Cleanup

You have your boxes and lines! Cool! Now to make a scene out of it. Fill in the details, get everything placed were you want it! Generally, the lines of each item will point back towards the horizon line, but they can have different perspective points.

Generally you would want to clean it up and get your room completely sketched before doing the lineart. I tend to combine the steps (not recommended)

Lineart

I've mentioned how I do this before. Closer objects have thicker lines and more detailed inside. Further objects have thinner lines and less detail. I didn't quite achieve that balance with the image below, but it's close enough.

Colours and Shading will have to be a separate post. In the meantime, I highly recommend the book "Color and Light" by James Gurney. I used to borrow it from my local library and a good chunk of my knowledge was learned from it :)

#Artist's Comic Rambles #asks #art related asks #thank you for the ask!! I'm glad to hear you enjoy the comc :D #i hope this was somewhat helpful...#i get overwhelmed by broad questions very easily haha #if you would me to elaborate on something specific I mentioned feel free to ask #i wrote this all out weeks ago and then forgot about it... I just added a link or two but yeah here it is

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

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Viktor’s journal.

How can you mourn someone that you weren’t quite sure was dead? You couldn’t simply afford to make funeral arrangements just to bury an empty coffin six feet underground when you yourself were unsure of what has become of your beloved Viktor.

You didn’t exactly know where the arcane had taken him. So should you even at all assume him as dead or just more so in another plan of existence far beyond your reach? And if so would he ever find his ways back? or did he think that where he was currently was a suitable place for his misguided and misconstrued ideologies of perfection? Seeing no point in returning to you after all he’s done?

You weren’t quite sure what to make of all of this but that didn’t ease the ache in your heart as you found a journal of his laying nearby, a thin layer of dust covering it, clearly showing the passage of time of the last viktor stepped foot in this room becoming more painfully evident as you brushed it clear before opening it. It was a rather standard journal filled to the brim of notes, sketches and annotations belonging to Viktor throughout the ever evolving stages of understanding the hexcore, nothing new as it was the only thing he talked about so passionately with a gleam in his eyes.

He wanted to use it for good and for the betterment of others but as you look at the notes and recall the memories of Viktor telling you the advancements they could make with hextech, it felt all but painful now knowing and experiencing what you have at the hands of the hexcore; you and everyone else almost became one of those weird sleek white and gold plated humanoid creatures not too long ago. So it was needless to say that your feelings towards the hexcore weren’t the same as they use to be, though then again neither was Viktor’s when he changed.

‘I want to use it to better the lives of others.’ He once said as his amber eyes gleamed brighter than you’ve ever seen before.

You wished that was the case but as the old saying went: evil deeds are paved with good intentions.

Viktor’s heart was in the right place but the hexcore corrupted his mind into ignoring it, ignoring his humanity in his pursuit in perfecting the imperfect. You had lost Viktor to the hexcore on multiple occasions way before his physical and mental change after the attack upon the council, an attack he was meant to die in. You had lost him and thus didn’t know where you were qualified to mourn a man who could potentially still be still living in another plan of existence.

The further you delved into the journal, mind lost in the memories as you tried to use to make sense as to where everything went wrong, that you didn’t notice that you had reached the very end of the journal and notes regarding the hexcore had become notes regarding yourself. The chicken scratch writing of a scientist had become notes written in the most beautiful and eloquent handwriting you’ve ever seen.

Notes such as;

‘The initial reaction i had towards my newfound feelings towards y/n was to deny them. They were my friend and I thought as such for a long time until I began to think about them on a regular basis, almost as though I need to have them close to properly function. it’s distraction but it’s a distraction that I welcome without annoyance, an distraction that I want to have near me all the time just to claim I had a good day.

‘They didn’t come by today, which is something that I shouldn’t let affect me as greatly as it does. However I couldn’t help but keep looking back towards the door to the lab in hopes that I would see them. I was told that I was looking as though a love sick puppy dog, waiting for them to come through those doors as per usual and yet I couldn’t help but feel a little sad when more of the days pass and I didn’t see them. Maybe they’ll come back tomorrow?

‘The feelings have a name as I’ve found as of recent, love. It’s love that I feel for them. They’ve consumed my thoughts and I’ve found myself tinkering with spare parts in hopes of making things that they’d like, all of which I have locked away in a box beneath my bed that I’d open sooner or later in hopes of improving them. Will i ever give them to y/n? Perhaps after I crack this equation for the hexcore, I’m so close to a breakthrough and feel as if the excitement I’ll feel will bring me to confess to them in a heat of the moment type scenario.

I hope they reciprocate my feelings.

That was the last entry of his notes and it was dated as the day before the attack on the council and you softly closed the journal, holding it close to your chest as you closed your eyes, breathing deeply as the idea that things could’ve been extremely different had things not escalated the way they did.

So once you had composed yourself enough to go to Viktor’s house in order to find the box he spoke of in his notes, finding that it had already been opened, almost as though his spirit knew you were going to come here afterwards and made it more accessible to you; and within it was a plethora of beautifully wielded masterpieces in the form of mechanical birds, flowers and even smaller things for you to fidget with should your nerves get the best of you.

Viktor was so thoughtful and you couldn’t help but let out a pained whimper as you cradled the box in your arms before finding yourself falling asleep in Viktor’s old bed with dried tears upon your cheeks. Life was cruel to take Viktor away from you but for some unexplainable reason, you’ve never felt closer to him than you did as you held his journal and gifts close to your chest.

Unaware of how one of the Birds eye’s glowed blue and the petals of the flowers blossomed in a similar colour.

#arcane #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #viktor arcane #arcane imagines #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #viktor x y/n #viktor x you #viktor imagines #viktor imagine #viktor x reader

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lasabarcassims · 11 months ago

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LasAbarcas Base Game Save File 1.0

My Base Game Save File is complete!!! Download it here!

UPDATED VERSION AS OF 3/18:

OLD VERSION:

My goal with this save was to make the base game feel super ALIVE and full of personality - basically what we all wanted the base game to be originally. This save is full of lore: each household has a story (some inspired by iconic Sims lore, others original), each Sim has relationships outside their home, each world has a description and each neighborhood within each world is built with a very specific vibe that draws particular Sims to live there, all community lots (and some residential lots) have descriptions, and even the graves (and ghosts) at the Willow Creek church graveyard tell a story. There are TONS of community lots in this save that all feel different from one another and are designed with different kinds of Sims (personalities, career types, ages, etc.) in mind to give everyone multiple things to do outside the house.

All lots were built using only the base game (disclaimer: occasionally my game adds pack-specific items, like a kind of food, during playtesting, so it might say there is a pack-specific item on a lot but it's not meant to be there!), but many lots were built with other packs in mind. For example, the save has restaurants, a boba shop/thrift story, a cafe/retail space, a community garden, a high school, and so on that are base game only. So, if you only have the base game or limited packs, it should feel like you have more to do than the base game provides and open up your gameplay with a little imagination.

If you do have more packs, the lots should easily convert to their intended lot type to allow more functionality. You should also find things that come in other packs available in the save. For example, many Sims have university degrees, all Sims have cold/hot weather clothes, there are loads of clubs for Sims to be in (each with a description - MORE LORE hah!), and the calendar is filled with holidays/events.

Here's a little tour of the Save:

WILLOW CREEK:

Most families in Willow Creek have lived here for generations. These families strongly value their roots and create such a strong sense of Willow Creek identity that the transplant families have taken on this identity as well, leaving the town full of people who proudly work to preserve and celebrate the town’s vibrant history and traditions. Families in Willow Creek tend to have a more traditional approach to family life/dynamics and care about the family’s image/status within Willow Creek.

OASIS SPRINGS:

Oasis Springs had its heyday several decades ago when its space exploration industry was booming, but when the industry fizzled out, the town lost a lot of business, wealth, and residents. However, those that remain take pride in their retro desert town and clearly see what remains: a beautiful, unique, special place to call home. Families in Oasis Springs tend to be a bit quirkier, care little about what other people think about them, and focus more everyday happiness than career success.

NEWCREST:

Newcrest is a very family-friendly neighborhood filled with fun for all ages. Families here tend to be a bit more laidback – they are willing to go with the flow and enjoy the messiness that comes with growing up. The Newcrest residents are a supportive bunch of people who enjoy each other’s company and have a healthy balance between careers/school, hobbies, and spending time with family and friends.

I will also be releasing a Limited Packs Save with version one containing updates to Copperdale and Strangerville coming soon, as well as a No Limits Save down the line.

I hope you all download and enjoy!! Please let me know what you think and if you notice anything that needs updating.

Thanks!

#sims 4 #sims 4 build #sims 4 simblr #the sims community #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 #ts4 simblr #simblr #newcrest #willow creek #oasis springs #sims save file

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adhd-fandom-hyperfocus · 4 months ago

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✧₊⁺ Little Secret✧₊⁺

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x Reader(f)

part 2

Arthur's Note: Guilliman has a new serf and she isn't taking his bullshit. The Imperium held on with less for 10k years. Man will stop and take care of himself. I am also finishing higher than hel.

Warnings: General Grimdarkness.

+18 Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

He could smell the food and hear you humming a little diddy down the hall; his gaze looked over at the clock, was it that time already? His stomach growled, which surprised him. That was not something his body did, ever.

Roboute smiled as he put the documents aside, you have gone and spoiled him is what happened. Not that he minded, your cooking was one of the few things he looked forward to in this new millennium. It was hardy and rustic, but bursting with flavor.

It was a home-cooked meal. It was real food.

When you open the door and greet him with your warm smile, the room feels a bit brighter. And now that the scent of his lunch filled the air around him, his mouth watered. Roboute wondered how you did it. He knew full well how much food it took to nourish him, which was why he was content to eat, or swallow the paste and other types of gruel. It was efficient and practical. But you didn't care about those things. At least not in this sense. Complained it lacked heart and care. That no man or woman could function eating such boring tasteless things.

"Good afternoon Mister Guilliman!" you say with that bright smile, "Time to let the Imperium wait so you can eat."

Guilliman chuckles gesturing to the cleared spot on his desk, "I have learned my lesson." he teased.

The first time he refused to eat properly you did something that triggered a long-buried fear. You slipped off your sandal and threatened to beat him with it should he not eat his meals. When tried to argue about what he wrote in his codex, his own logic was turned against him in righteous fury. That the codex should be a guideline, and more importantly you argued he was simply wrong.

Roboute realized you were not a woman to fight with. He knew what a woman could do with a sandal. Even thinking about it now gave him a chill down his spine.

He takes the platter from you and eyes the food. Large cuts of meat mixed with apples and peaches, clearly slowly cooked together to make the harmonious scent that he had been enthralled by. Heaping side of potatoes smashed, but hand by the looks and some of the freshest bread he'd seen in a while.

How lonely and depressed was he that looking at this meal, made by someone whose duty was to serve him, made his heartache? Surely if you were not his serf you wouldn't be this caring. If he wasn't what he was...

No, he refused to believe that. He'd seen you fixing socks and scolding his men, mothering them, some grumbled, but he could tell they enjoyed it. Someone looking out for them in a gentler manner.

"Hope you like it. It's something my momma used to make. Generally, it's for supper, but you need more meat on you. Can't find a Mister or Missus Guilliman looking half corpse half god."

Roboute felt his cheeks flare up, and his throat get tangled with the air in it. There was so much in that comment he wanted to unpack and he didn't know where to start. A rarity for the primarch.

"Mister or Missus'?" he asked with far more inflection of shock than he would have liked.

You nodded, "Yes, Momma always said we love who we love. Maybe you aren't so big on the ladies, maybe you are, Maybe you like both? Not my place to judge."

Guilliman felt genuine shock. So casually talking about him marrying like he was just another man. That such simple aspects of life were his to have. Even if marrying was something he thought on, and found himself wanting, he couldn't. Not in the current state of things. He was viewed basically as a god; a son of a god. No marriage would be from love, but pure disgusting lust and fantastical eroticism. It made him ill thinking about it.

"No, I mean think you for your openness, but I mean just the married part. How would I find someone who doesn't see me as.." a tool, a stepping stone, a thing, "well as anything but the son of a god?"

You shrug, "Well, that I don't right know, just a serf after all. But I am sure we could find someone with that big brain of yours and my baseline human charm!"

What if he didn't want someone else, he thought suddenly. He had you. You joked with him, talked to him about boring dull things like weather. You asked if he had hobbies outside governing. Fed him food, real food! Not just that, food your mother made! You shared basic things all took for granted or didn't see the importance of.

Why did he need anyone else?

He let out a small chuckle, not wanting to focus on the thoughts that just came to him. They were terrifying.

"I am sure you're right."

You patted his arm, "Well, I must be off Mister Guilliman. I have work to do, I am afraid I cannot sit and chat while you eat."

Roboute frowned. That was the other reason these extra meal breaks meant so much to him. You would sit and chat with him, about things not world-ending. What was so important you couldn't stay and talk to him?

"What work? Did I give you orders while half asleep last night? If so disregard them." Roboute replied before tearing into the bread.

Throne, it was warm and soft with a harder exterior, and clearly made this morning. You spoiled him, and he wish he didn't like it.

"Oh no! It is a little surprise I am working on. No worries Mister Guilliman you will be the first to see it when I am done. It is a surprise for you after all." You reply happily.

Something for him? He didn't like surprises. Hated them some might say. He couldn't work theoreticals and practicals when he wasn't aware of what something was. Couldn't plan for what he didn't know. But you looked so happy about this little secret! And you should be, as he had no idea you were working on anything.

Perhaps this surprise he would allow. He trusted you. Even if he was feeling moody over you not spending this break with him.

"Very well," he did his best to not look like he was pouting. Thorne was he pouting?! Roboute Guilliman did not pout! "I do hope dinner will be as normal?"

You perk up and smile, "Of course! I found a baby bird I wish to tell you about! Oh and we need to talk about your sons bathing! They stink!"

Guilliman snorted between large bites of food. Food this good would be considered heretical by the Inquisition he was sure. Mostly because he figured they thought all things good were heresy.

Satisfied he would have your ear tonight, and you his, you made your way out of the office and moved through the corridors. The fortress was in the cold mountains, and not ideal conditions for things to grow, but he was seldom down in the Capital. He was either in Hera or on Terra. It wasn't easy she convinced some of his sons to help her make this gift. There outside the fortress a small greenhouse. Well, small to Astartes and Primarchs. It had been so hard to keep this from Guilliman, and the strings pulled, but it would be worth it.

It was no Agi world Iax, where you overheard Guilliman talking to Lion about how he really did wish he could have retired there to farm, but perhaps a nice little garden would suffice.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #roboute guilliman #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #roboute gulliman x reader

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bubblegumgothglados · 1 month ago

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A guide to the creation of a doll

(that’s the name of the story this is not one of my guides)

Introduction

Creating a consciousness from scratch is a complicated procedure, in humans this process takes decades and is arguably never complete. Although we have learnt to reverse engineer this process we still have very little understanding of how it actually works. But we do know this; consciousness has to be built from the ground up.This guide will briefly outline the steps necessary to take a budding mind and walk with it through its journey to full consciousness. This is a process that takes years, each "chapter" in your dolls life will require a new body made for the purpose and will take at least a month as the mind grows to fill its form. This undertaking should be seen as no less serious than having a child. This guide talks about seven chapters which is the minimum required to build a mind capable of independent thought and tasks.

Overview

This guide will go into finer detail later on but this is a brief explanation of each step.

Chapter 1

This chapters is about the doll learning the basics of controlling its body and becoming aware of you; its creator. A proper body for this chapter is that of an infant human. This body should have a battery life of only a few hours and should feed directly from your own magics, thus creating dependency. The minimum requirements to move to the next chapter is that the doll cam grasp things on purpose and indicate when its battery is low.

Chapter 2

Your dolls new body should have enough muscle mass to crawl and eventually stand up but shouldn’t yet have the capacity to walk. Your doll should be improving its spacial reasoning and language skills. It should still require you to help it recharge its battery.

Chapter 3

Your doll should begin walking, and talking in one word phrases, moving into short sentences. Your doll should be able to begin charging itself as well as doing basic maintenance on itself. Now is a great time to introduce it to what will become its primary function, it need not be able to perform that function but ideas about usefulness and obedience are important.

Chapter 4

This chapter is about book learning, if you would like your doll to be smart, educated, and well spoken this is the time to start. It should also continue to develop its find motor skills and if you would like, independence.

Chapter 5

If your doll is going to be sexually mature this is the stage in which it should be given a body with those functions, not for use yet just the outward aesthetics so it can begin to get used to the idea. It would also benefit greatly from introduction to other fully functioning dolls so ideas of obedience and helpfulness can be cemented.

Chapter 6

This is the second from last chapter and at this point your doll should be almost fully formed in mind and body. This chapter is for fine tuning.

Chapter 7

The capstone, this final update seals the doll to its body and grants it true sentience. After this point changes to its body and mind will be incredibly difficult so be sure you’re ready. The hour or so after this final update is absolutely crucial, whatever your doll experiences in this time will define it for the rest of its existence.

You close the book with an audible *thunk* far too much nervous energy is coursing through you to focus. Not that you need to, you have a dozen books on the topic and know almost all of them by heart.

"MOMMOMMOM!" your doll bounds into the room.

"DAUGHTERDAUGHTERDAUGTER!" you call back only slightly mockingly, smiling at it. As you look into its emerald green eyes with its glittering golden flecks you think 'damn i did a good job making those, glass blowing is such a bitch of a craft to learn too'. With a start you realize your doll has been talking and you zone back into the conversation.

"And the biggest frog likes to sit on the big rock and headbutts frogs who are trying to sit there when it goes for a swim but it wont headbutt the lil baby frogs it just walks right over the top of them and the lil baby frogs don’t seem to mind and that much and," it continues on as you falter under this barrage of information on the social lives of the frogs living in your pond. Its such an inquisitive little thing, it knows almost as much as yoh about dollcraft having devoured every book you own in it’s thirst for knowledge. Although, not so little any more. Its in its twelfth body now with only the capstone left to go. You think back over the last ten years fondly, four spent crafting the bodies, six guiding your doll through the chapters of its existence and teaching it important lessons in morality and consent. All leading to tomorrow; the final transferal, the capstone and that all important hour.

"Mom?" Shit, that was a question, you mentally rewind the conversation looking for context...

"Yes my dearest, i promise your froggy friends will recognize you in your next body, just like they recognized you when you swapped to this body and the body before that. Your new body is laying on the bed, you know its only slightly different."

"Yeah mom i know. I’m just worried about the transfer.... Mom, why don’t i have a purpose?"

"As I’ve said every time; your purpose is to be my daughter."

"Because your real kids grew up and had their own kids."

"Yes my dearest, as you well know."

"I love you mom."

"I love you too, can you please make me dinner?"

"Yes mom."

An hour or so later you’re eating the dinner it prepared for you listening to it talk once again about the social lives of various animals in the pond. You’re only halfway paying attention, your mind wandering between preparations for tomorrow and reminiscing on the past. As you watch it chatter you think fondly of its fifth body which didn’t quite reach your waist and was made of much sturdier material than this one. Even back then it was a boisterous excitable little thing, although the voice was much squeakier. You think of the differences between the guided advice and what you've done. You think of the years spent teaching it ethics and morality. Of making sure it had both a guiding hand and the freedom to explore and expand on its own. You stifle a giggle thinking of its budding sexuality, it thinks you don’t know and you’ve been very careful to not interfere with this normal and vital development, but you can read the signs.

"And that’s why i think Mr. Turtle should have a friend!"

"A well argued position dearest, ill see if i can find a Mrs. Turtle for him, then there'll be lots of turtles."

"Muuuuuooooom gross!"

"Ohhh hush" you smile fondly at it "come lets pack this away and watch a movie whilst you recharge."

A little later you’re both on the lounge watching one of your dolls favourites. Your thumbnail is clutched gently between her porcelain teeth, her silk lips resting gently on your thumb. This was one thing you never changed, it still draws its power directly from your lifeforce. You think of its first body, so tiny and wriggly, made of cotton as to be soft and cuddly for you, not much more than a plush toy. You think of its next body, a hundred different materials woven together with circuitry and spellcraft running its many complex functions. The movie has a singular kissing scene and you feel it tense as the protagonists smooch.

"Does this still make you uncomfortable dearest?"

"Its weird watching this with my mom," it squirms a little in emotional discomfort.

You just giggle.

Soon the credits roll.

"Its time for bed dearest, tomorrow you’ll wake in your final body!"

It doesn’t reply.

"I know you’re nervous but everything will be fine i promise."

"Yes mom, I love you."

"I love you too, now into bed lets start the process."

It lays down and you kiss its forehead tenderly before initiating the transfer out of this body. Motes of light drift lazily from its head through the air into a nearby vessel. You hold its hand as its mind leaves its body, and when its body goes limp you place its arms gently by its side and begin your final preparations.

I remember laying down that night and feeling myself leave the body, just as every time before my senses shut down one by one. First sight, the world loosing colour and going dark. Then taste and quickly after, smell. Then hearing, complete silence for the first time in months. And finally touch, the feeling of my moms hand holding mine is the last thing i remember.

Then I wake up, senses coming online in reverse.

First touch, wait why am I being touched, why am I being touched like this, this hurts, I don’t want this-

Then hearing, I can hear heavy breathing and grunting, ohhh this hurts so bad, where is my mom why isn’t she saving me, is she okay is she hurt whats going on, this hurts-

Then smell, it smells like,,, it smells like mom when shes been working in the garden. This feels bad, this feels wrong, why is this happening to my body, why-

Then taste, its moms fingers,,, mom-

And finally sight, and I see what I’ve been dreading, what I knew but didn’t want to know. I see my mom raping me.A moment later I gain control of my voice and muscles and I start trying to fight her off.

"Mom please why are you doing this to me?" My voice is breaking and I sound pathetic even to my own ears. "Mom stop I don’t want this."

"LIMP," She says, and The word has power, my body betrays me and I stop fighting.

"SILENT," and I can no longer speak.

"PLEASURE," and I orgasm whilst being aplit apart by my mums cock

And in that moment I realize, this was always going to be my purpose. She wanted a doll who knew the ethics of sex and sexuality so it would know why consent is important. She wanted a doll who loved her so deeply and thought she loved it so the betrayal would be real. She made no mistakes in my creation, she wanted this to hurt, she made my cunt too small to fit her. She spent a decade crafting the perfect toy to rape and that toy is me. And I realize this is my all important capstone hour 'whatever your doll experiences in this time will define it for the rest of its existence' as the guide says. And all I can do is cry and take it as the realities of my existence sink in.

#dear void

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five-rivers · 8 months ago

Text

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to. He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away. “I wanted to wait. I want to wait. It’s just–” He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists. “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done. Jazz got married, you know? She’s pregnant. If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly. “I would have liked to see that, too. And have a career. Travel. I know you wanted to do that, too. But–”

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud. Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose. He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “This is why I have to go. I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you. I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now. The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.

The wind kicked up again. There was ice in it.

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine. It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD. Appropriate. No one fully living would be here tonight. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet. And it wouldn’t be safe for them.

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio. There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind. The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there. The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name. All things needed for a burial.

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments. Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire. Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood. Plush footstools. Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this. Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling. Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion. Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.

(Danny still had to look up at all of them. He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood. This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.

But those consequences were bad enough. He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.

“Yes,” said Danny. He looked around the shrine, nervous. He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next. Not in any detail. “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora. “Not unless you feel the need to. The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.

Danny nodded.

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead. “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place. “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.

Then, Clockwork came up. He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two. “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk. Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars. There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire. Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.

He held the mug out to Danny. “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug. He kept his tone light. Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite. “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life. This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him. He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were. Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind. But those were children.

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink. It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary. There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted. He could feel them. One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body. But they weren’t there. Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact. He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin. There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away. Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time. He didn’t feel anything yet.

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question. He should probably just. Not talk. Especially not with drugs in his system.

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.

Of course. Danny nodded. The mortuary shrine… wobbled.

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars. It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another. He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly. But then, his movements seemed to… blur. His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt. By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body. Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing. Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar. Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb. Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth. Some of them were patterned, others plain. Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin. Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet. It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else. By someone he knew. He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse. He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent. But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment. It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough. When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted. They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles. Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing. His movements were slowing, growing smaller.

He should be panicking. The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required. But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions. His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him. Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.

Danny's heart twitched to a stop.

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities. He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again. Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present. He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could. He was in danger. He was dangerous. He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it. He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips. He drank. It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness. With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying. By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite. “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny. Jazz was an MD. He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled. Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first. He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted. It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward. The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest. The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate. The dead did not move to help. They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again. The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling. Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace. They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar. It was soft, piled high with cloth. They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head. Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth. Or, no, not quite the top one. The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees. He wondered what they were for.

He didn’t have to wonder for long. Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion. The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery. He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles. The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect.

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way. But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar. They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them. Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris. Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn. A drop of blood welled up. Blood, not ectoplasm. Danny stared, surprised. But he didn’t get to stare long. Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.

It all felt very secure.

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him. He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could. The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face. It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive. Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant. To say something. He could do it. He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences. He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head. She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips. He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin. It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them. If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been. It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue.

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed. There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh. Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice. For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice. No, kneeling. No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete. He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs. He knew them.)

This was the right decision.

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation. The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder. All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask. A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face. Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features. His lips, his nose, his eyebrows. He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed. The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened. Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose. More perfume. He inhaled. Exhaled. Stopped.

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place. The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin. It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow.

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons. Some, he could identify by touch. The ticklish barbs of a feather. The cold roundness of another, smaller coin. The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear. Others, his powers identified for him. The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite. The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice. The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated. He hadn’t known they’d kept that.

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone. He could make guesses. Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like. His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad. The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now. Helpless, but unburdened.

Clockwork started to speak. None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer. This one was old. Old old. Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts. They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights. Or golden ones.

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him. Wound around him. It was a winding sheet. Of course. Of course. The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet. Then, the next. Cerecloth and cerements.

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were. They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now. Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones. Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar. Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of. He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways. Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity. Was he bordered by flowers? Pillows? Both? He couldn’t tell.

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him. He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone. It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart. “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously. It was almost enough.

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny. Another. They were nailing him in. Another restraint. Another limitation. Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual. Almost. Almost.

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.

(He had been snug before. Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound. There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake. His body was cocooned in every way possible. There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting. None of his choices would change what would happen to him next. Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved. He knew where he was going. Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular. He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.

They stopped. He was lowered. Down. Down. Stopped again.

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm. Restful.

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder. And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered. These were buried as thoroughly as the others.

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down. Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.

Then there was nothing. Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept. Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over. No, that wasn’t any good. He made a face. There was something on his face. He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.

That roused him further. This… he did not think this was his bed. It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply. Dust. Salt. Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.

He breathed, remembering. His mouth tasted like silver and sugar. His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.

This was his grave. His coffin.

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow. The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders. His mask was a thin shell. The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes. The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places. The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong. He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.

He’d made it. He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death. He breathed out, breathed in. His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin. It looked strange there. Disproportionate. But of course it did. His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form. Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different. Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand. He was awake.

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over. He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil. Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented. So were portals. And most powers, really.

He’d have to dig his way out.

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid. The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was. Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way. So.

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away. He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body. He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward. Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage. Still, his hand hit free air. Grass tickled at his fingers. He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.

The dirt did not want to let him go. It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live. He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position. “Daniel,” said Clockwork. A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.

A cup was raised to his lips. He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite. “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely. He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder. It took some to get it there. It was further away than he’d thought.

He was smaller than he had been. Not entirely unexpected. Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go. But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine. The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar. The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors. Danny stared. He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body…

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt. It had been wings. He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better. They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae. Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.

“Are you?”

Clockwork chuckled.

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork. “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror. He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter. His antennae matched the color pretty well, too. Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that… There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones… They looked about the same as they had when he was young. Except… softer, somehow. More neutral. The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form. But… later. Later.

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny. “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid. She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz? Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork. “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed. The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end. He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.

“Of course.”

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2024 #dannymay 2024 day 21: funeral

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harrystylesfan2686 · 1 year ago

Text

Pieces Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: the aftermath of the break up has different effects on both, Azriel and Reader.

A/N: yall I'm sick🥲 the updates might be late but I'll try to post as much as possible. Hope you like this one!

Pieces Masterlist

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It's been one month.

One month of Healing.

When azriel left, I told myself that I will not contact him until I'm ready. Doesn't matter how much I'm missing him or wanting him. I will not talk to him until I know I won't take him back the second I see him again.

I gave myself two days. Two days to sulk all I wanted. I spent the whole time crying and feeling miserable about myself. Before Az left at least, I wasn't by myself. At least I saw him once a day.

Now? Nothing.

I am totally alone. His absence hit me Hard. Everything I saw, almost brought me to my knees.

The kitchen where we would make dinner together, laughing and joking with each other that many times ended with us covered in flour and syrup.

The couch where we would sit cuddling and talking until we fell asleep, always waking up with strained muscles.

His office where he would sit on his chair in front of his desk, writing out reports and whatnot while I sit in his armchair reading my book. Just enjoying each others company and occasionally taking breaks to make out on the very deck, and then some.

After those dreadful days though, I called Feyre and Mor and had a very much needed girls night. We took out a wine bottle and I spilled everything to them. My mind was too drunk to think my feelings about Elain might offend Feyre but she genuinely felt sad for me and embarrassed about her sister. The poor girl even apologised to my about Elain's behavior to which I immediately told her it wasn't her fault.

When I told them how lonely it got being alone in a big house like this, they suggested maybe I should get a job or something to keep my mind distracted and promised that they'll visit me often. So I did juat that.

I found a part time job at a local library. I have to admit, I'm really enjoying it. I'm the second assistant to the sweetest lady, Hilda, who owns the shop. I don't do much, just help her in small things like adjusting books on self or helping in shipping books out or in. Layla, the first assistant, handles most of the work around the shop. My job is basically doing what she asks of me. The salary isn't much but I don't care because it's never been about money.

The first week was very hard. Everyday after I came home, the silence felt like a slap on the face, reminding me of everything I lost.

But, slowly, I became comfortable with it. Now it's doesn't hurt me as it did before.

There were many times when I think of Azriel, tears filled my eyes, but I never let them free. I sucked them in and did anything else that didn't made me cry, like taking baths, baking my favorite chocolate brownies, reading in front of the fire place while drinking hot coco or calling my friends to take me shopping.

And as time went. I started to heal. I started to feel good, happier with myself. And without even realizing it, I started to love myself.

-☆-

Azriel

It's been one month.

One month of regretting everything I did to my mate.

I've spent my whole month sulking in this room, crying and regretting everytime I chose Elain over my wife. I haven't slept at all since I came here, just enough to keep me functioning. My appetite is gone. I don't eat unless Rhys come and force feeds me like I'm some baby.

I told Rhysand and Cassian everything the first morning i stayed here. Which earned me a flick to head by Cassian and a very disappointed look from Rhys. Even though they didn't give me any scolding(which I very much deserved), the flick and expression said enough.

Rhys has refrained me of any work, handling it himself or having someone else do it. While I have been sitting around here and hating myself. It seems like even my mind has declared itself an enemy, showing me memories of everytime I dismissed Y/N and hurt her in any way at most random times, cutting a deeper cut in my heart everytime.

"Hey Az, I was thinking if we could go out for dinner tonight? There is this new amazing restaurant I saw while walking near Sidra. I really want to try it." She told me as I put on my coat, ready to go.

"I can't, I have a mission for today. Rhys told me it's important so I can't skip. We'll go some other time. Okay?"

"Ok."

I could hear the excitement in her voice when she asked me and the hurt when I rejected her and promised to go another time. The time never came. She never asked again. And I never noticed.

"Az, are you awake?" She whispers in the dead of night. Both of us sleeping on the bed. My back to her, hoping to fall asleep quickly because I have early training tomorrow.

Cassian is spending time with Nesta more, so Rhys has told me to go to an illyrian camp to check how things are going. I have to wake and go there early to catch them off guard to see what's truly going on.

I can't do that if Y/N doesn't let me sleep.

I didn't answer her that night, hoping if i dont respond, she'll think im asleep and doesnt call me again. She really didnt call me again. I prioritized my sleep over her. Her voice sounded so small. She needed me. And I didn't care.

"So, I saw a really cute baby in garden today and..." I drone out her babbling and try to quickly I can get out of here, I promised Elain to help in her garden today. She'll be disappointed if I show up late.

"Az? You're listening to me right?" She suddenly questions, I clear my throat and answer a small, of course, she nods and takes a deep breath, not saying anything anymore. I sign in relief of the silence.

I put my head in my hands and tug hard on my hair, wanting to feel hurt, hurt the kind that she clearly felt and I didn't care.

I hate myself more and more as memories flash through my mind. I can't even cry at this point. I wished she'd hit me when we fought. Slaped and paunched some sense into me. I don't blame her at all for not talking to me. Gods, I wouldn't even blame her if she left me. I deserve it.

How do I fix this?

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Taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @crazylokonugget @going-through-shit @wallacewillow0773638 @kalulakunundrum @cat-or-kitten

#acotar fandom #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar angst #azriel #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel x reader #pieces

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tanadrin · 9 months ago

Note

Honestly, I *don't* want to mix things with proportional representation. I see proportional representation as an excellent way of increasing the importance of dealings between politicians and reducing the incentive effects of the voters. But in my ideal world I'll need to negotiate with people who do like proportional representation, and this system is a compromise I could get behind. Plus you can plug and play any three different electoral systems for different compromises.

First past the post is a bad, undemocratic electoral system. First past the post privileges large parties by making small ones unviable, and distorts the composition of parliaments by wasting votes. It can be gerrymandered in a way proportional representation cannot be. It produces highly unrepresentative outcomes. It is a bad electoral system! All good voting systems are to some degree inclined to more proportional results.

I've never heard the accusation that PR "increases the importance of dealings between politicians," but look. I don't know how else to put this. That is a stupid objection. Just absolutely boneheaded. You haven't thought about this at all, I reckon.

People hate on "politicians" as a generic class, but it's like hating on lawyers as a generic class. You need politicians. You want politicians. You want people whose specialized job it is to read legislation, fight about what should go in it, represent your interests, and come to balanced compromises about those interests. People percieve politics as messy, venal, and corrupt, and it can be all those things, but guess what? The alternative to career politicians is part-time citizens who don't know what the fuck they're doing, have no expertise in the legislative process, and therefore are at the mercy of lobbyists who can walk them like a dog because they're naive and inexperienced.

There's this especially (but not exclusively) American pathology that is a suspicion of government that works too well. This peculiar notion that if only we sabotage government a little bit it will keep tyranny in check and make politicians more honest... somehow. But filling government with random yahoos doesn't get you a noble collegium of Tocquevillian citizen-lawmakers, it gets you a pack of Marjorie Taylor Greens and Lauren Boberts. You know--morons. Americans will support all these ballot initiatives that fuck up government on purpose, like term-limiting legislators and keeping their salaries low so only rich people can afford to go into politics (and even then are only willing to do it as a stepping stone to other gigs), and vote for people who promise to make government work even worse by cutting the budget and lowering taxes, and then have the absolute gall to whine about how badly the government works. My fellow Americans, you did that on purpose.

(And there's this weird paradox where Americans all loathe Congress. Who keeps voting these creeps in? Well. You do. Congresscritters are generally pretty highly approved of by their own constituents. The stereotype of lazy, stupid, venal politicians always seems to apply to the other guys.)

And you will also note that since the abolition of things that used to facilitate deals between politicians in the U.S. congress--since the abolition of earmarks and chummy socials between congressmen and the post--generally, since the post-Gingrich upheaval in the House--it has gotten harder to pass even necessary, basic legislation, because it is harder to make the basic compromises necessary to keep government functioning. Having three separate legislatures that each can claim a different sort of democratic mandate isn't a recipe for good legislation, it's a recipe for paralysis and constitutional crisis.

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cuntghoulie · 9 months ago

Text

Tall Goddess Reader

Reader x Josef (Creep)/ The Man (Hush)/Kurt Kunkle

I lost this request, but it essentially asked: What about a goddess reader who is taller than them, and who sleeps in her underwear with no top on?

AN: Ohhhhhhh baby, It’s been a year and a half, but here we are. If anybody would want a full-NSFW part 2 of this with blurbs for each character… idk lemme know!

WARNING: SLIGHT HINTS AT NSFW, indication that reader is AFAB

Josef

The second he meets you, he’s basically enamored by you

Sure, he’s enamored by many, but he enjoys your height especially

The feeling of being smaller than you and being protected is a feeling this serial killer is not used to

He embraces it full-heartedly

Once you’re in a relationship, and he’s, theoretically, decided to keep you alive, he is utterly obsessed

We knew he would be obsessed, but you didn't’ expect how much he loved your height

He was obsessed with being protected by you, sheltered by you, loved and protected by you

When he sees your sleeping state, he goes nearly feral

He fights so hard to keep his hands to himself, so you should appreciate that much, right?

He can’t help but fondle your curves and skin and your chest as you sleep, wanting to be wrapped up in the warmth of you as much as humanly possible

This man is so clingy it’s absolutely suffocating, but hey, he DID let you live, so…

He will kiss every inch of you, his tongue flattening against your breasts

He only sees the underwear in front of him, with your otherwise unclothed state, as a sort of task

This is the kind of relationship you’ll need one of those underwear indicators: red meaning to go ahead, blue or otherwise meaning to hold back for the night

Can’t promise he’ll follow through though, we should remember who we’re dealing with

He’s incredibly desperate, starved, and loves you more than any other thing in this universe

He’s just GOT to have you, any time, any place

Hush “The Man”

Makes fun of your height at first

Mildly insecure about the fact that you’re taller than him at first, but gets over it fast once he sees the many advantages

AKA: tits in the face

He’s kind of a freak, sorry

He loves watching you and how you move, the way your hips sway when you walk

Not as much as he loves watching you sleep half-naked

His eyes trace over your body, highlighted by the moonlight filtering through the window

He’s outside the window, as per usual

Staring at you, pushing the window open oh so quietly

He crawls forward towards your sleeping state, sliding into bed

His hands immediately spread over your skin as his presses against you

His nose is pressed against your hair, and he wraps his arms around you tightly, giving you a BIIIIIIIG sniff

What a freak

He relaxes once the scent of you fills his senses, and he can finally start to find some sleep with your skin pressed against his

Sure, he loves to look at your nearly-naked body, but he loves the warm feeling of you pressed against him even more, as it lulls him into the only sense of safety he has

Kurt Kunkle

He is pure simp for you

He will get on his knees and worship you if you ask

Kurt is consistently confused as to why you’re in a relationship with him, being a tall goddess such as yourself

He’s such a nerd, such a loser, why would you be with someone lame like him?

Kurt can’t escape the massive ego boost you give him by even being in his life

The first time he sees how you sleeps, he basically loses all functioning skills for a few minutes

You are so gorgeous in every state, but in a peaceful, exposed state like that? Kurt is crawling towards you on his hands and knees.

He just can’t help it, with you so open to him in your sleeping state

He’s basically shaking the whole time, so you wake up the moment he gets onto the bed, the damn chihuahua

You’re happy for it though, and the bright smile on blushy face as you make eye contact is all the go ahead he needs to bury his face right in your chest

He’s getting a bit too excited though, with all that skin exposed, so he’ll start rutting against you without even noticing it

Guess you’ll have to take care of that! Or you can shove him in the corner to do it himself, but he’ll be whiny the whole next morning.

#slasher x reader #joe keery #kurt kunkle #kurt kunkle x reader #the man hush x reader #hush x reader #hush movie #horror #horror x reader #josef x reader #josef creep #creep 2014 #creep 2017 #slasher headcanons #slashers #slasher x you #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #grey writes stuff

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knoepfl · 3 months ago

Text

♡~A Beautiful Abomination~♡

This was requested from my dear BFF who's just as wierd as me. This is for you♡ Characters:

- Il Dottore (Genshin Impact)

- Reader (Experiment/His S/O)

Trigger Warnings:

- Body modification

- Mild possession/obsession themes

- Medical procedures (non-graphic)

- Unhealthy relationships

- Slight Yandere tendencies

Masterlist

Word Count:1,020

Here is part two -> Bound by Creation

---

The sterile scent of chemicals filled the dimly lit laboratory, where glass instruments clinked and tubes of strange liquids bubbled quietly. Dottore stood at his workbench, gloved hands steady as he made minute adjustments to a mechanical device—a device that pulsed with the same rhythm as a heartbeat. In the far corner of the room lay *his most perfect experiment.*

You.

A beautiful amalgamation of flesh and machinery, your body was a testament to his brilliance. When he found you, you had been fragile, broken beyond repair. But that didn’t matter to him. You were no longer just human. Your bones had been strengthened, muscles enhanced, and where organic tissue once failed, intricate mechanisms now pulsed in harmony with your blood. And through all of it, you remained conscious—awake through every procedure, tethered to him not just by your new, enhanced body but by something far more dangerous: affection. "How are you feeling today?" Dottore’s voice cut through the quiet. It was soft but laced with that clinical detachment you’d grown used to.

You shifted on the table, the cool metal under your back reminding you how far from human you had become. The whirring of gears within your limbs echoed slightly as you adjusted yourself to sit up. "Functional," you answered, a small smile curling your lips. "Though I think you already know that, considering you’re the one who made me like this."

His lips twitched at the corners—something almost resembling amusement. Dottore was not known for kindness, but there was a strange satisfaction he seemed to derive from your presence, as if you were the culmination of all his experiments. Yet, you were more than just a subject to him, weren’t you? "You are... improving," he remarked, stepping closer. His gloved hand reached out to lift your chin, tilting your face to the dim light.

His sharp eyes scanned every part of you, searching for flaws, imperfections. But there were none. You were his creation, after all. A masterpiece. "Do you ever regret it?" you asked softly, the words breaking through the silence like glass. "What you did to me?" Dottore’s hand paused, still cradling your chin. His scarlet gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something beyond the cold exterior—something resembling pride. "Regret?" He scoffed, but it wasn’t cruel. "You were weak. I made you better. Stronger. You should thank me." "I do," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

His thumb grazed over your jaw in an almost delicate motion, a gesture that seemed strangely out of place from someone like him. Dottore did not know love in the way others did. He knew only control, precision, and obsession. Yet, with you, those lines blurred. You weren’t just an experiment. You were his. Entirely, irrevocably his. "Do you understand, now?" he murmured, voice low and deliberate. "You are the future. A perfect fusion of flesh and machinery. Without fear, without weakness. That... makes you valuable."

You could tell from the way his gaze darkened that 'valuable' meant something much deeper. It was the closest thing to affection you’d ever get from him, but it was enough. You didn't need his love—not in the way others might. You needed *this*: the way his eyes lingered on you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, the way his hands brushed your skin with a possessive tenderness no one else would ever experience.

"I wonder," you said, tilting your head. "Do you ever think about what I was before? The person I used to be?" He chuckled—a low, velvety sound. "No. That version of you was insignificant. *This* is who you were meant to be." And in that moment, you realized something: Dottore had not just made you his perfect creation. He had made you his obsession. A masterpiece he could never tire of. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. "Do you doubt my work?" You shook your head slowly, a small smirk playing at your lips. "Never. But I think you enjoy this version of me a little too much." "Perhaps."

His voice was a purr now, dark and full of unspoken promises. "And if I do? You belong to me, after all. Mind, body, and soul." And strangely, that didn’t bother you. In fact, you found comfort in it—the knowledge that no matter how monstrous you’d become, you were *his* monster. A beautiful abomination crafted by the hands of a madman. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this dark little fic featuring our favorite mad scientist, Dottore. Feel free to send in requests if you have any ideas you'd like me to write next!

#dottore #genshin impact #dottore x reader #dottore x you #Dottore x experiment #Experiment #obsessive love #yandere male #Scientist #Mad #Insane #Possessive #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #dark romance #Dottorefanfic #Body Manipulation

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mononijikayu · 1 year ago

Text

unholy — gojo satoru.

The shared kisses became even more sloppy, deeper and passionate. He gripped your jaw, wanting to keep you closer as his tongue entered your mouth. Tears start to spring from your eyes. Each moment from then on was a symphony of desire and longing that overtook you, possessed you, harsher, primitive, relentless. Both of you were lost in the heat of the moment. Nothing else mattered but this moment. In the race to pleasure,you couldn't get enough of him, craving his touch and his taste with an insatiable hunger. And he was the same. He would always be the same.

Genre: Post - JJK 0, early 2018;

Warning/s: R-18, Smut, Explicit Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, Praise, Breeding, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Possessiveness, Daddy Kink, Clan Leader Gojo, Clan Leader to Lovers;

masterlist

listen: unholy by sam smith ft kim petras

note: i got carried away, i was supposed to do my other series fics and i just,,,,,, i just couldn't help myself. gojo satoru is too hot.

THIS WASN’T YOUR TYPE OF THING. But knowing the fact that your clan needed to mingle and make friends and you, another clan leader, needed to do your duty. Yet you knew that this would be quite a dull affair. Much more because you were going to be forced to meet with the elders. You hated them, and you knew they hated you too. If not for your consistent opposition to tradition, then perhaps for your association with Gojo Satoru.

You purse your lips, your mind suddenly lost in the thought of him. You take a moment. You haven’t seen Satoru in a while. And you missed him. You wonder if he will be here tonight. He usually hated being in the social functions of a world that he wanted to shun. Yet with his duty as clan leader, you knew he should be here.

As you pondered over the thought of Gojo Satoru, your mind drifted to the memories of your interactions with him. His charismatic presence, his unyielding determination, and his rebellious spirit always left a lasting impression on you. Despite the differences in your clans' ideologies, you found solace in his companionship, knowing that he shared your disdain for the rigid traditions upheld by the elders.

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly noticed the approaching footsteps until a familiar voice broke through your reverie.

"Ah, there you are," a voice called out, pulling you back to reality. It was one of your advisors, a trusted ally who often acted as a bridge between your clan and others.

You blinked, refocusing your attention on the present moment. "Yes, I'm here," you replied, forcing a polite smile as you greeted the advisor.

"The elders have requested your presence," the advisor continued, their expression betraying a hint of concern. "They wish to discuss matters regarding the upcoming alliance."

You inwardly groaned at the prospect of facing the elders, knowing that their intentions often clashed with your own vision for the future of your clan. Nevertheless, duty compelled you to comply, and you nodded in acknowledgment.

"I will attend," you responded, masking your reluctance with a facade of cooperation.

As the advisor led you towards the meeting chambers where the elders awaited, your thoughts drifted back to Gojo Satoru. Despite the looming presence of tradition and duty, the anticipation of possibly seeing him tonight sparked a glimmer of excitement within you, offering a temporary respite from the dreary affairs of clan politics.

As you entered the grand hall of the gathering of Jujutsu clans, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation and power. The room was a tapestry of colors and sounds, filled with esteemed sorcerers and shamans from various lineages, each emanating an aura of strength and wisdom that added to the palpable energy in the air. Among them stood Gojo Satoru, a towering figure whose mere presence seemed to command attention effortlessly, his enigmatic demeanor and charismatic charm drawing the gaze of those around him.

It had been weeks since you last saw him, weeks filled with the rigors of training, perilous missions, and the ever-present chaos that permeated the world of sorcery. As you navigated through the throng of sorcerers, exchanging polite nods and greetings along the way, your eyes briefly locked with Gojo Satoru's six eyes. In that fleeting moment, a spark ignited between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that existed between two individuals navigating the tumultuous waters of their respective duties.

However, before you could dwell on the significance of that brief encounter, you were whisked away by the tide of conversations and engagements that awaited you. The evening progressed, marked by discussions of alliances, negotiations, and the intricacies of clan politics. As the crowd began to thin and the fervor of the gathering waned, you found yourself standing alone in a dimly lit corridor, the events of the day weighing heavily on your mind.

Lost in contemplation, you suddenly felt a familiar presence behind you, a magnetic pull that sent shivers down your spine. Without turning around, you could sense Gojo Satoru's proximity, his aura permeating the air around you with an electrifying intensity that was both exhilarating and unnerving. A rush of emotions flooded your senses as you grappled with the unexpectedness of the moment, unsure of what to expect next.

In that solitary moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the corridor, the tension between you and Gojo Satoru hung palpably in the air, as if the universe itself held its breath, waiting to see what would unfold between two individuals whose destinies were intertwined in the ever-shifting tapestry of sorcery and tradition.

"Missed me?" His voice, smooth as silk yet laced with a playful edge, sent a jolt of excitement through me.

Turning around, you found yourself face to face with Gojo Satoru, his signature grin lighting up his features. His gaze bore into mine, intense and unwavering, as if searching for something deeper within you.

"I might have," you replied, unable to suppress a smile of your own despite the fluttering in your chest.

Without a word, he closed the distance between the two of you, his presence engulfing you in a whirlwind of sensations. His hand reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch electric against you skin.

"I've been thinking about you," he confessed, his voice low and husky, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through me. “Missed you too much, sweets. It’s been…been too long.”

"Is that so?" You teased, unable to resist the playful banter even in this charged moment.

His piercing blue turned dark for a moment. “Oh be careful with that tone, sweets. Daddy….doesn’t appreciate the teasing.”

“Oh, you’ll make me pay for it, won't you?” You whispered slowly, looking back at him. “Or won’t you? Hm, daddy?”

“Oh, you wanna act like a mix, huh? Sweets, you tread dangerous waters.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

His lips curved into a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Care to join me for a little... private discussion?" he suggested, his tone suggestive yet tinged with genuine curiosity.

With a silent nod, you allowed yourself to be led by him, your heart pounding with anticipation, pleasure brewing deeper and deeper, as we disappeared into the depths of the gathering, leaving the world behind us for a moment of stolen intimacy.

You knew how it was going on.

And you could care less about it.

Being unholy with him, it was everything.

He didn’t have to talk all about it.

One kiss and you’re sinning with him.

BOTH OF YOU RUSHED THROUGH THE HALLS OF THE MANOR. As Gojo Satoru led you through the labyrinthine corridors of the guest wing, your heart raced with anticipation, the pulse of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Each twist and turn only heightened the sense of excitement and uncertainty, but you found solace in the reassuring grip of his hand, tightly interlocked with yours.

Finally arriving at a dimly lit guest room, the air was heavy with anticipation, the subdued lighting casting shadows that danced across the walls. Despite the chill that permeated the room, Gojo Satoru seemed unaffected, his singular focus fixed on the desire that burned within him.

As he closed the door behind you with a definitive click, the world outside seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the two of you in the cocoon of intimacy. His gaze locked with yours for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange of unspoken desires and mutual understanding passing between you.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his embrace, his arms enveloping you with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine. The sensation of his lips meeting yours ignited a fire within, a primal yearning that threatened to consume you both.

In the darkness of the room, his touch was electric, every caress igniting a symphony of sensations that left you breathless with desire. The weight of his body pressed against yours, pushing you against the wall with a force that left you powerless to resist, his strength rendering your arms momentarily out of commission.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as the world outside faded away, leaving only the raw intensity of your connection with Gojo Satoru, a forbidden indulgence in the midst of a world bound by tradition and duty. With each impassioned kiss and fervent touch, the boundaries between you blurred, giving way to an unspoken understanding that transcended words, binding you together in a passionate embrace that defied the constraints of society.

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad.” Gojo Satoru leaned in, whispering hotly in your ear. “I will give you all you desire. Let daddy do it.. Just let me do it.”

You remove his hand from your face and place it towards the obi of your silk kimono, looking at his handsome clean shaven face. He could feel his cock twitch at the sight. So sublime in the beauty that you only show to him. You were wearing something he gave you. The silk reminded him of his eyes, and oh, how you loved his eyes. How you praise the hues, how you yearn to always be in the sight of them. Expensive as it was, he bought it. He didn’t care. He wanted to mark you for all to see. To wear his colors, to tie you to him so completely.

How you wore it so beautifully. So seductively. Only for him. Only for his blue eyes to see. He opened his eyes as he followed the sight of your hands. He looked so beautiful this way. His bright blue eyes gleamed darkly looking at you. He pursed his lips at the sight of your face eagerly seducing him as you came closer.

“Then take me, daddy.” You say, leaning closer to him. “Take this lover who yearns for him.”

He needed no more convincing as he rushed you towards the table and eagerly, hastily, leaned against you. His weight overwhelmed you, the touch of flesh against flesh burned you into flames. Gojo Satoru could only grin as he looked at you. He allowed himself to devour you with his mouth with his own. You return the favor as you kissed him back just as passionately and just as fiercely. Brutally, yearnful, mournful.

You missed him. He’s always gone, and you knew that he had a life of his own. He had goals he wanted to reach. To bring the world to reflect the world he wants. And so you yearn for him. Yearn for the warmth in him, mourn for his touch, the pleasure he gives. Both fought for dominance like animals, needing to resolve their hunger. His strong hands were undoing the laces of the bottom of your dress as your arms were wrapped around his neck, massaging it gently earning little grunts from him.

His tongue inserted inside of your mouth, fighting against yours in a fury as he managed to remove all the satin ties on your kimono. They were now intertwined with one and you in this heated mess, his hands ripping off your clothing from you as quickly and as carefully as he could as you continued to kiss him harshly. You moaned as you felt his touch burn you, each and every thread of his fingers lingering made you shiver. Gojo broke the kiss to move all of your silk kimono slowly and continued towards you, earning a laugh as you eagerly groaned against him, pushing your hands to help him.

He sat you on the table and as he stopped kissing you lips and moved on to kiss with such tenderness, your shoulders, your neck and your collarbones. He looked at you as you nodded. He smiled against you, kisses that lingered in your flesh. It was as if he’d imprinted himself on you. Nothing was left untouched by him.

You could feel yourself get lost in so much of him, when you’re embraced by his godly figure. You could feel that pleasure burning you but when he started to leave more and more bites, even harder than before. Ones that will surely continue to haunt you when he leaves you alone again. Ones that will keep you coming back for more. You threw your head back, whimpering against him.

"I have waited for this moment for weeks, to have this moment, sweets.” He said, biting at your lips. You tried to calm yourself, feeling hot against his touch. “To worship you like this again.”

"Love me, Satoru. Please. Love me in the way only you could.” You replied to your lover as he grinned at you and kissed you, moving your breasts around before putting his mouth on your breast, causing you to moan hard and throw back your head at the pleasure. Your hands touched his silver white hair, encouraging him to ravage your breasts. “Give it all to me.”

He touts at you. “Be patient, sweets. Just a little more fun.”

Your bodies were melting into one.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You wanted him, so badly, too much.

And he could only smirk, knowing it all.

When Gojo finished with your breasts, he kissed you again and took your legs to wrap around his waist. Gojo eagerly carried him towards the direction of the bed, continuing to respond to your kisses.

He laid by you down onto the wide expanse of the pillows with care, your hands deep into his long hair. You could feel yourself getting into it more, feeling high at the desire he so brutally wakes in you.. Breaking away from his lips, You eyed him as you took time to breath, having been overwhelmed by his passionate lips.

“Don’t you think that you are too fully clothed, clan leader Gojo?”

Gojo chuckled at your words. “I suppose so, sweets. You want to help me with that?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

You attacked him with your lips, kissing him so roughly as you helped him out his haori, your hands desperately throwing them onto the mahogany floorings. He started removing the outer kimono he still wore from him and without breaking the embrace, throwing it away into the vast expanse of the room. As you moved towards his hakama, he eagerly tried to help you, but you bit his lower lip.

You wanted to do it yourself. You kept diverting his hands elsewhere on your body. He laughed against your vicious attack, his hand resting on the back of your head as he kissed you deeper. Once you successfully removed his hakama, you could feel him tugging at his underwear himself. You were certain he had ripped it apart in his hurry. But you couldn't care for yourself. You felt pleasure at the fact that his manhood was touching your skin.

You could only moan in pleasure as he kissed your body moving down to your crevices. From your ear to your legs, he marveled at you. Just as he does with the bright beam of your long hair scatterings into the sheets like sunglow.. Gojo Satoru had felt like he was just a peasant, a lowly human being as he stared at you. Whatever god was out there, he knew you were his. You were his to worship. He was your most devout follower.

He was the only one that could see you this way, the only one who could truly love you like this. His heart swelled as you reached for him. Yearn for more of his warmth on your skin, to mark you, to own you. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. But he knew he couldn’t. Not when you were so beautiful. So out of his world breathtaking. And no one can stop him.

He could forget every other woman, every other man, every other person in this whole world. He could forget the world, but not you. He is just lost in you. And he doesn’t want to be found. He needed only you. Gojo Satoru placed a kiss on your pleasure, causing you to moan. Then, he allowed himself to look at your crevices and smirked at you before allowing his finger to move about it.

You could not help rolling your eyes back at the pleasure your beloved blue eyed lover was giving you, after all they had been through as he continued to dominate you in his conquest across your body. He moved to lean over to you, kissing you neck and then moved to your ear to whisper, causing you to giggle.

You felt the pressure inside of your body build up as he continued to pleasure you well. Gojo had always loved the sight of your body being consumed by him, little by little with every bit of you becoming his once again. He kept moving and whispering to you until You could not hold on any longer, taking his forearm and holding it in place as You came.

“You are so beautiful.” He commented huskily in that tone you had never heard from him in a long time. He had always been so eager, but more so tonight. He was a man who was hungry for you. He kissed your body once more, watching you still release yourself from the high of his touch. “So beautiful, so perfectly wholly mine, sweets. You’re only mine.”

Satoru looked to you and allowed his tongue to lick your juices, earning great favor from the goddess in his arms as he did that. You did not expect him to add his fingers slowly but You should have. Gojo was willing to take care of you and you just had to let him. The loud pleasure-filled noise exploded out of your mouth like a thunder storm out to sea, reveling in sensual gratification in the pleasure he was giving you.

It was even more than what you had expected, what you had wanted. More than what you could do to yourself in his absence. This is where you belonged. Gojo smirked slowly as he continued to lick you until you could no longer deal with the rise of your pleasure. He placed his fingers back inside of you, making you throw your head back against the pillow once more.

He pumped his fingers in you deeply, finishing with you and focused more on causing his beloved into a pandemonium of pleasure. You felt the arch you back with wordless nonsense and satisfied moans gracing your lips as your heart burst out of you.

Gojo kissed you gently once more, your pleasure growing through their lips. “So wet, you are, my dear little sweets.”

Gojo leaned down to look with haughty desire, consumed by the pleasure he gave you. It was filling him with so much lust, lust beyond understanding. It had all been bubbling up inside him. Not once did he bed anyone in the weeks you were apart. Not once even offered. No one could compare to you. Not even if they tried.

He had been yearning for his little sweets, who was so ready to give him all that he wanted. You were the one he needed. You were the only one that could satisfy him, the only one that made him greatly filled with eagerness to continue to please you. No one can make him yearn for it so much, to wait so long for one moment. None had ever had the power to do so. Only you.

You could feel yourself getting tighter around his fingers and as he kept pumping into you, all You could ever think was the amazing feeling, almost intoxicating and devouring. You can only call out Satoru’s name over and over again, which pleased him with delight. It had been something he had been wanting. Each time you screamed his name, crying out that you were his — this had energized him so much as he pumped into you even harder. You felt then that You had come hard, the swirling pool of desire flowed through you.

As you sat up when the high of pleasure ended, it caused you more pleasure to see your lover lick your juices from his fingers. “You taste wonderfully, sweets. Truly nothing like this in the world. You taste so sweet.”

You could see a smile in your fantastical delirium, but that smile was as wicked as it could be. He was not done with you just yet. He hadn’t even come yet. Before long, the six eyes had lunged towards your pleasure with his lips, making you whimper as he entered his mouth into you. You could feel his tongue swirling around your insides like it was the fountain of life.

Youth sprang through you and through him. You had not known anything like it, not even when they had laid to get you all those years ago. You pulled at his hair, red scarlet decorating your flesh. The heat was unbearable. But you didn’t care. You wanted him. You wanted more and more.

He continued on and on and on and on, not giving you any rest. Only the scent of pleasure consuming them all at once, not caring for who shall see or who shall come to expose them.

Gojo groaned as you did too, pushing even harder and harder as you started to move against his tongue. You cried out in ecstasy, feeling yourself come once again. He removed his tongue from you and kissed you, the taste of your pleasure ever so salty against the tongue.

He pulls away and smiles at you, lazily moving away and returning down south. He kisses at your thighs lovingly, Gojo Satoru could only be happy to watch you body limp through weariness as pleasure slowly shakes you body.

“Y’did so well, f’r me, sweets.” Gojo coos ever so sweetly at you, heavy in pleasure as he watches you shift your body after you recover yourself — even if his grip tightened about you.“You did so well.”

You kissed his palm as You leaned upwards. “I am so delighted by you.”

“Y’know my answer, sweets.” Gojo whispers, pressing a kiss on your sides. “I’ve missed you too much, sweets. Don’t wanna be apart from you like that again.”

You look at him tenderly. “Me too.”

"You willing to make up for our lost time, sweets?” He asked you, but you could only shake your head. He raised a brow at you. “Why, sweets? You tired?”

“I want to touch you.” You say wistfully as you neared his manhood and looked at his eyes. “Let me, daddy. Missed you. Your cock too.”

He laughed, palming your cheek. "Can’t say no to you, sweets. Go on ahead, sweets. Make me shake up.”

You smiled at your snow haired lover as you looked at him, bending your head down with your hair following. You allowed your fingers to touch the tip of his cock, causing him to grunt a little. He was so big, so big for you. You knew that he would only ever feel this much excitement for you.

Oh, it made you want him even more. You grinned as you allowed one hand to grab it into a small fist. Gojo grunted more as you started to allow the fist to go up and down, slowly and then gradually with effort to speed. You watched his face become contorted with pleasure as he started to become undone as you started to move your hand faster and faster and faster.

Gojo felt you stop. He lowered his body, gazing at you before finding himself throwing his head back as You took hold of the cock with both hands and took it in your mouth. You allowed half inside then little by little you allowed all of it inside of you. Once he was fully inside you mouth, You started to bob you head deeper and deeper at you pace.

Gojo was groaning and moaning, holding onto the linen as it started to get him to unravel. Your hand started to massage his balls while your free hand started to pleasure yourself too. You whimper, your eyes narrowing as sweat poured through you. Moan after moan released from him, muffled pleasure from you. It was too much of a dirty scene. And you reveled in it. You knew your lover did too.

Gojo felt his hand rest on your head as you continued to work him, bobbing into his manhood and soon he was helping you as he thrusted into your mouth and his hand forced your head to thrust into him deeper. You felt yourself gagged at the tightness of his manhood in your mouth.

You finally came with a small sound bellowing from you. Gojo groaned hard in pleasure as he continued to thrust and thrust into you and came inside of you with a loud roar. You opened your mouth and certainly, the excess fell through from your lips. Gojo’s hazy blues could feel the scene make his cock twitch even more. He could feel himself remain ever so hard at the sight of you.

As you embraced each other with fervor, you could feel the warmth of Satoru's sweat-stained body pressed intimately against your own, heightening the sensation of our connection. Every touch, every caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a primal desire that consumed my senses. Even more so knowing that you would get more and more, that you wanted more and more from him.

You moaned softly as Gojo shifted you closer to him, his movements deliberate and confident, as he entered you with a force. You gripped through the sheets, as you felt him ever so deep in you with all that belied the raw passion between the two of you. Droll escaped your lips as he wrapped his arms around you, starting to move. Our bodies moved in perfect synchrony, finding a rhythm that mirrored the beat of our racing hearts.

As he enveloped you more and more into him, you could feel yourself truly be one with him. You whimper against him, rough echoes whisper at your flesh with each and every motion of overwhelming love. You were certain that you would easily surrender yourself completely to the intoxicating pleasure he gave you—you always did.

You did it just a while ago. You always will. Because you loved him. And you knew that too well, that you would give anything and everything to him. You groaned as he continued to piston harsher into you. A loud groan leaving his lips. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a reverence that sent shivers of anticipation down your spine.

When you came, you shouted so loud, you think the entire manor heard you. But sense was out of the window as much as manners was. You could care less about it all. Your body shook so much as you held tighter onto your white haired lover, who was whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he rushed harder, deeper, faster inside of you – trying to chase his own happy end. You knew you were fucked out of your mind, overstimulated beyond compare.

“About to come, sweets.” He cried out, his hands gripping his fingers onto your thighs. He rocks his hips harder against you. “I’ll come inside, sweets. God, I don’t, Oh, oh. It’s about to come, sweets. Let me, let me in.”

“Come inside.” You encouraged, holding tighter onto him with tears of pleasure pouring even more. “Come inside, daddy. Do it, make me feel good, Make me yours.”

And that’s what he did.

Gojo Satoru cried loudly.

He bit your shoulder hard.

And then he came inside.

His hips continued to move, trying to keep more and more of him, trying to lock more and more of his pleasure into you. Gojo knew he bit too hard on your shoulder. He could feel the metallic echoes saltily against his lips, he could feel your body shake against him even more than before. Lips pursed as he released your shoulder. He smiled against you, kissing your neck as you sobbed and rested your head on his side. You were too exhausted now, he was sure.

“You did such a good job, sweets.” He says to you, patting your hair gently with his hand. His arm wrapped around you, to keep you from falling if you pass out. “Did so well for daddy, sweets. Did so well.”

You cooed against him.

Darkness consumed you.

He smiles down at you.

You were daddy’s to play with.

He kisses you, looking at you.

You deserve this reward.

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