#this is just a loose collection of thoughts

[hiraethwa]

how to kill a god

zero from <the collection — how to kill a god>

pairing. gojo satoru x reader

cw. non-canon compliant, childhood friends(?), hella issues, special grade sorcerer!reader, satoru is a snobby kid, non-canon lore!

wc. 1.5k

all the legends are true.

gojo satoru remembers when he first met you at the age of ten. the cherry blossoms have finally bloomed a few days prior with the onset of spring on his family estate, soft pink petals scattered in large off-centered circles around the gracefully twisted trunks. 

the ever changing faces of the rotating guards and servants no longer faze him. he has long since stopped trying to remember their faces or their names, knowing there is barely any point with how frequent they come and go, from dying to protect, or kill him.

he didn’t care to ask for your name that day either, dismissing you as yet another fresh face following him around like a shadow. though he especially didn’t appreciate the way you are graceless, stepping so heavily behind him, each step loud and obnoxious, slowly ticking him off. so unlike the previous servants who were assigned to him, quiet to the point that he forgets about them.

a very loud and unorderly shadow.

he didn’t even need to have heightened hearing to be aware of exactly where you were behind him, your footsteps gave everything away. 

the obi on your kimono is tied haphazardly, as if you have never had to wear one before. he glances back at you, eyes falling on the fabric panels that are coming loose from the way you walk so very ungracefully, and sighs heavily. 

the petals crumple under your heavy steps, leaving behind small oblong footprints from your zori sandals. he doesn’t bother to explain himself at your confusion when you notice how his steps leave them untouched. 

satoru wonders the kind of upbringing that resulted in the unrefinement that is you. a thought pops into his head, annoyance lining his nerves from your disruption to the peace and quiet of his structured daily life. whoever had you assigned to him needs to rethink their choices, fast.

his infinity had been keeping steady for a few hours now with his training to hold it each day becoming longer and longer while he’s walking, sparring or learning. though sometimes it flickers just as an object enters its field and he fails to hold it firmly, resulting with the object, a dagger on a handful of occassions, whizzing by his head, missing him by just a couple of inches, as his infinity buys him some time. 

it would be interesting to try if it holds against you. purely for that reason of course, he would never stoop as low as to knock you off your feet just to delight in the confusion on your face, maybe a tear or two, because of how much you are annoying him. 

he would never.

satoru stops in his steps abruptly, coughing to cover up the snicker that slipped from him. you stumble into him, hand catching on the sleeve of his kimono to steady yourself. 

he almost shoves you off of him, whirling around instantly, features schooled into neutrality, the only disbelief showing when he blinks twice in rapid succession. wha— impossible. he peers down at you, and then at his feet, lifting each side for confirmation. 

the petals remain perfectly untouched.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, concerned for him. your eyebrows furrow, leaning into him to survey the path in front of you. your attention returns to him, head tilted to the side as his eyes lock onto yours, a nerve twitching near his eyebrow.

his infinity is perfectly intact. it has not faltered or dropped at all where he is concerned, fully aware of the cursed technique he kept active this entire time. and still here you are, your slender fingers latched on the thick kimono fabric, now running through his hair, with awe written all over your face at the sheer whiteness of it.

“get off me.” he bites out, unimpressed by your commonness. the audacity you have to even lay a finger on him, when no one, not even his biological parents whom he hadn’t seen in a year, lacks the sensibility to keep their hands away from him.

you scramble away from him at the sourness of his tone. he almost feels bad. almost. 

how did you get past his infinity? 

he crosses his arms at you. “what’s your cursed technique?” 

you look back at him in confusion. oh god, a commoner and an idiot. “well? cat’s got your tongue or something?” he taps his foot impatiently at your lack of response. there’s absolutely no way the clan would hire help with no knowledge of the jujutsu society. 

“satoru.” the current clan head appears behind him, stern voice calling out to him.

“yes, father?” he has addressed him as his father ever since he could remember, the act itself feeling more natural than calling his blood parents the same. 

“i see you have met your shadow.”

“she is extremely loud and ill-mannered, could you not have assigned someone else?”

he chuckles at satoru’s words. “for now, yes. but she will learn our ways and become what she was born for.”

“surely you do not mean that i have to put up with her indelicacy any longer than i already have?” ten year old satoru had impeccable manners from his extensive schooling. he knows that as the heir apparent, his wishes are granted most of the time, when it doesn’t concern his education and safety.

the clan leader glances between him and you, eyes lingering on your disheveled appearance, noting that perhaps you would be a bad influence for satoru if you stayed by his side during these crucial developmental years.

he slides his gaze back to satoru. “it is her purpose to be your shadow, satoru, but i am sure we can work something out in the meantime.”

satoru huffs in relief, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. thank god. he couldn’t stand another day of you trailing behind him, constantly reminding him of your presence. 

and so you are gone after that, barely an imprint in his memory. 

until you come stumbling back into his life almost three years later to be his sparring partner. your pudgy limbs grown from your adolescent years, having a good six inches on satoru, grinning as you kick his feet out under him. 

he bares his teeth at you, bouncing back on his feet and throwing a punch at your face. you dodge quickly, though your speed is no match for satoru. his knuckles graze your cheek. 

a triumphant smile threatens to break from him, but it seems that you will be having the last laugh, having given up your attempt to fully evade his attacks and throwing your own fist up in his abdomen instead. 

thirteen year old satoru doubles over coughing, having his breath knocked out of him unexpectedly. you had opted to tank a partial blow from him and gambled on landing a full forced hit on him. 

“well met, gojo satoru.” you offer him a hand as his instructor watches on from the sidelines. 

he narrows his eyes at you, his competitive nature refusing to take the loss and admit defeat. he should be the strongest. he is born to be the strongest, goddamnit. 

but he lets you believe that he has lost, accepting your outstretched hand. the corner of his mouth twitches upon finding his opening as you hoist him up. 

he yanks, hard, without the intention of pulling himself up. 

your golden eyes widen in shock as you lose your balance. satoru grabs his opportunity to sweep your feet out from beneath you, sending you to the ground flat on your back. 

those golden eyes. satoru blinks, images of a clumsy servant resurfacing in his sea of memories. you.

“the fight’s not over until sensei says so, shadow.” he crouches down, the words a whisper in the wind, though the smug smile he throws your way is unmistakable. his six eyes flare bright in response as yours dull. you look away, getting back on your feet as the instructor calls you over.

he frowns at you, wondering what exactly his clan elders are playing at now. 

you don’t spare him another glance as you quietly follow another instructor back into the main quarters, your behavior largely subdued in comparison to the person he sparred with just moments earlier. 

so it seems that you have learnt your manners in the time you were sent away.

he racks his brain in an attempt to recall your name. what is it? his father had called you his shadow, but someone must have said your name that day. though he wonders why your demeanor dropped when he referred to you as such. 

gojo satoru learns much later on what being his shadow meant���to protect and serve, and to be ready to lay down your life before his in a heartbeat. 

taglist.

@inlove-maze @regalillegal @danielmarie @lvrellie @suniix @madaqueue @celloccino @kalsplace @sharkiethrts @corvid007 @reactwithjan @cookielovesbook-akie @itsdragonius @hiraethwrote @nyahctrl @starlightanyaaa @just-pure-trash @ladygojooo @noble-17 @box-of-roses @fushitoru @mintgrumpy @hatsukeii @bakery-anon @daisy-room (open! add yourself here)

a/n. evil giggles, ohhhhh the lore i have in mind heheeee, hope you enjoyed! i also made a. yn moodboard hehehe

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

[gxr25256]

The Ruins of Earth - Seekers x reader

🌵 Tranformers (Post-Apocalyptic AU).

🌵 The Decepticons have conquered Earth, leaving humanity in ruins.

🌵I'll try this for a bit. Remember: I'm not very good at it 👀.

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

The sky was a smudged gray, casting a cold, washed-out light over what remained of the city. Buildings stood like jagged tombstones, their edges crumbling, splintered, and silent. Some days, the wind would send a loose piece of metal skittering down the cracked roads or rattle the empty cars left to rust. Otherwise, everything was still.

Below the surface, in the belly of a half-fallen office building, you crouched among scattered papers, their edges yellowed, flaked, and cracked from dust. The basement was littered with remnants of a world you barely recognized anymore. You had been lucky enough to find this hideout after wandering the ruined streets, and here you had managed to carve out some semblance of a life.

The ceiling is cracked, tangled with exposed electrical wires, and the single window on the far wall had long since shattered. Every now and then, a patch of sunlight filtered through, glinting off dust motes that swirled lazily in the stale air. It reminded you of better times—a stark, painful reminder of a past life that felt both close and impossibly far away.

You settled down on the cold concrete, setting your pack beside you. Inside were your treasures: a faded family photograph, a pocket watch, and a collection of scraps—small things you’d managed to scavenge that had kept you going. Some days, you’d sift through these items, each one tugging you back to memories that hurt as much as they comforted.

You stared down at the photo, feeling a pang in your chest. It was taken on a summer evening just a few months before they had come, when you and your family had still gathered in the garden to laugh and share stories under the stars. You remembered the warmth of your father’s arm around you, the way your mother had laughed, and how the smallest things—a shared meal, a joke, a sunset—had seemed so ordinary back then. Now, those were the moments you clung to like lifelines.

But here, in the darkened shell of a building, they were ghosts that haunted you. The faces stared up at you from the photo, as if asking, How much longer?

You didn’t know how to answer. Each day felt like a small miracle that you were still alive. They had laid waste to everything, turning cities into rubble, hunting down humans with a relentless efficiency. Survival required caution, silence, and instinct. Your hideout, tucked in a labyrinthine part of the city, had been a haven so far. But each passing day felt like playing a game of Russian roulette, and you knew that eventually, luck would run out.

The floor creaked—a sound you’d grown used to, but still one that made your muscles tense instinctively. Any sound outside the room was dangerous. You rose, carefully checking the faint tripwire traps you’d set by the entrances, crude but effective. Your heart thudded faster at the thought of one snapping. If it did, it would mean they were close.

They. The Decepticons. Machines built for one purpose: total, merciless domination. You shuddered as your mind dredged up flashes of their patrols: enormous metal bodies moving with purpose through the streets, the deadly glow of their optics as they scanned the ruins for any sign of life. You’d watched from hiding as they tore through buildings, shredding walls like paper. They were ruthless in their search for survivors, sparing nothing and no one.

They didn’t just kill; they hunted. The knowledge of that, of being part of a vanishing species in the face of such a brutal enemy, wrapped around you like a cold, crushing weight.

The wind howled outside, sending a shiver through you. You’d learned to navigate the city’s ruinous maze, moving with the shadows, slipping through alleyways, always watching your back. But every day, the Decepticons seemed to draw closer, tightening the noose with their relentless patrols.

The last human you’d spoken to was a scavenger named Mira. She’d been tough, gritty, with a quiet intensity that had made you think she could survive anything. She’d warned you about the Decepticons’ latest tactics, their setting traps to lure out survivors, their growing patrols in this area of the city. But that had been weeks ago. You hadn’t seen her since. Her face lingered in your mind as yet another ghost.

The hum of an airplane engine broke the silence, sending a jolt of adrenaline through you. You froze, every sense heightened, listening intently. It was distant—likely a patrol passing through the streets above—but even so, the familiarity of it triggered an instinctive wave of fear. You’d heard that sound too many times. Each instance had ended with a building being leveled or a life snuffed out.

Your heart pounded as you crouched low, moving silently through the office wall to peek through the cracked window. Outside, the city lay in shattered silence, but a faint glimmer of metal caught your eye, just visible through the haze. A Decepticon, its massive form standing out from anything else around the ruins. It moved methodically, its gaze sweeping the rubble as if it could sniff out human life in the air itself.

You crawled away from the window, slipping back into the shadows of the room, praying that the dim light and debris would keep you hidden. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you crouched, body tense, waiting. Minutes stretched on, stretching into an eternity as you listened for any hint that the Decepticon had moved on.

But the silence persisted, thick and oppressive. Part of you wanted to risk a glance, but your instincts screamed otherwise. That was the problem now; you’d lived in silence for so long that sometimes, even the slightest noise felt like a gunshot. Every step, every creak, every breath seemed like it could betray you.

As you tried to steady your breathing, your gaze drifted to a pile of old papers strewn across the floor. One caught your eye—a page from an old newspaper, yellowed and faded. The headline read, Hope for Tomorrow: Humanity’s Technological Golden Age. You almost laughed at the bitter irony. The hope they’d once touted had been torn away, replaced by cold metal giants who knew nothing of mercy or compassion.

A loud clang from outside startled you, pulling you back to the present with a fearful jolt. You remained still, barely daring to breathe. The footsteps outside were getting louder, a heavy, ominous rhythm. You recognized the sound: The unmistakable footsteps of the Decepticons, its weight causing the building to shudder faintly. They were close—too close.

The footsteps paused, and your heart seemed to stop with them. The faint hum of machinery echoed down, accompanied by the cold, mechanical sound of a voice you couldn’t quite make out. Your mind raced, considering your options. Running wasn’t possible; any movement risked drawing their attention. And yet, staying still felt like sitting in a cage, waiting for the predator to find you.

The Decepticon’s steps resumed, slower this time, each one punctuated by a metallic creak that reverberated through the building.

And the footsteps halted again, this time right on the other side of the wall you're leaning against, and you froze, body taut with fear. The building groaned under the heavy weight of machinery, dust drifting down in fine particles that tickled your face.The walls around you seemed to close in, your hiding place shrinking as the footsteps grew louder, closer. As if the Decepticon was zeroing in on your location, as if it were playing with your fears.

Then, with a metallic clang, you heard the Decepticon move again. Just when you thought the danger had passed, a deafening explosion ripped through the building, and the entire roof blew off with a force that sent you sprawling. A cry escaped your lips as you hit the ground, pain radiating through you.

Gasping, you struggled to your feet, but as you looked up, a chill gripped your heart. Through the swirling dust and debris, a pair of red optics glowed, locked directly onto you. Fear surged through your veins, and before you could even think, a scream tore from your throat.

Maybe your luck has run out.

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

[nerdanel01]

Lectionary Pursuits

Emmrich/F!Rook, Emmrich POV 3k+ wc | NSFW No spoilers for Veilguard, just smut.

EXCERPT: By now, Emmrich was not reading, not really—he was just using his eyes to recognize sound-shapes on a page, and using his tongue and his lips and his teeth to pass those same sound-shapes through his mouth. That language passed through him without leaving the faintest impression on him, without remotely registering in the cognitive centers of his brain; he was simply a transmitter, focused on the barest essentials of his task.

Every other iota of self-control and attention and discipline he could muster was being used to resist the urge to start driving his hips upward against hers.

“You can do this, Emmrich, you’re doing so well. Keep going.”

Rook’s encouragement was only a little breathy, just the slightest twist of mischief in her voice as she praised him and taunted him all at once. Her eyes were hooded, lazy and drunk with desire; from him, however, she demanded nothing but the sharpest attention and focus. 

Firmly, she instructed him: “Pick up where you left off.”

The subaqueous glow coming from the meditation room’s fish tank cast Rook’s self-satisfied smile blue; an unearthly, dangerous beauty.  Emmrich swallowed. A thin trickle of sweat was cooling sweetly on his neck; the chaise was firm beneath him. His trousers had been rucked untidily around his thighs, and atop him, Rook sat—naked as the day she was born—her warm legs bracketing either side of his hips, warming his lap… his half-hard cock fully sheathed inside the warmth of her body, so slick and wet and dripping around him that he was sure, if Rook moved but an inch, he’d find the thatched grey hair at his groin was soaked. 

After dinner with the others, they had slipped off together—something that now happened with such regularity it no longer warranted comment from the rest of the team. They would spend what was left of the evening, then, in the pleasure of each other’s company, in conversation or companionable silence, often reading together into the night: Emmrich, catching up on the latest necromantic scholarship or perusing collections of poems; Rook, reviewing missives from their contacts abroad or (more likely) engrossed in the latest romance recommended by the Randy Dowager. 

Tonight, however, Rook’s copy of Vigor Mortis lay abandoned on the shelf behind the chaise—because tonight, Rook had asked Emmrich to read aloud to her.

Of course, when she had asked him, this was not exactly what Emmrich had pictured.

She had curled up next to him, her head tilted sideways onto the chaise’s back, giving Emmrich her full attention while he began to read from his book, pausing only intermittently to catch her up on references to theorems or proposals made in earlier chapters. Emmrich had warmed with affection, but otherwise thought nothing of it when her hand had crept across the space between them to cover his knee; he had found it mildly distracting, but had made no comment, as that same hand began to climb up his leg, singeing the skin in its wake with desire. 

But when she had raked her nails along the inside of his thigh—when he had felt himself begin to strain, unseemly, against the confines of his trousers—he had snapped the book shut with a satisfying dull fwump of closed pages and turned his head, ready to chastise her. “Rook—”

And then she had dragged the heel of her palm firmly over his trousers, along the swollen underside of his shaft—and all capacity for language swiftly abandoned him.

In the shock and excitement of reaction, his hands had seized upon the book, holding it tightly shut; now, even as the pressure of Rook’s palm was breaking the rhythm of Emmrich’s breathing and leaving him tight-legged and light-headed, the fingers of her free hand gently pried his loose, and opened the book again in his hands. 

Told him simply, in her tone that brooked no argument, “Keep reading.”

And so, because he loved her (and loved her, especially, like this: commanding and demanding his obedience, unguarded and unabashed of her still somewhat inexplicable desire for him) he did—though the effort it took was tremendous. His eyes followed the words in the flickering candlelight, carried them to her ears in an embarrassingly breathy, hitched voice.   Rook gently guided him so he was lying back on the chaise, then unfastened his trousers and stroked him to hardness. 

It was a small miracle, then, that he could string a sentence together at all, never mind read from a page. When his cock was weeping and her hand was sticky from it, she stood—the sudden rush of chill in her absence left Emmrich gasping—then began, slowly, to pull her shirt over her head, to work on the fastenings of her pants. 

He had thought he had paused only the length of heartbeat to admire at her—to watch as cloth peeled away to reveal the final layer of warm, soft, fragrant skin—but he lost his place on the page, fumbled, ended up reading the same line over three times as Rook stepped out of her smallclothes, smiling with amusement. 

Then, without warning or prelude, she had draped one leg over his, aligned herself to him, and sank onto him fully.

She took him beautifully: warm and already wet, wetter than she had any real right to be, as untouched as she was. Emmrich could not help it, it was instinct as much as anything—a ragged gasp escaped him, and his back arched off the chaise as he tried to drive his hips against hers, to drive himself deeper into her warmth—but, 

“No,” Rook told him, firmly, a hand on his stomach to push him back down. “Lie still. Behave. Here, let me help you with that…”

And with the very same hand that she’d been spreading his slick around his cock, she plucked the book daintily out of his hands. With two of hers, she spread it wide for him, just in front of her stomach. Large though it was, it did not provide nearly enough modesty to conceal the swell of her breasts… nor the dark hair between her legs, where she had sank herself around him.

“Don’t stop now,” she’d teased him, tapping the opened page with her finger for emphasis until he had begun, again, to read aloud to her.  

And she had sat like that—by Emmrich’s count— for nine entire pages. 

“Emmrich.” The first hint of a warning in Rook’s voice. “Pay attention.”

Emmrich swallowed around the lump of need in his throat. “Yes, dearest,” he told her, then resumed the passage. Rook followed his eyes as they scanned back and forth; when he reached the end of the page, he did not need to ask her to turn it. She did so, obligingly, her fingers delicate on the thin parchment of the pages. Emmrich used the half second it took her (time when, despite however good or obedient he would have liked to be, he could not possibly have been reading) to drink in the sight of her—the quirk of her mouth, the hairs on her arms raised in the cold—before Rook spread the book for him again, and dutifully, without needing to be asked, Emmrich began against to read aloud.

It was hell; it was heaven; the warm ooze and drip of her around his half-swollen cock (the firmness of which had flagged, somewhat, in the lack of attention or stimulation Rook had been offering it—but if she had noticed, she seemed unbothered by it; she had kept him still sheathed securely inside her warmth) and the siren-like look at her eyes as she stared at him hungrily over the top of the pages. By now, Emmrich was not reading, not really—he was just using his eyes to recognize sound-shapes on a page, and using his tongue and his lips and his teeth to pass those same sound-shapes through his mouth. That language passed through him without leaving the faintest impression on him, without remotely registering in the cognitive centers of his brain; he was simply a transmitter, focused on the barest essentials of his task while every other iota of self-control and attention and discipline he could muster was being used to resist the urge to start driving his hips upward against hers. He could feel a flushed heat in his cheeks, in his neck; he was sure he was red. She was warm in his lap and his legs were shaking underneath her with every minute shift of her hips, any adjustment in her posture on top of him. The quirk of her smile—

The self-satisfied grin imploded on Rook’s face as it tightened, eyes screwed shut; she dampened a strangled cry through clenched teeth, resolved the sound into a hiss. Emmrich was on the verge of keening himself, with the sudden flood of warmth and wetness that gushed out of her, smearing across his groin and trickling between his legs. 

“I said behave, ” Rook told him, between deep breaths to steady herself, “or I won’t let you cum at all.”

“I am, dear,” Emmrich said, blinking at her in wide-eyed innocence. “Or, I genuinely thought that I was…?”

Rook let out a little huff, half amusement, half disbelief. Her best shorthand for, ‘get a load of this crap.’ One hand released the book to land, ever so lightly, on his stomach. “That wasn’t you flexing?” she asked him, running her fingers down the quicksilver path of hair that traced from his navel to his hips. “Misbehaving, making your cock jump inside of me?”

Andraste forgive him, but he loved the sound of the word ‘cock’ in her mouth, crass as it was—and this, in addition the teasing touch of her fingertips along his stomach was enough to have him swelling inside of her with renewed enthusiasm. Had he clenched his core, as she alleged, knowingly or unknowingly? “That—that wasn’t my intention.”

Rook huffed again. “Sure it wasn’t.” But whatever sudden rush of want or need had seized her then, she’d regained control of herself, now; her fingers traced back up his chest, circled pensively. A sudden gleam in her eye, she told him, “If you can make it to the end of the chapter without trying to fuck me again, I’ll start squeezing.”

A proposal she promptly demonstrated by tightening the clench of her cunt around him.

He could not help it: his back arched off the chaise; his eyes slammed shut; he practically shouted in surprise of the sudden blessed satisfaction, a sound he was not entirely confident had not made its way down the passage and out into the Lighthouse library. It petered out into breathy gasps, and supplications lined up to parade off his tongue. “Rook—”

“Mmm,” she practically purred. “You like that idea, don’t you?”

“Very much.”

“Enjoying this, still?”

“Very much.”

Her delighted grin widened, sharp enough to cut her face in two. She spread the book wide for him again.

Used her lowest, most obscene voice when she told him, “So keep reading, Professor. Don’t leave me hanging about the unexplored connections between veil lustration and fade harmonics.”

Fade harmonics? Is that what they were reading about? It was hopeless—he’d be re-reading this passage again tomorrow evening, and now he’d be lucky if he ever managed to get through it without becoming aroused. She was warm above and around him, and he was loose and tingling with arousal from his head to his toes, which were curling in his boots, ankles carefully dangling off the edge of the chaise so he did not grind mud into Rook’s furniture. His tongue was starting to feel thick and clumsy in his mouth, muddy, inarticulate; simply the vague promise of imminent tension and friction had eroded terribly what very little cognitive capacity he had left. 

But he loved her, and he wanted to please her—wanted her wrapped and snug and secure in his complete surrender to her, as he was—and so he dragged his eyes back to the book spread in front of her stomach, held in her beautiful fingers (and he must not let his attention wander by thinking of all places he’d much rather those hands be holding him) and bound his eyes back to the page in front of him. 

“ For further explication, we may look to the early experiments of Ligeia Argyra…” 

Though Rook nearly undid all of the effort that had taken him in one fell swoop by smiling at him over the top of the book and mouthing, silently, good boy .

Then shattered his concentration utterly when she clenched herself around him.

Emmrich’s hands tightened around Rook’s thighs; the experiments of the late mage Argyra dissolved into a litany of overwhelmed, half-choked gasps of surprise and pleasure. 

“You said— hha, Rook!” the accusation cut cleanly short as Rook deliberately tightened all the muscles in her thighs and her core around him, “ you said, ‘the end of the chapter.’”

“Did I?” Rook replied, innocently, sweetly. 

“Rook.” He shaped her name into a devotion, a plea. “Rook, that feels—”

“Keep going,” Rook told him. Her voice was noticeably breathier now, a rosy tint to her cheeks. “Keep reading, or I’ll stop.”

Dizzy with need, the words on the page swam before his eyes—then, after a few deep breaths, finally settled. If he had thought this a struggle before, that was nothing. His progress down the page had slowed considerably, interrupted by terrible gaps where Emmrich had to close his eyes or catch his breath, when Rook was gripping so tightly around him he thought he might simply finish and spill inside of her without her ever moving her hips an inch. 

“In the thirty-eighth year of the Towers age, after—after her first s-successful sublimation of the malign en-haa!—energies concentrated around—concentrated around—Aurelius’ Reach, Argyra began her study….”

And so desperate was Emmrich to focus—to behave, as instructed—to be good, for her—eyes glued to the page, he did not notice as one hand slipped free from the book and disappeared behind it. Did not notice Rook’s fingers circling between her thighs until, with a sweet, low moan, her hips gave an impulsive thrust against his.

It took him a moment to register the accompanying rush of slick warmth dripping out of her; a moment longer to realize she was so wet because she was now touching herself, and when it finally clicked his whole body shuddered deliciously. He watched, enraptured, as she stroked herself with middle and ring finger; felt his legs begin to shake behind her at just the sight and the sound of her bringing herself pleasure. 

Faintly, in the recesses of his mind, a nagging—with a rush of urgency, Emmrich realized: she has not told me to stop.

Her thighs were trembling with coiling pleasure; the book had become unsteady in her grasp. Emmrich lifted one of his own from her thigh to secure it, had to lick his lips and swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat. And as the contractions of her soft, swollen sex began to accelerate, signaling her imminent finish, he forced his eyes back to the book.

“...of the phenomenon—scholars—would later t-term veil lustration, though of course—of course, no such designation existed in her time…”

Above him, Rook’s eyes widened. Gone, now, was the haughty, controlling demeanor with which this encounter had begun. She looked at him now with only open adoration. Emmrich kept reading, though he did not think she really heard a word that he was saying. But the look on her face only became softer and more vulnerable when confronted with such relentless obedience, and it was not long before adoration was slipping into desperation, need—

“Emmrich!”

Her whole body shuddered, curling around herself as reached her own satisfaction, drawing her climax out with tight little twitches of her fingers on her clit, and it felt—it almost never felt this good just to watch her finish, to feel her grip and writhe on him as her body sang with pleasure, but perhaps because she had done nothing more than sit on him until now, it was nearly enough to tip him over the edge. 

But not quite.

It took Rook a moment to recover, breathing deeply, eyes squeezed shut. Still, she kept the book adamantly fixed in her grasp. And when she finally opened her eyes, she looked at him with such a smouldering, devastated look—a wild look—a predator daring prey to run, eager for the chase. 

Emmrich swallowed. He turned his eyes back to the book. 

“These early ventures would later form the basis of—”

Rook wrenched the book out of his grasp and in one swift, dismissive movement, tossed it to the floor. 

Emmrich had about half a second to be consternated about this rough treatment of such a precious volume before Rook had pinned his shoulder in one hand and, leaning over him, began to fuck him in furious earnest. 

It was too much, all at once; the stimulation; the friction; the brisk chill of the air in the meditation room every time she withdrew from him; the ecstatic warmth and velvety wetness of her when she took him inside of her again. The way she spoke to him:

“By the Maker, Emmrich, but I love your voice.” Nothing practiced or sultry about, pitched in a frantic, keening sort of tone that told Emmrich she really meant it; if he hadn’t already been red he’d be coloring from head to toe. “And you were so good. So, so good, so patient. So focused, even with your cock twitching like that inside of me—”

“Rook.” He practically wept her name. He could barely think, nevermind speak, body so alight with pleasure it had begun to crowd out everything else. “Darling, please, may I…?”

“Yeah,” Rook answered, emphatically—enthusiastically. “Yes, Emmrich, you can cum—cum inside me now, cum for me.”

And she began to thrust against him in the way she knew by now he liked best: grinding in his lap, long, smooth rolls of her hips against his, driving him fully to the hilt within her. Emmrich felt his own hips rolling to meet her, to match her rhythm—this time, Rook did not stop him. Then with a gasp and a shout every muscle in his body was diamond-tight and scintillating, though he shook like so much dust; and he spilled himself inside of her as she moaned his name and clenched around him, meeting his orgasm with her own.

…the warm weight of her in his lap; her sharp huffs as she caught her breath, her breasts rising and falling—the world came back to Emmrich slowly. With the book discarded, he could see plainly now the damp sheen on his stomach, the mess Rook had made leaking over him. A situation not likely to be improved in the short term, Emmrich thought, as he could already feel the the thick warmth of his own seed beginning to spill out of her, around his softening shaft. 

And Rook looked at him… like he was everything. With a love that he had coveted in others but had come to believe he would never really possess himself. 

Rook looked at him with a love that would make Death itself quake. 

Slowly, delicately, she leaned her face down to his. Emmrich sighed, closing his eyes, expecting a kiss. 

Instead, Rook pulled away; and opening his eyes in his ensuing confusion, Emmrich saw she had plucked the book back up off the floor, and was spreading it open again in her lap. 

He was practically flaccid inside of her, but she had not unseated herself from him; it seemed, she had absolutely no intention of doing so. At least, not yet.

“Now, pick up where you left off,” she told him, “and keep going while you drip out of me.”

[specialmedicalcentre]

Kezia's Anesthesia

The operating table was harder than she thought it would be. They look padded in the photos, Kezia thought.

She sat on the end of the black vinyl table, legs uncomfortably hanging over the edge. It was smaller than she imagined it would be, too. How was she going to fit? The gown they put her in was loosely draped over her, and she was acutely aware of it being open in the back. All she wore were her panties. The room smelled of…plastic? Maybe rubber. Everything felt alien to her.

"We're almost ready, Kezia," Nurse Farah touched her gently on the shoulder. "How are you doing?" She smiled. It was hard to see anything besides her eyes, as she was dressed for surgery with a mask and pink cap on.

Kezia shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, I guess." She tried to smile back, and her lip quivered a little. Her heart was pounding.

"Dr. Kim will be here any moment, and then we'll get started."

Kezia watched Nurse Farah continue to bustle around the room, getting things ready. She was gathering things that Kezia had no idea about. Despite the fact that it was all supposed to be for her comfort, Kezia felt nothing but anxiety at everything she saw. Wires, tubes, bags…ideas swirled in her head.

The other nurse - Kezia didn't know her name - turned on a machine up on a stand that had wires attached to it. It beeped and the nurse started typing things into it. She saw her name flash by.

Kezia L.; F, 25; 55kg; non-paced; Adult w/EKG…

She took a deep breath, and her body erupted in goosebumps.

"Yasmin?" Nurse Farah called quietly to the second nurse, and now Kezia knew her name. "Set up for SpO2 and BIS as well."

Nurse Yasmin nodded as she pressed buttons on the machine. "Got it, ok." Subtly, and for the briefest moment, Nurse Yasmin glanced over at Kezia.

Kezia was lost in her thoughts, watching Nurse Farah arranging a long, clear tube, when the door to the OR opened with a sudden sound. She turned to see a compact, slender woman enter dressed in green scrubs. Kezia was struck by how she immediately seemed to command the room. She strode right over to the table.

"Hello, Kezia," she said, but obviously didn't extend her gloved hand. "I'm Dr. Kim, and I'll be your anesthesiologist today. Ready to take a nap?" Her curt grin barely showed behind her mask. She had beautiful eyes; light brown, with long eyelashes.

"Hi." Kezia said. She had trouble getting anything else out. "…I…" She stammered.

"Don't be nervous, Kezia, we'll take great care of you. It'll be easy - all you have to do is sleep." Dr. Kim turned to Nurse Farah, briefly. "We ready?"

Farah nodded. "All set, Doctor."

"Great, let's go."

The room seemed to shift into action at Dr. Kim's word. Nurse Yasmin begain collecting wires and hoses near the machines and Nurse Farah came to Kezia. "Let's get you laying down, honey. Just scootch back a little…there, that's it. Now lay back - here, your head goes right on this cushion." Kezia, guided by Farah, found herself laying back on the operating table, her legs still dangling. The vinyl was a cold shock against her backside, which was bare except for her panties. She stirred in response. "Oh, is it cold?" Farah smiled. "It'll warm up quickly. Now your legs, here we go."

Before Kezia could respond, the nurse deftly adjusted something, and two padded legrests were swung into place. Oh, that's how that works, Kezia realized. They jutted out in slightly angled directions from the table, and were the same color as the table vinyl. Farah helped Kezia lift her legs and get them onto the rests. Soon Kezia was laid out flat, her legs slightly spread on the padded legrests. She was surprised - it wasn't as uncomfortable as it had been. Maybe it was meant to lie on, not sit on?

As Kezia was getting settled into place, Dr. Kim moved to the wall behind her where a touchscreen allowed her to bring up Kezia's case. "Okay, Kezia, so you're here because of persistent cholecystitis, is that right?"

Kezia was busying herself with trying to settle into position. She unsuccessfully tried to look up behind her, over her right shoulder. "Um…what?"

"You're having gall-bladder surgery today, is that right?" Dr. Kim clarified.

"Y-yes, that's right." Kezia spoke to the ceiling, unable to turn her head to see Dr. Kim. Her head was cradled in a weird little foam cushion. She felt awkward.

Kezia heard Dr. Kim tapping on the screen. "And how are you feeling today? Any discomfort, any issues?"

Kezia tried to think clearly. "No, but…I had pain yesterday. None today."

To the side, Kezia saw Nurse Yasmin approach her with a blue something in her hands. She spoke softly. "Hi, Kezia, I'm just going to put this cap on to keep your hair secure, ok? It might feel a bit crinkly." Yasmin stretched the elastic headband of the bouffant cap over Kezia's hair as Kezia shifted her head to let her fix it in place. The material crinkled audibly as she lowered her head back on the contoured head cushion. The look on Kezia's face caught Yasmin's attention. She smiled down at Kezia. "Oh, that’s just the cap making that sound, sweetie. You won't notice after a while."

The cap started out cool against Kezia's forehead but began to warm right away.

Dr. Kim continued. "Abdominal pain? Or, somewhere else? Any trouble breathing? " Her questions were rapid.

"No…uh, abdominal. Like, here," she touched her left side, under her breast. And no, breathing is…ok." Almost unconsciously, Kezia took a deep breath for effect. The cap crinkled in her ears.

"Mmm-hmm. Okay, no allergies to meds I can see…" Dr. Kim trailed off. "You've recently complained of intestinal discomfort, any diarrhea recently?"

Kezia blushed. God. "Oh. Ah, yesterday. Yeah, some…diarrhea." She didn't know where this was going, and she couldn't help blushing.

"Farah," Dr. Kim spoke in a different tone. "I think we should prep for flatus bag if we can do that."

As Farah spoke, Kezia turned her head to the left to see her. "Ok. Want to start without first?"

"Yes, that's fine." Kezia had no idea what they were talking about.

"Kezia," Dr. Kim leaned in enough for Kezia to see her directly overhead. "Do you have any questions for me?"

Kezia tried to clear her throat, and all she managed was a squeak. "I've…never…you know, gone under before. The, the mask, it's kinda - I dunno." Kezia heard the nurses moving around. "…needles make me really nervous." She managed, finally. Her heart was pounding, and she could swear they could hear it in her voice.

"I understand." Dr. Kim nodded, and looked up briefly at the nurses. We'll take this one step at a time, ok?" Kezia felt herself nodding. "Let’s start with something easy — let's get the pulseox on you so I can see your oxygen levels." Again, Dr. Kim looked up.

Kezia heard Nurse Farah. "Yas, go ahead and start." Nurse Yasmin was standing to Kezia's right side; behind her was an array of machines and readouts, all with wires and tubes attached.

"Kezia," Yasmin reached behind her, picking up a small something with a wire attached. Touching Kezia's hand, she said "I'm going to put this on your finger, ok? It doesn't hurt - just a little squeeze." Kezia held up her hand at Yasmin's gentle touch, and a white plastic clip squeezed her finger. It glowed with a weird red light. Just as she lowered her hand, a soft beeping sound came from somewhere to her right - it was in time with her pounding heart. And it sounded fast.

"98, HR 85." Yasmin said.

"Mm-hmm, thank you." Dr. Kim responded. Kezia heard her tapping on the touchscreen. "Can you also prep IV, please?"

Yasmin appeared to look over at Farah, who was on Kezia's other, left side. She looked back down at Kezia. "Kezia, sweetie, I'm going to get you set up with an IV. It'll be quick, ok?" Kezia nodded. "Okay. First I'm going to…"

"Gown first." Nurse Farah gently interrupted. "Kezia, let me get your arms out of this, okay, honey? That'll make tings easier. Here we go." Nurse Farah helped slip the gown off Kezia's arms, deftly unclipping and replacing the pulseox monitor. Instinctively, Kezia drew her hands in to cover her breasts. "Here, let's cover you for a bit." Nurse Farah arranged the gown as a sort of sheet, covering up Kezia's chest and leaving her arms free. "There we are."

Nurse Yasmin smiled; she had turned away from the table to grab a small tray. "Okay, right! First, just let me put this one here…" Awkwardly, Nurse Yasmin wrapped a soft blue strap around Kezia's right arm, tightening it uncomfortably. "Just want to find a vein, sweetie." She palpated Kezia's forearm a bit. Despite her fear, Kezia couldn't help but watch. "Great," Yasmin said, seemingly satisfied. "Now, I'm just going to swab you with alcohol first. A little cold." Yasmin pressed firmly on the skin of Kezia's arm, wiping several times. In her other hand, she held a long tube that Kezia couldn't see. "Okay, Kezia, just a little pinch now, okay? Here we go. Deep breath."

Kezia tried to look at the ceiling. There was a light there, and some other things hanging over the table…"Ow!" She yelped. She was surprised to find that she almost felt she was about to cry. There was a sharp pain and a longer, searing burn as Yasmin inserted the IV cannula.

"All done." Still pressing down on the site, Yasmin started to apply medical tape, securing a short tube to Kezia's arm. She covered the IV site with a clear bandage and connected a clear tube to it that dangled off the table. "Just leave this still, sweetie." Yasmin unstrapped the blue tourniquet from Kezia's arm and turned away, busying herself with something else. Kezia stared at the IV site, where a clear tube exited the tape, and several other thicker tubes of different colors dangled.

Nurse Farah saw her staring. "All good, Kezia?"

Kezia looked to her left, where Farah was standing. She had a blue package in her hand. "It's…it's my first IV. So weird."

Farah smiled. "I'm sure a lot of this is new, honey. You're doing great. Isn't she, Dr. Kim?" Farah looked up to the anesthesiologist, who was still tapping away on the digital chart.

"She certainly is." Dr. Kim didn't sound as enthusiastic as Nurse Farah, Kezia thought. Maybe she was in a hurry. "Farah, BP, please."

Farah moved toward Kezia. "Right here. Okay, Kezia, let me put this on you." She unrolled the package in her hand to reveal a bright blue long blood pressure duff attached to a hose. "You know this, right? Just a BP cuff. Here, lift your arm for me, honey." Farah deftly slipped the cuff under Kezia's arm and, pulling it snug, flattened the cuff to the velcro strip. She smoothed it firmly on Kezia's arm and routed the hose underneath. "There; just relax and let the cuff do the work." She smiled again. The cuff was a distinct feeling on her arm; odd, but not unfamiliar. She felt it brush against her breast. "Yas, could you…" Farah trailed off.

"Hmm?" Yasmin looked across Kezia at Farah. "Oh! Of course." Turning to the bright screen behind her, Yas touched part of it and the cuff stirred into life. With a distinct whirring from somewhere, Kezia felt the cuff tighten around her arm. She couldn't fight the urge to lift her arm up.

"Oh, honey, just relax it, ok?" Farah gently guided Kezia's arm back down onto the table as the cuff continued to inflate. "There."

"Mmph." Kezia grunted involuntarily. She could hear the velcro straining as the cuff reached its limit.

"Too tight?" Farah asked. Kezia nodded, staring at the distended cuff. Her arm felt swollen. "It might be the first time, honey. But you're a healthy girl and that should relax over time." The cuff began to deflate, in steps, clicking and hissing as it released her. She felt the blood rush back into her arm as something on her right beeeeeped. For the first time, Kezia saw her pulse jumping on the screen, a little blue line pulsing with every blip of the monitor. Below that line a pair of big numbers appeared.

"131/90." Farah said, out loud, to the room.

Kezia heard Dr. Kim from behind her. She was sitting down, now; her voice was closer to Kezia's head. "Let's give her a bit. Kezia, try to relax. Deep breaths. You're doing great. Farah, let's get the EKG going. Resp as well, please."

"On the way." Farah said, curtly. "Okay, Kezia, now we're going to get you set up on the EKG. Ever have one of those?" Kezia shook her head, her anxiety building. With the BP cuff, the IV, and the pulseox, she already felt like a medical experiment. She couldn't imagine any more. "Well, I'm going to place some stickers on your chest so we can see what your heart is doing. Okay? Just a few little pads. Now…I'm going to have to remove this for now, honey." Farah motioned to the hospital gown that was still partially covering Kezia's chest.

"Umm…why?" Kezia was getting a stomachache.

"Honey, the EKG goes on your chest. Don't worry, now, it's just for a minute, okay?" Farah touched Kezia on her bare shoulder.

"O…okay." Kezia managed. Farah gently lifted the gown, bundling it up as she lifted it off Kezia's body. Kezia felt the air of the OR wash over her chest and abdomen; as her toplessness flashed into view, she closed her eyes. She still had on the panties she dressed in this morning, but she felt completely exposed.

"Yas," Farah asked. "Can you hand me the EKG, please?" Kezia opened her eyes. Yasmin dangled a loose set of wires across Kezia's body. At the end of each wire was a white square patch. "These are the electrodes, honey." Farah held one up for Kezia to see: a soft square sticker with a wire snapped onto it. Kezia watched as Farah peeled the backing off one. "Here," she said. "I'm going to stick this one down on your shoulder." She pressed the electrode to the skin of Kezia's shoulder, just above the BP cuff. It was cold, almost as if it was wet - but it wasn't. It stuck there, Farah rubbing it down in brisk circles. It felt weird, and Kezia was keenly aware of the wire pulling against her skin as Farah arranged the rest of them.

In about a minute, Kezia had electrodes all across her chest, under her breast, and just above her pantyline. They felt like extra layers of skin, and she felt the cold wires draped across her body. She was almost too terrified to speak. "There we go, Kezia, you look great. See? You can watch your heart beat." Farah pointed across her body to the vitals monitor, where Yas was pressing buttons. Kezia saw three green lines jumping and pulsing across the screen; they made little spikes as the electronic sounds of her pulse echoed in the room.

It was fascinating. Just to punctuate the moment, the bp cuff whirred into life again, startling Kezia.

"It's okay, honey - it's going to do this every five minutes." Kezia audibly moaned as the cuff squeezed her. After an eternity, another beeeeep.

"There we go. 127/85." Farah said, the distinct sound of satisfaction in her voice. "Coming down."

"Good," Dr. Kim spoke up from behind Kezia. "How's her EKG?"

Farah rattled off numbers that made Kezia dizzy to listen to. “HR 82. No PVCs, looks good. ST segment normal, QT…360.”

"Ok, I think we're ready to go." Dr. Kim said, finally.

Kezia breathed carefully, feeling the electrodes tug at her skin all over. She was acutely aware of her body and the things that they had attached to her. "Am…I ok, Farah?" Her voice caught in her throat. She was embarrassed that a tear fell from the corner of her eye; she felt it roll back behind her neck, lost in the rustling plastic of the bouffant cap.

Farah leaned over and touched her arm, right where the BP cuff ended. Her hand was warm. "You're doing great. We're almost there." She winked, then looked across Kezia at Yasmin. "Hand me the BIS, would you, Yas?"

Nurse Yasmin produced another thing connected to a wire; this one looked like a long piece of thick tape with lines and shapes all over it. Farah peeled off the backing, and Kezia realized it was another thing they were going to stick on her. "What's that?" She asked. She held her body very still.

Farah held it up for her to see. "This is called the BIS sensor, honey. It tells us how deep you're sleeping." She moved towards Kezia's face. "I'm just going to press this riiiiight on your forehead." And she did, rubbing it lightly just above Kezia's brow. She could feel it when she wrinkled her nose, and the weirdness combined with the rustling of the bouffant cap, which was starting to feel warm and humid against the skin of her scalp.

Something beeped. "BIS 99." Farah said.

"Okay, Kezia," Dr. Kim spoke from Kezia's blind spot. "We're going to start with sedation now. Are you ready?"

Kezia could see Farah smiling at her. She took a deep breath, and after a moment's delay, she answered. "Okay…I'm ready."

"I'm going to put a mask over your nose and mouth, and this will just be some oxygen for now, ok?" Kezia saw Dr. Kim's hand lowering a black mask with a surprisingly thick hose attached. There was an overwhelming scent of rubber, and then the mask was on her before she could think of protesting. The edge was a soft seal against her face and a cool breeze seemed to fill her nose and mouth. It was utterly alien, and she could feel everything attached to her body. Just as a test, she wiggled her fingers and tensed her muscles. She felt the cuff, the electrodes, the wires…

"Breathe normally, honey," Farah said, watching the monitors. "Resps 20. Deep and slow, Kezia. You got this."

Kezia tried to slow her breathing. Something beeped to her right, and her cuff inflated again. "129/85." Farah said, when it was done.

"Still ok." Dr. Kim said. "Kezia, now we're going to put some medication into your IV, ok? Just something to make you feel relaxed. You might feel warm up your arm as it goes in." At her right, Kezia could see over the edge of the mask that Yasmin had a syringe of something. She felt the nurse press against her IV site, and then there was a burning feeling - but just for a moment. Her arm felt warm.

"It's warm." Kezia said, under the mask, but it came out almost unintelligible. Now her chest was warm, too.

"You're doing great, Kezia." Dr. Kim said. "BP, please." There was a beep and her cuff inflated again. Kezia felt weird, detached. The cuff wasn't as tight as it shoudl have been. She started to feel heavy.

"123/75." Someone said.

"That's the midazolam, we'll watch that. Fent is next. How are you doing, Kezia?" Was that Dr. Kim talking?

"…kaaaay. Mmm." The mask started to smell sweet. That was weird.

"Fent going in." Maybe that was Yasmin. Kezia felt a brisk cold rush in her arm, then her head spun. "Getting a BP." Whirr. Squeeze. Beeeep. "115/68 now."

"Ok, let's watch that. Should come up a bit." Then something she didn't really catch. "…okay, you can cath her now."

"Kezia, honey, I'm just going to remove your panties now, ok?" Farah was right at her left ear. Kezia felt like she was on the table with her, she sounded so close. "We need to put in a catheter to make you comfortable, ok?"

Kezia wasn't sure how to argue, she felt light-headed and she couldn't really focus. But she wanted to scream. She thought she shook her head but she wasn't sure. "ohhh…no, naaaa…" she trailed off.

"Just relax, Kezia, deep breaths." Dr. Kim was still there? Kezia felt the mask press a little firmer. Kezia's eyes swirled around the room.

From somewhere way below her, Kezia heard Farah. "Okay, Yas, Foley please? Thanks. Watch her legs." Louder, she said, "I'm removing them, honey, here we go." Kezia felt the cool room air on her crotch, and her panties slipping down her legs. She couldn't fight. Her legs were lifted slightly, the nurses bending them at the knees.

There was a shuffle of sensations connected only by the place they were occurring, just in the region of Kezia's pelvis. Cool wipes, soft fabric, gloved hands…then the abrupt piercing weirdness of something going inside her.

"Aaaaaa." Was all Kezia could manage.

"Almost there, Kezia, you're doing great." More quietly, "…okay, balloon up, we're in."

Kezia felt like she was peeing, and she moaned softly in sedated panic. The cuff again, and a beep.

"122/83. Looks great. BIS 71."

"Okay, last of the meds now, Kezia, you'll be sleeping soon." Someone touched her gently on the forehead, almost like they were brushing her eyelids. Were her eyes closed or open? She couldn't really tell.

"Prop going in - go slow, Yasmin." Kezia's ears started to ring, and she felt her cheeks flushing. She breathed slowly, methodically. The machines beeped and whirred, the cuff squeezed, and her pee ran down a tube and into a bag.

As she was winking out, she thought she heard one last thing. "…sanitary…rectal tube…okay, roll her…"

=====

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[naniwatig3r]

AT YOUR SIDE (18+)

Knight!Hoshi x Knight!Femreader

Summary: You work hard everyday as a dame, a female knight. Proving your place. Finally you snap when your fellow knights, including your brigade’s leader, Kwon Soonyoung don’t match your discipline.

Warnings: some ranting about misogyny, f oral recieving, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, inaccurate medieval history (did not research)

a/n: Based on those beautiful photos of Hoshi in armor from the spell mv <333 Also fic is unedited and out of my ass 😞 first fic here, please provide feedback

Word count: 4.9k

—————————

The sun glares, making the heavy chain armor and plates hot to touch. Sweat collecting at your brow as as you swing your sword, whishing through the heated air into the straw dummy in front of you. The sword sinks in, the beautiful heavy feeling that you’re so accustomed to for the last few years.

But relishing in the zone of your training doesn’t last long. As you hear boistering laughter, straightening back up with your heavy sword. How the other knights act like fools; laughing and making crude jokes of women, beer, or whatever antics they get up to. But not you. Since you were a squire, you’ve worked so hard to be here. Being a woman, it was not easy. Harder than everyone else, you think, if someone would just lend an ear and listen.

But you made your way. Hardening yourself from the sexist and crude jokes, the hard training, and the hazing of the knight you were a squire for. Until you were finally knighted.

You thought that was it, finally, being with the dedicated knights that worked as hard as you, that could recognize your dutiful determination. The way your muscles ached until you could scream during training. The way you’ve laid down the life of many for the sake of your kingdom. How you’ve dedicated your life to finally stand as a Royal knight.

Oh but you were wrong. So wrong. Even with the acknowledgment of the king, the passive looks, the way no one took you seriously, it was one thing. But when the knights you oh so respected finally revealed their true colors from behind the public perception, it boiled your blood. The drinking, the abuse of power, the lack of training.

And the worse of all, the leader of the royal knights, Kwon Soonyoung. Hoshi, the Kingdom’s Tiger, The Wild Suzerian, the Kingdom’s secret weapon.

He laughs back, his damp hair glistening in the sun from — what you’d consider — minimal training. As he leans back onto a wooden post, surrounded by the other knights as they speak of things you care nothing about.

It wasn’t fair. You thought, as you grip the hilt of your sword tightly. You were boiling in the heavy metal, weighed down by the pounds of chain mail. Something that you were used to, but was somehow more suffocating today from the excessive heat. Soonyoung was just wearing a loose linen shirt, the strings loosely tied.

You strike down on the dummy once more.

Grunting, you feel your hands clam under the gloves. The sweat traveling to all the way to the tips of your fingers. Soonyoung wasn’t suffering like this, you thought. Hands free as he shoves the other knights as he laughs loudly, leaning so casually against the wooden post. His trousers tight like he wasn’t meaning to train at all, just to come to personally spite.

Another slash across the dummy.

How the corner of his lips curve into an irritating smile, does he care at all? Like the kingdom doesn’t rely in him, how people of the kingdom see him as a savior, how the King praises him? The way his eyes squint and sparkle under the sun, like he’s allowed to be this relaxed. Not fair, not fair, not fair.

You let out a loud cry as you swing your sword hard as you can, surprisingly, cutting through the worn out dummy. The straw torso dropping to the rough dirt, as the swing of the sword makes you stumble. Throwing the hilt of it onto the ground, free from it’s weight.

You grab your helmet, throwing it to the ground in anger, freeing your face finally as you can breathe. The small slits and openings of the helmet restricting your breathing too much before. You take a deep breath, as you whip your head towards Soonyoung, the other royal knights, who now stare at you. From your loud outburst, and surprise at the cut dummy in half.

“Are you all insane?” You say loudly, panting as you stare at them angrily. Sweat beading down your forehead, strands of your long hair slick against your skin.

“Royal knights — how laughable,” You scoff, as you flicker your eyes between them all. Barely clad in their respective armor, Their swords hung up on the weapon rack. “Laughing like a bunch of little boys, while the Kingdom is preparing for war.” You hiss, as you point at the weapon rack, “Swords hung, dusty, with cobwebs, the way you all indulge in vices as our people beg for help in rural villages, how our people in the inner city speak on crimes and injustices.” You continue bitterly, unhooking your gloves, throwing them onto the dirt with a huff. (It was fine, your squire will pick it up.)

“The audacity of the lot of you,” You hiss, spitting at the floor before stomping away, back to the knight quarters, to peel the sweaty hot metal off you. Heating from the blistering sun, and the boiling of your blood. Through your anger you’re oblivious to the attention following you as you head for the barracks. The eyes of the Kingdom’s tiger focused steady on the back of your head, as you walk off.

—

You huff frustratingly, as you throw the chain mail onto the wooden bench, finally feeling relief as your bare skin is freed. Hands on your hips, as you kick the nearest chest with anger, grimacing as you withstand the pain of your foot as you continue to beat the poor chest.

��Angry little thing aren’t you?” You hear, the voice soft and amused. Making you still, as you put your foot down. “First the dummy, now that chest. Keep that up and the treasury will cry over the new supplies we’ll need replacing.”

You turn, seeing Soonyoung. Your breath hitching as he leans on the wall, arms crossed, relaxed and inquisitive. His head tilted, his eyes boring into you. An easy smile on his face, like your outburst meant nothing at all. Which didn’t aid in all in your simmering temper.

“Sir Kwon,” You address, keeping formalities despite what happened only a minute ago. “I apologize,” You grit, glancing your eyes away. “The heat has gotten to me, I could not turn a blind eye to the lack of training.” You say, gripping your bare fist tight, running over the calloused skin of your knuckles.

All you can hear is a snicker, in the quiet barracks, as he uncrosses his arms and stalks over. Making you sieze up slightly, not used to his presence like this. Sure, you were on the same brigade, following under his leadership, but he never paid attention to you. There was nothing to scold, the way you train so consistently, how you run laps around the other royal knights despite your recent accolade. So his eyes, so carefully trained on you, made your skin crawl.

“No need to,” He starts lightly, “It was fun. Seeing you finally under that dutiful attitude of yours.” He grins, “Tell me, was it really the sun that made you break?” He asks, tilting his head, like a taunt.

This made you tense, readjusting the tightness of your fists. This was nothing, you thought. Many have belittled you, made fun of you, hazed you. So why was it that just a simple knowing smile made you want to scream? To choke out the famous Kingdom’s Tiger?

“It was the sun, sir,” You say quietly and shortly. Looking into his eyes, your gaze determined and strong, how it always was.

He hums, nodding his head, “Right, I see. Must be because of all that armor.” He muses, smiling, as he glances at the mess of the layers of your knight armor scattered on the bench and floor in a frenzy. “It’s not required you know,” He says, “To be in full attire during training all the time. Especially in this heat.” He continues.

You shake my head, “It’s duty and how I was taught. I must always be ready and comfortable in the attire. In training, at war, at duty.” You recite, your words firm. It also had to do with your status as a woman. You never showed up in anything less than your required armor. It made you feel like you belonged, that the curves of your body were shielded. That your combat and dedication combined with hiding under all of those layers, you were seen on the same level as all the other royal knights.

He sighs, “Sad,” He begins, “A lady ought to know that she was born with weapons of her own.” He says, trailing his eyes. “You know theres more ways to fight than holding a sword, don’t you, dame y/n?” He says, his tone light, condescending in your ears.

You scowl, as you look down and realize the extent of your exposure. Your chest wrapped in bandages for security, breasts straining against them. Your loose linen trousers thin enough that the curves of your hips press against the fabric. You bite your tongue, “Of course, as a man you see that.” You start lowly, “But as you said, I am a dame, a knight. The only thing that matters is my duty to the king and the sword in my hand, just like you.”

Soonyoung grins, amused at your response. His eyes still trained on you, like predator to prey. For a moment you see how he earned the title of the Kingdom’s tiger, the way his eyes dance around you like you’re his next target. “Admirable,” He says, “Frustrating, but admirable.” He admits, crossing his arms as he steps even closer. The smell of him was strangely intoxicating, of pine and a layer of musk that was actually nice. Nothing like the gagging smell of sweat and men you were accustomed to.

“You’re tightly wound, dame y/n.” He states. His expression hardening slightly, “You’re dedicated, skilled. But your lack of flexibility is worrying. Misery should not be your only state.” He says, his eyes glowering into you. Making you tense with anger.

You? Unflexible? Living in misery? “What would you know, sir?” You grit, “You don’t know how hard it was to be knighted in my position.” you say, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t choose, that is just how it is. While you all monkey around, I must uphold. No one will ever see the extent of my hardwork and dedication, but God will. And so will the king.” you spit, glowering as your knuckles turn white from your hard fists.

Soonyoung raises his brows, but doesn’t back down. Its infuriating, the way he doesn’t flinch. How he looks down at you from his height, already feeling like mock without doing anything. The worst of it, how your chest tightens at how his eyes look, curious and listening.

“No one will see?” He repeats, “Thats wrong, dame y/n.” He says flatly, “Who do you think recommended you for the knighting ceremony?” He starts, making your eyes widen at what he’s confessing.

He shakes his head, sighing, “I’m not claiming it was all me.” He starts, “I frequented the squire quarters many times. Looking for talent, as the king prepared for war. I watched you. Your skill definitely aided in the fast track of your knighthood.” He says, his eyes focused on you solely, like the room was fading out. “Training until you passed out, up at 5 everyday, taking orders from your assigned knight with no hesitation.” He lists, stepping closer, making you stumble back, but the more you step back, he continues to close distance.

“The way you swing your sword,” He says lowly, licking his lips, like he’s replaying the many times he’s seen you practice and fight. “How much power in that delicate body of yours, the technique of it. Hell, the way you sliced the training dummy in half like a loaf of bread.” He says, his voice hurriedly, excited the more he lists things he admires about you.

Your back is against the wall now, the cobbled stone rough against your bare skin. Your eyes wide, mouth agape speechless at Soonyoung’s specific praises. He leans forward, placing a hand next to the wall as he traps you in. “No one will see you say?” He says, flickering his eyes as he gazes at you intensely. “Y/n, forget the King, God, or whatever validation you seek for. I’m right here.”

Your eyes widen, breath hitched as you hear his words. The infamous wild sezarian is a fan of yours? Supported you until you finally got what you deserved, and this whole time you stared at him in envy and bitterness. But you couldn’t forgive the blasphemy of his words, “Watch your mouth sir,” You manage to say, “Thats heresy! you could —“

“What? Get in trouble?” He muses, breath fanning over your face. “Tell me, would you report me?” He asks, his free hand moving up to push a strand of hair away from your face, rendering you still. “You might, you’re so dutiful, aren’t you my dame?” He says lightly, like you’re his.

He bounces his gaze around your face, taking it in. This time, no helmet, just your hair framing your face, close as he’s ever seen it. And he can’t help but feel a swell of excitement. “Let me reward you,” He suggests, his voice breathy, “When was the last time you’ve truly been paid attention to?”

You gulp, swallowing hard under his burning gaze. Your skin heating once more, despite how the cold cobblestone wall is pressed against your back, only clad in thin linen and bandages. You feel your heart beat hard against your chest, so loud, Soonyoung must be able to hear it. It was a unrecognizable feeling, the way your knees weaken, a fluttering feeling starting to take root in your lower abdomen.

“Being a knight and doing my duty is rewarding enough.” You manage to choke out, a little proud that your words were steady coming out of your mouth.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, “I’m sure thats true,” He says sarcastically, “But a human being, even as admirable as you deserves a break, don’t you think?” He points out, as he leans closer to that your noses could brush, making you take a sharp inhale. A chill down your spine that travels straight to your core.

“Dame y/n, is it that horrible to remember that you are a woman under that armor?” He whispers into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “It is no curse on you. It what makes you so deliciously different and refreshing from the spoiled brats that think Knighthood is their right.” He says, firmly, “You should not mold yourself into such a miserable life where you forget who you are inherently. You deserve to have the same audacity of ones who can’t hold a candle to your hardwork.”

His hand travels from beside your ear, down to trail your jawline, to your neck, in a slow agonizing pace. Making you flutter your eyes in response, never having felt such a gentle touch in all years you’ve lived. “If they can indulge in vices, then you very well can too,” he whispers, moving his other hand that was trapping you in to caress your cheek. Leaning down to give you an open mouthed kiss on the side of your neck, making you gasp in response. “Let me give you what you deserve, y/n,” He says lowly, his breath ghosting your skin as he peppers gentle kisses.

“Sir!” You gasp, as grabs you by the waist tightly, right under your bandages. at the rough pads of his fingers feeling like they always belonged there. Your cheeks burn, flustered from his advances, your hands shooting up to grip his arms. Oh, how toned they are under the thin linen, hard against your hands as your resolve weakens.

“Sir, this is inappropriate, I’m a knight under —“

“Under me,” He murmurs, “Quite figuratively and literally, yes?” He says like it’s normal. Taking a deep breath as he kisses down to the swell of your breasts, the taste of your skin intoxicating. The smell and taste of your sweat from training mingled by the rose tonic you use when you bathe. He lets out a soft breath, running his hands down your binded chest until he lowers himself down to his knees. A sight you’ve never even dreamed of seeing in your lifetime.

He looks up at you, a look of arousal and focus, his fingers teasing the waistband of your linen trousers. Licking his lips in anticipation, his pupils dilated. Something you’ve only really seen right before the surge of battle. “Inappropriate, sure, but you haven’t pushed me away, have you, my dame?” He points out, knowing full well if you wanted to, he’d be flat on the ground for trying to advance on you.

He was right. You don’t know whats happening, but the need building in your abdomen, the way you push your thighs tightly together as you take a sharp breath, you wanted it. You wanted it bad.

The second the look in your eyes softens, a wild grin finds Soonyoung’s face, his eyes in the dimness of the room twinkling with a newfound vigor. Like a tiger really was in front of you. He claws at your lower abs, before pulling down the linen pants, revealing your cunt. Glistening, shamelessly showing how affected you were this whole time despite your attempts at being professional. You take a sharp breath, cheeks burning, sensitivity heightened under his gaze.

He leans in, taking a deep breath through his nose, as he licks a strip up your pussy in an agonizingly slow pace. The warmth of his tongue against your slickness making you involuntarily moan out, your hands immediately finding anchor on the cobblestone behind you.

“Beautiful,” He breathes, grabbing the hold of the back of your thigh, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder. The further access, making him kiss your clit with a gentleness that makes your stomach flutter, and a whimper escape your mouth. His eyes flickering to your face, as he smiles. “This cunt of yours,” He says shamelessly, making your cheeks flush further. “It’s been neglected too long.”

Immediately his mouth is back on you once more, tongue swirling a circle around your clit, sucking slightly as you buck your hips into his face. His hand holding your thigh on his shoulder in place, as you throw your head back against the stone wall. Lapping up your juices with a satisfied groan, your taste everything Soonyoung imagined and more. The soft whimpers from your mouth going straight to his cock, as it strains against his pants. Its heavenly, for both you and Soonyoung, as your eyes roll back unevenly from his ministrations.

He licks another stripe up your folds, this time settling his tongue into your opening, prodding it open as he hardens his tongue to intrude into you. The action making you cry out, pulling him closer with your leg around his shoulder. The way your pussy clenches excites him, feeling how you tense as he continues to tongue fuck you. Moaning as he does it, savoring your taste, the heat and scent of your cunt wholeheartedly. He moans, kissing your entrance as he mutters, “You taste so good,” He whines, “Divine, better than any bottle of wine.” He praises, flickering his eyes up to see your face contorted in pleasure.

Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut as you lose yourself in the feeling of Soonyoung’s mouth. The sight only making him more determined to pleasure you, as he keeps his steady eyes on you, he latches his mouth back around your clit, alternating from sucking and flicking with his tongue. You buck your hips, grinding against his mouth instinctively, gasping as you grab at the stone behind you.

He uses his free hand to finally stick one finger into you, the stretch warm, and easy, but tight as your walls clench around his finger. Soonyoung moans, his own eyes rolling back from just the tightness of your walls. Already getting off of the idea of you around his cock, as he ruts into you. His impatience showing as he doubles his efforts, sucking your swollen clit with fervor as he pumps another finger into you, curling his slender fingers until he feels your spongy flesh. Knowing he’s found the right spot as you basically double over, find your hands in his hair, gripping tightly.

Its mindnumbing, the combination of Soonyoung’s smart mouth and nimble fingers, as you feel the tight knot in your stomach build. You cry out, whimpers and whines escaping your throat as you tense, the feeling of pleasure starting to get overwhelming. “Sir, sir, I’m going to —“ You try and warn, before your voice cuts out as you gasp loudly. Hands tightly pulling on Soonyoungs’s hair as he grunts from your hands. Your body shuddering as you whine, riding out your high on Soonyoung’s face, his hand a tight grip on your ass. Seemingly determined to drown in your juices.

You pry his face off your cunt, as he seemed a bit lost in you. The over sensitivity making you push him away, as he pants, looking up at you with awe. He licks his lips, your slick allover his nose, mouth and chin. The filthy sight making you let out a sharp exhale of arousal, already feeling yourself start up again once more.

He stands up, pushing you back up against the wall, “Now taste,” He murmurs, closing in and molding his lips with yours. Warm and soft, as he pushes his tongue against yours. You moan, tasting your own juices on his tongue, as he kisses you with a slow pace. Pulling back, a trail of saliva and your arousal between your mouths. Licking his lips, as you stare back heavy lidded. “Tasted yourself, haven’t you?” He says breathlessly, “Can you see how ruined I am now that I have you?” He moans, as he grabs the bandages around your chest, using his strength to roughly rip them off with ease. His hands immediately coming up to massage your freed breasts, rubbing his thumbs on your nipples as you whimper in pleasure, pinching and massaging them.

“Wicked thing aren’t you?” he continues, murmuring it into your skin, his mouth against your ear as he squeezes your breasts. “Blessing me with the prettiest, divine pussy I’ve ever seen, better than any woman, whore, or lady I’ve aquainted,” He growls, “My dame, how have you walked around this kingdom without me buried into you at all times?” He says, like you’ve committed the greatest crime. His words going straight to your core, dripping, as you clench around nothing, needing more.

“I apologize sir,” you breathe, need evident in your voice. Biting down on your lip, fluttering your eyes as he kneads your breasts, making you squirm under his hands. You look like a sight, the way Soonyoung reacts as his angry expression turns focused. Cheeks flushed, your pretty lashes against your cheeks as tears of pleasure dance at the corners of your eyes. Ridiculous, he thinks, that you’ve been here all the time. And it’s taken him this long to take you.

He huffs, “No need. We remedy it now,” He says firmly, his leader like voice coming out. He lets go of your breasts reluctantly, unbuttoning his trousers, his dick springing against his chest. Angry like he is, pink and pretty, slick with pre cum. The sight of him already making your legs weak, just imagining him inside you.

He steps back, sitting on the wooden bench, pushing my haphazardly thrown armor out the way for space. A hand to his dick, pumping it slowly a few times as his eyebrows furrow, a moan coming out of his lips. You take a deep breath, stepping up to him.

“Sir, let me,” You say, straddling on top of him, the closeness between his cock and your pussy making you throb with need. You let out a sigh as you wrap your rough hands around Soonyoung’s dick, stroking him slowly, exploratory. Making him gasp and take a sharp inhale.

“Fuck,” He groans, his noises music to your ears. Squeezing slightly, as you press your thumb over the slit of his dick, slick with his precum. The action making him moan out, “Enough, no more teasing,” He breathes, putting his hands over yours. “Let me give you what you deserve, Dame y/n.” He says, making eye contact with you, his eyes soft but still determined with arousal and anticipation.

He holds you up, until you’re hovering over him, kissing you momentarily just from missing the way your lips tasted a moment ago. He adjusts, as you both moan out as the tip of his cock swipes against your folds.

You start sinking down, gasping, your breath caught in your throat. Inch by inch, Soonyoung’s cock stretching you out deliciously, the pain and pleasure knocking the wind out of you as he watches intently at the filthy sight of his cock disappearing into you, until he bottoms out. You breathe, adjusting, holding Soonyoung’s shoulders tightly. Fuck, was it beautiful. If you could, you would write epics of how he felt in you, have the bards at those stupid pubs sing about how magical he felt, how perfect he was.

And it starts, as he starts rolling his hips, grabbing your ass with his hands tightly, roughly groping them as he starts a slow but deep pace. “Heavenly,” He breathes, his eyes furrowed in pleasure. “I’d win millions of battles just to have this pussy again.” He moans, as you squeeze around him so well. “Name it, kingdom, country, anything,” He rambles, drunk on the feeling of your pussy, how you drip and suck him in. The way your tits bounce in his face, how your hair falls so effortlessly around you. Especially the fact that no one would know how beautiful you were like this, taking him in so well like it was your knightly duty.

The praises only fuel you, as you wrap your arms tighter around Soonyoung’s neck, rolling your hips to meet his. Bottom lip under your teeth as you bounce on top of him, the knot in your chest building up again, as you chase that high eagerly.

Sweat, the painful pleasure of both of you clawing each other, the lack of caution as you both go at it roughly. One of your breasts trapped in his mouth as he sucks harshly, his hips snapping up with force that shakes the measly wooden bench under you both. You match him, the way your core burns at how hard and fast you roll your hips, fingers clawing deep into his back muscles. A chorus of moans and heavy breathing between you both, as it’s now just a matter of reaching the top of ecstacy.

“Come,” He grits, letting your tit go with a pop of his mouth, as he kisses up your neck, licking the sweet sweat of your skin. “You deserve it, my dame. Reward me with your release.” He commands, holding your waist down with both arms, fastening his pace as he holds you up like a ragdoll.

And with that you do, gasping as you choke out a loud cry, eyes shut as you shake and shudder, eyesight spotty as every part of your lower half spasms with utmost pleasure. Squeezing Soonyoung’s shoulders hard, making him wince at your strength as you ride your orgasm to completion, panting heavily.

Soonyoung pulls you off despite his body screaming him not to, as he clumsily grabs his dick, stroking it hard until spurts of his release come out, as he moans, tapping his dick against your stomach as he recovers, coating your chest with his warm cum.

Its quiet for a moment, as you pant, catchin your breath, sitting on top of him as he holds you close, breathing in your sweat as he rests his chin in the nook of your neck. His touches light, once more, as he rubs circles into your back. “God,” He sighs, continuing a string of curses, before lifting his head to look into your eyes. Despite the exertion, his eyes are wide, a film of sweat over his handsome face. A look of a man who discovered excalibur on his face as he looks at you.

For once, you look relaxed. Your shoulders down, eyebrows no longer furrowed, the normal guarded look on your face gone. For once you look like a woman, one thats utterly you, strong and beautiful. Looking how you should, satisfied and cared for. Only making Soonyoung’s resolve tighten, thoughts filling his brain of taking care of you, making sure you feel the appreciation you deserve.

“My dame,” He starts quietly, “I never want you to have an outburst like that again,” He starts, referring to your angry insults thrown at the other royal knights, “If you need an outlet, let me be one for you.” He promises, gripping your hands tightly in his. “Let me fight your battles strongly beside you,” He says, kissing you briefly, “Never be alone. I am here.”

You nod, feeling an undescribable feeling in your chest rise. Odd, how your hands are with one of the most respected knights in the kingdom, the same man you despised and felt envy for. Odd that you let this same man ravish you and make you remember that there was more to life than just your royal duties. And very odd, that now you have the Kingdom’s Tiger by your side.

[eupheme]

any tips for how to get started writing fanfics? i have so many ideas but idk where to start! also just wanna say that i LOVE your writing and logan fics :-)

hi anon! thank you so much, that is so sweet to hear and I’m honored that you send this! 💖 are there any questions in particular you had? I wasn’t sure, so I wrote down some general tips and some links to helpful resources as well!

when starting, I usually like to have a scene in my mind that I want to explore. you can absolutely just dive right in and start writing, but lately I like to have an idea of where I’m going with it (not a fully detailed plot, but like - general bullet points).

for a series or multi-chapter, I’ll write those bullet points down, and then try to break them up into chapters, based on what I think makes sense for pacing. and then from there, I start to fill in the beats (but I do jump around a lot! everyone has preferences, there’s no wrong way to do it)

but if you are just starting, then I’d recommend a drabble! something short and sweet, without the pressure of a word count or an expansive plot. just seeing where it takes you, and what kinds of things you enjoy writing.

the best piece of advice I can give is to write what you love and what you want to read.

if you’re sitting there like “I would love to read a fic where X did Y-”, then that is a good place to start! maybe start mapping out what that scene might look like - from the characters, to the scenes, to the dialogue, and then start filling in the details from there.

(and if you’re not sure what to write, prompts are always a great place to start! I love the lists by @nightprompts and @creativepromptsforwriting - they have sentence starters and quotes, they’re a great resource for inspiration! 💖)

(some additional references I’ve found helpful:)

Fandom Inclusion

Smut Thesaurus

Show Don’t Tell

Writing Summaries

[ithinkdogshouldvote2]

I didnt. Dndads hiveswap au be upon ye

[jobbot]

just got this for like 20 bucks holy shit

[aroanthy]

ohhhh and suddenly everything is different now. if you even care. they have looked at each other. btw. looking and seeing and perceiving and understanding as my absolute favourite things in rgu. bearing witness to things. knowing. having the illusion of knowledge or understanding. attempting to unpick what is and isn’t valuable, what we do and don’t understand. watching a play and wondering who produced it. nakedness and clothes and costumes and how they all pertain to this truth/untruth dichotomy that is absolutely not a dichotomy whatsoever. did you guys know i really like aou’s painting motif btw

[rontra]

So, given you are interested in DC, or at least aspects of it and RWBY I am curious what your thoughts were on the recent crossover? I assume positive given the art, which s amazing by the by. Also low key curious if you have any "born in DC" headcanon for superhero RWBY. No pressure though.

THE MOVIE YOU MEAN??? well first off thank you hahahah

& for #2 i don't really have any headcanons like that ... somehow i struggle with conceptualizing rwby crossovers w my other interests in general. (maybe it's because rwby's language is so specific to me i struggle to translate in or out of it????)

i do think however we should rank dc characters on how competently they could solve the salem situation /j*

the movies... i watched them back to back in the same night of course, so it was very funny to like, go directly from v7 to post-v9. they were like Guys you will not believe the shit that happened to us since last time we spoke

of course it's crossover spinoff material and not that important to me in the grand scheme of things. so my mode of interaction with it is mostly Enjoying A Light Snack. i can't say i have many capital t Thoughts that are worth posting about individually bc of that. but i DID enjoy the post-v9 aspect of movie2 bc like--altho obviously they can't dig into this shit in a crossover spinoff film--it still gives somewhat of an inclination towards what the writing room is thinking about. ruby especially i had a great time with. how's figuring out the summer rose shit going for you girl (BADLY) (LOL)

oh and omg invoking raven's name ... RAVEN MENTIONED... (to yang no less. heh)

a lot of salem namedrops in movie2 as well which i did chuckle about every time. speaking of, salem not going to vacuo Bolstered... hee hee hoo hoo... pleaaase give me evil gang meetup at beacon pleaaase

movie1 was a special treat for me because i loved all the "this doesn't make any sense this doesnt add up" Memory/Continuity/Spatial fuckery. i could've genuinely watched two full movies about rwby characters going "wait, that doesn't make any sense" at each other. i REALLY enjoyed that. very good show. pyrrha moment very fun also

i think zatanna shouldve showed up in movie2. for me.

i thought i was gonna miss bat ears brucie baby from the RWBYxJL comic more than i did. i think of him so fondly. but wings were kinda fun .... 🦇

movie1 had a little too much diana characterization disease for me to enjoy her. but that's so common its barely worth leveraging as Specific To This Movie. and i feel like she barely talked in movie2 so jury's still out on that. but of course there's a fair bit of wriggle room for the dc characters (in movie1 especially) as well given the "its a random ass crossover so the meta stakes have never been lower + they all got Genuine Teenager Brain for the whole first movie anyway"

movie2 had some pretty cool animation moments that i really noticed. movie1 wasnt like Awful but movie2 was the one where i perked up like "oh, that animation looked cool", you know? also i really liked the models they made for team rwby. the stylization felt nicely balanced to me?...if that makes sense. i hope we can see more models like them in the future just for me. idc who uses them but its my christmas wish RT please

final evaluation: better than DC/RWBY the comic. here is my favorite screenshot

so true girls<3

*wonder woman could fix everything i know this about her

[swasdoodles]

When the boss said he was hangin' up his hat, everyone was lousy with speculation. Nobody was expectin' it to actually stay in the family, but Daylight Spring grew up in the business and took to it like marbles on a dish. And while that might seem like a lot for a young filly, that's what help like Gardenia Glow and Pepperdance are for.

New OC. Daylight Spring, a little criminal.

[cat-dragron]

Oh yeah, reaching that point of the obsession where I have so many thoughts and opinions on something that watching reviews about it is difficult bc they miss something I think is important.

I really need to start drafting a video essay at this point... <- guy who has never done media analysis in his life.

[s0dium]

Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

[linoveins]

silky shorts and stained shirts

when best friend!minho sees fem!reader in revealing clothes for the first time…

genre: smut n fluff

warnings: masturbation, perversion, dom/sub fantasies. minors, do not interact!!

w.c.: 2.1k

minho often visits your place unannounced. at some point you just gave him a key and he gladly takes advantage of it. just like today.

minho just got back from dance practice and decided to raid your apartment for some food since he forgot to do groceries and he's feeling too lazy to do them now. 

“Y/N!!!” he announces his arrival, strolling through the door like it’s his place like always.

the apartment is too silent. he figures you’re not home yet. you had a lecture around this time so he wasn’t really expecting you to be here.

he opens your pantry in attempts of finding something quick to eat but clicks his tongue at the lack of food that greets him. seems like you didn’t do your groceries too. he heads to the fridge, hoping for a miracle, and his eyes practically sparkle at seeing a cup of his favorite pudding.

he opens it up, a joyous look resting on his face like a child finding a hidden stack of candy. he makes himself comfortable on your couch, happily chewing on the sweet treat while turning on the television.

he laughs to himself. you’d definitely be annoyed at him for eating your dessert.

deciding to be even more annoying, he gets his phone and takes a video of himself happily munching on the pudding he stole.

“nomnomnomnom.” he chews in front of the camera tauntingly and sends you the video with a mischievous grin on his face.

“ding!” what the hell? the unexpected notification sound coming from your room makes him jump. he gets off the couch and goes to your room to inspect. he already guesses you're probably in there, choosing sleep over attending a minor class. it has happened too many times. you'll always regret it afterwards. he'll definitely scold you for skipping your lecture.

minho opens the door, ready to wake you up, and his heart just drops to his belly.

there you are, in deep sleep, in the thinnest shorts he’s ever seen you in. he hasn't even seen you in any piece of clothing that stops above halfway of your thigh. the loose strap of your camisole had fallen off your shoulder. your legs are tangled with the blanket, one of it hitched over the material, and his knees almost buckle at the bit of cleavage your position subjected you to.

you’re a restless sleeper. he has a whole album in his phone of you in weird positions while asleep. he playfully threatens you that he’ll post some on your birthday when you annoy him with your antics but he never does, wanting to keep the funny and adorable sight to himself.

although what he’s seeing right now is not funny at all. his cock twitches in his pants almost immediately. he blinks three or four times in shock before he finally closes your door, cursing at himself and running to the bathroom.

since when did you look like that?

had your thighs always looked that fucking soft? he groans at the apparent feeling of his sweatpants getting tighter. he has to collect himself.

but he wants to grab your thighs... spread you for him maybe. you’d look so pretty. would you shiver if he touches you higher? and your tits…

“shit.”

he now has an erection in your bathroom, right after staring at your exposed body for much longer than he should have (not long enough, he thinks and buries deep), and right after eating the last cup of pudding you had.

what a horrible friend he is.

he sighs and palms himself. yeah, he’s horrible. he’ll buy you two extra cups of pudding later but he has to take care of his problem for now before he loses his mind. 

he bites his lip, trying to keep quiet as he pushes his pants down. he palms his twitching cock and hisses.

minho gathers all the shame left in him and turns on your faucet to muffle the sounds he knows he’s gonna make eventually. upping your water bill while he jacks off to the thought of your sleeping form...

what a damn horrible friend.

he gently gathers the pre-cum from his tip and spreads it over his cock. he groans. don’t think about her, don’t think about her, don’t think about her… he repeats it in his head as if his cock will listen.

shit, your bathroom smells like you, of course. his cock jumps at the memory of your smell, now invading his senses, and he gives up on trying to be decent and just closes his eyes, thinking of you sprawled out so vulnerable and pretty. 

he’s squeezes the base and he strokes. his thoughts go back to your thighs. your perfect fucking thighs… shit, if he could only push them together and fuck his cock in between them. would you squirm? he bets you will. you can’t even take a massage without squirming. you'll squirm on it, alright.

he keeps the pace rather slow, trying to make the fantasy last as long as possible. he decides he can feel guilty about it all he wants after. 

he's sure you’d go shy on him. you’d whine and complain about it being too big. he squeezes at the base. he’d coo at you. maybe he’ll grind it on your pussy first. he bets you’ll really squirm at that. but he’ll keep you in place. he’ll hold your thighs down. fuck. your soft fucking thighs. he grips himself harder. 

he won’t take your cute little shorts off. he’ll push the fabric aside and rub his heavy cock on you. you’d be so fucking wet, he thinks. so wet for him. he strokes a bit faster. he hopes you’d be so fucking sensitive too. he’d tap it on your clit. no- he groans. he’ll slap it on you. you'd whine so prettily, won't you? moan his name with your gentle voice? you'd get wetter. he'll make sure of it. he'd spread you and fucking hump his cock on your cunt for all he's worth. you would be so fucking wet. shit. 

you’d cry and tell him you're too sensitive. he'd hum in your ear, “poor baby”, in the sweetest fucking tone you’ve heard. but he won’t stop. you don't want him to. he’ll push his cock on it harder. you would grip onto his thighs, whimpering like a good girl.

minho's hand cramps from his harsh strokes. he switches to his other hand and tugs on it at a faster pace. you'd drool and bite on your lips, he can almost taste it. he decides he'll pull down the other strap of your top until your tits fall out. he keeps up the pace. he’s almost there. he'll fondle them. he knows they’re soft too. they'll be so soft and perfect in his rough palms. he’d pinch and squeeze and hold and fucking grope while his dick runs over and over your clit. you’d keep whining about how it’s too much. too sensitive. too intense. but you’ll love it, won't you? you'll beg him for more. he’ll laugh at you all sweet and condescending. “can’t even take it and i’m just rubbing on you? can this pretty pussy even handle me inside?” you'll pout at him for that and he'll follow eventually.

he’d keep playing with your tits. he'd use his mouth eventually. licking and sucking on it. you’ll try to muffle your sounds but you wouldn’t be able to. no, not when his cock would still be all over your messy cunt. he pants, biting on his lip. he’s almost fucking there. he’d take things further. maybe bite on your nipple while twisting and tugging the other one. then he'll do it. oh, you'll scream so good when he rams himself inside you without warning. you'll be latching onto him, clenching and whimpering and cumming fucking hard on his cock.

minho cums right after his image of you. his vision blurs. it’s dizzying. hot liquid squirts all over his shirt, coating his hand. goodness, there’s a lot of fucking cum. he leans back on the door with a sigh, cock out and softening, guilt still far away after having one of the hardest orgasms he’s ever had.

a moment passes and he washes his hands. he washes his face too. his red ears and neck was an embarrassing sight. he gathers himself, and there it is. the guilt.

he realizes he made a mess of his shirt. he needs to get his shit together. he won’t risk the possibility of you seeing him in his cum-stained shirt. minho comes out of the bathroom, shirt in his hand. he’ll just quickly grab one of his hoodies in your closet. 

he enters your room, glaring hard at the closet like it's a life and death situation. he tiptoes across your room, not risking to look at you again.

he reaches the cabinet handle. quickly and quietly, he takes a hoodie. success.

“minho?” your gentle voice startles him out of his internal battles at the moment. “why are you naked?”

he puts on the hoodie, still avoiding looking at you while he closes the cabinet.

“spilled something on it.”

you blink. then you stretch while letting out a moan. he takes a deep breath.

you get up from the bed and go outside. he rolls his dirty shirt in his hand and follows you to the kitchen.

fuck. there you are again. you’re bending over, checking the damn fridge and he clenches his jaw so hard it feels like it's gonna break.

“did you eat my pudding?” you huff at him. he exhales.

“yeah. s-sorry. i’ll buy you two after”, he says, guilt-ridden, and you just stare at him for 5 seconds. shit, do you know about the other thing? it's not likely..

you laugh. “calm down. why do you look all pouty?” you think it’s odd. minho would usually poke fun at you for him eating your food. minho just blinks at you. you shrug and you just look for at least a snack.

“i forgot to do groceries… i won’t have shit to eat tonight”, you say, opening your pantry and finding nothing. you open your fridge again, then you open your pantry again as if food will mysteriously appear the second time you do it. 

he’d make fun of you for it if he wasn’t so distracted by your nipples poking through your camisole, the light from the kitchen making it visible and inviting. nope. you deserve the courtesy of him being normal.

he grips his dirty shirt that he’s still somehow holding onto. you don’t even seem to care about your little attire. you're so comfortable in his presence and here he is he feels warmth pool in his belly again. he blinks and stares at your face instead.

“y-yeah. i have to do groceries too. how about you go with me later? let’s eat at that new place near uni first”, minho says, trying to speak as non-chalant as possible.

“mhm okay. i’m hungry as hell though so let’s go now. i’ll just get changed”, you say as you walk back to your room.

you pass by him and suddenly grab his dirty shirt from him and he panics. he grabs it back a bit aggresively.

“hey! what the-”, you start but he interrupts you.

“sorry. it’s just really dirty”, he quickly says, gripping the shirt tightly so you won’t try doing anything again.

“yeah that’s why i’ll put it in the laundry bin. gimme.” you tug at the shirt he's holding while looking at him confused.

“i-i can wash it. besides, you’ll steal it from me and i like this shirt very much.” he doesn’t. and even if he did. he liked that you took his things. but he puts on a teasing smile anyway so you’ll buy his excuses. you just roll your eyes at him with a smile and shut your door to get changed.

minho sighs in relief. he goes outside your apartment to bury the evidence of his... perversions. he tosses the stained shirt into the bin outside, burying it under the other plastic bags. 

even after destroying evidence, it doesn't make him less guilty of the deed. he'll try not to think about it. it'll be easy. he'll get over it.

he comes back inside your apartment, and there you are again, all pretty in your ridiculous baggy pants and one of his hoodies you stole, all cute with a pout on your face as you frown at your phone when you hear the little “nomnomnomnom” sound come from it.

+-+-+-+

a/n: this is my first fic (drabble?) ever. pls bare with me. i made this account just to read but i got distracted seeing lino's ig story. he's sooooo fucking cute i had to write something. also idrk how to do warnings let me know if there should be something else there (^人^)

[verstappenverse]

Revved Up

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

Authors Note: Do I actually believe Max posts on his own instagram these days... let alone would post with a 'scandalous' caption...no? but this is fiction so it's all good 😂

1.4k words / Masterlist

Max was sitting on the plush leather couch in your shared Monaco apartment, flipping through TV channels with all the enthusiasm of a man waiting for a commercial break. He glanced at the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stunning Mediterranean view, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him. It wasn’t the usual race strategy or upcoming practice sessions that had him restless—it was something far more personal.

You.

More specifically the photo you had posted on Instagram earlier that day, a simple mirror selfie, a little scandalous but nothing crazy. You looked radiant, sure, but that was normal for you. You were always beautiful to him. What had caught his eye was the flood of comments, the notifications popping up every few seconds as he scrolled through your post.

He kept scrolling eyes narrowing as the likes kept ticking upwards. Then he saw it.

Your ex.

The guy who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that you were Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, because clearly he didn't see an issue with leaving a flirty comment that set Max’s nerves on edge.

'Looking gorgeous as always' it read, with an obnoxious little winking emoji at the end.

Max’s fingers tightened around the remote as the thought of some guy—especially your ex—thinking he had any right to compliment you in that way made his blood boil. You were his. The world knew it, but apparently some people needed reminding.

He didn’t say anything when you had walked into the living room earlier, cheerfully oblivious to his growing annoyance. Instead he had kept quiet, but now it was simmering just under the surface. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Max was used to; on the track he was calm, confident, but when it came to you, his cool, collected exterior faltered. Especially when some idiot tried to act like he still had a chance.

You entered the room now wearing a loose sweatshirt and leggings, a casual look that contrasted with the glamorous image you had posted earlier. Max glanced at you his jaw tightening, you could sense something was off.

“Max, is everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head as you grabbed your phone from the counter. You didn’t even have to unlock it before he spoke.

“That picture,” he said abruptly, his Dutch accent thicker than usual, which tended to only happen when his emotions were running high. His fingers tapped on the arm of the couch in an impatient rhythm.

You furrowed your brow. “What about it?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and you could see the tension in his posture. “Your ex commented on it.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking in surprise. You hadn’t noticed.“I didn’t even see that.”

Max didn’t like the idea of you looking at that idiot’s comment again, but you opened the app and scrolled down anyway finding the offending message almost immediately.

You rolled your eyes and let out a light laugh. “Seriously? He’s such a loser. I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

Max didn’t seem to find it as amusing as you did. His frown deepened. “Yeah, well, he still thinks he can leave comments like that. Like I’m not here.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his grumpy tone. “What, are you jealous?”

His reaction was immediate. “Jealous? Me? No...” He paused. “I mean... you know how many people liked that picture?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how serious he looked. “Max, it’s just Instagram, I think the point is to like pictures," you laughed, but his expression didn't change,"Max come on it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, though he still sounded more irritated than actually angry. “Everyone’s drooling over you in the comments. And then there’s him.”

You couldn't help chuckling again and slid onto the couch next to him, pressing your hand against his knee. “Are you worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upwards at the edges, betraying the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re being ridiculous.” You leaned closer, brushing your lips against his cheek.

Max sighed dramatically throwing his head back against the cushions. “Maybe I should just post a picture with you, remind people who you belong to.”

“Oh, who I belong to?” you teased, poking him playfully in the ribs. “That sounds a little possessive.”

There was a teasing glint in his eye now, but you could still feel the underlying jealousy. “Can you blame me?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, enjoying how worked up he was getting over something so trivial. Seeing him this riled up over some stupid comment was kind of… adorable. You kind of loved when he got all possessive, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.

“No, I guess I can’t blame you,” you sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But you know I don’t care about those comments, right? Especially not from my ex. I didn’t even notice it.”

“Maybe you should block him,” Max muttered back to sounding grumpy.

You laughed again, unable to stop yourself. “Max, it’s fine, if it’ll make you feel better of course I’ll block him. But I need you to know I never think about him.”

He softened a little at that, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders. “You better not.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him the warmth of his body calming. “Besides, none of those guys commenting are Max Verstappen now are they?”

“Exactly,” Max said, and there was that cocky smile you loved so much. The mood lightened as his fingers brushed through your hair. “None of them stand a chance.”

You grinned up at him. “And neither does my ex, so you can relax.”

He seemed to settle after that, his hand lazily stroking your arm as the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Good. But still…”

“Still what?”

“I think I should post a picture with you. Just to make sure everyone knows.”

You snorted. “You just want an excuse to show off.”

“Can you blame me?” he repeated, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for his phone. “Come on, one picture. Let me remind everyone you’re mine.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Fine. Just one.”

Max scrolled through his phone finding the perfect shot of you two together arms wrapped around each other, he quickly typed out a caption and hit ‘post.’ Not long after, your phone buzzed with notifications. His fans were quick, already liking and commenting on the post.

You glanced at it over his shoulder, chuckling at the caption: Just a reminder—she’s mine.

“Oh my God Max,” you groaned playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s true.”

You laughed and shook your head, leaning into him once more. “You really are something.”

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And don’t you forget it.”

The rest of the evening passed in a much lighter mood. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you paid much attention to it. Instead, you spent the time teasing Max about his jealous streak, much to his dismay.

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Max Verstappen got jealous over a social media comment,” you teased, curling up beside him on the couch.

He rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not jealous. I’m just… protective.”

“Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little jealous,” he admitted, pulling you closer. “You’re kind of amazing.”

You beamed up at him, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. “Well, good thing I’m all yours, huh?”

“Good thing,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss you, slow and sweet. When he pulled away, he added kiddingly “What about, no more selfies without me in them.”

You laughed and nudged him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

But deep down, you didn’t mind the way Max was with you. The way he got protective, a little possessive, and sometimes even a little jealous. Max was known as a fierce competitor on the track, but when it came to you, his heart felt just as fierce. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[followthebluebell]

Kleptogenesis, as in the salamanders steal genes? Tell me more

Yes! It's absolutely fascinating.

ok, so most species in the genus Ambystoma (mole salamanders) can cross-breed in very specific ways, which can result in entirely new all-female species. This is actually why axolotls are illegal to own in California; there's a lot of concern that released/escaped axolotls could cross-breed with the native tiger salamander, which is already vulnerable due to habitat loss and habitat fragmentation.

Fun note! Captive-bred axolotl (Ambystoma mexicanum) owe their existence to this ability to cross-breed! The fun colors we see in captive bred axolotls are thought to be the result of cross-breeding with other ambystoma species, especially the tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum). This is also why captive-bred pet axolotls don't hold much ecological value. They literally have genes that don't exist in the wild axolotl.

but anyway, back to the lesbian salamander species. There are lots and LOTS of these unisexual ambystoma species--- tbh, I shouldn't use the word 'species'. They're technically considered biotypes now, but 'species' is the word most people recognize more easily so it's the word i'm going to use.

During kleptogenesis, a female salamander just sidles on up to some suitable looking male and accepts his sperm packet. Then she just opens it up and rifles through it, looking for the genes she wants to use and discards the others. She can do this with MULTIPLE males of MULTIPLE species, as long as she's already got some of their DNA in her lineage. Some hybrid ambystoma have the dna of up to five other species! The end result of this form of reproduction is always female.

There's also some unisexual species like the silvery salamander that just... straight up don't use the genetic material at all, but still collect sperm packets. It's believed that the sperm packets stimulate egg development, even though they don't donate any genetic material.

You can loosely compare it to the fictional all-female species asari from Mass Effect.