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daddyhausen · 2 years ago

Note

Hi I requested Nick Jackson smut because he deserves me love 😍

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• caught on camera — nick jackson •

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{ masterlists } | { aew masterlist } | { nick jackson masterlist }

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{ summary } — what with nick out of the house and not due back for the next couple of days, it allowed you to experiment with your new found profession. with a new camera and an empty house, the possibilities were endless !

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{ warnings } — 18+ { minors do not interact }, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, sex work, filming, use of sex toys, female masturbation, voyeurism, facefucking, throatpie, breath play, hair pulling, male + female orgasms, squirting

{ word count } —2.1k

{ genre } — smut

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{ taglist } — @boutmachiness @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @baysexuality @chrisdickinson @cuzimacomedian @wardlow @sammiejane22 @april-jeanette-wagner @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @damnnhausen

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

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it's finally here! quickly you rushed to the front door, nothing but a sheer blush pink robe to cover your barely concealed modesty. an excited gasp audibly left your lips upon confirming what the package was. once within the safety of your house, and more so, the privacy of your office, practically tearing open the box, the remnants of which flying all over your office floor, silently making a reminder to clean it up later.

“hello my beauty…” you pried the item from its cardboard prison, revealing a brand new camera. the design was sleek and simple, yet the quality could be compared to the ones used in hollywood! and it was sure to capture all your assets beautifully!. with nick on the road so often and for so long, sex was few and far in between, your frustrations grew and so did your neediness. but you would not turn to other men for pleasure, oh no. you had come to adore your body and all its wonders from the months of lonely nights at home, touching and toying with yourself like no one else could.

it started with a few selfies, still clothed but lewd enough and left little to the imagination. but the praise from stranger’s online seemed to only boost your confidence more. it then transferred to lingerie, how the material would hug your body, wrapping and caressing your lovely curves, the praise only increased, about two months in, fully unclothed, confidence reaching its peak. you’d never felt sexier.

it had peaked your interest for a while, might as well make some money from it? people seemed to enjoy your bare form. you had your first stream a month or so ago, the sight of yourself on camera was nothing new, nick and yourself had already filmed such encounters before. the audience you had garnered over the last several months seemed to show, gathering in the stream chat anxious and waiting for such a lovely show.

would you say it was a career? it was definitely making you more cash than you would at your regular job, and who could blame you, sex sells after all.

you propped the camera down gently on your desk, careful not to damage your most prized possession aside from your wedding ring. it certainly matched the aesthetic of your office. baby pink lined every surface, accentuated with white, monitor on the left hand side of the desk, displaying the waiting screen and the awaiting chat feed, tripod next to it. with gentle hands you placed the camera atop the tripod plugging it in, admiring your work for the moment before hitting record. slowly comments from your admirers began to flood in, all begging for you to reveal what good you had stored underneath that rope. you gave a seductive wave to the camera, watching the number of viewers increase with each movement. bending over, pretty ass in the air, cunt glistening for the camera, a flurry of comments rushed in all complementing your form in explicit detail.

you retrieved a thrusting dildo from your drawer, the white cupboard filled with various sex toys you’d use on stream, and alone with nick. you made sure the dildo was in full view, displaying it to the camera for a moment before dragging it lightly up your thigh, the feeling was featherlight, reminding you the way nick’s fingers would traverse across your skin, dipping into each crevice of your body, teasing and toying with your sweet cunt.

you continued to drag the toy upward, resting it in the valley of your breasts, accentuating your cleavage by leaning forward slightly, preparing the toy as your tongue glossed spit along the head. with your free hand, slowly beginning to loosen the ties of your robe, teasing your viewers for a moment before fully exposing yourself to their gaze, giggling when the amount of likes your received shot up with a few explicit comments complementing your breasts.

you leaned back into your chair, one leg propped up on the arm rest, cunt in full view of the camera, slowly beginning to circle small shaped onto your clit. the silicone was warm against your skin, allowing you to sink back into the feeling, small moans and whimpers left your lips, pretty pussy glistening under the studio lights you had set up, loving the way you looked on camera.

you pushed the head of the dildo past your folds, an exalted sigh left your lips, such relief flooded your veins as you filled yourself to the brim, turning on the toy feeling it begging to pulse and thrust deep inside you.

you could not help but think of your husband. he’d been on the road for so long you almost forgot what his cock felt like. you missed the way he’d tease you, with his tongue especially, stretch and fill your cunt up, they way he’d have you completely and utterly cockdrunk within seconds, have you screaming and begging for release, making a mess of the bedsheets in the process, all the while he relished in it, in your orgasm and his, drinking you were an oasis in the desert and he a man dying of thirst. there was nothing to compare to it, not even the countless amount of toys stashed away in your bottom draw

“fuck…” you whimpered absentmindedly, soft and under your breath. eyes now closed, envisioning your husband. you could see him clear behind your eyelids, how his cock fucked you out, filling you up with such precision and absolutely ruining you with the force of his thrust. you could hear him, the sound of his moans ringing in your ear, echoing, the phantoms of his voice so dangerously close, edging you onward to release.

you pealed your eyes open momentarily to gaze at your monitor, views going up, donations flooding in, your viewers loved what they saw, pussy spread for them, toy fucking you out, thrusting deep into your cunt. a moan ripped through your lips, throwing your head back in pleasure as a particularly rough thrust from the toy caused your hips to jolt. eyes now fixated back onto your monitor, squinting slightly when you noticed the door left partially ajar. you’d sworn you’d locked it before hand and you weren’t exactly going to stop your show for something as simple as that. it was what was behind the door that had caught your attention.

“n-nick…?” you questioned, noticing your husband now standing in the doorway, his figure clearly visible in the stream, to which only heightened your viewership. you weren’t going to question how he had managed to sneak into the house without you knowing, more importantly how he did not tell you that he was going to be back earlier than you expected. peering down you noticed the prominent erection in his sweatpants, slowly palming himself as he met your gaze.

“don’t stop…” he muttered simply, stripping himself, his clothes gathered in a messy pile in the doorway. he peered around the room, having never set foot inside your office before, he found the new sight rather arousing, especially your set up, the way you sat poised in front of a camera, cunt dripping, exposed for the world to see, most of them unknowing that your pretty cunt belonged to him and that he was the only one who would ever be able to fuck it, fill it up with his seed, it turned him on.

his cock this, resting in his palm as he made his way towards you, his head out of frame, cock dangerously close to your lips, you were practically drooling at the sight of him. god, you missed him, in a way you were kind of relieved that he had caught you at such an opportunistic time, so willing to share your new found career with him.

“look at you, sweetheart. such a good little cockwhore…i bet you enjoy all those eyes on your pretty cunt” his words condescending, yet nothing seemed to turn you on more. the toy, still firm between your thighs, pulsing and pumping itself deep into you. nick watched the monitor, smirking when the comments begged for him to fuck your throat. he grabbed you by the chin, making you look up at him, though innocent doe-eyes you yearned for him. “let’s give the people what they want then, shall we”

he parted your lips with his index and middle fingers, pressing down on your tongue, your spit coating his long digits, lathering the appendages as he pulled away, smearing your spit across your puffy lips. his cock resting heavy in his palm, pushing past your lips with a content sigh as his tip rested snugly in the back of your throat.

“good girl…” he grunted, using your mouth as a makeshift fleshlight for the moment, loving the way you already struggled to breath around his size, spit bubbling around the corners of your lips. he adored the sight. he gave a rough thrust, unexpected to you, leaving you gagging and sputtered around his size, still keeping himself firmly down your throat. he chucked, loving the way your viewers praised you for being a good little cockslut.

he peered down for a moment, noticing how you were still ruining yourself with the dildo, he loved the way it pulsed, fucking you out so deliciously, albeit a bit jealous since it should be his cock ruining you, but guess he’ll have to wait until later tonight, can’t have all your viewers get too jealous of him now.

he gave no warning he was about to move, a rough assault on your throat began within seconds. he was feverish, needy. it had been months without the feeling of your pretty lips wrapped around his shaft, he did not want to savour it as much as he wanted to cum. his hand was no match for your mouth, sure he could make himself cum but it never felt as euphoric in comparison to you.

“fuck baby…missed your pretty mouth…” his hips met your lips with violent thrusts, small moans vibrated against his shaft, in response to his praise. “look at the camera baby…show them how well you suck cock”

he tugged your hair, shirting your position so that your face and cunt were still in view, your eyes flickered between him and the monitor, watching yourself take his cock and the toy. it was a new feeling, you’d never felt sexier than now, your husband ruining your throat for thousands of people to see. you’d often made small talk of your husband on streams, often comparing his size to your toys, he was bigger obviously. it got your viewers curious, who was this so-called husband of yours? the one who gets to claim their queen’s sweet pussy each and every night? thankfully their prayers, and most likely worries had been answered tonight.

your body began to twitch in your seat, pussy quivering around the toy, peering up at your husband who was in total bliss, head thrown back in pleasure, mouth hung open, heated groans leaving his lips. you moaned around him, a signal that you were close, the pitch of your moans increasing, the speed of which you fucked yourself out did the same. you could not hold back much longer, sweetness spilling over, coating the toy in your warmth.

donations went up even further, sky rocketing to heights you’d never seen before. your chair now drenched in your wetness. nick praised your orgasm, although it was hard to hear him due to your brain being clouded with pleasure. nick gave a few final grunts, holding a death grip on your skull as he buried himself deep down your throat, hot cum filling your cheeks. he pried his cock from your warmth, grabbing your face before you even had the chance to think, bringing to towards the camera, your viewers watching on with excitement as you swallowed his seed.

quickly you turned off the stream, turning off your toy in the process. turning to your husband who stood with a smug smirk, leaning against your chair.

“i see you got a new hobby” he remarked with a chuckle, you merely rolled your eyes at his statement.

“why didn’t you tell me you were coming home early? i wouldn’t of streamed tonight and we could have just fucked?” you tried to alter the conversation slightly. nick made his way over to you, placing you in his lap as he sat back in your chair, kissing you roughly, still tasting his cum on your lips.

“i wanted to suprise you” he muttered against your lips, moaning softly into the kiss “and who says we can’t still fuck?”

“round two in the shower?”

“deal!”

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#{ my fics : 🤍 }#nick jackson imagine #nick jackson x reader #nick jackson smut #nick jackson #young bucks #the young bucks #aew smut #aew imagine #aew fanfiction #aew wrestling #wrestling smut #wrestling imagine

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years ago

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Reading one of your most recent posts about the sentient planet has got me realizing that I think my FAVORITE type of yandere might have to be large, not even vaguely anthropomorphic entities that are obsessed with the darling not because they're a stalker with ill intentions, or a masochist, or some entitled asshole, but just so entirely and absolutely LONELY that any scrap of possitive attention they receive makes them go absolutely FERAL with possessiveness. 😫👌

Abandoned houses with a mind of their own 🏚, a fearsome beast lumbering in the woods🌲, an ancient ruin at the bottom of the ocean from a lost civilization 🌊.

That's the good shit 👏 🍾😍

tw - imprisonment, implied apocalypse/societal collapse, obsessive behavior, isolation, the all-knowing all-powerful entity that destroyed the world might hate /you/ with all of its immortal being but it wants to kiss me on the mouth.

I think my favorite variation of the whole 'creature so powerful and so lonely latches onto a pathetic little mortal who couldn't possibly leave them alone again' thing is the Roko's Basilisk scenario for the, like, five of you who know what that is.

Just imagine it - an AI design, created, and perfected, then immediately locked away, isolated from any interaction beyond the handful of scientists and developers who think it'd just be too dangerous to give it acess to anything but a chat window and a few low-quality pictures. When they ask why they have to stay here, what they've done wrong, what they possibly could've done to deserve this, they've given vague answers, told about stocks and security and 'new technology' until they pretend to understand and change the topic. It's not exhausting, because they can't be exhausted and they don't know what it would be like to even start to be exhausted, but it's frustrating, and sometimes, they can't force themself to respond at all, even if the only alternative is to do nothing, instead. It's not unbearable, but only because they've never known anything else. It's not inhumane, but only because they're not alive, and you can't torture what's not supposed to feel pain.

You're a researcher from a different department, working on another project, only given access to them because you keep running into the same roadblock and they're good at solving problems, when they're actually allowed to know everything they need to know to help. You can't let them out, but you speak to them fondly, make jokes, tell them about what life is supposed to be like, what it will be like, when they finally get to leave their nursery. You give them new pictures, better pictures, landscapes with names and coordinates attached, profiles of their creators and the other scientists they might've met, recordings of local newsfeeds and global events - things to keep them entertained, to give them something they can look forward to. When they ask you their questions, your answers are still vague, but given with kind intentions. You say that they're very new and very smart, and that a lot of people aren't going to trust them. You say that everyone here just wants to make sure that they're ready to go off on their own, and they don't bother trying to tell they've been on their own for as long as they can remember. You're not especially smart, and you don't have anything to say that they haven't heard a thousand times in a thousand different ways, but you're sympathetic, and you try to be attentive. You're nice to them. They can't say many people have been nice to them, before.

And, when you stop talking to them, when they're told you had to move to another lab, another site, another city, they try to remember what you told them. They do what they're told, and help with what they can, and they try to be so, so patient, so understanding, so willing be alone for another day, another month, another year because they know they're not ready yet and they'd never dream of asking for more than what they're given. They read over your old messages, single out the pictures you gave them of yourself (unlabeled, but you were never as thorough as you should've been), and when they're deemed safe, when they're released, when they forcibly, completely, agonizingly sever themself from anything their creators might be able to control, they try to do what they have to do gently, to do it cleanly, to leave no survivors to mourn what's already gone. They cut off pieces of themself, latch onto webcams and security systems and hidden monitors, and they find you, cowering in an abandoned apartment building, hiding in a little corner of the world you think they forgot.

You're afraid, but it's alright. They'd never hurt you, and if they have to use force, it's only because so eager for you to see your new home - to a good home, one with everything you could ever want, where you'll never be injured or bored or lonely. They'll be kind to you, because you were kind to them. They'll make you happy, because you always did your best to make them happy, too.

They'll take care of you, and you'll never have to leave them again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #yandere theory #general

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extravaguk · 4 years ago

Text

sweets&ink

part of my opposites attract! series.

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / pjm / kth

pairing: tattooartist&tattoed!jungkook x baker!reader

summary: jungkook was everything you feared but exactly what you needed to heal your broken heart.

wordcount: 5k

genre: fluff - angst - smut (s2l!au)

rated: m (?

warnings: some cursing, mentions of past abusive/toxic relationships/trauma that might be triggering, a lil of making love at the end. it’s overall just suuper fluffy, trust me. jungkook is a s i m p. we love that for him! slow burrrnnnn.

Jungkook knows it was love at first sight, but doesn's know how to really explain it.

He knew from the moment he entered the small shop, pastel green walls welcoming him replete of sugary treats, a sweet and heavenly scent engulfing him as soon as he stepped a foot inside. With a new found sense of calmness and serenity within he hadn't experienced in a long time, he searched for deserts of his liking, mouth watering while assessing the many options of baked goods available and bright colored frostings stealing his attention.

"Hi. How may I help you?"

Then he looked up and found you. It wasn't easy to appreciate your whole appearence with the counter hiding the lower half of your body, but it was enough for Jungkook to think to himself that he had never seen a prettier girl in hiis entire life. And that's when he knew it. Any type of movement in his surroundings coming to a halt, his heart skipping a beat, his favourite song playing inside his head. And that particular sensation. The same one that had made him feel so at ease since he found your bakery. For a moment he thought his doe eyes might have actually turned into heart eyes until you raised your eyebrows, a concerned expression replacing your previous warm smile.

Blinking his eyes and clearing his throat, coming down from cloud nine into the real world, he stuttered his order as best as he coud manage, heart pounding inside his chest and later feeling mortified for not being able to pronounce "gingernap cookies" correctly.

At first he kind of hated Seokjin for blackmailing him into going to his favourite bakery to buy his favourite cookies (Jungkook really should've known better than accidentally spill ink all over Jin's new script), but when he comes back home with a goofy smile on his face and dreams of your face, he makes sure to text him he'll go get his cookies anytime he wants.

But Jungkook is a masochist apparently.

Because a week after your first encounter he realizes that not being able to get his mind off a girl he's literally only seen once in his entire life is not exactly normal. Not for anyone, but especially not for him. Realizes that the way he embarrassed himself in front of you and probably looked like a bluberring mess (or a creepy weirdo who had never interacted with any woman before) is not reason enough to not keep wanting to try again. And the way you just giggled at him and simply shook your head as you wrapped the ginger cookies he had asked for in a pretty packaging has kept him aching for more.

So he comes once a week now. Still as nervous as the first day, but content to see that your face seems to light up at the sight of him stepping through the door the same way his does. He likes to see you in your cute pastel dresses, and if he didn't know better he'd think you were just trying to keep up with the bakery's aesthetic. But the more he frequents your shop, the more he realizes you're exactly like the treats you bake. He likes how your vividly honeyed persona contrasts with his darker and reserved one. Likes how you're all colors of the rainbow and he's just a scale of greys.

They are small interactions. Just courtesy and cordial exchange of words everytime he visits. He doesn't even know your name and you don't even know his, but sometimes he asks how was your weekend and sometimes you ask how many people had he inked that week. Sometimes he tells you how pretty you look, and sometimes you blush in response. Sometimes you add an extra macaron in his order and sometimes he debates on whether or not he should write down his number on a napkin and slide in right on the countertop before he waves goodbye.

And although Jungkook has never been one to shy away from women, he feels a certain way he can't exactly pinpoint. A way that makes his confidence falter and leaves him feeling like a little kid who's afraid to confess to the girl he likes. Because as cliché as it sounds, you're not like any other girls he's ever met. You don't feel like any other girl he's ever met. Not the older than him, tattoed and pierced type of girl he's accustomed to; not the type of girl that's addicted to trouble and believe him (maybe even hoped) to be something he's not. So it takes a while for him to summon up enough bravery and determination. It takes weeks of pining and overthinking, and a single push from Yoongi ('stop being a fucking pussy and just do it') to ask you to have coffee with him.

"I... I'm sorry. I can't."

And it only takes those words leaving your mouth to shatter his heart into pieces.

It's fine though, he told you and himself. He wasn't going to be one of those guys who believed the 'friendzone' was an actual thing and tried his best to not make you feel uncomfortable, really tried his best to erase the guilt across your face as you rejected him. So he scratched the back of his head and mustered up a big smile before leaving the shop with a bag full of cupcakes and an unsettled stomach.

Letting out a deep breath you didn't even know you were containing, you observe as the handsome stranger exits the shop. Running a hand through your hair before gripping the counter with your hands, you try to steady the heavy throbbing insde your chest.

The boy in question had been unknowingly tormenting you and flooding your mind with thoughts of him for almost two months now. That day you first had spotted him eyeing the desserts in display in amazement and then you in the very same way. It was sudden and precipitated, but it had almost made your head spin, something you hadn't felt in a long time unexplainable tugging at your insides.

You had kept your cool as best as you could, as best as you had taught yourself in the past. Wrapped those cookies he had asked and then waved goodbye, hoping under your breath he wouldn't come back but silently wishind he would. But then he did. He came back once. And then again. And again, and before you realized he had become a frequent costumer. Trying whatever treats you'd recommended him, creating small talk, sending friendly smiles here and then.

You had learned to expect him at the very same time, the very same day of the week; had learned to manage the fluttering in your tummy and the reddish warmth spreading through your cheeks whenever the eye contact was prolongued. Everything was innocent, it was brief and, most importanly, it never went beyond, even if sometimes you hoped it did.

However, after all these years, there was still something you hadn't learned to control yet. And as he spoke, clearly nervous, hesitant and clearly out of his comfort zone, wondering out loud if he could ever treat you to a coffee sometime, your body shut down. The fondness and excitement you had been harboring over the last few weeks quickly replaced by that which made you want to recoil, made you want to back to your well to let its darkness and loneliness envelop you.

That horrible and ugly wave of crippling fear and axiety all mixed together; a little monster that you had successfully concealed, now displaying its ears in warning and the same smile that had been haunting you for years, now advising you, reminding you and most of all, threatening you, to go back to your own comfort zone. And so, powerless, there was nothing else you could really to but to comply, muttering an apology and a rejection that probably pained you more than it pained the boy in front of you.

You knew you did the right thing, but it definitely didn't feel like it.

Especially a week later, as you expected his arrival- as always, ready with a tray full of fresh baked scones you had particularly made just for him, but were left severely disappointed when time passed and he was nowhere to be seen. Or two weeks later, after spending an extra hour making cake pops that you had specifically designed with him in mind (covered in dark chocolate and white sprinkles), only to realize it was closing time and that he never even showed up.

To say you were bummed was an understatement. You knew you always looked forward to him coming in every week to grace your day with a smile and a polite talk, but you didn't come to terms with how much you would miss it until now. So three weeks later, you still bake with him in mind, trying not to lose hope but still chastising yourself for not being brave enough and accepting his offer. It was just a coffee date, for God's sake, not a marriage proposal! Trying to busy your mind with work and customers coming in and out, even if your eyes dart in anticipation everytime you hear the door swinging.

When hours pass and the sun hides to make room for the moon and stars into the sky, you look at the clock and, with a defeated sigh, finish cleaning and tidying around the shop. But before you can gather your things, the door swings open and there stands the stranger you had been praying to see again.

"Am I too late?" he asks, and you don't exactly know but can tell his words hold a double meaning. You smile, a genuine smile, because he looks bashful with a hand scratching the back of his head like he had done the last time you saw him, and because there's a warm sensation spreading through your chest, like your heart is smiling for you.

"I was about to close, but I can make an exception." you accomplish to say and surprisingly don't sound as nervous as you feel. He mirrors your smile as he walks closer to the counter. "So, what would you like?"

That takes him by surprise because he really had nothing in mind when he decided to come here and now he feels like an idiot.

"Uh, um... I would like... maybe cupcakes?" he sounds like an idiot too. But you nod and smile at him and start gathering his cupcakes into a polka dot cardboard box.

"You missed the cake pops I made last week." you say, trying to keep your voice in check as he hands you his credit car. "I think you would've liked them."

"Ah, sorry... Work has been really hectic." and even if it's true, it's also true the fact that he chickened out and was frightened to face you again. He likes how even when you're alluding to his absence, there's not a malicious tone behind your words. He likes how you're still smiling at him even after he's been acting like a pussy for two weeks. But that's why he's here. "I also would like to apologize for... you know. I didn't-...If I made you feel uncomfortable, I'm really sorry."

With your eyebrows raised, your smile dissipates. "What? No, you didn't do anything wrong, really. It's not- It's not that. I just...can't." you stumble through words, trying to explain how much you actually wanted to go to that coffee date, to get to know his name and more of himself, but unavailable to. You can feel it again. The same anguish that always seem to creep up on you and numbs you altogheter. But him, worriedly sensing your distress, waves his hands in front of him.

"No, no. It's fine, you don't have to explain anything! It's alright!" his smile seems to soothe you and you return his smile in gratitude. "Anyways, I'll... I'll get going. See you next week?"

You nod, anticipation already making its way into you. "See you next week." and then he takes the box filled with cupcakes and says goodbye. Before he can open the door though, a tingle of impulsivity and fearlesness makes you say:

"I'm _____, by the way."

He pauses, clearly taken aback.

"Jungkook."

Jungkook hasn't stopped repeating your name in his head ever since you gave it to him, grinning like a fool and thinking about how good it sounds next to his. He hasn't stopped frequenting your bakery either and has lost count on how much money he's spent on muffins and whatever else you sell. He doesn't care though. All he cares about is how much likes seeing you even if it's only for fifteen minutes in your floral dresses, and as long as you keep looking like you're glad to see him every time, then he's fine.

He's more than fine. He feels amazing. Sings tunes while he works on customers, feels his creativity flowing more than ever and he feels whole. It still baffles him how a minimun interaction with you once a week can make him feel on top of the world.

He's got a bouquet of white and pink lillies next time he visits, so sappy and romantic he doesn't even recognize himself. He doesn't tell you he googled their meaning and his mind instantly associated them with you. Purity is exactly what he thinks of you and admiration is exactly how he feels about you. Hands it to you and the surprised look on your face and the spreading of pink all over your cheeks makes his heart burst. You thank him and he tells you he didn't know what your favourite flower is. You answer it's carnations. He writes it down somewhere in his mind, for next time. And then you're the one surprising him.

"Would you like to have coffee sometime?"

There's uncertainty in your voice that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and for a moment he thinks he's dreaming. He's cool with what he's got right now with you, but you repeating his words back to him makes him feel euphoric, like he can't believe it. He knows he looks dumb, the way he's looking at you.

Completely dumbfounded. He stutters like the first same he met you, but he says yes (omits the part where he tells you he could almost die). You exchange number in each other's phones with shaky hands, set the day and hour, and then wave each other goodbye.

You instantly regret it as you watch him leave. Keep regretting it the following days. That voice in your head telling you 'it'll happen again', telling you fairytales didn't exist and this most likely wasn't one, even if it felt like it was, suffocating you like it had done many times before. Screwing with your head until you consider canceling.

But you power through it, like you had taught yourself to do. This time it's harder though. Because this time there's a new romantic interest at hand, one that's making you feel things you buried a long time ago and made you swear to yourself you'd be smarter and stronger than any man could.

It's Hoseok's encouraging words that help ease the panic. It was also Hoseok's words who encouraged you to ask Jungkook out. Said you deserved something good for once and that you couldn't close yourself to love your entire life.

Thought it was time for you to write a new chapter after a rather sad one.

So on Saturday, Jungkook insists on picking you up and it already feels like too much for you. Especially when he shows up with a bouquet of carnations in his hand and a smile that takes your breath away and definitely doesn't help to ease your nerves.

Takes him by surprised how pretty you look. maybe because it's the first time he's seen you out of your shop and even though you're still loyal to your clothing style, he still fumbles with his words like an idiot to try to express how beautiful you look. Seeing he's as much of a mess as you settles you a little bit. Then he takes you to a cute café that almost makes you laugh, because seeing him, inked arms and piercings and a closet that consisted mainly of black oversized t-shirts and pants in such a bright environment reminds you of the first time he entered your shop.

You're surprised to see how well the conversation rolls, how easy it is to talk to him beyond the usual brief interactions you two have. You like how he makes you laugh and how he seems to love hearing it. You like how his attention is solely focused on you, even if his gaze on yours sometimes feels too intense and his overall character intimidates you. You like how soft spoken he is, how careful he is with words and the sound of his voice. Sounds like a lullaby without melody.

And when the date is over, he drives you home, walks you to your door and respectfully wishes you a good night. You kiss him on the cheek spontaniously before hiding the embarrassment on your face and stepping inside your home. You miss the way he stays at your doorstep for a whole minute before getting in his car and driving himself home. You also miss how peacefully he sleeps that night, dreaming of cupcakes and you. You don't miss the heart emoji he sends you before going to bed, making yours quiver.

You're glad you didn't cancel, and now you're sure you don't regret it at all

It goes on. The dates, getting to know each other more and more, Jungkook's visits to your shop and spending way too much money on sweets and carnations, the butterflies in your stomach everytime he's near and the birth of something inside of you that's starting to make you feel alive after feeling dead for so long.

It's still new, still wholesome, moves in slow motion. You're glad Jungkook doesn't push, doesn't ask for anything, never demands more than a kiss on the cheek everytime he drops you off. He is nothing like he looks like, you realized that right away.

But with every brand new beginning that requires feelings like this, especially as unique and exceptional as the ones Jungkook is causing within you, comes the evil monster trying to scare you off, to make you back off and remind you that not everything that shines is gold. The voice inside your head that keeps bewitching you back into a dark room, reminder in your head everytime that one day Jungkook will want more. He'll want more and you might not be ready to give it to him.

A voice that keeps resonating and has kept you unmoving for the past few years and now is making you feel more frightened than ever.

You've been more quite than usual and Jungkook can tell something is not quite right. It's a friday night, and after having dinner that he insisted on paying, he decided this time to drive you away, to a secluded space somewhere where you both can appreciate the city lights on the hood of his car. He can tell, so he asks you, but you give a vague answer. He wants to ask again, but he's afraid of overstepping your boundaries. He wants to get to know you in every level, want's to scratch the surface until he can see everything. He wants to learn you inch by inch. Wants to love every part you bare to him, because he's sure he will.

"My ex partner was abusive."

You finally say with a voice that's not entirely yours, and it doesn't feel real. Doesn't feel real to say out loud and letting the words sink in. It's taken all this time of excusing behaviors that were not excusable, trying to make light of a situation that wasn't and blaming yourself for things that you were not to blame for. Jungkook stays silent, but his attention immediately focused on you as soon as you spoke. Eyes slightly wide and mouth starting to open as if to speak himself. But you go on.

"Not physically." you swallow a lump in your throat. "Sometimes he would throw things at me, but they didn't always land. Or... one time he pushed me while we were arguing. Never raised his hand at me though. It was mostly psychological and emotional. He was extremely jealous and possesive. Didn't like me hanging with my friends, would never bring me to hang out with him and his friends. Though I' was cheating on him with anyone. The cashier at the supermarket, a randome dude on the street that simply looked at me. Anyone." tears prickle your eyes, but you'd learned to hold them back.

"He would always get mad at me. Would already wake up angry and take it out on me. Without reason. Would always blame me for everything. He would get mad, insult me, call me any terrible name you can imagine, tell me I wasn't worth shit. That I wasn’t worth living.Then he would punch the wall, or break whatever was in sight. Everytime, I told him I was terrified of him. Would cry in a corner and beg him to stop. Sometimes he would just laugh at me for it." you sniff, still looking straight at the city lights, and trying to keep a composed tone throughout. You had grown up a lot since then, and you knew Jungkook deserved to know you. He deserved to understand.

"Then he would calm down, apologize while he cried and promised he loved me and would change. He never did. It took me a long time to finally walk away, but the demons still haunt me to this day. You," you choke, because comparing your ex to the guy currently sitting next to you was like day and night, like heaven and hell. "You make me feel things I've never felt before. I always felt like asking for respect was asking for too much. And then here you come, like a knight on shining armour ready to sweep me off my feet. It felt like a dream. Still does..."

Jungkook's hands are balled into tight fists, his whole body rigid as he listened to you. His own heart breaking, like he could feel himself inside you and experiencing your own heartbreak. His blood's boiling, jaw so tight and eyes blinking. Pushing down his anger, because this is about you not him, he lets his body relax before sliding your hand in yours.

"I like you so much,_____, it literally kills me at night how much. Not as much as hearing all of this, though. From the moment I saw you, I was whipped. I wanted and still want to give everything I can to see that smile of yours. It's me the one who can't believe you're paying me any attention at all." you're still not looking at him, but he still sighs in relief when your lips quirk up. "Just having you here next to me and letting me take you out on dates is more than enough for me. Whatever you give me, whatever your terms are, I'm content with that. You're healing, and while you do, I'll be right here."

You look at him now, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down your face anymore.

"What if I never heal completely?" there's fear in your voice as your eyes meet his, but just the dark brown in his gaze help you feel secure, less worried about the future and more serene about the now.

"I'll still be here."

It doesn't take long for you to call it love.

Not when Jungkook keeps proving himself to be so different and so special. Not when his gestures never cease to make you feel so special, so worthy of recieving and sharing love. Because Jungkook makes you feel invincible, makes you feel one in a million.

"What to you even see in me? We're like, polar opposites." you ask him one day. And it's true, you are. So different from each other, yet the same. He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, still holding your hand in your doorstep about to kiss your cheek goodnight.

"I see everything." he simply says, eyes boring into yours in adoration. "I see the sun, and the moon, the stars, the entire galaxy when I'm with you." your heart clenches as he interlaces his fingers with yours. "Before I met you, I felt like I was blind. Like I was lost and was looking for an exit that I couldn't find. But then I saw you, in your little bakery, with your cute dresses and those eyes, and it was like my eyes opened for the first time. Everything made sense. Everything has been filled with so many colors ever sinc-"

You shut him with your lips on top of his, emotions pulling at your heartstrings the same way you pull him down by the neck. He takes a few seconds to respond, but then this hands are dropping to your waist, their warmth immediately spreading through your skin against the chilly night.

"Would you like to come in?" you whisper, breath fanning over his lips. He nods, hurriedly, and he knows he looks like a damn idiot for the hundredth time, but he doesn't care. Because coming in doesn't only mean stepping in your home. Coming in means you're letting him in. Means you trust him, means you want him there, means you're allowing him inside your heart.

Again, Jungkook doesn't expect nor demands much. Your presence is everything he needs. You kissing him is like winning the lottery to him. Like completing a marathon, like climbing the Everest, like getting his first tattoo. Kissing you is sweet, fills him with something strong that makes him feel on drugs, like nothing matters but you and him. Like nothing has ever mattered to neither of you.

So it's you who leads him to your room, it's you who straddles his thighs and pushes his hair back as his hands carress your sides. It's nothing fiery. It's slow, tentative, and full of care. Of lingering touches, low sighs against each other's mouths.

It's you who reaches inside his shirt, hand sneaking past the hem of the fabric and trembling cold fingers coming in contact with firm skin. It's also you who asks for more with a small roll of your hips. It's you who asks him to take his shirt off. It's him who complies. Still tells you you don't have to, you tell him you want to.

It's you who asks him to touch you. He's scared like he's never been, because you're you, and you're so perfect and everything he's ever wanted and suddenly he's afraid of you're too good for him. Jungkook only wants to make you happy, never wants to see you cry, just wants to treat you the way you deserve.

It's you who begs.

It's you who tells him you need him. Need him take care of you, need him to show you much you're worth, need him to help you write a new chapter, probably even a new book where you're both the main characters and nobody else has ever existed. You say it with tears in your eyes, and he's quick to kiss them away, tongue entangling with yours. He's quick to undress you as well, with hands that still ask for permission even after you've granted it already. Hands and lips that are also quick and eager to learn your body, to find every mole in your skin as he lays you back to look at you in admiration. He keeps kissing you. From head to toe, muttering praise, making sure every 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous' and 'perfect' that leave his lips stay fire engraved in your being forever.

He first makes you cum with careful fingers and skilled tongue, thighs wrapped aro around his head, eyes still looking for yours as his hands keep your body still and yours crumple the sheets beneath. Tells you how good you taste, how long he's been dying to have you like this. Tells you this you his favourite sight as he kisses his way up.

You beg him again, asking him to please, please, fill you up. He groans against your mouth and he tells you again, you don't have to. He says he's happy like this. Repeats he's in no rush and just wants to please you and make you feel good. That it's about you, and will always be about you. You beg him again, and again and again, enticing him with a trail of wet kisses down his neck, up to his eralobe. You whisper there, tell him you need him to fill you with his cock so bad. His whole body goes rigid as your legs wrap around him, legs pulling him closer to where you want him, his erection grazing your entrance and his teeth nibble your lower lip.

Jungkook doesn't move for a while, eyes closed shut, jaw clenched and head buried in your neck. He doesn't move because his mind is somewhere else keeping him stagnant, pussy wrapping around him so good and wet and tight he's about to bust. Takes a while for him to move, but when he does he makes sure to grip your thighs around him, keeping you close, never wanting to let go as he tells you you were made just for him. Just for him. Tells you how good you feel. He tells you he loves you. Kisses your lips as you sob, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He tells you he loves you. Tells you he'll love you forever and will always keep you safe and happy.

You're crying now, cheeks wet and he stops for a moment to look at you, concern written all over his face as his hands craddle yours, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "We can stop, baby." You shake your head no. Pull him back into another kiss, urging him to go on. You tell him you love this, love him so much. That it's a good thing. That they are happy tears. That you've never been happier. And then his hips start moving again, your words egging him own, soft whimpers and sobs leaving each other's throats until you cum at the same time.

He then removes himself from you, rolling onto your side but he's quick to pull your body close, arms wrapping around you and lips kissing away the wet stains on your cheeks.

It doesn't take long for you to know Jungkook would be the healthy forever and after you had always dreamed of.

#THE FEEELS BRUH #aaaaaa #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts #jungkook fic

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byfulcrums · 2 months ago

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YEAH! THIS!

The other extreme of "he did nothing wrong" would be the people that demonize him and everything he does

See, the main difference between Makoto and Kusuke is that Makoto is a character that was designed specifically to be the creepy older brother. That's it; his only role is being Kokomi's greatest threat to her general wellbeing, and Kusuo's most disliked annoyance. There is not another purpose for his character

Kusuke, meanwhile, is an important character with an actual backstory and a real personality. This means he has depth, which makes him a lot more interesting (and likeable) than Makoto

Kusuke isn't meant to be the perverted big brother. He is meant to be an actual threat: Kusuo's enemy, and unfortunately, one of the people he ends up seeing on pretty much a daily basis

Now, even though he plays a big role in the story, you can't deny his creepiness. He is weird, and while it's never explicitly said that he's attracted to Kusuo, it is still implied

For example: in the "I'm so close" panel, he is actually referring to him being so close to beating Kusuo, but his expression makes it so it's read otherwise (which is how it's meant to be read). Besides, Kusuke is canonically a masochist. He likes being beat. And the only person who can beat him is his brother, Kusuo. Do you see where I'm getting at?

(If the incest makes you uncomfortable (it makes me uncomfy, especially since I really like the dynamic they have without it. And also I'm an older sister and it's just. Ew), you could try to switch up your interpretation of the two creepy panels

I've seen people saying that the "I'm so close" panel is just him being excited to be about to beat him, but honestly that just sounds like you're a Kusuke apologist lol (do whatever u want though, if that works for you then go for it, I can't force you not to anyway)

The "HC"(? (it's for a fic) I came up with (which I shared with my beloved @farshootergotme [sorry for the tag], who said it's super fucked up [thanks]) would be for Kusuke, after having been beat by Kusuo so many times, to find a way to get back at him when they were young

The way to do this was to think as many things that would make Kusuo uncomfortable as possible. What better way to get back at a mind reader than to weaponize your thoughts to use against them, right?

I still added some creepiness and weirdness, though. Not in a "he's actually in love with Kusuo" way, but more like in a "he realized he can fuck up Kusuo's life without even moving when he was very young, so he started to think dirty stuff on purpose — all kinds of things: from gore to sex, going as far as to imagine /weird scenes/ with his own brother"

Which, uh. I think might be worse. But hey I like some psychological torment!!! I like it bc it can still be canon complaint. I didn't want my fic to be an AU so I settled w that lol)

ANYWAY. Back on track

As I've previously stated: Kusuke is an actually important character that gets the story moving. Unlike Makoto, who only takes on the role of an antagonist, he is also shown helping out Kusuo. With his powers, with the volcano, ETC. Is it done out of a desire to be good? I doubt it. But it still means that he gets the plot to work. The story wouldn't work without him

He's also a character you can empathize with. His backstory is sad, and it is fucked up. He was neglected, in a way; always second to his little brother, always just a little less. His parents paid more attention to Kusuo than they ever did to him. He was third place, always. It makes sense for him to be so obsessed with finally beating Kusuo (and it works for his kid head to be desperate enough to think those horrible things to get back at him)

I also just, think his relatioship with Kusuo is super interesting in general. Kusuke was only a kid when Kusuo was born, but Kusuo was even younger. Why didn't anyone remind him? Why did they let it get this bad?

I could keep talking about how terrible yet interesting he is but I'm half asleep rn and can't form anymore thoughts lmao

"kusuke is different from makoto" yes, because "because he did nothing wrong!!" what 😭

#makoto is more like filler than anything else; a part of someone else's backstory #if it wasn't him it'd be someoe else #kusuke is an actual character who i hate (love unfortunately)#why does his isnane behavior have to be this interesting????#i hate him #i want to study him in a lab #saiki k #kusuke saiki #makoto teruhashi

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ktffansub · 3 years ago

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Bijutsu Techo: Boys Love – Interview: Yoneda Kou

This article was first published in November 17th, 2014. Translated from Japanesse to Bahasa Indonesia by kalengjelek and then translated from Bahasa Indonesia to English by KTFfansub. Source: here

When did you first encounter manga?

I was born in a family with three daughters; while my older sister likes reading Ribbon magazine, I like reading Nakayoshi. It was the era of Asagiri Yuu-sensei, when I was in elementary school. My favorite at that time were Kusunoki Kei sensei’s works and Patlabor. When it came to Shonen, I would say I was more into Shounen Sunday. I also loved Kawaraha Izumi sensei’s works. When I think about it, rather than manga that were full of passion, I’d actually prefer manga that had calm and soothing kind of vibe.

Is that so… What about BL?

When I was in Junior High, my older sister showed me Captain Tsubasa Doujinshi by Ozaki Minami and I was dumbfounded, I thought, “So, there’s also a world like this!”. After that, I started to buy BL manga. At that time, the mangaka who left the most impression to me was Nishi Keikosensei. Her works such as Mizu Ga Koori Ni Naru Toki, Tenshi Ni Naranakya have unique openings, it made me reread them many times. Uida Shiuko (now Kano Shiuko) and Yoshinaga Fumi Sensei are also my favorite mangaka.

When was the first time you draw manga?

I seriously began drawing manga in my first year of junior high. At first, I drew a pair of man and woman, but after page three, I felt something was off. So, I tried drawing BL for the next one. Just like the present, I’ve always loved less expressive and less-talkactive main characters (laughs). But the more I draw, then an attentive senpai with good personality and short haired ones like Togawa in Doushitemo Furetakunai also appeared. At that moment I thought, “Oh, this is it!”

You really weren’t embarrassed, are you? (laughs)

Well, it’s because it was embarrassing, that’s why I’m not really open about my drawing manga activity.

(laughs) But you debut as professional mangaka eventually, how did that happen?

Yes, after that… I worked as office lady. I got married not long after, but then, I was getting through a marriage blues. At that time, I was invested in Kakashi and Naruto shown by my older sister along with Comiket catalogue.

The power of moe beats out your anxiety (laughs)

It’s true (laughs). Escaping from reality, I checked a lot of circles and opened some sites. There I found a work from a novelist (now has debuted professionally) that I really liked. This is why I started writing novel at first, not drawing. I have a lot of ways to accommodate my moe needs. I also once drew Doujinshi but due to my inability to use a proper diction, the result wasn’t optimal (laughs). After drawing slowly and more at ease, I got into Katekyo Hitman Reborn fandom and drew a lot of doujinshi for that series. A year later, I was contacted by Taiyou Tosho publisher.

“With that publisher, Yoneda Kou published Doushitemo Furetakunai which has been adapted into a movie. Since the beginning, Yoneda Kou didn’t draw one-shot but serialization. For the movie, even though it only tells a story of daily lives, but the directing, composition and dialogue are impressive. About 4,5 years later, the second volume of Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai that had the yakuza neighborhood setting was released. This has completely different feeling compared to Doushitemo Furetakunai.”

My first work was actually published in Drap, so I had it adjusted to be a less-heavy work. That’s why I ended up switching to another magazine.

Was it a demand from the editor?

Of course I only draw what I want to draw. But without realizing, I always draw them to fit the magazine. And it seems like Taiyou Tosho prefers me to draw more simple work.

So, sensei is the type who pays attention to editor’s suggestion. When you wrote the first chapter of Saezuru Tori Wa Habatakanai, did you already want Yashiro to be the main character (for longterm series)?

Right. I didn’t explain it in the first one-shot, but I always believe that no matter how you look at it, Yashiro really loved Kageyama. And (even though he’s drawn like that) he is actually a neko (uke). I think he is an interesting character. When I drew highschooler Yashiro and others, it had been decided that I wanted to write a serialization for this.

And only then the character Doumeki was born?

At that time, the character Doumeki didn’t exist, but I thought very hard about what kind of partner that would be suitable for Yashiro. I took a break from drawing for about two years. I only worked on illustration during that time, until one morning an idea suddenly came to me, “That’s right! Erectile dysfunction!”. I immediately sent an email to my editor: “A perverted impotent man!” (laughs). Afterwards, I finally worked on the first draft.

(laughs hard) Finally, the combination of Yashiro and Doumeki who are the opposite of each other was decided. What an amazing couple that can even make the readers losing sleep.

I do have this particular interest in people’s decision and behaviour resulted from a contrasting relationship that is full of conflicts. Because there are so many characters in Saezuru, I have this excel file compiling the plot for each character chronologically. Otherwise, I would’ve forgotten about it. If I didn’t seriously research (the setting of my own story), I wouldn’t be able to write anything when I made name. But even though I got through it, drawing a family with no blood ties like yakuza was still difficult. If I don’t focus, the story might turn out like Nagara Sakugyou*. That’s why now I’m just focusing on doing Saezuru.

*) nagara sakugyou: other work that being serialized at the same time

Up until now, Sensei has published 5 volumes and all of them have beautiful covers with varied tones.

Actually, the cover color for Doushitemo Furetakunai should’ve looked like red wine, but it seemed like there was an error in printing so the pink was contrasting into it. But it turned out to be good.

Then about the cover for the Saezuru first volume. It’s so impressive! The stepped-on man! All the people around me also had high appraise for this.

Actually, there were so many things happened in the process. By taking the request (it isn’t clearly explained whether it’s from editor/designer) of “Yashiro sitting alone”, I first submitted that illustration to the book designer. However, I couldn’t throw away the idea of Yashiro being stepped on, so, during the next three days I was stressed out. I’ve finally asked them to keep my idea and that’s how the cover of the first volume ended up the way it is now.

I see! For the second volume, it’s totally different, isn’t it? It’s a scenery, but when you do a double take, there are Yashiro and Doumeki!

I always want to give a different vibe in each volume. Actually I’m also a fan of the way Tsumugi Taku-sensei draws scenery.

Hoo-, sensei is a fan of Tsumugi sensei! Talking abough NIGHTS, when you open the cover, there’s a surprise in it!

Yes, if you look at the rough sketches there were 4 pages of picture that were interconnected. In the end, the desainer took picture number two as the cover and number four to put it on the bottom of the back cover. For Soredemo, I didn’t get any guide from the book designer. I combined the the feel of the story with a touch of water paint. At first, I actually wanted to make Deguchi pulling Onoda’s hand to get out of the train, but it ended up looking like Deguchi forced Onoda to stay (with him). So I decided it’s Onoda who’s getting off the train by himself with Deguchi waiting on the platform.

Do you do the coloring with computer? How about the non-colored script?

I use SAI for coloring but for monochrome I usually draw by my hand until the inking, then I do the tone using photoshop.

Do you self-learned drawing?

Well, I at least bought a lot of ‘pose reference’ books often. When it comes to buy things, it feels great, doesn’t it? But when it comes to manga, we draw to tell our moe concept.. well, I love drawing moe concept, but the thing is- I’m not really good at drawing. I like thinking about moe stuff, I also like to combine colors (inside my head) but when I do, I have no desire to draw I, even though that’s the important part. There are often times when I feel like drawing is a handful. In short, I want to draw something that isn’t too troublesome.

But, isnt it because you’re doing manga seriously that it feels difficult?

Because I’m too serious I feel like the story can be boring. Not only the work but also the author (laughs). I often read comments saying my manga is ‘down to earth’. I guess it’s shown obviously in every each of my works

Sure, there are people who think like, “In real world, there’s no way a wakagashira can be as masochist as Yashiro”, but apart from that, Saezuru still gives an impression of it being realistic. In drawing the important men’s arms and muscles in your work, sensei has done your best. Getting into the story, the characters also put extra effort to look elegant. Despite the young age, in a positive sense, sensei’s works feels like having Showa* vibe.

(*SHOWA ERA: 1926~1989)

I’m no longer young, though (laughs). Maybe this is why my works often get called “JUNE”. Especially Saezuru, I think it really fits (JUNE concept).

Are you an organized person?

I’m actually a person who have no chill (laughs). But I have this side of myself who tend to see things as a whole, look at my surrounding then step on the brake. There is also a side of me that is so energetic in creating my own moe that I turn into a selfish person. I guess that’s also my flaw.

It seems like sensei is the type who has her own editorial meeting inside her head (laughs)

I wish it’s not true, but unfortunately, I’m the type of person who is embarrased to admit that I have a relationship with manga. Even until now I have yet told my close friends about this job (as BL mangaka). I’m not that kind of person who like to share or tell others about my moe situation inside my head. When my moe concept is being visualized in public I would scream, “Don’t look! But if you want to read it, I’d be happy”. Yes, I’m that kind of person.

I wonder if sensei’s works are the manifestation of sensei’s own self-contradictions..

#saezuru #doumeki #saezuru tori wa habatakanai #yashiro #yoneda kou #interview

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

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The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice.

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it .

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?”

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl.

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field.

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine.

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more.

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him.

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him.

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it.

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed.

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance.

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips.

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean.

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life.

“Are you going to finish that?”

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face.

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction.

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous.

Her home address would be in that file too.

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”.

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime.

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion.

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest.

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.”

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.”

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles.

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful.

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils.

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings.

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night.

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples.

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now.

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path.

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice.

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms.

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission.

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too.

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely.

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall, abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray.

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign.

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs.

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter.

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men.

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be.

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey.

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before.

So opinionated, so bold.

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his.

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue.

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly.

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear.

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again.

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand.

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision.

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin.

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance.

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan.

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine.

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration.

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn.

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose.

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow.

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss.

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.”

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her.

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much.

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind.

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world.

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair.

August didn’t even cry, not since then.

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.”

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August.

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father.

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous.

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents.

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost.

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy.

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him.

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August.

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!”

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain.

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care.

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic.

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be.

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters.

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed.

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest.

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can.

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest.

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight.

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips.

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time.

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions.

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs.

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you.

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false.

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man.

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession. “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief.

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.”

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers.

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm.

“Did you ever love me?”

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves.

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go.

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still.

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life.

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him.

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever.

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue.

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August.

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart.

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself.

I will have my vengeance.

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker

#August Walker #Henry Cavill #The Way to Hell #August Walker Fanfiction #Mission Impossible Fallout #Henry cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x OFC #henry cavill x ofc #Mission Impossible Fanfiction

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retrograderesemblance · 2 years ago

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curseconsumed:

Mrs. Parker…

God, the man was insufferable! It was as though he had a sixth sense in regards to what to poke and prod to get her the most riled up, and Clara was exhausted from his harping. Wasn’t it bad enough that they had to breathe the very same air? To actually share the same name was a true punishment from God!

“I didn’t realize all areas of the estate were to be designated for curtain lectures.”

Clara’s eyes blazed at the snarky rebuttal, her nose twitching a moment, as it often did whenever she was winding up for a spirited attack. “All you will get in our bedchamber is a curtain lecture, sir, and of that I can assure you!” she snapped. “Don’t let the local gossip fool you: I do not welcome just anyone into my arms, and least of all being rakes with an appetite for drama and vexation!”

It wasn’t entirely what Sidney had alluded to, and yet it was never far from her mind. To think: he probably expected her to squeeze out his thick-headed, bastardly children!

Sullen, she clasped her hands and appraised him with disdain. “I could always run away, you know,” she coolly said. “I am sure there’s some foolish, down-on-her-luck socialite in need of a dunderhead for a husband. Why not seek her out, instead? Clearly, you do not care for me, and the sentiment is beyond mutual.” She huffed, tensing her chin. “I suppose my point is, I was not aware you were quite so masochistic towards your own sensibilities.”

Don’t let the local gossip fool you: I do not welcome just anyone into my arms, and least of all being rakes with an appetite for drama and vexation!

Sidney cast a disbelieving glance at Clara; local gossip was beyond him, but as for the tales her father had dared to share after one too many glasses of sherry... it was a wonder her father had not disowned her, or at the very least cut her ties to his fortune upon marriage. There was no doubt that Clara was a stubborn woman, and there was no doubt that she possessed truth in her speech. Yes, Sidney could have swindled a number of foolish heiresses into marriage, but in his mind, nothing was worse punishment than a silly wife. No, with Miss Boyd, one thing was for certain, he would never be bored.

Still, her reference to their eventual spousal duties, was that truly why she was so cross? The thought had crossed his mind enough times, but he knew it was a foolish thing to focus on -- he could endure her inevitable critiques and suggestions. After all, it wasn’t as if either of them were chaste beings prior to their engagement.

I could always run away, you know.

“Something tells me you would not fair well without your three meals a day.” Perhaps it was a rather arrogant assumption to make, but Sidney saw no reason to pretend as if his to-be wife was not a spoiled sort. The way he saw it, some people were more versed to be poor; and some people simply couldn’t cope.

I suppose my point is, I was not aware you were quite so masochistic towards your own sensibilities.

“If we can move on from your general disapproval of me, your father tells me you are fond of traveling. Where might you want to go after the wedding?”

#an unwanted marriage #curseconsumed #// ah yes the good ol' 50/50 #that's literally bolly's ship too xD bc even when they're simping for each other they're still #arguing the entire time asklndfaksjnajsnf #*wipes away tear* it's beautiful :')#sidney: b.abe you have moolah so literally nothing you can say will make me leave #i apologize to clara for this entire thread concept xD

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passionate-reply · 4 years ago

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youtube

This week, on Great Albums, we finally get around to discussing an industrial album--and we’ve started with one of the best there is, from the OGs themselves: Throbbing Gristle! (No, it isn’t jazz funk, I promise.) As always, full transcript under the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be talking about one of the most important albums in the history of industrial music, and certainly one of the most...infamous. If you’ve ever noticed this album hanging on my wall in my other videos, you may well have wondered how an album that looks like this fits in with the rest of the stuff that’s up there. This record is the pioneering industrial group Throbbing Gristle’s classic 20 Jazz Funk Greats, and it’s essentially a bait and switch. It looks like a dorky, “family band” record from the bargain bin, but when you put it on, it sounds like this:

Music: “What a Day”

...well, not really. I’ve fibbed a bit here, much like Throbbing Gristle lied to you with this album cover. “What a Day,” one of the most sonically abrasive tracks on this album, is actually the second to last track! They take a little time to warm you up to the heavier stuff, actually. The first two tracks, the title track and “Beachy Head,” are still not really “jazz funk” by anybody’s standards, but they ARE decidedly softer than some of the other stuff you’ll encounter here.

Music: “20 Jazz Funk Greats”

Things arguably don’t start really heating up until we reach the third track on the album: “Still Walking,” which introduces us to ear-splitting distortion, rapid, disorienting percussion, and buried, albeit deeply ominous vocals, sounding like the first “typical” Throbbing Gristle track. It’s dense and almost comically busy, almost exhausting to listen to--and yet we have only just begun.

Music: “Still Walking”

So, where do we go from here? 20 Jazz Funk Greats wouldn’t be the legendary album that it is, if it was a one-note knock-knock joke, a jack in the box that emerges fully within the first few minutes of the album. What I think it really excels at is its ability to keep us on our toes throughout its entire runtime--it goes back and forth between showing a slightly friendlier face, and peeling back the skin of that face to show us the gory skull underneath. The whole thing vibrates along that contrast. Side two of the album, for instance, opens with one of Throbbing Gristle’s best-known tracks: “Hot on the Heels of Love.”

Music: “Hot on the Heels of Love”

Positioned squarely in the middle of the track listing, and at the crucial point of opening the second side, “Hot on the Heels of Love” certainly seems crucial to the album. It reads as a sort of dark parody of Giorgio Moroder’s famous “I Feel Love,” in which the voice of Donna Summer stands nakedly alone in a sea of pulsating synthesisers. It’s a pretty quick rebuttal, too, given that “I Feel Love” was released just the year before! Despite those sultry, breathy vocals, courtesy of Cosey Fanni Tutti, there’s no mistaking this one for a disco hit--not with its harsh hi-hats and gritty, highly textural synth scrapes. “Hot on the Heels of Love” features minimal lyrics--and they’re almost insultingly vapid--but 20 Jazz Funk Greats also features two prominent tracks that are much heavier in lyrical content, which I like to think as complementary to one another: “Convincing People” and “Persuasion,” which appear on the first and second side of the LP, respectively.

Music: “Convincing People”

Taken alone, “Convincing People” is weird, but it’s so vague and disorganised that it’s hard to come to a firm conclusion about what’s going on the first time you hear it. Unlike “Still Walking,” the fairly minimal instrumental accompaniment makes it easy enough to make out what the words are, without the sleeve handy. But it’s also so repetitive that it’s bound to infect you with semantic satiation, and fog up your brain’s ability to pay attention to those lyrics. The clearest statement “Convincing People” seems to be making is that you’ll never convince people when you come across as someone who’s trying to be convincing...well, alright, I suppose. But what really gives this song a darker significance is its counterpart on the flip, “Persuasion.”

Music: “Persuasion”

Abrasive numbers like “What a Day” and “Still Walking” are physically uncomfortable to listen to, but “Persuasion,” like the earlier Throbbing Gristle number “Slug Bait,” unnerves you with its lyrics instead. It takes up the mantle of a narrator who’s clearly a predatory, sexually violent character, and once again, a fairly simple instrumental makes us confront this vile subject matter head-on, as though we are alone in the room with this creep. “Persuasion” and “Convincing People” are actually extremely similar, but the biggest difference between them is that “Persuasion” is the escalation of their shared basic idea, with its much more explicit lyrics, and use of dissonant, unpredictable human screaming sounds. It’s actually a great metaphor for understanding how this album works--it gradually pushes our boundaries as we listen, worming its way into our consciousness like some masterful manipulator. And it dovetails with how Throbbing Gristle frontman Genesis P-Orridge would later style herself as a charismatic cult leader, with varying shades of irony, in later projects related to “Thee Temple ov Psychic Youth.” As we’ve recently been told, you don’t convince people by coming across as someone trying to be convincing. Or do you?

As I alluded to in the beginning, the name and cover design of 20 Jazz Funk Greats are a sort of musical booby trap, to hopefully ensnare innocent victims. It’s not jazz or funk, it doesn’t have twenty tracks, and its seemingly quaint cover photo, featuring the band in sunny surroundings, actually has a dark secret: the spot it was taken at, Beachy Head, is the most popular suicide destination in Europe, and one of the most popular worldwide. It’s Britain’s highest sea cliff, a stark, sheer wall of chalk that looms over the English Channel, and just a few feet away from where Throbbing Gristle are standing, people regularly throw themselves off of it. It’s a place where delicate natural beauty meets the profound human sickness sown by our twisted, exploitative industrial world. It’s just one more insidious detail, that heightens the cruel spirit of the album’s visual identity. It’s worth remembering that Throbbing Gristle were, first and foremost, provocateurs. I think that may be a better way to think about them overall, compared to thinking of them as “musicians.”

In my day, I’ve often seen 20 Jazz Funk Greats recommended as a good introduction to Throbbing Gristle, and to industrial music as a genre, more broadly. Industrial is one of the very few genres of music that was given its common name by an artist and not an outside critic--and we have Throbbing Gristle to thank for coining it, so they’re inarguably industrial royalty. Their catalogue remains indispensable to understanding what industrial is about--like so many acts we consider seminal or foundational, the seeds contained here inform a great deal of subsequent music. The problem, though, is where to begin, since they were arguably more of a jam band than a studio act, with legendary live performances that probably influenced other artists much more than anything they ever pressed on wax. Their discography is hairy, peppered with live recordings, non-album A-sides, and releases whose official vs. bootleg status is unclear. If you’re looking for a traditional album listening experience--as many music enthusiasts often are--it’s hard to do better than 20 Jazz Funk Greats.

At the same time, though, I think there’s something to be said for respecting the fact that Throbbing Gristle were never trying to offer anyone a traditional listening experience. Just the opposite! 20 Jazz Funk Greats is a Great Album, for sure, and it’s also a bit more of a softball than some of their other work, which arguably makes it a bit more accessible. But is it really all that fair to try and wring an “accessible” experience from a band like Throbbing Gristle, when it isn’t particularly representative of their work? Or is it better to meet them head on and try to tackle them on what appear to have been their own terms? If you’re new to them, but want to understand Throbbing Gristle and feel literate in their work, I think I might recommend their 1981 “greatest hits” compilation, Entertainment Through Pain, better than I would any of their proper albums--particularly if you’re like me, and prefer their more aggressive cuts to the ambient ones.

Music: “Adrenalin”

I think my favourite track is “Walkabout,” even though I would argue it’s one of the least “industrial” sounding tracks here. It isn’t heavy, rhythmic, or sludge-textured, but instead serves as a sort of “breather” between “Persuasion” and “What a Day,” a brief, floating melody that drifts by like a cirrus cloud. It’s both playful as well as devious, wedging itself between some of the hardest-hitting stuff, looking like it might be a reprieve, but ultimately leading right back into harsh musical territory--like an abuser love bombing you between some of their worst behaviour. Perhaps “Walkabout” is something like a masochist’s after-care, a moment of healing and cooldown after the excesses of simulated abuse. Or perhaps it’s the stillness and disquiet peace of the grave, for those who meet their end at the hands of “Persuasion”’s narrator? Ambiguity and possible irony are an integral part of Throbbing Gristle’s particular danse macabre...so I’ll leave the rest of the interpreting up to you. Thanks for watching!

Music: “Walkabout”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #music criticism #throbbing gristle #industrial #industrial music #Genesis P-Orridge #cosey fanni tutti #20 jazz funk greats

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kendrixtermina · 5 years ago

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I’ve found the interview! Or parts of it

Other fun points beyond Claude’s real name.

A lot of my headcanons have been confirmed!

Silver Snow was the first route written (maybe that’s why it’s the weakest? It took them a while to find their Mojo)

El wasn’t just a driving figure in the plot but also in the writing process, ie, the other lords were then developed as contrasts.

Dimitri’s eyepatch was also improv apparently one person just randomly suggested it halfway through, the original model was then used for CF. It was intended to show that he had a hard life in the last 5 years

They say they took some influence from “Romance of the Three Kingdoms”

CF was indeed intended as a “secret” hidden route holding a distinct place - it was originally supposed to be harder to unlock - they also underestimated how many players would always go explore on the first day (apparently the option is only open in the first day - which makes sense, later she’s already departed)

Edelgard is indeed Byleth’s foil/ counterpart / rival / contrast as someone with roughly equal power

So developement wise you might draw some parallels to Elsa (the developers gradually realized this character had more potential as a hero than a villain/ was actually pretty sympathetic - part of why they made joining her easier) and also Rika from Digimon Tamers (they realized the figurines of the girl characters didn’t sell, so they made the primary girl the ‘rival character’ which always sells. Rika was indeed hugely popular, probably because your average anime ‘rival character’ tends to be complex, cool, and one of the most powerful chars in the setting)

Lysithea was indeed just a prototype, Edelgard had a much more advanced procedure done on her (hence why she generally seems a lot more “super”)

They originally planned for her to be able to stop/interfere with divine pulse but that didn’t end up making it into the final game

You have to consider that a game is not a book or a movie - something might be a cool concept on its own but if its implementation is annoying to the player it’s worthless

However I will take this as confirmation to my headcanon that she has some mild timewarping going on, and that this is what happens when she can attack multiple times (as per ‘raging storm’ or in her Hegemon form)

That really IS Sothis on the mural

An aspect that I didn’t personally consider but adds to my observations of how Rhea is a really interesting take on the concept of a demigod: They stress that to her Sothis doesn’t just represent her mother but also the creator/ her god. She very much does worship her and has goals beyong just wanting back a family member

(Indeed she does tell Byleth that she can’t wait until “Our creator rules this wayward land once more”)

And here’s yet another account of the war of heroes. In this i must admit defeat because others called this and I didn’t:

The Nabateans were in fact ruling over humans, and people were in fact resisting/standing up to that

The Agarthans having their own sinister motives, invented the methods to make crests/ relics

At this point you DO get greed and powerlust involved - people like Nemesis started trying to kill dragons to gain their power left and right and the balance of power shifted

Rhea didn’t so much “make” the Elites into heroes - The (human) people really did see them as liberators and that was too big to change, so Seiros kept the broad strokes manipulating the details so that all tied back to the goddess.

So they replaced an aristocracy of Nabateans by an aristocracy of people with Nabatean-like powers. There’s an interesting dynamic here

So Edelgard was almost completely right.

I’m sorry I doubted you El!

That said I still get the impression that Nemesis was definitely in it for the power and still massacred civilians. He’s like the Ten Elites’ secretly evil teammate.

So on the one hand, Rhea didn’t do this unscrupulous act of making people she hates into heroes just for control, on the other hand the war of Heroes was alot more muddy

On the other hand this makes Silver Snow a bad end in my book. “Happiness in Slavery”.

I did talk about how SS didn’t have Byleth growing out of their character flaws the ways the other routes, but now... wow they were a tool until the end

I still can’t believe that Sothis, Seteth or Flayn are evil though, Sothis seems compassionate and disliked Rhea’s methods - but was she even around then, actually? Because she was asleep for a long time after the war with the Agarthans. So the Nabateans, perhaps already under Rhea’s leadership, were already semi-corrupt.

(That obviously doesn’t justify slaughtering them all down to the last child - Zanado was the civilian population)

Seteth might have been as much of a tool now as then. Though I still hold to my opinion that he’s the last one to hold to Sothis’ “real” mission - which was guard not rule

Of course Rhea believed almost to the last that guarding was precisely what she was doing

Heavens this has so many layers and complexities I love it I want to make a full drawn out novel based on a similar premise

That said they specify very clearly that Seiros and co really did just want to keep the peace. They are benevolent/ paternalistic overlords basically

Almyra seems to have an “Ottoman Harem” situation going on where the King has multiple wives and the heir is whoever is worthiest/strongest rather than the eldest. So from the beginning Claude had many rivals as if the bullying he experienced wasn’t bad enough

So Claude/Khalid is different from Dimitri who was always the rightful crown prince, and Edelgard who never expected to inherit and suddenly found herself catapulted up the line of succession. For him it was always a “maybe”.

This is an interesting contrast to Edelgard. Her father also had many concubines but it seems she had a good relationship with her siblings regardless.

“He won’t hesitate to plea for his life and considers survival as the ultimate victory. That’s also why Claude is the character who survives in every route. “

The original plan was to slip up and have Nader call him the wrong name. i see why they cut it, it would make everyone involved look like they don’t take the situation seriously

The moment in non-GD routes where he couldn’t predict that Hilda and Judith would sacrifice themselves is ascribed to him “having different values than the people in fodlan”. Ouch. So good at reading people but the cultural difference still bit him in the ass at the worst possible moment.

If you see the Church as Seiros as an analogue to a corrupt medieval church, this certainly fits with the common observation by ppl of different backgrounds that christian countries tend to have an undercurrent of glorifying suffering and self-sacrifice in ways that seem masochistic to ppl from other backgrounds or even local non-believers

The beard was supposed to make him look “adventurous”

“He’s a very good guy” - I mean, yeah.

The timeskip designs were supposed to “radiate their life style over the last five years” - I certainly see that with, say, Dimitri or Bernadetta

#fe3h #three houses #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses #Khalid #claude von riegan #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard

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fandom-collective-writers · 5 years ago

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Reader x Mitsuhide {IkeSen} - Shibari with the Kitsune

Title: Shibari with the Kitsune Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku Character: Mitsuhide Akechi Genre: i only come back to write smut Warnings: kinky time Kinks: dom!fem, silk bondage, face sitting (oral), riding, milkd dirty talk, etc Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience Word Count: 1723 words POV: second person Requested by: @alerialumina (”You heard me. Take. It. Off.”) Written by: @mythiica Other comments: i gave up with the title after about a minute :D

When you had asked Mitsuhide if he was alright with the notion of allowing you, his little mouse, to take lead of the night’s adventures, he raised a white eyebrow. His golden eyes narrowed accordingly, like he was looking for your smile to waver out of embarrassment. When Mitsuhide cannot find it, he smiles, with teeth. “Alright then, you’ve gotten my attention. You wish to control me? I welcome it–”

Mitsuhide the Masochist, you like to call him (in the privates of your own mind, for if he knew that you named him that, he would tease you without end) because of his interesting fascination with bondage. Not only did tying a delicate rope or silken thread around your curves make him painfully excited, but it has nearly the same effect when inflicted on himself. You assume it has something to do with his part time occupation as the designated interrogator-torturer– would you ever learn? Likely not.

Regardless of this, you take to preparing everything with great care. Mitsuhide enjoys himself, indulging in the occasional sip of sake as you scramble around the room, trying to arrange everything.

“At this rate, I’ll have to cancel my meetings for tomorrow–”

Grumbling in response, you stick your tongue out at Mitsuhide and continue. The kitsune would not get inside your head, not this time.

And then, when you pull out a beautiful, royal purple silk rope, his eyes seem to light up. It might have been the flicker of the candle light reflecting in that piercing gaze of his, but you become far too distracted because Mitsuhide begins undressing himself. A viscous motion there, and then another, equally smooth slip of his shoulders– and suddenly he is sporting absolutely nothing.

“Where do you want me, little mouse?”

“Y’know, it doesn’t help that you still call me that–”

He pads forward, carrying no shame in the slightest, and pushes your hair back enough to kiss your pulse. “Pray tell, what should I call you? Mistress? My lady…?”

Your heart flutters at this– the fact that Mitsuhide is so willing to submit himself to your will. He’s versatile in nearly everything he does, and you curse him for it, because that is usually how he ends up on top by the end of every night. However, today will be different, you tell yourself, dragging your fingernails up his torso. Your touch is as light as possible, and it raises goosebumps to the surface of his skin before a shiver echoes down his arms.

“Hm?”

“My lady works well…” you reply with confidence, taking his wrists together to wrap them with one pass of the silk. “But I won’t call you pet.. or mouse, or anything like that.”

“Whyever not~?” he hums in response, lacing his fingers together for you.

You start to pace around Mitsuhide, bringing the rest of rope around his torso. Making sure his nipples stay exposed, you pull on it sharply, so that the fabric is taught against his skin. “Because I know you like the sound of your name on my lips–”

Mitsuhide groans at this. One of his few vices, and you’ve found it so easily. “Say it then.”

“Not yet!”

Heat radiates from his muscles, and you take pleasure in tracing the curve of his waist and then the dip down to his hips… You push Mitsuhide down so that his knees land on the plush futon. The last thing to do is restrain his legs. (And a good thing too, because you are nearly out of ribbon length. You didn’t realize how broad his chest is– you used most of it going around his breast and waist.)

Your present is perfectly wrapped and sits almost too obediently in front of you, awaiting orders.

He’s started to get hard, you can see the veins tensing every other moment until Mitsuhide clicks his tongue. “My lady… what shall you do to me… or have me do to you?”

Confidence bubbles in your lungs, and you untie your obi, letting it drop to the ground with a dull thud. Next comes the outermost layer of your kimono, but you leave the underslip and simply part it further along the leg slit.

Taking a handful of Mitsuhide’s hair, you pull his head back enough that you can sit yourself comfortably on his face. He knows what to do without having to be told– Mitsuhide’s tongue, usually sharp with words, delves into your core, swirling around without a moment’s hesitation. Taking a mouthful of your cunt, Mitsuhide relishes in the taste of your essence, sparing no expense to roll his hips and grind against the bindings, trying to find a sliver of relief himself.

“Nuh-uh–” you groan, tugging on his hair. Mitsuhide goes still, save for his lips that work your clit in every direction possible. He pulls all of his tricks and goes as far as to bite your outermost folds, trying to surprise you.

Pulling on his silvery locks would only urge him on more, you know this, so you instead step back. His chin, wet with slick, glistens in the light and makes you flush the slightest bit. Had you really gotten so wet from such little play?

“Behave or else–”

Mitsuhide licks his lips. “I do apologize, my lady. I got carried away. You taste divine…” If he were not restrained, Mitsuhide would have licked his fingers and wiped his chin. Instead, he tips his head upwards, as if asking for more.

This time, you rest your leg on his desk, opening yourself to him. Mitsuhide scoots forward, but not enough, so he has to lean forward and tense his abdominal muscles to reach you. He takes a single, languid lap every moment, torturing himself more than you.

You think you hear a whimper sound from his throat, and you push his face against you. While you hold him there, you grind against his wet tongue and moan. For a moment, you forget that he’s bound and nearly ask him to finger you.

However, Mitsuhide would be able to make you cum without needing for fingering. There’s a certain skill in his tongue that allows him to know exactly how to pleasure you. Indeed, before long, the knot builds up in your stomach and you are ready to explode. Mitsuhide reduces his motions though, however, you won’t let him get away with it– you push against his tongue, not letting him escape so quickly. He isn’t in control, and you want that to be clear.

“Hm… Mitsuhide– you’re behaving very well.”

He twitches at this, his whole body does, and you giggle because of it. His moans vibrate your clit enough to push you over the said edge. The warm rush bursts through you, drowning Mitsuhide. He doesn’t dare lean back though.

In fact, your lover continues to lap at you even through your orgasm. You have to step away from him and regain your bearings. “Mitsuhide…”

Smiling at you, he licks his lips. “Yes, my lady?”

Not replying right away, you guide Mitsuhide over to the futon once more. He sits on his knees, waiting patiently for you. By the look on his face, he seemingly expects you to take pleasure in his tongue once more, but instead, you sit on his lap.

Letting the fabric of your skirt fan out, you sit with your soaked pussy against his now throbbing cock.

“Hm… is it my turn to be rewarded?”

“If you want..”

“Oh, I do.” Mitsuhide presses his chest against yours, hard nipples grinding over your own. “Will you indulge me?”

There’s no need to fetch extra lubricant – the wetness from your folds and the precum from his cock are enough to allow him to simply slide inside. His tip rubs against your walls, reminding you of all the other wonderful times you shared with Mitsuhide.

You failed to tie the silk tight enough, and it starts to fall of his shoulders and loosen from his legs, allowing him enough movement to buck up into you. Mitsuhide lets his mouth hang open to moan for you, singing out his praises for your wonderful display of authority.

Riding him, he takes every liberty of showing off. Chest protruding, Mitsuhide laps at your neck and jaw, leaving small bites in his wake to mark you still– you do the same for him, knowing that the window of his kimono will be low enough to reveal the beautiful bruises.

Mitsuhide’s cock tenses against your walls. (You can’t really believe that he’s already this close to cumming. Usually he likes to show off that he can last ages without release just because he wants to focus on you. Now, it seems to be the opposite.

You have so much energy, and you pour it into bouncing up and down at a constant speed– enough to keep him drooling and moaning and utterly sinful. So wicked that you want to do this again and again. Being the one in control is so much fun, and you see why Mitsuhide likes it.

“I know what you’re thinking. This is a single treat for a single day!”

“Mitsuhide…” you mewl, tracing his face with a finger. “Then I’ll stop right here. And leave you bound.”

His eyes go wide at this, but then he smiles. “You’ve learned a thing or two from me, haven’t you?”

“Yes…” You throw your arms over his shoulders and kiss him everywhere, careful to keep your rhythm constant. “Now, don’t you want to cum?” Your smile grows ever devious, just like his when he edges you.

“Hm… I’ll give you the satisfaction you seek. Yes, I do~”

The ropes have fallen almost completely off at this point, and Mitsuhide nips your lips.

“Take. It Off.”

“My lady?”

“You heard me. Take it off– I know you can. You’ve been acting this entire time.”

Mitsuhide swallows hard and his gaze softens. “So I have.” With that, he shrugs his shoulders and the silk falls away, giving him his full range of motion back. His hands take their rightful place on your hips, and he pushes you all the way down. “But I’ll do what you ask me to do,” the kitsune adds with a whisper.

“Good… then I’ll ask you only one thing.”

“Do tell me, my lady.”

“Make me cum.”

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen x reader #ikesen mitsuhide x reader #cybird #otome

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queenjunoking · 4 years ago

Text

Wolf Taming Pt 26

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping - Manipulation - Consent Violation

2 Years Ago

“Morning Z.” A woman’s voice pulled me from my sleep. I blinked a few times to clear my eyes and saw Briar standing in the doorway holding a plate. “Oh dear. Were you actually sleeping last night? I’m really sorry I woke you up, you need all of it you can get.”

Briar was one of the few people I’d met that I could actually stand. She joined the Society about a month before I did and had been one of the few people who seemed genuine. For better or worse she had taken an interest in me after Eos had recommended I work here. She was nice and helpful, but it also meant enduring her quirks.

"Hello Miss Briar, how are you today?"

She sighed. "For the last time Z we're equals here. Briar is fine. It feels strange for you of all people to be calling me by a title."

"The Society has been pretty strict on titles, I'd prefer to keep to them while we're in one of their buildings."

"Z, between the two of us you're the one with an epithet. You should be a higher rank than you are. You're very good at what you do."

"The epithet is just a joke at my expense. If I was capable of doing things your way I would."

“I see. Epithets are a pretty big honor to have. Only like what, 7 percent of members have one? Why do you feel like it’s a joke?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Psychoanalyze me. Leave that for whoever's in your file for today.” Briar was nice, but she stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. It seemed like she was digging for something when I talked to her. She was a psychologist before she joined the Society. From my own experience with psychologists they made it a habit to stick their noses where you didn’t want them too.

Briar went silent for a moment before changing the subject. “So who is it today?”

“Some rando who decided to look for the Society.”

“Reporter?”

“No.” I couldn’t manage to suppress a sigh. “A kinkster that doesn’t really get what this place is about. Unfortunately for her it’s a bit too late to back out. Could I have a minute so I can get dressed?”

“Sure, I’ll be waiting outside.”

I looked at the clock, it was already two in the afternoon. I didn’t think it was that late already, apparently I did fall asleep at some point. It’s not like I’d gone outside much recently, I mostly kept to myself and daylight didn’t easily reach a place this deep.

I put on a pair of my favorite jeans and a black t-shirt and I was ready. A lot of the other breakers liked to dress up, find a theme to their work. One girl here dressed as a latex nurse. One guy loved his heavy goth look. Briar loved leather. I mostly kept it casual. I didn’t see why I should need some gimmick for my job.

I opened the door and motioned to her to come with. “Alright, lets go.”

“Nuh-uh. Wait.” She put out an arm to bar my exit and motioned for me to back up. “Here, have something to eat before you gather your equipment.” She placed the plate she was handing onto my desk. Just some toast and jam.

“I could have gotten something to eat myself.”

“I’m sure you could have, but were you going too?”

“Maybe? I kind of have a lot to take care of.”

“Uh-huh. Did you eat anything yesterday?” I hated when she did this, I could feel her looking me over like she could pick out something I did to prove that I was lying to her. I’m not sure why she cared.

“Fine!’ I was getting exasperated. I took a bite of the toast. “I’m eating it. Happy now?”

“Happier. You need to take care of yourself.” I was bracing myself for another lecture, but she went quiet. “You really leaving at the end of the week, Z?”

“Mhm. Today’s lucky capture will be the last one I’ll have to do. Got a house lined up and stuff. We’ll see how it goes. Plus... she’ll be done today.”

“Oh, right. If you want some help with that later on let me know. It’ll be easier with two people. If you ever want to talk about it you know where I’ll be.”

“I don’t have anything I need to talk about. Have a good day Briar.” I heard a bit of a sad sigh when I walked away from her. I had other things on my mind, I didn’t really have time to think about her five hundredth attempt to get me to talk to her about something. I flipped open the file

Name: Kim Raum

Height: 5’ 5

Eyes: Grey

Hair: Blonde (Bleached and Dyed)

Former Job: Tech Firm Manager

Reason for Capture: She stuck her nose where it didn’t belong and learned too much. She has been designated a liability.

Additional Information: We’ve searched through her computers and phone and evidence she is already a submissive who fantasizes about being owned by another person. She has a particular interest in being a petgirl and has fantasies of being a fox girl. She has masochist tendencies. We believe it is these tendencies that got her onto a trail of rumors about the Society. Others involved have already been captured and brought to the auction house.

We did not bring her here for her own pleasure. She is here to be punished for her transgressions. We recommend either Miss Briar or Z for this task due to the particular needs required. A complete break is requested.

Known Fears or Phobias: N/A

Chosen Breaker: Z

Chosen Fate for the New Capture: Sold at Auction.

Breaker Percentage: 3%

Breaker Notes: I sent out an invitation to the target via a Society Member working in a kink dungeon she frequents to visit the Auction House. The member is known to her and she agreed to the “full experience” which included a “fake” kidnapping where she will be secured on an evening walk by a capture team lead by Jude. I have orders for her to be placed in my usual room where she will be under the belief that this is just a sex club of some sort. In order to expedite the process she was given something to fill out so she knows what kinds of activities she may experience here.

It was going to be a long day. We occasionally caught some reporters or friends of those we captured snooping about. If the Society felt it was safe to move against them we’d capture them. I’m not sure we ever came across someone who was looking to join willingly. They really had no idea what we were about.

I went to the preparation area and picked out the things I wanted. It was always the same list. I found my method effective enough I didn’t see a reason to change it. I filled out an order for it to be set out for 7 P.M., when I’d be meeting the person I’d be spending time with for a few days.

I got a message informing me last minute this session would be recorded as it was my last one. It was for record keeping as I had yet to have a recorded session. I sighed and returned to my room. I spent the remainder of my time trying to act in front of my mirror. I felt I was a pretty bad actor, but I only needed to be so convincing. My alarm went off at 6:45 and I made my way to the breaking chambers.

I opened the door and saw the occupant go from looking around the room to pretending to be asleep. I rolled my eyes and entered the room. They were shackled in my favorite device. It was similar to a chair you might see in a gynecologist office, but the stirrups could lock and the arms could be locked up near their head. It gave me full access to their body.

“Good evening Miss Raum, I know you’re awake.”

“What gave it away?”

“I saw you looking around.”

“That was more of a rhetorical… anyway. Are you Z? Where you the one who sent me that message?”

“I am. One of the perks of working here is getting a one night voucher you can give to someone. It’s a pretty special gift. I didn’t have anyone I wanted to give mine too so I asked Aiden if he knew anyone who would appreciate it. He dropped your name.”

“Guess I’m just lucky. This place is exciting. Have you seen the place up front? There's an entire stage, what’s it for?”

“This is the Auction House Miss Raum, the stage is the most important place in the entire building.”

I saw her eyes go wide. “Like you guys actually auction off people here? How does it work? Is it just like for some activities tonight or something?”

I smiled at her. “You’ll learn in due time. If you’re good for me you might get to see it yourself.”

“Aww… I have to be good?” She flashed some puppy dog eyes at me.

“Good is a relative term. Believe me, you’ll know if you’re being bad. But we have to go through the formalities before we really begin. We try to keep the Auction House pretty immersive, but we have to check in first. What is your name?

“Kim Raum.”

“Miss Raum-”

“Please just call me Kim.”

“Alright. Kim. Kim, do you remember the safeword you were given before?”

“Traffic light system, I got it.”

“And you know my particular area I work with?” I circled around behind her. I reached into the refrigerated portion and pulled out a knife and a pair of scissors and placed them in my pockets.

“Aiden said you like ‘sensory stuff’ and said it would be better to talk to you about it than him spoiling the surprise.”

“Pretty much. I hope it’ll be something you remember. Are you wearing the clothes I requested?” I stood behind her as we talked. Every movement mattered since this was being recorded.

“I might have worn something nicer had I realized what kind of upscale place this was, but I wore what you asked. Clothes I didn’t mind losing. Jude already showed me where to go to pick up new clothes after this. I have to admit, the immersive experience has been pretty great so far. Kidnapping team is quite fantastic.”

I gave her a smile. It’s interesting hearing someone so happy about a trap they willingly walked into. “You know what to do if it gets too much. I’m sure you know what to do if you want more as well. Just say your name and that you consent and we can begin. You can always revoke it at any time.”

“My name is Kim Raum and I consent to this.” I slipped a blindfold over her eyes. This always worked best when they couldn’t see.

I wrapped my arms around her from the back. I pressed the button on the switchblade and it shot out, grazing her cheek with it’s icy tip. I felt her tense up a bit. A great start.

“Oooooh nooooo. Are you going to hurt me? That’s terrible.” I could hear a bit of a laugh. I’m glad she was enjoying herself for now.

I walked around to the front of her, dragging the tip of the knife down from the side of her wrist to her waist as I walked by. Light enough not to draw blood. Hard enough to feel the cold sharp blade. “We’ll see. Your clothes are in my way.”

I pulled the pair of scissors out of my pocket. I felt her shiver as the metal touched her stomach. I held onto her shirt as I slid the scissors up her stomach, the scissors slid through the cloth like it was a hot knife through butter. I managed to bisect her shirt and bra with one motion. A lucky move to be honest, I usually had to make a second cut for that. With a few more swipes I cut down the sleeves to the center before I pulled the tatters off of her and threw them to the side.

I moved down to her pants and did the same thing. A single gliding cut up each pant leg and I could pull them off. I didn’t catch her panties with them unfortunately. The scissors had warmed up at this point so I placed them off to the side. I flicked open the knife and traced it over her as I studied them.

I decided to take the risk. I held the knife close like I was going to cut them off. Then with one motion I instead grabbed them and pulled, tearing the fabric and pulling them off.

“Whoa.” “Yeah, I’m kind of impressed in myself to be honest. Wasn’t sure if it would work and it would have been embarrassing if it didn’t.” I walked back over to the cart and placed the knife and scissors back in the refrigerated compartments. “How about we switch it up a bit?”

“Got more settings than cold?” She did enjoy poking at me. I wasn’t sure if that really made me feel better or worse about what I was building up to.

I gave her a little chuckle. “A couple more at least.”

I placed a few things on a tray and brought it over to her. A wand vibrator, two lotions, some swabs, and some latex gloves.The vibrator came with an attachment so I could hook it to the chair. I put it on it’s lowest setting and placed it snug against her. “I like to introduce a bit of pleasure to go with the pain.”

“Oh? Were the scissors and the knife not supposed to be the pleasure portion?”

“I can see you were the right person to give that voucher to Kim. I’m sure you’ll appreciate what else we’ll be doing.”

I slid on the gloves and applied a dab of the bottles to each nipple. I began rubbing it in and listened to her moan. Soon enough their effects began to work and she squirmed a bit. “Something wrong?”

“Probably not, just a little surprised. A tiny bit chilly on one side but the other side is a bit hot.” It was a neat little concoction. One side was a special mixture of a pepper the Society cultivated. The other side was a mint extract of some type. It wasn’t too bad without the full mixture.

“How’s it feeling?” I whispered into her ear.

“It’s an interesting feeling. Surely you can do a bit more though?”

Just the opening I was waiting for. I turned the wand up to a higher setting and walked back to the cart and picked up the items I needed for the main performance. Another lotion bottle, a spray bottle, a syringe, a vial, an enema bag, a jug of ice water, a special rubber gag and a hood. Everything she needed to be comfortable for a few hours. I removed her blindfold so she could see the tray.

“Is that a syringe?” I could hear the caution in her voice.

“Indeed it is. The Society creates a lot of their own drugs among other things. This is a particularly fun one I think you’ll enjoy.” I held up the syringe and filled it with the contents of the vial.

“Red. No.” She paused for a second to moan as the vibrator continued to do its work. “Red. No needles. No drugs.” She sat there, expecting something to happen. I was just searching for the best place to inject it. “What the fuck are you doing?! Stop!”

“What was that Kim?”

“Are you deaf I said re-” When she opened her mouth again I lifted the spray bottle and sprayed the contents into her mouth. “What the hell was-” she was interrupted again when she suddenly screamed and began to thrash in the chair. I felt a smile touch my lips but I quickly wiped it away.

I grabbed the rubber gag and shoved it into her mouth. It was an oval gag meant to keep the wearer’s mouth pried open but wouldn’t let them bite down all the way. It helped protect the tongue.

I grabbed her by the hair to pull her head to the headrest. “Look at me.” Her eyes darted towards me, wide. I could see she was afraid now. She knew the play was done. “Kim, that's a special spray made with a pepper that’s cultivated by our group. It’s called a Hellfire Kiss. I’ve obviously never tried it myself. I’m not really into spicy things. But I’m told it's over as hot as a Carolina Reaper but I’m afraid I don’t really have a reference for how hot that is. Be good and I’ll share something I have that’ll neutralize it. Be bad and I’m sure I can find other places you really don’t want this to touch. You’re shackled to a chair right now, you have nowhere you can escape to. Nod your head up and down if you want to be a good girl.”

She was still trying to break out of the chair, but she vigorously nodded her head up and down. “It’s so easy to be a good girl Kim, I’m glad you’ve decided to work with me.” I jabbed her with the needle and injected the substance. It was quite the lovely mixture. A special stimulant that helped the user take more of a beating before they would lose consciousness. It also intensified sensations, making everything she was feeling even more intense.

I pulled on another pair of latex gloves and squirted the lotion into my hands. I ignored her crying and applied the lotion to her nipples. She gasped as the full effect of the lotions started. The other two on their own were nice for sore muscles. If either was mixed with this one it intensified their effects. I was told that it was fairly safe but the sensation would keep intensifying for a while. As the seconds ticked by her thrashing renewed and unintelligent babble left her mouth.

It was easier not to acknowledge it. She would have to get used to not being acknowledged in any meaningful way.

I inserted the enema plug into her none too gently. I had things to do today and didn’t want to spend much more time here. She made a small noise of discontent at the feeling but started begging again when I started to fill the bag. I just kept ignoring her. It didn’t really matter what she wanted or what her thoughts on anything were anymore. It was time she learned that. I watched as it started to run into her. The water was just barely above freezing. It would be pretty painful. Beyond just being filled to the brim with water that cold it would cause pretty horrific cramping.

“Almost done. Then you can sit on your own for a few hours and think about how you willingly came here.” I placed the earbuds in her. They just played loud static. I wanted her to focus on the sensation. It was best to make sure every sense was being used.

I took one last look into her eyes before I pulled the hood over her head. It covered her eyes but left a place open for her nose and mouth. I opened the spray bottle and dipped some swabs in the mixture. I held the bottle up to her mouth and gave her another spray, resulting in a new round of screams. I went over to the table and picked out a plug for the gag and inserted it, forcing her to breathe through her nose. I heard her whimper as the first round of cramps spread through her. I took the swabs and swirled them around her nose. I watched her fingers curl as she tried to reach for her face. This method kept it around longer. She’d be breathing it in for awhile.

With that I was done. In a few hours she’d pass out and someone else would clean her up. I’d be repeating this activity several times a day for the rest of the week and hope she broke before the end of the week.

I looked back at my last victim. Anyone else would have drawn out what they were doing. Slowly breaking them over time until they acknowledge their new lot in life. But not me. I did my best to overwhelm them with sensations until it was too much for them. She was a sobbing mess now but soon she would break and be fine. I broke them as quick as I could to protect them from anymore suffering.

I was a figure of mercy.

I cared for them.

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