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#Out of Orbit Festival
thatdeadaquarius · 4 months
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About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".
Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.
If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.
I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.
NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM
I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!
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Sun: Reader (you/they/them)
Orbit: Headcanons-ish
Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?
Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.
Comment if any missed, please.
FULL STOP.
THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO
You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever
and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)
can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??
id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)
also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭
the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy
(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)
(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)
dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.
endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)
the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it
speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.
Alhaitham.
sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,
Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature
and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))
(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)
On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)
Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular
like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol
(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)
Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,
but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol
(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)
Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao
(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)
(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)
ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao
Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol
Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)
Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,
Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions
THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO
Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao
and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)
You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa
from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed
(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)
Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol
that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.
Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not
(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )
oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹
OMFG
ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-
the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO
like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)
STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)
for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP
IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA
that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀
(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)
Also yes.
Cyno is a fanboy.
(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)
(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)
(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)
an iced coffee? for me?? :0
ok but real talk…
wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!
i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)
but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o
ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)
Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,
💀♒
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♡the beloveds♡
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iwaasfairy · 1 year
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┌─ “ ! „ FLIGHTY
tw. uncle!satoru, incest, age gap, breeding, coercion, dirty talk, praise, brief choking, baby as pet name, some jealousy, degradation, corruption kink, sneaking around wordcount. 6.7k
a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @antique-remains ♡ thank you so so much for commissioning me and for being absolutely wonderful!! i really hope you enjoy your fic,, i had a blast writing it so i kinda went a little crazy with the word count but! hgdfsy listen i hear gojo satoru i jump into the deep end i hooopppee you enjoy it lovely!!! <33 and thanks a million to the beta readers ilY so much
gojo satoru x fem!reader
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The door rattles with a loud noise as you make it two steps down the hall. Two whole steps before long arms wrap under your shoulders and you’re whirled around against an equally lanky body, while your giggles fill the hall. They echo down the old family house, pristine and proper, and give your mother a well deserved moment of rest as she rolls the suitcases inside. “Hey- There’s my favorite little squirt,” his lithe voice hums gleefully when you press a childishly sloppy peck onto his cheek and squish your face to his shoulder, and Satoru barely bothers to give your mom a quick smile before stealing your entire attention away and putting you into his neck with a smile.
“You gotta visit more frequently, nee-san. I gotta show my favorite niece what I’ve learned at monster school, don’t I?”
Your chubby cheeks glow hot as you parrot him. “Monster!”
“Your only niece. And you’re more than welcome to take a few babysitting shifts, Satoru. Lord knows I could use it,” the soft-spoken woman would then chuckle, and leave you to it.
That’s how it was, always. You remember finding the days where snow stuck to the ground and made the house feel so much toastier, the most lovely of all- no excuses, no exceptions. Not that you could give a reason as to why, back then. It was probably because winter meant family time and holidays and presents, and most of all, it meant packing everything up into the car and driving down for New Years. Without fail, a white winter meant Gojo Satoru — and without fail, you’d look towards him like a world faithfully orbits the sun.
You can’t thank Satoru enough for taking his role so gracefully, at the time. When it was still fun.
Now winter means being locked up in your room while that same man parades around a different princess each year, and makes your start to the new entirely unenjoyable. After a good few hours of hearing the drinking and talking grow louder and louder -and then eventually quieter again, you finally dare peak your head around the corner. Because if you’re lucky, uncle Satoru will have no self-control. And the copious amounts of alcohol that festivities require will leave him blissfully unaware of your scowl at the foreign pair of shoes by the door. Your bare feet pad on the floor as you make your way past the soft rumble of the tv, and into the kitchen to pop open your own box of cake, and another bottle of bubbles for yourself.
The frosting sticks to the roof of your mouth three bites in, and makes everything a lot more palatable. The smell of the obnoxious festive scented candles, the deep beats of the slow make-out music reverberating through the walls of his otherwise impeccable apartment. The knowledge that you’re meant to wait out the inevitable turnaround from festive cheer to loud moans down the hall as the countdown hits 0. It’s been this way for years now, and you find yourself wishing spring would come a little faster.
You’d never be so lucky, though. You drop the fork in surprise when long fingers sneak around your neck to squeeze gently at the soft parts of it, and a breath brushes over the shell of your ear. “Boo.” Festive cheer and a softer familiar musk overtakes your senses.
“Satoru, you dick,” you squeak out a little too loudly, halfway to turning when a strong arm wraps around your hips to allow him to slot a little closer to your back. He peers over your head at the cake, breath dusting over your hair. Uncaring, of course, about the level of appropriateness or the way it sends a shiver up your spine.
“Bit early for a late night snack, isn’t it? You could at least have asked your favorite authority figure to join you.” His smile gleams in the low light of the apartment like a million diamonds, white head of hair tousled and bed-head like. The hand on your hip squeezes ever so softly before you shake him off, and cross your arms over your chest in defiance.
“You’re barely an authority, let alone my favorite. Besides, aren’t you kept busy with… Keiko? Kyoko?”
“—Kimiko. Why?” It’s then you make the mistake of looking up into those perfect baby blues through the half-tinted shades, and despite your earlier frostiness, he still searches for a handhold on your shoulder, softly brushing his thumb along the collar of your shirt. He stares like he can see through you, where your heart beats wildly in your chest. You’d dare bet money that sometimes he definitely tries to. But the calculating glances that flick over your face are kept quiet by a faint hum.
“She’s gone home. I thought maybe we could celebrate New Years together this time.” Satoru is always smiling. It crinkles his eyes, seems to ooze out of him like syrup. He’s good at that. At feeling trustworthy. But— “We still have a good twenty minutes until the fireworks. Come celebrate. For me?” There’s no mistaking the way he leans in to nudge your face up and puts on an exaggerated puppy-like pout. Gojo Satoru is anything but trustworthy.
But hard lessons are slow to stick. You find your mouth opening almost like instinct, sugar-coated tongue running over your lips as he waits. “Fine, until after the fireworks. Only ‘til then.” His mouth corners go a little more cat-like when the grin grows further, and he rubs his heavy palm and long fingers over your head with a soft chuckle.
“Right? You’d never leave your poor old, lonely uncle Satoru alone on a special day, right?”
The couch is abandoned for a slower sort of swinging around the living room once the clock starts getting close, and Satoru places another flute of golden bubbles into your hand— grinning as you move to the beat. Try and resist as you may, Satoru has given you much to be thankful for. The heat of his hand back on your head distracts you from the way the drink goes down too quickly, letting him pick your hand into his to pull you closer. “Have you ever slow danced before, pretty girl?”
You don’t get to say anything before you’re in his arms, hands to his chest and quickly sliding down to wrap around him instead, swallowing down the stirring heat that hits when he chuckles. You must be crazy. Must be. Your heart feels like it’s banging in your throat. But Satoru rests his chin on your head into the embrace, and swallows you up into his arms. And your throat burns like a raging fire yet again. It isn’t like that. It isn’t like that. You’re the one making it weird, and you know it. But you can’t help the goosebumps when he presses a kiss to your crown, or when he pauses to look down at you.
Grinning like he’s got the world in his palm, he leans in to almost brush noses with you. “This is kinda romantic, isn’t it?”
“Gojo Satoru,” you immediately feel the warmth flare up on your cheeks and ears, eyes going wide. But the grin is back instantly, and he chuckles.
“Alright, don’t get your panties into a twist.” The air of his breaths dusts over your nose when he stares, and doesn’t look away. “You’re so obvious when you want something. It’s cute.” He’s awfully, disturbingly pretty. However weird it is to notice that about your own mom’s brother… you never were able to lie yourself out of that conclusion.
The clock ticks loudly, counting down. But you can’t tear yourself away, blinking blankly at the way he gives your face a once over, before those eyes find yours. Glittering brilliantly, pulling at your sanity. You did always adore him. The first few fireworks go off loud in the distance, when your own uncle Satoru dips down and kisses you. You freeze. Warm lips and tongue pressing into your mouth- he full-on kisses you and runs a hand along your neck to pull you into him. A muffled squeak makes it’s way out of you, warm tongue getting to taste all of him. You- you don’t stop it. When he pulls back, his mouth lingers over yours, and that devilish mouth whispers, “happy New Year, baby,” without any ‘sorry’s.
+
The flowers are already starting to bloom in the colorful pots that swing outside the windows when you nurse your own cup of tea, and don’t bother lowering your eyes when bright azures meet your gaze. There’s something there that tingles your tongue, faint memories biting at your conscious, but too swift to grab hold of. You can’t read him anymore. It makes the familiar glint in them feel anxiety inducing. The gaze shifts, and you feel your spine relax. All tall, perfect, unfairly casual grandeur of him goes back to entertaining your cousins and Megumi— and your attention is finally allowed to shift back to your mom.
“Deary me… That child seems like he’ll never grow up,” she softly chimes, turning your way to take your hands, “I bet you’re twice the adult he is.” Her slight frown is one of fondness though, of care and concern; all of which only makes your stomach drop further. Your mom’s so enamored with her tight-knit little dream of a family. She’s completely unaware, too. Of the deadly, treacherous words that your mind whispers to you when it knows no one’s watching. Your mother’s warm smile remains. “If you ever decide you can’t keep up with him anymore, you’re more than welcome to move back home, honey.”
“I know, mom— but I like Tokyo. I like my friends here, and- my job’s here, and I like my job.” Her hand makes an encouraging circle over the back of your hand, and she nods.
Her warm smile doesn’t keep away the cold flare that travels down your back though. “And you also like Satoru, for reasons I still can’t wrap my head around.” Her look over in his direction has you resolutely studying your lap instead, as heat travels back from your chest to your face. “Even when you were little, your uncle ‘Toru could do no wrong. It was infuriating at times…” You try to put on a smile when you feel her eyes return back to you, and let the cup bear the brunt force of your anxiety. “Now I just think it’s sweet. I know I couldn’t deal with his antics anymore, for even a few days.”
“He’s…” You trail off before you can even get started, and let your tongue swipe along your bottom lip to get rid of the pesky memory again. You feel like your moral compass has been compromised. Your stupid little crush was meant to go unacknowledged, and fade. No one was supposed to be any the wiser. Satoru was never meant to do wrong. He’s -what- exactly, you try to ask yourself. Sneaky? Childish? The reason you can’t look your own family in the eye without blushing like a schoolgirl?
Your heart blooms when you catch a glimpse of his smile as the beer bottle brushes his lips, and he finds your shape again across the room.
Before you get a chance to look away, uncle Satoru’s already calling your name again with that sing-songy tone that’s got you hooked; and pulls you out of your seat with a few slow blinks. “There’s my favorite girl.” He swings an arm over your shoulders, and invades your senses yet again. “It’s getting a little too stuffy in here for your liking, hm? Mind if I steal her for a while?” His sister barely gives him the tiniest of eyerolls before waving you both off. And the white-haired force of nature doesn’t even stop to ask you. He knows he’s right.
Before long, the glances of family get captured by other things, and the honorary member of your family gives you a knowing look that you mirror. Not that Satoru would let it stop him if he saw. You only just look away from Megumi’s grimace before you freeze into place. There’s the tiniest of kisses to the skin behind your ear where Satoru whispers in your ear. “I was really missing you, baby.” There’s a heat that spreads all over you as he continues, barely hiding his affections. “Whenever I see you… I just wanna…”
Your eyes go wide when you turn to stare at him, then quickly around at the rest of the guests. Luckily, everyone seems too preoccupied to notice the way he wraps his arm around your waist to steer you towards the front door. “What? I wasn’t done.” he chimes, eyes glinting over like the Chesire cat, “I wanna come annoy you, is what I was going to say.” Alarm bells should go off. You want them to signal your disaster. But no such thing happens, and the way his lips almost drag over your pulse makes your entire body feel like you’re filled with static. “You know uncle Satoru loves you. Step out with me for a bit.”
+
The miserable drum of rain has no way of drowning out the thoughts in your head. A heat-caused thunderstorm should just be a minor inconvenience, but it feels awfully telling about your current state. The string of messages of Satoru’s latest -what you can now assume is- ex blink back at you as you check the time again, and sink deeper into the couch. The apartment always feels a little too cold when you’re here alone. And sure, you’ve been living here too, but you’ve been on your very best behavior all this time. Taking up only the space he was willing to give.
So you sit in silence as the room gets darker and darker, and instead of checking up on work mails, you let the icy silence of the apartment sit beside you. The messages weren’t exactly frantic, but— the door clicks softly across the room, and the pitter patter of the rain on the skylight grows even more impatient. “Uncle ‘Toru,” you breathe as he drags his wet self in, only to suck your bottom lip into your mouth.
There’s only a few times you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing him like this. One was the first summer his best friend vanished into thin air, a shallow copy of your beloved left behind in its wake— and every few years after that. It drains all the color out of him, squeezes until there’s nothing left.
He looks drunk. He smells drunk too. But you still cross your arms and straighten your back, swallowing. “Ki-chan was worried about you. She says you two broke-”
“She’s right.” Satoru drops his bag by the tv, and unceremoniously kicks off his socks in the middle of the living room, slauntering towards the couch.
“Is that why you’re like this?” Your worry is undermined by a harsh snort and an equally unamused chuckle, before the white-haired man comes to a halt before you.
“Don’t be stupid. You and I both know it’s not.” His eyes are usually like the ocean on a summer day, bright, all-consuming, and peaceful— there’s nothing there when they land on you now. Just the dark, dreary image of a cloudy, uncaring vastness. “Get up, I’m trying to sleep here for the night.”
“I’m not leaving.” You’re not sure if the slight tremble in your voice is self-inflicted, but do your best to bite through the electric tension. “She also said that you’ve been saying all kinds of things that make no sense. Things about— me. And that’s why you guys broke up. She’s worried that you might try to do something to me.” Gojo Satoru is a lot of things. More things than a man with his constitution should be, all in all. Your light breath cuts the tension just enough for you to speak up again, staring up at him from your increasingly vulnerable position on the couch. “Well, will you?”
“Get up.” Before you have another chance to ask more, he takes you by the arm and pulls you up out of the couch in a split second, leaving you stumbling back. “Run off to your room now.” Smart, coherent thoughts leave you. Satoru looks like he’s hurting. Those long, white lashes and blue irises are no longer bright and understanding. They frame a simple look of distaste at the sight of you, and your rapid heartbeat falters. “I said, now.” As your tongue brushes your lips you search for something— anything— to say, but it seems he doesn’t want to let you. With large steps, he walks you back by your collar until your back hits the wall, and you stare up at him.
“Isn’t it bad enough that I already want you? What more do you need?” The cold, still wet touch of his thumb brushing your collarbones tingles down your entire body. “Tell me off. Hit me. Do something.” He’s basically begging now, through hard glares, teeth and a raspy voice. “Tell me off for treating you like this.”
You think you should. But all that you manage to say is a soft plea, eyes searching in the dark. “Uncle Satoru, I- I’m sorry.”
“Baby.”
His grip makes your shirt dig uncomfortably into your neck, but you barely feel it. Instead you raise your hands to cup his face, watching how the furrowed brows straighten out after only a few tight breaths. You mumble out a breath of his name, and allow him to pull you closer to his body until you’re pressed to his chest, face hidden against his collarbones. Until he leads you to look up at him and lets his lips brush over your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. “Your mom would kill me if she knew.”
You know him to be right. And still, you let his mouth meet yours. Meet and claim your tongue, hiking your one thigh up to allow him to melt against you. Rolling his narrow hips just a little too effectively against you. It’s way too much all at once, hot and cold meeting in the dark where his body grinds against you. You shouldn’t… allow any of this, right? But it feels too good to stop. Satoru clearly thinks so too when he grunts your name against your mouth, and his crotch rubs into your center.
It’s not hard to know what he’s thinking about as he drags his lips down the soft of your throat and sucks kisses into the skin. His strong fingers slide under your shirt to anchor at your waist, and leave goosebumps all over. “My pretty girl,” he ends up mumbling as his tongue makes shapes at the base of your throat, “you’re all mine. All fucking mine. Mh- never gonna let anyone have you.” It feels so good. Hearing that, however distorted by the moment— makes you feel like you’re floating. So much so, that it scares you. To think anyone would have such power over you.
Satoru goes in for another kiss, but you end up sliding out of his arms by mere chance, panting and shivering from the wet hands all over you. You take one single deep breath, and rush off down the hall.
+
When you sit at dinner the next day, rolling your veggies around your plate as you cast him weary glances from under long lashes, Satoru doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even blink out of place once, like the night before was just a dream. You’d really believe the slight ache of a hickey at the base of your throat to be an unlucky bruise, if you couldn’t notice the faint glances your way. After a while, his telltale grin slips back on when you startle at his voice, and he points his fork towards you. “You’re acting weird, you know that?”
“I- I’m acting weird?” Your voice pitches up almost comically, and his gleeful chuckle has your heart racing despite yourself. “W- about yesterday-”
“I’m taking you somewhere tonight.” Though the interruption should annoy you, he looks so content and smug as he stuffs the last of his food into his cheek, that you can only frown. His hand runs through his mess of white hair, noisily smacking his food as if to make a point. When you don’t immediately respond, he nods to himself, before leaning in. “I woke up with the worst headache of my life, I’ll have you know. But I’ve gotten over myself, I promise. And now I just want to hang out with my favorite niece.”
“Only niece,” you end up parroting, clenching and unclenching your hands into your skirt. “Where do you wanna go?”
“Call me ‘uncle ‘Toru’ again, and I’ll tell you.” You never tell him no.
As you walk through the hall with slow steps, the light falls like broken petals through the paper walls and casts everything in a hazy glow. For all your protests, uncle Satoru follows close behind, chirping all kinds of encouragements, giggling most of the way through. The lazy patterns he draws on your shoulders with his thumbs, or the brief brushes of his nose along your cheek, kisses behind your jaw— it all should make you feel a lot guiltier than it does. Instead you’re just wound up, skin tingling with every touch the longer it lasts.
“Are you gonna tell me why we’re here now?”
He hums that melodic agreement, before pointing you towards the rather familiar door at the right. “If you go in there, I will.” At your slight frown, he only presses on. “I promise. Come on, trust your favorite uncle.”
“You’re not my favorite.”
His voice grows low as his lips brush your ear, and those strong arms start gliding down the sides of your back. “Liar.” The kiss that is pressed to your pulse is slower this time, humming in your throat and making you swallow your words. His mind hasn’t changed after you ran out. Instead of focusing on that- on him, you reach for the door and slide it open, finding your and Satoru’s room barely changed at all. His hands come to press at the sides of your hips, long fingers trekking all over the skin he can reach. “I’ve been thinking for a while now…” His playful voice dips a little lower, and your breathing grows slower and slower. “I always meant it when I said you were my favorite... but-”
“But it’s a little different now, hm, pretty girl? When did you change so much?” Those hands that start sliding up along your thighs to hike your skirt up to your belly, and though you try to keep it down with a little breath, he denies it. “You don’t like it? That I wanna see all of you?” The little hum to your soft throat makes you feel like you’re charged to the brim, crackling each time he moves. It’s unbearable, and yet, you couldn’t move a muscle if you tried. “Tell me that I’m a bad guy.”
You can’t focus on anything. His nimble fingers toy with the edge of your panties, and the puff of his breath sends a shiver down your neck. “W-why’d you take me to our old- ah- place?” Satoru doesn’t wait for you to catch up before the frilly fabric drags along your thighs. Your awfully wet underwear lands around your feet, and he leans in to nudge your face to his. Kissing you over your shoulder as his body covers you from behind, and his waist pushes up against you. His tongue steals your attention away from his hands just long enough to lose track of them before they’re on your tits, squeezing them and making your cunt clench in anticipation.
“Because I wanted to prove something.” He rolls his clothed waist against your ass and makes that awful feeling even worse, forcing a whimper out of you. And that mind-numbing fucking laughter returns before his hands start moving to your center. You’re not sure if you want to push him away or ride his fingers with the slow drag of rough fingertips along the inside of your legs— not that it’s up to you anyway. “You’re no longer that good girl that’d idolize uncle Satoru, right? You’ve started thinking about other things when I’m around, hm?”
Fingers slide through the embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs with another noise from him, pressing his hardening cock harder against you and grinding it against you- and you have to fight the urge to just get face down on the floor for him. “F-fuck, baby, you’re already dripping all over my hand. Does uncle ‘Toru turn you on?” Two prodding digits slide into your clenching hole as he grins against your cheek, and his free hand meanly pinches a nipple. “C’mon, tell me. Tell me how much you like me.”
“Mh-ack, I- li-like you.” He goes to pull his hand back but you reach for it, and push it back inside to have his hand palm rubbing up against your clit. “A lot, I like you a lot! Please.” The curl of his long fingers inside you is enough to have you shaking, leaning back against his chest with one shoulder, and hanging onto his wrist. It doesn’t take much to have him smiling into the hickey he’s sucking under your jaw, and fighting back your resistance just enough to start pushing another finger inside. The slight ache is almost instantly replaced with the pleasure of having your clenching pussy filled so full. Everything blurs a little when you reach back for him for support, and his strong hand fucks smoothly in and out of you. “Mhm, ah, ah, I love my uncle Satoru. Sa. To. Ru.” Slick runs down your leg and makes his entire hand sticky, and he hums in agreement.
“That’s a good little niece. Love riding my fingers like this? You’re shaking, baby.” He knows what it does to you, must’ve known for a while, when his voice is pressed to your skin— it leaves you a mess. You try to respond, but your tongue gets all tangled, and you can only whimper and nod as his fingers fuck right into the spot you need them to. Your back curls against him as your legs get shakier, and your poor clit is grinded against his palm until you can’t focus on anything else. It feels so good. Good, good, good, good~ You want to keep riding his fingers forever.
“Lay down for me,” he rasps when you really start rubbing back against his hand, pussy so messy and full and your lips glossy with spit— and you almost cry when he starts pulling back.
“No, no no nonono, uncle Satoru, please. I’m close,” you squeak, only to allow him to push you down by your shoulder and watch as he slots his fingers between pink lips. “Hm- I- can I cum? Please?” Your thighs rub together as you lay down, and Satoru kneels before you to pry them open wide enough to fit his shoulders between.
“Shh, lift your ass,” he quickly chants, getting comfortable between your legs as his hands pry you open, “let me taste my favorite pussy the way I want.” His devilish mouth is on you before you can register it, hot and instantly too much. Your puffy clit is laved in licks and sucks that hit the spot just right, and every nerve end fires in a way that no one else could ever accomplish. His hums and the brilliant glint of his eyes as he watches you tear up and moan, lifting your ass closer to his face as his tongue licks and fucks your dripping pussy. He laughs when eating you out so good your eyes cross, before latching his mouth around your overstimulated nub for real, and sucking the light out of your vision.
Your legs shake before you’re clenching them around his head with a long, high-pitches whimper and a string of moans that roll through your body— and Satoru just keeps going, until you’re twitching and you try to push him away. Your breathing is rapid and shallow as you blink the black spots on your vision away and loosen the grip you have on his hair, but your legs still shake as he brushes his thumb over your pussy without pity. “That’s one. Wanna see how many more I can get you to?”
“No,” you immediately squeak, making his smug grin grow even wider. “I wanna… first, wanna have you- i-inside.” Admitting it is different than thinking it. And you’ve thought it, too much to count- but it still heats your cheeks and ears upon seeing the way Satoru’s lashes flutter a little, and he pushes his pants down to take his flushed cock out.
“Yeah? You want your uncle Satoru’s big cock inside you?” His hand wraps around his thick length with a little hiss, sliding his hand over the swollen, dark pink tip as you watch. “Say it properly, and I’ll give it to you.” You roll onto your side to yank your shirt up over your tits, and impatiently shake your ass as you whine out a noise that barely seems to register as you. But you can’t help it. The buzz from your orgasm only made your belly hotter, slicking up your legs and ass and dripping for him- as he sits up on his knees so slide his pants down further.
“Satoru~ please.” His hand moves up and down a few times as he raises a brow, and knocks away your hand when you try to touch yourself. “Please, please, puh-lease~” Your voice cracks when you lay back instead, and knead your tit as you try to pull him closer by wrapping your legs around him. “I want to have- uncle ‘Toru’s cock. I want to have my own uncle’s cock, I love my uncle- and I want- to be his personal pussy to use~” Tears spring up in the corners of your eyes, so you close them. “Now please just put it in. I’ve waited long enough-”
A little chuckle breaks up your begging before he kisses you deep and greedily, and suddenly the hot head of his cock pushes up against your sopping entrance. “Want it so bad you gotta cry about it? Poor baby.” He just about pushes in the slightest bit, and takes a slow breath to stare into your eyes. Pretty. So fucking pretty, all of him. “Sorry I made you wait. Uncle will fill this little niece's pussy up, don’t worry.” Then he pushes in with a slow press on your tummy that makes you blink back tears, as his heavy, hot cock breaks you open a little further, along with your sanity.
The smack when he bottoms out is a brief relief, before he pulls back and uses those strong legs to start really fucking into you, nose to nose. “Letting your own family fuck your greedy pussy like this, look at you. I’m a bad influence, hm?” The weight of him, the brushing of his pelvic bone to your clit, the grip on your thigh and brushing of your tits and every brief brush of his lips over yours is enough to have that coil pull back so tight in your stomach too quickly. You dig your nails into his muscular back as each pap of his balls smacking against your slick-covered ass rings out in the room, and the white-haired man hums. “Uncle Satoru’s your favorite, say it. That you’ll beg for my cock until you go hoarse.”
He presses his nose to your temple, and pants against you- fucking with a rhythm that’s taking the breath out of you. You’re already going to cum again. “Say that you want uncle Satoru’s kids filling up your belly, ahg- go on— mhm, that tight, t-tight fucking pussy.”
“Yes, yes, I want my uncle’s cum inside! My favorite uncle’s ruining my pussy!” you squeak, and then cry out against his neck. “I’m gonna cum again, uncle ‘Toru. G-gonna- agh-ughn- p-please don’t stop.” The thrusts get even deeper if that’s at all possible, lifting your one leg up to grind the head of his cock against your cervix with the position he’s got you in, and goes to cup your pussy. And even that slight touch is enough to have your vision going black and white, head blanking as another orgasm rolls over you and locks your leg around his hips— but the fucking doesn’t stop even then. “Agh-mygodI-ah, ahgh-nh. Uncle Satoru.”
It’s too much, you’re entirely too hot and sweat is rolling down your temple and his chest, but his cock still drives home over and over again like he’s willing to break you in half. You don’t want him to ever stop. “Hearing that filth coming out of your mouth- ugh, mhm, makes me want to keep fucking you forever. For eternity.” His waist bumps your overstimulated clit each time he bottoms out, ring of white around the base of his cock before he throws his head back and moans out your name. “You can’t ever let anyone know how much uncle Satoru loves fucking his little niece, okay? F-fuck. How much I love ruining that little attitude of yours.”
Your both knees are pushes to your shoulders as he moves up, pulling out just a second to fuck between the sloppy lips of your pussy. “Been wanting to fuck you since you moved in. Can’t help but get hard when you’re around. Bad uncle ‘Toru, right?” The head of his cock is so swollen and flushed and dripping with your mixed juices, and he stares at you through narrowed, perfect eyes as he pushes back in and watches his cock disappear into the hot clutch of your pussy, swallowing it up like a whore. His lip is pulled between his teeth as he groans, and fucks harder and faster into you like you’re barely a toy. “But I don’t care. Uncle’s gonna fuck this pussy every day from now on. My pussy. Mine.”
You can feel him in your throat with the way he pounds your pussy until you’re raw, squeezing your throat between his long fingers as his heavy balls hit you. And his mouth covers yours, tongues back together and spit messily covering your chin by the end of it. You don’t think eternity will be enough.
+
There’s some kind of failsafe inside every human, isn’t there? And yours is simply malfunctioning at the wrong times.
The woman hanging off his arm is lovely. Mina, you think it is. She’s smart and pretty and accomplished, and her hair has that perfect commercial shine as it bounces around her shoulders. And Satoru is laying on the sweetness thick, from what you can make out between the giggles and shiny smiles. Underneath the obnoxious shades hiding his pearly gaze from direct view as he makes quick work of scanning the beach. It sits in your stomach with an uncomfortable rumble. Even though you know… It’s for show. It’s all just for show.
You do your best not to frown when he looks back over his shoulder for a second to drag his eyes over you. “We should play beach volleyball!”
And a soft chuckle from the person by your side agrees when you can’t be bothered to. “You got it!” The blond is smart enough to give you a softly encouraging grin that makes you feel vindicated in your exasperation, before you stick up your own thumb. You have no intention of watching Satoru leave hot handprints all over her skin. The young man beside you clearly notices your hesitation, because he smoothes a palm down your spine to straighten you up a little, before blowing out a long breath that makes you smile. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll keep him busy if you’d rather lay in the shade for a little longer.”
Kenji’s fingers softly brush along the small of your back, then teasingly slips them under the knot of your bikini, as his mouth comes to hover over your ear. “Or we could sneak away for a little bit and…”
“And get caught for indecent exposure?” you giggle over your shoulder instead of letting him kiss you, and grab for one of the books that had gone untouched earlier in the day to tap it on his head. “We can’t,” you breathe with a smile, and watch as he takes that as a challenge. Really, you’re not one for fighting fire with fire. That’s Satoru’s play, and you don’t have any intention of mistreating anyone. But … the adoring gazes and personal attention does make the whole ordeal a lot easier to stomach. So easy even, that you’re down in the toasty sand with him above and your chest rising and falling rapidly for a few blissful seconds, before the volleyball hits the both of you on the sides.
Your eyes snap over to the head of white hair when he clears his throat, and holds his hands up in mock apology. Serene, picture-perfect smile plastered on his handsome face. You click your tongue, and you can’t hold back the angry echo of his name in your head as he walks up. “Sorry, sorry, my bad! You guys coming or what?” This whole song and dance is just— so frustrating. Despite your best effort to keep it in, a slight tick in your brow still makes its way onto your face.
“You guys start without me,” you breathe after a few seconds of staring Satoru down, allowing Kenji to pull you up from the sand to dust you off. “I’m going to go grab the sunscreen and the coolers from the car.” Kenji makes an attempt to stand, but you wave it off in favor of putting some space between you and the tallest as his crystal eyes drill holes through you. “No, I got it. Thanks though.”
By the time Satoru’s “girlfriend” walks up and slips underneath his arm, he raises a brow your way, and the glitter in his eyes makes you convinced that he knows just as well as you do. You do your best to ignore him — them, but you can still feel the sting of him appraising you through those stupid shades. Asshole. You swing your hips as you walk away, kicking up sand every time your slippers bounce up.
At least the short walk allows for a moment to cool off, and collect your thoughts. There’s no sense in getting fed up. He’ll just get home and start cracking jokes like always, pretending like he didn’t do something wrong in the first place. Nevertheless, you allow yourself only a short sigh and admittance of defeat in the little game you play as you click the trunk closed again.
Before you turn and walk into a solid chest, almost scaring you skittering back against the hot surface of the car. Large hands descend on you, one to wrap around your waist and the other covering your mouth- before he leans down further into your space. “So, so grumpy all the time.” Uncle Satoru’s rough handpalm slides down to grab a handful of your ass before he lowers his face to yours into a languid kiss, tongue tasting vaguely like strawberry as he drags it over yours with a hum. “Stop trying to make me jealous.”
“I’m— I’m not! And ‘m not grumpy. I just don’t want to see you,” you end up breathing out, wrapping your arms instinctively around his broad shoulders when those long fingers start toying with your pussy through the awfully flimsy fabric. “Satoruuu~”
His chuckle is matched with the impatient way he rubs two fingers up and down along your slit, and slides his other hand down your smooth stomach to start peeling it all off. “Call me uncle Satoru, c’mon baby. You know what I like.”
You barely have a chance to place your hand over your mouth to keep quiet as he noses your bikini top out of the way to drag his pink tongue languidly over your puffy bud— and those baby blues find you through wispy, white lashes. “Uncle ‘Toru, unc-cle ‘Ru— You’re gonna get us caught.” He sucks part of it into his mouth and leaves a mean mark with his teeth, before grinning.
“Hmm. I don’t care.”
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syneilesis · 3 months
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[fic] if only for a moment
if only for a moment
Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)
Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.
A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.
If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)
Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭
JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE
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There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.
+
Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.
He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.
He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.
What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.
+
i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.
+
Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.
“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”
Rafayel ignores him.
Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”
Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.
At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.
And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.
Rafayel’s heart stumbles.
Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.
“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
+
ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?
+
Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.
To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.
What would you do to such want?
+
You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.
“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”
Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.
Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.
“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”
The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.
“If I remember.”
“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.
+
In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.
+
iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.
+
In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.
“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”
You blink. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”
“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”
Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.
“You didn’t know?”
Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”
He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.
“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”
You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.
“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”
Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”
+
He calls Thomas that night.
“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”
“Hey, wait, what do you me—”
“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”
A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Then he hangs up.
+
He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.
Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.
Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?
+
iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.
+
The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.
Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.
The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.
“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”
Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”
“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”
Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.
“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”
At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”
Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.
He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.
“A hundred or so.”
The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.
“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”
+
His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.
“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.
Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.
This, too, is an endpoint.
+
v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.
+
The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.
He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.
He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.
He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.
Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.
His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.
But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.
“Hey.”
The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”
Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”
Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”
Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”
“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”
He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.
“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”
His breath catches. “I—”
Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.
When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.
“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.
And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.
Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”
You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.
You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”
+
vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.
+
Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.
“I heard that,” you grumble.
“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”
“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”
“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”
“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”
Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.
In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.
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cyxnidx · 6 months
Text
GONNA BREED YOU.
KINKTOBER FESTIVAL : DAY 9 → ITTO ARATAKI.
prompt: g'na put a pretty baby in you.
pairing: itto x afab!reader
rating: nsfw/smut
content warning(s): breeding, rough sex if you squint, unprotected sex
a/n: breeding kink go bbrrrrrrrrrr, nsfw under the cut!
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"you alright there?" itto questioned, breathing heavy as he slowly slid his dick into you, inch by inch.
he knew he was stretching you - regardless of how long he fingered you, ate you out and made you cum. but at least it made things a little easier.
you nod slowly, tears rolling down your cheeks at the burning sensation of his stretch.
"i know sweetheart, i know.." he kisses your tears. "just a little more, okay?"
with a few more soft thrusts, itto was able to bottom out, softly bullying himself into your plush cunt.
feeling you clench around his cock, body writhing as you struggled to adjust for the first time had itto's imagination running wild.
though, he resisted his urges. for your sake, he'd ignored them for a while. ensuring your comfort, he grabbed a pillow and placed it under your waist.
in hopes of making things a bit better for you.
"you still okay?" itto questioned again, kissing down your neck to your collarbone and trailing to your chest.
the feeling of his cock nestled deep in you made you feel full - almost overwhelmed in a way.
for a while, the closest you've gotten with itto as far as sex went, was simply you receiving head or him fingering you. or even mutual masturbation.
and for a while, you understood why he never actually fucked you during the masturbation between you two. he was big - it wasn't a surprise, but it was intimidating first-hand.
but, it only made you even more curious for the experience. you were sure it'd be a bit painful, but apart from the pain, what else was there to be so afraid of?
after addressing your concerns with itto.. it was needless to say he was onboard. though, he was still worrisome regardless.
"want me to move?" he questioned, somewhat getting needy. he looked at you softly, red eyes looking at you with adoration.
you nod, watching him reposition himself. his larger hands gripped your waist softly, yet firmly, as he slowly drew himself out and back in.
he watched your expression closely as you watched his dick reappear for a moments time before delving back into your cunt.
your head fell back as you exhaled from the feeling of being full again.
itto pulled your body closer to his, upping his pace by a little bit. "this good?"
"faster," you tell him lowly. "jus' a little."
his eyes soften at your request, following through. a smile grew when he felt you clench around him, pretty noises flowing from your mouth.
your mind began to spiral, sometimes wondering how you went from such a soft, caring moment to him plowing your body into the mattress.
face pushed into a pillow, you practically screamed as he plowed his cock deep into your poor cunt, hitting a specific spot that sent you into orbit each and every time.
and with each orgasm you had, you got louder and louder.
he flipped your body over, your back against the mattress as he continued to fuck you through your next orgasm.
you'd lost count of how many there were.
"gonna cum.." itto huffed quietly, just loud enough for you to hear him.
your eyes brightened at the confession.
though, you quickly frowned when you felt him begin to pull out. clenching over him, you noticed he stopped abruptly at the feeling.
"no.." itto mumbled, hands shaking around your waist. "baby, loosen up for me," he told you, looking at you expectantly.
you shook your head, arms reaching for his face. you brought his face close to yours and softly kissed him.
"baby, m' gonna cum," he whined, straining himself with all his might not to cum.
"cum in me," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his hips. "cum inside."
you could swear the way itto looked at you changed the moment you said that. it almost looked like a primal drive had taken over.
and before you knew it, he was pounding into you once again. he looked at you intently before throwing his head back from pleasure as he approached his climax.
looking back down at you, pink flushed his cheeks as his eyes took in your figure. "g'na put a pretty baby in you.." he huffed, moving one of his hands onto your belly, pressing lightly. "you'd look so pretty.."
his pupils were blown out, breath beginning to get uneven as his thrusts got lazy and lost rhythm.
biting into your shoulder, he muffled his groans as he continued to drive himself to his orgasm.
seconds later, you felt a new warmth inside you, paired with itto's mindless babbling.
fucking his cum into you, itto mumbled sweet nothings into your ear, filling you to the brim with his essence and yours combined.
it took him a while to recuperate, finally looking you in the eye again. his pupils went back to normal and his breathing steadied.
kissing over your collarbone, he thanked you for allowing him to cum inside you.
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Text
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Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader
SFW
Word Count: 721
Warnings: Kidnapped reader, Captive reader, Forced relationship
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Out of all the holiday seasons that came and went during the year, this one was your favourite by far.
Not for the festivities or the brash, obnoxious yet oddly endearing holiday traditions that made their way over from the Western world. Those certainly had their place, yes, but you loved it for an entirely different reason.
The lights.
Colours of every shade, limited only by imagination, were strung up on buildings all across the city - wrapped around the rails of balconies and other anchor points like luminescent vines. Trees that lined the streets were specifically decorated with white and blue, mimicking the ice and snow around them and making the scene seem just that much brighter.
It made it all seem so ethereal. How enchanting such a simple thing could make a night otherwise illuminated only by lights belonging to office buildings and private homes. It was almost enough to make you forget why you had the view you did. Who you shared it with.
You didn’t want to go back inside the hotel room yet. Even with some protection from the balcony, the cold bit at your skin making gooseflesh pepper your skin. Your toes had gone numb ages ago, but you couldn’t yet tear yourself away.
In the distance, someone was playing carols over a loudspeaker. The sound made your lips quirk up ever so slightly and you closed your eyes to take it in for a moment. While classical music was all but ruined for you by this point, there was something about the orchestral version of songs that still managed to make you feel… home. Nostalgia stirring in your chest for something that would never be the same again. A place that never existed anymore.
Such a moment was interrupted by warmth wrapping itself around you from behind, hands encircling your waist and reminding you just how thin your nightgown really was.
Your silent wish that he wouldn’t speak and simply look at the view with you was quickly crushed when you felt his hot breath right next to your ear.
“Twas noontide of summer,” Chrollo began, “and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale ‘ore the night.”
“Must you always do that?” You asked, cutting his recitation off before he could complete it fully. A beat of silence followed, one long enough that the temptation to reopen your eyes to look at him pulled at your subconscious, but you pushed it back.
You felt one of his hands leave your waist in favor of your arm, the goosebumps disappearing under the warmth of his palm. Part of you wondered if he delighted in the little ways your body betrayed you when it came to him. What he provided.
“Do what, my dear?”
“Make it worse.”
There was another beat of silence as Chrollo’s fingers tightened around your bicep in a light squeeze. You opened your eyes that time, the lights coming back into view, but this time it felt different.
Tainted.
He squeezed your arm again.
“You’re cold. Come back in, there are plenty of blankets for you.”
A frown threatened to tug at your lips, but you hid it well. At least you thought you did. If there was one bright side to being the object of Chrollo’s affection, it was learning the skill of hiding what you truly felt.
Not like it mattered much, anyway.
“Do I have to?”
Another squeeze on your arm. Firmer. Non-negotiable.
“You’ll catch cold.”
A surprising reason, you thought. With how much he lingered and leered, you figured he’d delight in any occasion that would result in you depending upon and relying on him more.
Attempting to think about any other reason as to why he wouldn’t want for something like that only served to give you a headache, so you nodded once - turning your body to face his.
“Excellent.” You could hear the pleasantry in his tone hidden underneath his otherwise deadpan expression. The hand on your arm slid off to reopen the balcony door while the other moved to the small of your back, guiding you back inside.
The warmth from the room that greeted you was ironic in a way. Most defined the winter night air as biting. Harsh, even.
Yet the supposed reprieve of the indoors had never felt less welcoming.
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respectissexy · 2 months
Text
Just an update on where all the Bad Kids are at as of Episode 3. Roughly in order from least to most fucked, as I see it (rankings highly debatable and likely to change as things unfold.)
Riz cannot afford to pay for college, but is in a pretty good position to get scholarships, at least for himself; he is very worried about keeping his party together.
Fabian is Unsupervised. He cannot figure out how his Fantasy SmartHome works, though it’s likely he will pick it up with time. He has double-majored in two physically demanding classes (Fighter and Dance Bard) and is also committed to being Captain of the Bloodrush team. He also volunteered his home to be the Party House for the cool kids this year, even though any amount of partying is likely to put problematic levels of strain on his body.
Gorgug’s van is fucked. He is not being permitted to double major in Barbarian and Artificer at school and may be forced to choose one or the other. His parents are involved with a local music festival that seems to have encountered significant legal and financial challenges; it seems likely they have either been embezzled from or accused of embezzlement themselves.
Adaine also cannot afford to pay for college, and additionally cannot afford the material components to perform the spells for her Wizard classes, which include things like several barrels of diamonds.
Fig is on the verge of being expelled because she won’t attend her classes. Her sophomore album is late and she owes her record label a significant amount of money. There is some kind of curdled darkness within her that seems to have given her Gilear’s luck. Also, she is wanted by the FBI. Kristen is on the verge of being expelled because she let her previous god die and failed sophomore year. Her abusive parents are back in her orbit via her little brother being at school. Her current god is suuuuuper pissed at her, so pissed in fact that she brought back last season’s Big Bad. She has decided this would be a good time to run for Class President.
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sanazakis · 2 months
Text
it isn't living if you're not with me
hirai momo x fem!reader
summary: you look exactly like the music you play: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. your black hair's up in a ponytail, side shave visible on the right, your ripped jeans disappearing into doc martens. your piercings are similar to jihyo's; there's the industrial bar, two or three on your lobes, an orbital, a helix. your shirt's white, half-tucked into your jeans, with the word boys on it framed by the black outline of two hands raising the middle finger.
i figured out what i believe in, momo says.
music? you ask.
you.
tags: pop punk/punk rock!au ; fluff ; smut ; pieces of mihyo ; brief mentions of minsung (skz) ; almost everyone has a piercing of some sort :) ; momo has a dragon tattoo ; drinking ; cursing ; not proofread!!! + anything else i've missed
author's note: hallo
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it's something simple, inconsequential. the two of you meet at a festival, headlining the main stage on different days. momo's band plays on friday. yours is saturday. there isn't much else to do aside from drink and watch the other artists perform; it's a bad medley, if she's being honest.
friday night is loud, frantic, pulsing. the beats synthesize like something born in a lab. jihyo's high notes on the keys and dahyun's steady drumline combine into the reminiscence of a time none of them were alive for. it's like if the 80's aesthetic were drenched in apathetic millennial existentialism, mina always says with a grin; and, well, the lesbians love it.
momo sings; most of the crowd follows her. she can only see as far as directly in front of the stage when the lights are on. the ball of her tongue piercing presses against the roof of her mouth. there's only one face she recognizes.
you're off to the side with your band's drummer, singing along. the two of you are both bobbing your heads, pausing to talk and laugh occasionally. you both must've used your passes for vip access. momo's nerves flare underneath her skin, opening, touch starved. you stare directly at her with your lips curled. you know every single word to every single song, though you sometimes seem distracted by momo's fingers on her guitar.
you stay until the end. the lights dim and drop; momo hands a stagehand her instrument, starts unwiring herself. the crowd thunders outside, cheering. momo thinks of your mouth shaping into an o, whistling.
"what's the rush?" jihyo asks, tightening her ponytail, hand slipping down to her industrial.
"hot date," dahyun supplies with a wink, ripping off her sweatband.
"y/n y/l/n," momo says shortly, ducking behind a stage technician and heading for the door.
the crowd's somewhat dispersed, idling. the patches of dirt stick out against the grass, littered with trash. momo glances around the pit. you're gone.
momo's only a little drunk by saturday night. jihyo a bit more so, and tzuyu not at all. they're following a man with a shirt that says event staff around the perimeter of the main stage.
"she's on in ten," tzuyu says, checking her phone for the time. "nice of her to watch us yesterday."
"she knew our songs," momo says distractedly, following their security escort through a roped-off area of the grass. "you don't have to come if you don't want to."
"i want to get a good look at her," jihyo says, fiddling with her piercing again. "what if i'm her type?"
momo tosses an amused glance back, eyes her torn-up black tights, her high boots, her loose, long black dress, her necklace. "you aren't."
"how do you know?"
"because i'm her type."
jihyo harrumphs under her breath. "you're conceited," she says, slipping through the front gate to the vip area. "that's what you are."
"maybe." momo looks at the others in the pit with them; a few people she recognizes by face only, from bands she can't name. "you thought i was your type for a while."
"i was new at this," jihyo says offhandedly. "you're hot and gay. unfortunately, your personality—"
momo laughs, leaning against the bars as the lights dim. "right."
you look exactly like the music you play: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. your black hair's up in a ponytail, side shave visible on the right, your ripped jeans disappearing into doc martens. your piercings are similar to jihyo's; there's the industrial bar, two or three on your lobes, an orbital, a helix. your shirt's white, half-tucked into your jeans, with the word boys on it framed by the black outline of two hands raising the middle finger.
"ugh," jihyo says boredly from behind her. "you are her type."
you stumble off stage, laughing with your band. the lead guitarist, a guy whose name momo thinks is minho, has his arm around you. you stop when you see momo standing there, shoving him off of you. minho's too wired up, following your keyboardist off into the back, barely noticing you're not with them.
you're smaller in person than momo'd thought you'd be, despite your boots — they have a higher, thicker heel than momo's do, giving you an extra inch or two. you're probably about five-six or seven compared to momo's five-nine. you're beautiful, magnetizing. you entirely deserve the screaming crowed beckoning you back to stage.
"hey," momo greets.
"hi," you say, tongue darting across your upper lip. "you're momo. hirai momo. from wallflower."
"you're y/n. y/n y/l/n. from alien."
you grin. you're still covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the show but you're not self-conscious about it. "did you actually know that, or did you hear us introduce ourselves?"
"i saw you at our show yesterday." momo takes a step closer, hands tucked casually in her pockets. "i came out tonight to hear you play."
"is that right," you say, not like a question. "just to hear us play?"
"not 'us'," momo says. "you."
you raise an eyebrow, tonguing your lip piercing. your eyes drop interestedly to the full length of momo's tattoo, a dragon winding all the way up her arm before disappearing into her muscle tee, black with a large white xxx written across the center. the stage crew move around you both, busy and unbothered. the two of you are both too contained and nothing.
"i love your music," you say after a pause.
"i know," momo answers, hinting to arrogance. "that's why i'm here."
your smile quirks again. "oh," you say, understanding the insinuation. "that's why you're here."
momo shrugs, stepping even closer. "i'm your type."
"you are," you agree. you slip a finger through momo's belt loop, tugging her in slightly, examining her subtly, appreciatively as you do so. you lean up on your toes, lips hovering above momo's, and murmur, "but i'm not that easy."
momo's mouth curls aloofly, smirk almost detached. there's a trap here, somewhere. there's a path to undress. the challenge says kiss me anyway, it's what i want. but she's learned a few of her own lessons.
"oh, i didn't think you were," she says. "i just thought it was about time we got acquainted."
she wraps her fingers around your wrist, gently loosens her grip, lets your arms drop separately. you only still, cataloging her movements, motions. the two of you are both so contradictory to your words.
"i'll see you around, y/l/n," momo says lightly, sirens of an undertone. you sense the storm.
"until the next one," you answer, watching her leave.
"you didn't even kiss her," jihyo drawls on the bus as she cracks open a beer. "have you lost your touch?"
momo rolls her eyes, boots kicked up on the arm of the sofa. "i purposely didn't kiss her, princess."
"semantics," jihyo waves away. mina chuckles harmlessly from where she's sitting on the opposite couch.
"look," momo says, scrolling through twitter aimlessly, "just because you aren't getting laid doesn't mean you need to be bitter that i'm about to be."
"oh, ouch," tzuyu calls, snickering all the way from the front seat. jihyo shoots her a dirty look, harrumphing.
"easy for you to laugh at," jihyo says. "you don't even like sex."
momo doesn't have to see her face to know the expression she's pulling. "it's not my thing," tzuyu says, indifference evident.
"whatever." jihyo tosses her hair over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. "i could get laid if i wanted to."
"oh, yeah?" momo asks, feet thumping against the floor as she lowers them. "prove it."
she stares jihyo down, realizing after she possibly should've thought this through; jihyo never backs away from a challenge, like it's composed of hooks that dig in. she rubs a finger over her industrial automatically, clearly thinking, until her eyes narrow, smile spreading sharp.
she rests her bottle back on the counter, steps around it towards momo, holds her gaze even as she angles her body towards mina until the last possible second. mina looks up at her, surprised without confusion, phone falling to the side.
it's almost as if jihyo sizes her up for a moment — takes in her thighs showing through the rips in her jeans, her loose burgundy tank top slit down the sides, her black bra visible underneath — and then she bends over, cups mina's face in her hands, and kisses her.
momo's eyes feel too big for her skull, her jaw hanging off hinges; mina freezes for less time than momo expects before her hands spread against jihyo's hips, nudging her closer, and jihyo straddles her lap, fingers brushing through mina's undercut above the back of her neck. momo watches mina's mouth open a little too widely, sees how jihyo sinks dangerously low.
"are you fucking serious?" momo asks bluntly after a solid minute.
jihyo breaks the kiss, smirks brazenly, and slides off of mina's lap in an oddly graceful manner. mina, to her credit, is more stunned than anything, as if her brain's barely finished processing the situation. her lips are smeared red.
"i can get laid if i want to," jihyo says again, slowly, and runs a finger around her mouth, wiping away her lipstick. she walks back around the counter and reaches for her beer.
it's hard to get a moment alone, but they manage. it's midnight and they're standing outside a mcdonald's at a rest stop off of highway 10, passing a joint between them. the night's warm but momo likes the feeling of the heat sinking into your leather jacket.
she says, “you and jihyo, huh.”
mina exhales, head tilting back. “i suppose so.”
“you were into it.”
“i know.”
momo presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “you’ve been into it before, haven’t you?”
mina grins in amusement, still staring at the dark sky. “yeah,” she admits guiltlessly. “i slept with her a few weeks ago.”
momo's eyebrows shoot up. the tip of the joint lights, stutters. her lungs are too big for the cage they're contained in. "you slept with her?"
"yeah," she says like it's nothing, shrugs. "she said i needed to relax, and that it'd been too long since i dumped my ex to count as an excuse any longer." she pauses, brushes her fingers against her undercut, the short bristles of hair. "she made some good points."
the insinuation speaks for itself. "i bet she did."
"whatever." she takes the joint from momo, brings it to her lips. "it seemed like a good idea, at the time."
"doesn't it always," momo says, and laughs after, finally settling against the idea with the smoke. it's strange; not because they don't work together, but because they do. "you and jihyo."
"she's— you know," mina says, glancing towards the bus. "she's so... hot-headed and stubborn. i think it's kind of cute."
"well, don't ask me to sing at the wedding."
she shoves momo's arm, laughing with her. "shut up."
it's a friday a week later when your tour paths cross. the two of you are playing separate venues on the same night, but your show ends an hour after hers. it's perfect.
jihyo tags along again, this time with her arm looped through mina's, fitting against her side. mina's hair is up in a high, messy bun, crisscrossing pattern visible above her neck, eyebrow piercing sharper than the look she gives jihyo when she thinks momo isn't watching. jihyo's dress is grey and falls rippling down her body, barely covers her ass under ragged black tights, wearing haughtiness the same way she'd lined her lips with a dark garnet. well, what's the harm in playing parts.
they're seated upstairs at a private table with bottle service. they only catch the last three songs and the encore, but the encore is momo's favorite, anyway, and jihyo and mina seem content doing shots and snickering behind their hands, leaning in to whisper. you look good, like you always do, with your hair pinned over your left shoulder and white short-sleeve button-up untucked from your tight maroon jeans, blending into higher boots than you'd worn previously. you hold the microphone with both hands in between your bass lines. momo imagines what they'd feel like wrapped around her neck.
"i know that look," jihyo says from mina's lap, smirking arrogantly.
"admiration," momo says shortly.
"lust," jihyo mimics in the same tone of voice.
"now's your chance," mina says, her arms around jihyo's waist. "go corner her in a dressing room or something."
momo slips off the stool, heads for the stairs. "thanks," she says dryly, because she's not about to actually take advice from two girls who got bored and decided they found the other kind of hot.
the bouncer doesn't recognize her, but your personal bodyguard does, and he gestures her up with a nod. "she's the first door on the right," he says, unconcerned, and momo thanks him with a smile.
she knocks on the door twice. the wood's painted black and chipped in a few places, and the knob's tarnished, dull. you call, "come in," and momo doesn't wait to be told again. there's nothing to with hesitation.
"hey," she says, slipping into the room like she belongs there. she kind of does. she belongs wherever you are.
you're toweling off your face but drop it at the sound of momo's voice, hair swinging over your shoulder. you stare, mouth slowly unfurling at the corners, the pages of a book. "hey."
"our show ended earlier," momo answers the unspoken question. she leaves her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. "thought i'd stop by."
your eyes roam blatantly up and down her body, teeth dragging your bottom lip into your mouth. "just in the neighborhood?"
"yeah, actually."
"you look good," you say bluntly. her skin is copper-wired, conductive.
momo half-smirks, a cross between a summon and a calling. "i look even better up-close."
you grin, extending a hand. the show's over; you're running out of things to put on. "well," you say, "make your case."
momo slips her fingers past your palm, up your wrist, stroking the inside of it lightly. "how about," she says instead, "you let me buy you a drink."
you hum, stepping in, your other hand resting against the outside of momo's jacket. "why?"
"because," momo says, voice like the dulcet, low lines of a bass, "you aren't that easy."
jihyo isn't drunk. "i'm not drunk," she tells mina, trying desperately to hide her slur.
"sure, baby," mina says mildly, glancing down as her phone lights up with a text. it's only dahyun, asking where they are. her arms stay loose around jihyo's waist. "i'll let you have that."
"maybe you're drunk," jihyo says, tilting her neck and looking at her through fluttering eyelashes.
"maybe," mina agrees seriously, and jihyo breaks and laughs. "that's what happens when you do five shots in an hour."
she wiggles slightly, and mina spreads her legs, allowing jihyo to slip back to the floor. she turns and faces her, sliding her fingers around the back of mina's neck, scratching through the short, soft hair.
"remember when i thought momo was my type?" she says, grimacing at the concept. she's no good with a poker face; it's endearing when it isn't inconvenient.
mina mirrors her oppositely, grinning. "yes."
"i only realized she wasn't," jihyo says, "when i realized you were."
"that's cute," mina says, lips stretching wider. "are you propositioning me?"
jihyo reaches up, brushes her thumb over mina's eyebrow, rolling the ball, hand dropping down to her cheek. mina only watches in amusement and adoration, less hidden than she'd like to be. there's something about the devil and his girl friday — no, wait, she's mixing up her references — but jihyo stands on her toes and drags mina's mouth to hers, and the devil's definitely in there somewhere.
the crowd's filtered out, hogging the merch table up front. momo leads you back up the stairs, keeping your fingers linked. jihyo and mina are marking out at the table momo'd left them at. momo rolls her eyes; she can't leave them alone for five minutes, literally.
you laugh. "oh, really?" you say, delighted.
"it's a secret thing," momo explains, passing them up for the bar. "i don't know. i'm not getting involved."
"that's probably wise." you slip onto a stool, tucking your chin against your palm, elbow on the counter. "minho and han have a thing like that, but it's none of my business."
"han's your rhythm guitarist, right?"
"yeah." you untangle your fingers, resting your now-free hand against momo's knee. "i'll have a whiskey sour," you say to the bartender.
"tequila sunrise," momo says.
"so, this is your plan?" you ask, stretching out a boot to rest on the rung of momo's stool. "get me drunk and seduce me?"
momo snickers a little breathlessly, caught off-guard. "no," she says. "i'm just here to talk."
"oh, really," you say again, leaning closer to her, eyes narrowing playfully. "so, you've got an end goal."
"don't you?"
"well, sure," you say, taking your drink with a smile and lifting it to your lips. "i think they're two sides of the same coin."
"working for it and making me work for it?" momo guesses wryly, the flirtatious arch of her eyebrow. she wraps her mouth around her straw. your gaze drops interestedly.
"you did your tongue?" you breathe out, letting your arm fall to the wood. "oh, that's hot."
"talk, y/l/n," momo enunciates, picking up your jaw.
momo gets her way; you keep your attention held to passive things for the most part. there's the tour, that's one. the way all roads feel endless and none of them lead home, if home ever existed to begin with. there's your influences, inspirations. momo's mom abandoned her, and it's something she'll never sing about. your parents raised you as an activist, music's your kind of rebellion.
"that's what drew me to punk rock," you're saying. your glass is empty. "fuck it all, really, but believe in something."
momo smiles genuinely; your words are too passionate to disregard. "what if i don't know what i believe in yet?"
you flutter your eyelashes, mouth like a cathedral. "i could probably help you with that," you purr, trailing your index finger along the side of momo's hand, but crack and laugh. you're trying to be too many things at once.
"it was a good attempt," momo says teasingly.
you roll your eyes with a grin but move on. "besides," you say, "you believe in music, don't you?"
"yeah," momo says, mildly surprised. "yeah, i guess i do."
jihyo stumbles over twenty minutes later, leaning her chin on momo's shoulder with a harrumph. "oh, it's you," she says somewhat rudely to you, mina's hands settling on her waist. "you know, momo hasn't kissed you yet."
"i'm aware," you say, holding back a laugh. momo only downs the rest of her drink.
"it means she likes you," jihyo reveals devilishly, straightening up. "otherwise she would've just done it."
"is that so," you say, tongue rolling your lip piercing thoughtfully, throwing momo a look.
"yeah," momo says, shrugging.
"huh."
"yep."
"wow."
"shut up," jihyo interrupts crossly, mina laughing behind her. "just fuck already."
"no," momo says. "get out of here."
mina pends down, whispering something against the shell of jihyo's ear, who raises a single eyebrow carefully and curls up the corner of her lip. "okay," jihyo says serenely (drunkenly). "we're leaving. nice meeting you, y/n. sorry that you're doomed or whatever."
"doomed?" you repeat, your straight face finally breaking; somehow you find jihyo funny rather than annoying.
"oh, please," jihyo says loftily, still slurring her words. "momo's so your type. walking up to the two of you talking or whatever was like— you know when you open a dryer, and it's just like, hot air? that's you. it's hot over here. you want each other."
"are you sure that's not just the two of you?" momo asks, but she's smirking at the mess of a description.
"no," mina finally chimes in. "we're getting laid, thanks. tension's gone."
jihyo laughs, tugging her away towards the exit; you snicker under your breath. it's dim and empty; even the bartender's wrapping up. you say, "is it nice to have a friend so worried about your sex life?"
"jesus," momo says. "no. it's not. my sex life is fine."
"is it?" you ask, chin back in your palm.
"well, when you put it like that," momo says, understanding implications, "it's lacking. what about yours?"
"could be better," you say. "but i think we'll have that for our next date."
your next date is at a burger king on a rest stop off of route six. your buses overlap. it's three in the morning and there are no motels. besides, dahyun says, i really want a whopper.
the night's a little cooler; you are all a little further north. you're wearing sweats and a t-shirt; momo's in shorts and a hoodie. you smile when you see her, gesturing her over with a crook of your finger. she spies the blue of han's hair inside, minho's blond gleaming next to him.
"hey," you say acutely. "should've known you'd be here."
"i'm stalking you," momo says.
"clearly."
"we're in the middle of nowhere," she says. "want me to buy you a milkshake?"
"sure," you say, charmed. "chocolate."
the two of you open the door and step up to the counter; your drummer stares knives into her back the entire time. she doesn't give it weight. she says to the cashier, "a large milkshake. chocolate. thanks."
the man takes her money boredly, gives her the change and proceeds to make it himself. momo grabs two straws; she thinks you blush, but the interior is so drenched in bright colors that she can't be sure of anything.
the two of you walk back outside, strolling around the building leisurely until you both are facing the highway, watching the occasional car fly by. the two of you struggle to drink at the same time, giggling when your noses brush, when you both meet each other's eyes too close and cross.
"i'm going to write a song about you." momo says, because you're somehow just as attractive in your pajamas with a bare face; your lip piercing's out and your hair is up in a loose ponytail. "just so you know."
you release the straw, looking up at her from under your eyelashes, smiling. momo takes the cup, sets it on a groove in the wall by the window, and leans in, capturing your lips. they're cold and you taste like the shake, but she laughs into it, your fingers curving around momo's jaw. momo pulls away slightly, letting the moment breathe, but you chase her mouth, kissing her again, again, and again. momo's arms rest loosely around your waist.
"god," you say, and even your eyes are bright. "maybe i should've just let you do this from the beginning."
you actually write the song first, something momo only finds out when she crashes one of your shows two weeks later. it's thursday night; momo's band doesn't take the stage until friday. you stand at the mic with your bass hanging and you look like heaven, like hell; your pants are leather, and your boots have gold spikes on them. you've changed your lip ring to a barbell. you're like a succubus, sucking out the soul of every other demon in the room, or at least whatever's left.
she finds them easily in the crowd; it's impossible to overlook jihyo's red hair, even when she's wrapped up in mina. they'd insisted on coming; tzuyu's behind them, taking pictures with dahyun to add to her instastory. you slip off the stage with the mic during the bridge of a sogn you don't need to play for and rest an arm around momo's shoulders over the barricade, singing directly to her with a smirk. your voice beckons like a tide, magnetic and ungrounding.
the song, though — the song comes one before the end of the show, when you say casually, "so, i met a girl recently, and she told me she was writing me a song." there's process, and then wild, incoherent screaming. "i didn't tell her i'd already beat her to it. hopefully she likes it."
jihyo shoves her in the back, smirking, as if momo had somehow missed the memo. tzuyu goes, "oooh," and dahyun records her face when the opening notes play. it's sultry but strangely upbeat; it's a feeling and a concept more than it is a simple song — the lyrics are all suggestive and make momo's head spin: oh, it's not about the long and winding road, it's all about my bed and the imprint of your soul — momo wants to dance to it, wants to kiss you to it, wants to soak in it until she drowns.
the band traipses off-stage. momo's already in the wings, smirking. the crowd screams and thunders and storms. you're sweaty and thrumming and your eyes look like flakes of gold under the light. you kiss momo with a smile, one arm around her neck, the other flung carelessly over her shoulder.
"you," momo says.
"what'd you think?" you ask cheekily.
momo grins, steps out of your arms, brushing by all of them onto the stage; you only watch behind her, entertained despite the stagehands' sudden spike in nervousness. the lights flicker on, dim; the crowd is momentarily confused, but starts to scream louder, most of them recognizing her. well, your audiences tend to overlap.
"in case you were wondering," momo says into the mic, "i loved the song," and somehow the only sound she hears is your laughter to the left.
"you're so gay," jihyo says to you both, pulling a face from where she's sitting in mina's lap. you all are on the rooftop bar of your hotel, rented out for the night. minho and dahyun are playing some kind of drinking game in the pool, which the staff — and han — are eyeing cautiously.
"you're one to talk," you shoot back, breaking away from momo's mouth long enough to respond. "last time i saw the two of you, mina was pretty much wearing your lipstick."
jihyo huffs, rolling her eyes. "i like wearing lipstick," she says. "mina doesn't care. do you?"
"mina doesn't care about anything," momo interrupts, her hands on your hips.
"that's mostly true," mina agrees, chin resting on jihyo's shoulder. "she can wear whatever lipstick she likes."
"i don't know a lot of high femme lesbians in punk," you say, grinning. your fingers twist and tangle with momo's. "i'm liking the crossover."
"i'm one of a kind," jihyo says whimsically, and mina hides a grin against her skin.
"i wouldn't go that far," momo replies, and drags your mouth back down to hers.
you come to her show the night next with your band, but momo's song isn't ready and it's just the normal set. you sing along to every word anyway, and the drummer — this girl sana who'd been at the original show with you — doesn't seem nearly as chipper as the last time. like she's enjoying it against her will.
you spend far, far too much time staring at momo's fingers, entranced to the point of disorientation. you're somewhere else entirely, as if momo's singing to you and only you in the presence of a much smaller room. momo thinks you're far too alluring, if punk rock were a person and not a concept, a movement, an ideology.
she finishes her set. you wrap your hands around the sides of momo's denim jacket, tugging her in and kissing her, not caring about the guitar in the way. "you're so hot," you say, "and your voice," but the sentence never ends. momo parts her lips, and your tongue slips through her mouth, ball of her piercing cool and foreign. you pull away, pressing yourself even closer, throwing your head back briefly. "you should take me back to your hotel room," you say, eyelids hooded.
"i should," momo agrees, finally slipping her guitar strap over her head and handing it off to someone who barely even blinks.
"so do it," you breathe out.
"y/n," sana says suddenly from behind the two of you.
"what," you say, tone steadying itself. you don't even look over, too absorbed, electrified.
"we're leaving," she says shortly.
"great," you say, eyes still darting between momo's and down her mouth. "i'm not."
momo peels off her shirt, unbuttons her jeans, strips her own tank top overhead. you run your hands all over momo's body and kiss her like it's your inherited right to. momo's toned and muscular and somehow lacking edges, soft and gentle. you straddle her and laugh until momo gives you a reason to stop, digging her teeth into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your chest, fingers dancing on the inside of your thighs until you laugh again. but that's what sex is, what it should be; the two of you are just happy to be in bed together, sharing skin.
"i'm so bored," you complain over the phone. "i can't believe we don't see each other for another week."
"i know," momo says, laying in her bunk. "you just had to go south, didn't you."
"it's not like i planned the tour," you reply mildly. "don't you miss me?"
"more than anything."
"you're gay," you say. "at least mine's over after that."
"true." momo examines her fingernails, reminding herself to trim them before saturday. "what are you going to do when it ends?"
"follow you on yours, obviously."
her lips quirk. "good," she says. "you can hear my song for you."
"good luck topping mine."
"oh, i'm going to top a lot of things."
silence, and then a snort, "let's not get ahead of ourselves here," you say, rustling around, and momo presses the home button on her phone just to see your picture, your body hidden under white sheets and your smile spreading to your eyes.
it's late at night; it always is. they're musicians, and a good show often keeps them wired until four in the morning. jihyo and mina are sitting across the couch near the kitchen, sharing a single beer because jihyo couldn't finish it alone. she has a hand resting on mina's knee and she strokes it occasionally, absent-mindedly.
"jihyo," mina says, tucking jihyo's hair behind her ear.
"hm?"
"you know," she says softly, "that i like you, right?"
jihyo's mouth quirks bemusedly. "i'd hope so," she says, leaning closer to mina. "isn't that the point?"
mina raises her eyebrows expectantly. "is it?"
"oh," jihyo says, understanding; well, there's a lot of sex, and it's not her fault mina's so willing to acquiesce. "yes. it is."
"okay," mina says, grinning as she relaxes. "good."
"i like you," jihyo says, turning towards her, finding her mouth automatically. thankfully she's not wearing lipstick. "i'm a bitch, but i'm not that much of a bitch."
"i don't think you're a bitch," mina soothes, kissing her again.
"yes, you do," jihyo replies, but she's smiling, amused. "you just think it's hot."
"semantics," mina waves away, and jihyo reaches for the rest of the beer, leaning back against her chest.
momo's up front for alien's last show of the tour. mina and jihyo had elected to remain in the vip area up top, sitting at a table with tzuyu and dahyun, who are undoubtedly attempting to ignore them. they're in love now or whatever.
you catch her eye just before the first song and smile so widely you look more pop-punk, like momo, than your own punk rock. you pluck at your bass assuredly and sing and you've never sounded better; none of you have. it's the end, always the end when the energy's the most amplified. you toss momo two picks just before heading off-stage, prepping for the encore; momo hands one to a wide-eyed fan who screams holy shit this is fucking awesome into their friend's snapchat, keeping the other.
you all settle back in your places underneath blue pulsing light. the crowd quiets, preparing, and momo yells out, "marry me!" loud enough to be heard.
you laugh into your microphone; minho starts strumming the guitar but throws momo an approving wink.
"yes," you say, grinning to her. "give me a few years."
"it's all over twitter," jihyo says, gesturing at her laptop. she's wearing her glasses instead of contacts, something mina finds overwhelmingly adorable. "your dumb fucking proposal."
"oh, it wasn't serious," momo says, staring over at you with a smile. "but if they take it that way, it's not my problem."
"i'm hurt," you say sarcastically, your arms around momo's neck, legs thrown across her lap. "that wasn't real? i can't believe this. and here i already hired caterers."
"oh?" momo says, raising her eyebrows. "and what are we having, dear?"
"well, darling, i'd thought a teriyaki-grilled salmon or lemon-herb roasted chicken for the main course might do nicely," you begin whimsically, putting on an elegance. "a nice salad with like— walnuts and raisins or something, just for class; you and i don't actually have to eat it — maybe a soup. oh, fuck it, i don't know."
"i'm thinking burger king," momo says while mina laughs in the background. "we'll split a milkshake."
you grin so widely it pulls at the corners of your eyes, crinkling. you rest a hand against momo's shirt, smoothing it over her heart. "keep this up," you say, kissing her playfully, "and i'll propose right now, only it won't be a joke."
they're practiced musicians; the new song doesn't take a ton of time to learn, the same way yours hadn't. it's why they're all able to pull it off. it's been two months since she first met you, and—
wait, yes, that's the perfect introduction. momo grabs the mic, lets her guitar hang. "so, it's been two months since i met this girl," she says, and the entire venue knows exactly who she's talking about. "they've been the best two months of my life. she beat me to the song, but i think the waist was worth it."
you smile from where you're watching off of stage left. you'd wanted to be closer than the vip mezzanine. momo strums; dahyun crashes on the drums and stutters them. jihyo kicks in nostalgic techno beats. it's more upbeat than yours, more hopeful and optimistic and fun, like it comes with the label no seduction necessary. it's all lines blurring into a story meant for nobody but you to understand; we're binging three a.m. like chocolate and put your tongue somewhere i can taste it. momo glances over, catching you rocking to the rhythm, like the music's in your bones.
the song ends to silence — no, that's not right; it's just that she can't hear anything that isn't you — and she passes off her guitar almost on instinct, beckoned towards your blooming grin and the way you hold your body as if waiting for something to put your weight on. maybe momo's too slow, maybe your rare impatience consumes you; you take long, quick strides over, and momo catches your intention just before it's acted upon, her hands settling under your thighs as she hoists you up, legs wrapped around momo's waist.
you laugh — oh, music's one thing, but this is a sound she'd fight a war for — and kiss her shamelessly, uncaring of who's watching backstage, if anyone is at all. you say against your mouth, "i love it. play it at every show."
momo smiles, cheeks pressing against your palms. "i figured out what i believe in."
"what?"
"you."
momo keeps her word, playing the song for you at every show, regardless of if you're there or not. by now it's spread through the atmosphere; plenty of people show up already knowing the words, casting glances around the pit and trying to peek backstage for signs of the girl they all know it's about.
some music magazine contacts her manager about an interview. you and she are popular, she learns; there are blogs dedicated entirely to the two of you, twitters with the two of you as their icons. she agrees to a few questions before her next show; coincidentally you're there anyway, sitting sideways in her dressing-room chair, leg thrown carelessly over the arm. the journalist's young, about your age, but easygoing and relaxed.
answers in between applying eyeliner, mascara, letting you chime in occasionally for a laugh. it's practiced and simple between the two of you, pressureless. the interviewer says at the end of it, "it seems like you've really clicked."
"sometimes," you say with a smile, "you meet someone, and you just know."
she's playing at your hometown on a saturday two weeks later, nearing the end of her tour's final leg. you bring your parents and momo treats them to an expensive bottle of wine during the show; there are impressions. not everybody approves of pop-punk rockstars.
but you kiss her in front of them afterwards, your priorities made clear. you drag momo over by the wrist, introduces her to your parents casually, your fingers never leaving momo's for long. your father says, "y/n's never been so insistent we meet a partner of hers before."
"oh?" momo says, lip curling. "i'm both flattered and honored."
"shut up," you say, though nobody's quite certain who it's aimed at. "the others were assholes. i've learned my lesson."
"yes, i think you have," your mother says kindly, watching momo watch you with a warmth in her eyes she swears could melt glaciers.
they spend a little more time asking her about her inspiration, her influence, where she got her start, and then they seem unable to help themselves, reminiscing about you. you keep your hand on momo's knee under the table, rolling your eyes at the stories you've heard a thousand times. momo loves it, loves the pictures your sister pulls up on her phone, loves the anecdotes, loves you. maybe that's the wine talking — you turn to her, smile, and oh, no, it's definitely not.
the two of you bid goodbye to your parents under the glow of bright billboard lights and flashing signs. momo's fingers settle through yours, linking casually. she looks at you and finds a beauty so raw she knows she'll never succeed in putting it to lyrics, like seeing stars in a city where the sky's too bright for space. she tugs on your hand. you glance at her quizzically.
"i love you," she says, and your eyes dart between her own. "too early?"
you lean in, kissing her, and there's that familiar slant, that smile. "no," you say, kissing her again, giggle bubbling in your throat. "i loved you from the moment we met."
"i loved you the first time i saw you," momo breathes out, one hand spreading against your jaw.
"what is this," you say, pulling a face, "a competition?"
"yeah."
"oh, okay." you poke your tongue against your piercing thoughtfully. "then i loved you from— a past life or something."
"that's a good one," momo says seriously, going along with it. "i loved you in all of them."
"we'll agree, then," you say, your fingers linked around momo's neck. people move around the two of you on the street, uncaring and dismissive. they'll never be as important to anyone else as the two of you are to each other. "all our lives."
"it's you and me, baby," momo says breezily, and the two of you kiss again until someone wolf-whistles behind you both, a chorus of laughter. a group of three men walk by smirking.
you stare at them down and yell, "fuck you! fucking virgins!"
they don't seem to find you funny. momo laughs hysterically into the crook of your neck and thinks about eternity.
"last show," jihyo says, applying a cherry lipstick in the mirror. "i can't wait to go home."
mina hums her agreement, putting up her hair casually. jihyo reaches back without looking, brushing against her arm. "you're coming with me," she says.
"oh, am i?" mina says moderately.
"yes."
"okay."
"you're whipped," you say from the couch, flipping aimlessly through a magazine.
"says you," jihyo replies without bite, running a finger underneath her bottom lip. "you're literally reading an article about your own girlfriend right now."
"she looks so hot on the cover," you say, unbothered.
"thanks, baby," momo says, in the middle of changing her shirt. your eyes dart up, watching appreciatively, trailing over the lines of her tattoo. whatever; you all have seen each other naked at this point.
"besides, what kind of girlfriend would i be if i skipped all these important details?" you continue, squinting at a page. "she's a scorpio. her favorite ice cream flavor is mochi ice cream. her favorite color is pink."
jihyo actually grins against her will, amused. "you knew all of those things already."
"because i'm a good girlfriend," you state, matter of fact. "do you know mina's favorite ice cream flavor?"
"mint chocolate," jihyo answers without hesitation, and mina nods affirmatively.
momo drops a kiss against your head. "wow," she says. "this room's just full of serious relationships."
momo plays your song with the encore, this time, because it's the most important thing she's ever done, and it only feels right to honor it as such. the crowd screams themselves raw, hoarse, and momo tosses all the guitar picks she'd used that night out into the audience.
she's just finished saying thanks for coming out when you step on stage, walking right up to her, and kissing her in front of everyone. they love it, probably more than they loved the actual show. it's long enough to be earnest, short enough to skip the awkwardness.
"oh, sorry," you say into the mic, wrapped up in momo's arms. "i heard coming out and thought it was my cue. if you didn't know already, i'm in love with her."
you all are close enough to home that you all drive instead of fly. you stay on the bus with them, stretched against momo in her tiny bunk, running your fingers over the line of her jaw, her clavicle. you're always smiling when you're around momo, like your mouth itself is magnetized. the other four are playing cards up front; jihyo and dahyun are each other's throats about the score, and mina' calming tone echoes low, undoubtedly trying to keep peace and doing it poorly.
"well," you say out of the blue, "at least we're good for each other's careers."
"that's why i'm dating you," momo says, following regardless. "the free publicity."
you hum against her chest in a laugh. "is that so."
"totally."
"my intentions were purer," you say. "so i'm probably going to have to dump you now."
momo runs her fingers through your hair, smoothing it away from your face. "tell me about these intentions."
you shift up, meeting her eyes somewhat shyly. "our single drops tuesday," you say.
"i know. i already preordered it."
"i'm writing for our album," you say. "i've been inspired."
momo waits for the conclusion of the sentence, but it doesn't come naturally. you still have your moments of embarrassment. "inspired, huh?"
you press a kiss to momo's mouth as if you can't resist, just because it's there. "what if they're all your songs?" you ask, your smile like spring waiting for the sun. "what if it's all you?"
momo finds your lips again, kissing your cheek, your nose, your forehead; your smile bursts. "you already have my life," she reasons acutely. "it's only fair i get your music."
jihyo's apartment is a penthouse downtown with an incredible view of the skyline, lights twinkling below like stars, like gemstones. mina drops her bags by the door; jihyo tosses her keys on the entryway table. she looks too small for all this room.
mina says gently, "i'll stay with you as long as you want me to."
jihyo turns as she flicks on the kitchen light, surprised. she rolls the bar of her industrial. "that could be a long time," she warns, and she's actually serious. mina nods.
"i'm fine with that," she says.
jihyo steps back to her, raises her hands to mina's jaw and stands on the tips of her toes, searching for her mouth. jihyo kisses her softly for a moment and sinks down, leaning into her arms and sighing.
her eyelids flutter shut. "you're safe," she says quietly, "and not in a bad way."
"safe?"
"yes." jihyo nuzzles closer. "momo made me realize— well. isn't this what we all want? someone you know will never hurt you."
mina smiles tenderly. all the barbed wire has only ever been a prop. she touches jihyo and finds the remnant of something lovely, learning how to live again.
there's no beating around the bush. it's han's birthday and sana's throwing daggers with an intensity this makes momo think she should check her drink for poison. "what's her deal?"
you shrug somewhat uncomfortably. han yells as minho splashes him in the jacuzzi. "she used to be in love with me," you say, "when i was with my ex — you know, the shitty one — and I think she’s just... cautious or something.”
"hm." momo weighs the explanation, but it checks out. "that makes sense."
"yeah," you allow, sipping your daiquiri. "so i'm not really sure what to do about it."
"we need another lesbian to distract her," momo says. "we already lost jihyo to mina. i'm running out of single friends."
"speaking of distractions," you start.
"oh, here we go."
"this bikini," you continue, running your hand up momo's ribcage.
"uh, have you looked in a mirror?" momo counters. "i didn't know a one piece could look so..."
"so..."
"dirty," momo says, eyeing the way it dips between your breasts, how it's low in the back, open on the sides. "jesus christ."
"hey!" minho suddenly barks. "no foreplay! get in the pool, losers! this is a big deal for han!"
"excuse me!" jihyo snaps, mina pausing midway through applying sunscreen to her shoulders.
"not you," minho says, rolling his eyes. "y/n's about to mount momo right there at the bar cart."
"i have manners, thanks," you respond flatly, setting your cup on the table. "i would've at least waited until nobody was looking."
momo laughs, shaking her head, and putting her own drink down. she bends over, slides an arm underneath your thighs and picks you up bridal-style, muscles flexing.
"oh, don't you dare," you warn, your arms looping around momo's neck automatically.
momo smiles widely. "it's a party," she says, and jumps in the pool.
"sana," momo says later in the evening. you all are toweled off and mostly dry. she's wearing one of your hoodies; in retrospect, she could've been slightly more tactical. you're walking around in momo's loose tank top over your bathing suit and nothing else.
sana eyes her cautiously. "hey."
"look," momo says. "you and y/n — that's none of my business. but just so you know, i'm not going to hurt her. ever. i'd rather die."
sana's eyebrows raise at the intensity of the sudden declaration and lower again, processing. there are walls for a reason. she sizes momo up, but there's nothing hidden, no mangled doorways, no garden mazes. she sighs. "i know," she says bluntly. "it's obvious."
"but you still don't like me."
"i like you," sana says. "i just wish— that i could've done what you did."
momo asks, "how so?"
sana frowns, lips somewhat tight. "she was sad, you know. before you. she was... like no one could get to her."
they both stay quiet. your voice echoes out from inside the menagerie noise, standing out the loudest. it's light and airy and there's no sign of haunting.
"i'm alive for her," momo says quietly. "that's what it feels like, you know?"
sana smiles sadly but claps her on the shoulder. "yeah," she says. "don't fuck it up."
alien's single hits big, reaches number two on the charts within four days. momo takes you out to dinner. it's nothing fancy at all; it's a hole-in-the-wall seafood place near the ocean. the two of you both wear ripped jeans and boots; your hair's in a ponytail, and momo's falls as messily over her shoulders as it always does. you both are recognized once by a teenager who nearly has a heart attack just saying hello, but it's cute instead of uncomfortable.
"i'm proud of you," momo says. "is that cheesy?"
"totally," you respond, taking an oyster. "but it's also nice to hear."
"then i'm proud of you."
"thanks, baby."
momo smiles, looking at you serenely across the table. "god, i love you."
you actually blush slightly. you look adorable under the warmth of the red-tinted light, studiously avoiding momo's eyes with your mouth fighting a curl. "i love you," you say, blushing further.
momo actually laughs at that point. "what is this, our first date?"
you glance up at her, your grin breaking too wide to hide. "no," you say. "i'm just— it's weird to be here, you know? i have you, my band's successful, and i'm happy." you shy away again. "that's all."
momo reaches out and takes your hand, her smile softer. she doesn't say anything, just letting the moment soak itself in until there's nothing left but the freedom of feeling it.
"eat another oyster," she says after. "they're aphrodisiacs."
the two of you are both playing another festival the weekend of momo's birthday. wallflower is headlining, only because their single had dropped the weak before and it's big in the charts. alien plays right before. it'd been deliberate by the management team, trying to take advantage of your joint celebrity status.
momo watches you play, and it isn't like the first time; it's better, because now the girl on stage is hers. you own the music as if drawing it directly from your blood; you were born holding a bass guitar with a soul wired for poetry. you pause just before the last song and say to the wild crowd, "okay, everyone knows it's my girlfriend's birthday today, right?" screams to the point of incoherency; you shoot her a sly look in the wings. "how about we all sing her 'happy birthday'?"
momo ambles on stage, waving at the crowd, who are beside themselves at the gesture. they sing it wonderfully, all off-key and at different speeds, your voice holding her to the earth. at the end you pull her in for a kiss and momo wouldn't have it any other way.
the two of you share a hotel room; you both have the tendency to kick your boots off in the same place, as if habits can be developed in minutes with the right person, rather than weeks. you wander around in only your underwear and whichever shirt of momo's you've pulled out of her duffel bag, toothbrush in your mouth. momo's startingly content just watching you move around your shared space, and then suddenly she's thinking about it, you being everywhere momo is all the time, sharing dresser drawers, sleeping in a bed that belongs to the both of you.
you crawl across the mattress, straddling her with a smile. "hey," you say. "you've got a look."
"i'm having a revelation," momo says, palming your hips.
"which would be?"
"we should live together," she says easily, like it's obvious.
you still. "oh," you say, mildly surprised. "you're so right. we should."
"i know."
"okay," you smile blindingly again, bending down, and kissing her. "i can think of nothing better than you."
the album process flows effortlessly for the both of you. you're slightly ahead; your time in the recording studio comes a few weeks before momo's, but in the meantime, the two of you are also starring in each other's music videos. yours is a little darker, sultrier; the two of you kiss with the intent of seduction, not like the two of you are the only two people in the room but like you both are the only two who matter. it's sexy, your director says, and why shouldn't it be? keep that intensity. maintain it. it's the truth. the point of the video is that you belong together, and everyone one — well. they're nothing.
momo's video has more of a linear story, just due to the nature of the song; it's the two of you capturing each other's attention over and over again until every scene whittles itself down to physics, until the walls are gone and then the two of you are closer, you're right next to her, the sun is in the room with you both, shining. momo makes you laugh, the world kind of ends. your videos are both so popular that the two of you actually get offered a web series to serve as a continuation, which you both decline — "you've got the face for music," you say, "but i wouldn't test the cameras," and momo laughs, shoving you off the bed.
the two of you get an apartment the neighborhood over from jihyo's (and mina's? whatever) and the building the two of you are in is upscale, but it lacks pretentiousness, exactly what you both had wanted. "if i have to hear someone call me ms. y/l/n every day," you had said, "i'm going to fucking lose it," and so the doorman says, y/n, momo when he greets you both, grinning widely.
it's only a one-bedroom, but the two of you have ample amounts of space in the living room and dining room, and your tastes in interior design overlap perfectly to the surprise of no one. the two of you have always been complementary and it keeps its roots. you both lounge on your respective instruments, riffing off each other. half your pictures are prints from fans, moments they'd captured during your various crashing of each other's shows; momo always smiles fondly as she passes by each and every one. "i miss it," she says, "i can't wait until we get to do it again."
"all my songs are for you," you say from where you're sprawled across the couch reading a book, "so just let me know which one's your favorite, and i'll be sure to play it last. give you something to look forward to."
"i look forward to what comes after all that, actually," momo says, sliding the book out of your hands cheekily. "you know, when we get home."
you smirk. "well, darling, i can't fuck you on stage, so take what's offered."
"you can fuck me now."
"i can," you agree, biting your lip. "actually, yeah. i can. take your shirt off."
your albums drop exactly a month apart, a year and a half after you both had originally met. it's close enough that the two of you can tour at the same time, but far enough that you both aren't competing. not literally, momo's manager says, it's just better for business. both hit number one on the charts; momo texts jihyo the news and she writes back thank god, i'm running out of money.
asshole, momo types. and here i thought mina was making you nicer.
hello! the tone is suddenly not jihyo; it's instantaneous. momo isn't about to give her an inch.
shut up mina.
you get the tour schedule first. the two of you are spearheading something kind of unusual; two shows per city, alternating who opens and closes. the two of you keep your own buses, though the overlap means you both aren't really specific to passengers anymore; you and momo bounce between whichever is the closest after a show, and sana and dahyun take comfort in being the only two people who aren't consumed by inter-band romance.
it's fun. the only thing momo loves more than playing music every night is watching you play music, watching you work a crowd with a sly grin and a few choice bass notes, taking over the stage like you're the only one who's ever walked on it. she cheers and applauds with the audience, waiting in the wings for you to fall laughing into her arms and kiss her at the end of every set. there's a night where you all switch band members for a song; han trades with jihyo for the keys, you play the bass instead of mina, and together, in front of the crowd, she finally feels invincible.
"you know what i like most about this tour?" you ask her, stealing french fries from her tray at an arby's off of route five. it's just past midnight. there are only three weeks left. "you."
"that's what i like most too, you know," momo says.
"me?"
"no, myself."
you throw a fry at her head, laughing. "shut up."
"of course, you," momo says, grinning softly. "all my songs are about you. we should've named our tour two girls, one tour or something."
"horrible name," you disagree, "and not at all accurate. it's more like six gays, one tour."
"three lesbians, two bisexuals, and a gay man..."
"...walk into a bar," you finish, and momo snickers. "no, our tour name is just fine."
someone like you.
in truth, momo's been planning it for a while now.
the guitar pick sits heavy in her jacket pocket. she touches her fingers to it, runs a thumb over the engraving. you smile at her as you wire up for the show and all momo can do is hope it works. there's two weeks left of the tour left. she wants the two of you to be magical. she wants the two of you to be without the uncertainty of a future. she wants all roads to finally lead home.
she waits for the lights to dim and grabs your wrist. "hey," she murmurs, passing you the pick. "use this one tonight, okay?"
you find her mouth in the darkness. "okay," you say breathlessly, and slip out of momo's grasp for the beckoning of your music. you play through three, four, five songs — momo's getting nervous, her palms sweating, veins too hot for her skin — she presses her tongue piercing against the roof of her mouth, rolls it around, waits, waits, and waits. finally, there's a guitar solo and you glance down, pausing, and freezing entirely, your eyes darting back and forth. momo thinks her lungs might've overloaded. the drums pick back up, and you're supposed to come in but you're just standing there, staring down, and minho immediately realizes you're not following them. the crowd's humming, looking around, and minho says, "uh, y/n?"
"sorry," you breathe out at the prompt, shaking your head, free hand wrapping around your microphone. "sorry. i, um— i need a moment. i think— um, i think my girlfriend just asked me to marry her."
there's silence — the instruments all fall short, their echoes fading — and then a swelling gasp from the audience, clamoring forward for a look. you're turning to pick over and over in your fingers, as if trying to make sense of it all. you continue, "she handed me this guitar pick before the show, and i only— i only just read it. it says marry me."
"go, dumbass," jihyo says, shoving her forward. "that's your cue."
oh. oh, right. momo walks slowly onto the stage, right out of a dream, the lights too bright and you're standing underneath them like something ethereal, expression hopeful and open and saccharine. there's something — there must be — but she barely even hears it, anymore. the world softens at the edges, becomes a photograph, becomes a melody, becomes a song.
she gets right up to you, leaning into the microphone. it's hard to know where to begin, even though it's the only thing she's been thinking about for months.
you say, "momo?" in a sweet, quiet voice, and that's all the prompt momo needs.
"you threw me this guitar pick at like, the third show of yours i crashed, or something," she says, too anxious to be smooth. all that's left is the truth. "i kept it this entire time and i had it engraved two months ago. i've just been waiting for the right opportunity, the perfect show, and today," she pauses, swallows over the closing of her throat, "today, i looked at you and i just— it's always right. every day with you is perfect. marry me."
"yes," you say instantly, staring at her wide-eyed. "oh my god. yes. i'll marry you."
"i love you," momo says, entranced. there are lights flashing, cameras recording. she doesn't care. she'll keep this forever; in however many forms she can get. you laugh, tears welling in your eyes.
"i love you," you say, and your lips meet to the sound of thunderous applause.
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gingerjolover · 3 months
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Imagine taking Julien as your plus 1 to a winter wedding, imagine the (loosely) matching festive outfits and the warm lights against her lighter her up, super festive super sweet holiday jb
this could send me into orbit actually plus one!jb is such a vibe
are we talking plus one like yall have not been dating for very long but you got a plus one so you're brining your gf
or like its your friend whos getting married or maybe a family member and you and jb have been together a while so she is also invited
i think either way, im getting strong vibes like from the wedding the boys performed at
i feel like since its a winter wedding its giving dark clothes, maybe red or dark green, obvi not white but something festive but not over the top
and julien is like, "I'll get a matching tie❤️" so whatever color your dress or outfit is, julien is matching you
and julien doesn't like Christmas but loves the winter (idk if this is canon but it is to me) and so a winter wedding is so her vibe
if its outdoors there's lights all around and trees wrapped up and the dancefloor is under a huge tent and maybe there's fake snow and greenery everywhere
and julien is living for it and you take so many pics and vids or julien just looking at her surroundings because the reflections in her big brown baby cow eyes.... i could pass out actually
look i mentioned this in the one smut fit but i don't think julien is like totally sober i think she has drinks on occasions, and we'll say for consistency sake that shes very excited at the festive drinks and foods, the two of you perusing around the venue
finds every mistletoe and kisses you under it
also takes a ton of photos of you in your outfit
the pic y'all get with the couple is sooo cute, you and JB on either side of the couple, both smiling and color coordinated
probably plays a lot of Christmas or holiday music at the reception (in combination with bangers)
but i just imagine you and julien slow dancing to a slow Christmas song or like julien bopping around with your friends or family
julien gives me "children love me and want me to play with them all the time" vibes at family gatherings
so your cousins or maybe like the kids at the wedding LOVE julien and they are all dancing together
if it's a kid-free wedding then you know julien is just having the time of her life dancing to fucking pitbull or something with your friends
julien is so genuinely sweet and fun and kind and the best to be around at an event like a wedding (and all the time) so you are just so happy you brought her
and its one of the only times julien is all for the holiday-ness of the season, so she enjoys herself
i might add more to this later??
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slut4teyam · 1 year
Note
Neteyam following kiris bsf just to fuck her nice and deep, then spots her flirting with another guy so he reminds her who does it best?
Provoke Me (pt.1)
(Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x F!Omaticaya Reader)
minors dni!
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!This is a 2 part story, read Part 2!
Genre: mainly smut, extremely slight angst
Warnings: dom!neteyam, cock palming, slight breast play, p in v, swearing, dirty talk, missionary (please tell me if theres any i've missed!)
Backstory: Y/n and Kiri were born in the same year, shortly after the destruction of home tree. They were raised in the clans base on the Hallelujah mountains, always playing together. They have been best friends ever since birth, which led y/n to become close with the Sully's. Y/n had a huge crush on Kiri's brother; Neteyam, ever since she saw him, and would ramble on about how hot he was. Kiri always rolled her eyes, but knew your feelings were mutual since she decided to tease her brother about it after she caught him staring at you, which led to him confess his feelings for you to Kiri. However, Kiri was a good secret keeper, so she hadn't told both sides about the opposites feelings, and she didn't feel she had to. Y/n and Neteyam would always flirt, and catch each other staring at one another, it was obvious. On another regular day, you decided to wear your newly made, revealing top to grab Kiri from the Sully's tent. What you don't realize until later on, when you were alone in the forest with Neteyam, was that it had turned him on.
Neteyam and Reader are aged up to 19+ years old!! (Other characters except for Tuk too! Tuk is 12 here, don't be weird)
--
"Mother, have you finished sewing together the top I wanted?" you ask as you approach your mother, sitting outside of your tent, sewing together pieces of fabric and nature.
"Yes, it's right here," your mother puts down the loincloth she's currently working on to grab your already made top. "Why though? This is a bit revealing, more for festivities I'd say." she questions.
"I promised Kiri I'd wear it once it was done, she really wanted to see it!" you exclaimed as you took the piece from your mothers hands, quickly re-entering your tent to get dressed up. Your mother chuckled, mumbling "whatever you want to do" as she returned back to her work at hand.
You put on your top, and looked down to see if you liked the way it looked (no mirror thingzz). Your eyes lit up as you smiled, LOVING the way the top looked on you. It was made of the beautiful purple flowers of Pandora, covering mostly only your nipples, and wrapping around your upper body. Pleased with the way it looked, you gathered your things and exited your tent, thanking your mother before heading over to the Sully's tent to grab Kiri.
slight time skip, at the Sully tent
You enter the Sully's tent through their make-shift door, created by beads. "How have you been, y/n?" Neytiri asks, greeting you with her beautiful smile. "I'm doing good, how about you Neytiri?" you reply, looking around the tent to find Kiri. You saw Jake teaching Lo'ak how to use human weapons called guns, and Neteyam sharpening his knife, before you noticed Kiri sitting with Tuk, talking. You waved your hand over to them, and they smiled before standing up and approaching you. "Y/n!" Tuk screamed while running to you, embracing you in a hug shortly after. "Hi Tuk," you replied, hugging her back. "Hey Kiri," you add on, but she was too busy orbiting around you and checking out your new top. "You must wear this on my birthday celebration, it is beautiful!" Kiri speaks, although you couldn't focus much on her comment because of the eyes you felt on your skin. The eyes of a specific male that had momentarily stopped sharpening the knife in his hands; Neteyam. He was taking you in, with his eyes going from down to up, where it stayed on your partially revealed breasts. You felt your cheeks heat up at his deep gaze, as you quickly looked away, back at Kiri.
"Me and y/n will be leaving, mother." Kiri told Neytiri before receiving a nod from her. Kiri tugged on your arm as you both left the tent.
slight time skip
You and Kiri were at the grassy area of the forest that Kiri loved because she could feel the heartbeat of Eywa. Your best friend was laying down, as you sat leaning back on your arms, looking up at the sky covered by trees. You could only think about Neteyam after this morning, which led you to interrupt your current one-sided conversation with Kiri. "Tell me more about Neteyam."
Kiri rolled her eyes as she thought of things she hadn't already told you about. "Hmm," she started, "he gets jealous SO easily, one time he was..." Kiri started rambling on, but you zoned out shortly after the word 'jealous' was said. You were thinking of ways you could use that to your advantage. Your thoughts and Kiri's talking was interrupted with Jake's voice coming from her neckpiece.
"Your grandma came by, I know you had questions to her about herbal healing." you heard Jakes voice say. "Okay, I'm returning now." Kiri replied while standing up, which lead you to stand up as well. She looked at you apologetically, but before she could say anything you cut her off. "I should probably start heading home to help my mother with dinner ingredients anyways, the sun is going to start setting soon."
You and Kiri said your goodbyes as you both left, going opposite directions. You thought you knew a shortcut to your house, but that was proven wrong as the forest never seemed to end, declaring you lost. "Stupid dumbfuck, how can someone get lost in the forest they grew up in?" you lecture yourself, stopping in your tracks as you hear a familiar chuckle coming from behind you. You turn around and immediately understand the familiarity. Neteyam was leaning against a tree, chuckling with a mocking look on his face.
"Are you following me?" you ask, frowning at his mocking behavior. "Maybe instead of getting all angry, you should be happy. It looks to me like I'm your only way out of here." he replies as he crosses his arms. He had a point. Even though you didn't mind spending the night being one with the forest, you were scared your mother would be worried sick.
"Fine, help me out?" you said, quickly walking closer to him. "Not so fast," he smirked. You frowned with confused eyes staring into his, which held a deep gaze now. He walked closer to you, towering over you. You couldn't back away, and the answer for it was simple; you didn't want to. You broke eye contact for a short period of time, but his right index finger lifted your chin up, making you meet his gaze again.
"You come to my tent, wearing that slutty top you have on right now," he looks down at your breasts, "leave me in this state," he takes your right hand with his left and palms himself, making you feel his hard on before continuing, "and expect me to lead you back home without resolving it?" he chuckles. You gulp, only your eyes being able to stare down as he continuously palms himself with your hand. Heat shoots down between your thighs as you feel how big he is, how hard he is, leading you to shut them together.
"I think we can make a deal." he tilts his head to the side, his eyes not leaving yours before speaking in his raspy voice. "You let me fuck you here, nice and deep, and then I help you out of this place."
You consider it, it would be a win-win for you. Getting fucked by your best friends brother, who is also your crush, and then getting to go home like none of it ever happened. You feel your now wet loincloth brush against your inner thighs as you smirk at the thought, looking back into his eyes. "Might as well undress me." you say confidently, receiving a smirk from the male in front of you before he slams his lips onto yours, starting to kiss you.
He grabs you by your ass and squeezes, as you hold onto his shoulders, your right hand slowly making its way to his neck while your left goes down to his chest. His right hand roams up to your right breast, sliding under your purple top, ripping it apart as he squeezes your nipple with his index and middle finger. You moan at the sudden action coming from his cold hands, and his tongue enters your now open mouth. You fight for dominance, but quickly lose as his left hand roams up to your throat to lightly choke you.
"Are you wet?" he asks between making out with you, his right hand untying his loincloth as his left remains on your waist. "Mhm" you manage to moan out while nodding, opening your eyes as you look down at his hands at work. "Good, you wouldn't be able to take me in if you weren't." he replies as he finally takes his loincloth off and tosses it to the side. You gulp at the sight of his hard cock, dripping with pre-cum. You were scared it still wouldn't fit, even with you soaking wet.
"You like what you see?" he smirked, looking down from his cock back up to your eyes still staring down. You nod as your hands impatiently lead to your loincloth, untying it off of yourself. Neteyam watches your every move, licking his lips once you toss the piece of cloth aside. You didn't need to remove your top, as he had already ripped it open with his hand.
"Lay down and open your legs baby. Wide." he commands, and you oblige. You slowly sit down before plopping onto your elbows, not breaking eye contact, as you teasingly open your legs wide. Neteyam looks down at your wet cunt, licking his lips as he sits down on his knees, pulling you closer to him by your hips. He pumps his cock a couple of times with his hand, as he places himself in front of your entrance. You let out a soft moan as he pounds into you slowly, his speed increasing with every thrust.
"Fuck Neteyam" you moan out, trying to grab the forest grounds but failing. He notices and leans over you, "Grab my back baby." You do as you're told, scratching his back with your nails when his speed becomes fast. Very fast. You're a moaning mess, as tears you didn't realize had formed flowed down from your eyes. Neteyam held your left thigh with his right hand, placing your leg over his right shoulder to pound in deeper. Your eyes rolled back as he hits parts of your insides you never knew of. Neteyam bit his lower lip with the new sensation of exploring your depths, while his eyes rolled back into his head too.
You managed to somewhat gather yourself as you opened your eyes, looking at his face. His expression was so sexy, a bitten lower lip and closed eyes, and he kept pounding into you. You lead your right hand to the back of his head, pulling him in to kiss him. His eyes remained shut as he kissed you back. He spoke in between the kiss, "This is what you do to me, you make me go feral." he said before kissing you again. You moaned into his mouth as you felt your climax approaching, and you were sure he did too, because you clenched hard around him. "Fuck, don't clench around me like that, makes me wanna cum inside." Neteyam confirmed, feeling close too. "Whats stopping you.." you moaned as you kissed his now swollen lower lip.
You heard him whisper fuck, as he grabbed your other thigh and put it on his other shoulder. He was hitting right onto your G-spot, and you were so close. "Yes Neteyam yes right there!" you managed to scream out, leading your hands to his hair and tugging on it lightly. "I'm so close 'teyam, yes yes yes continue, right there!" you screamed out again, your walls clenching onto him tighter than ever. "Me too princess, just keep clenching around me like that." he grunts out, thrusting in faster than ever. "Im coming!" you manage to scream out as your clenched walls relax, releasing all over Neteyams cock. He thrusts in a couple of more times until his cock twitches and he releases in you. He continues his thrusts, riding out his high.
His tired body plops onto yours, as his hands wrap around your waist. He places soft kisses on your collarbones while you tangle your hands in his hair. Both of you are a panting mess, and he pulls out of you slowly after you manage to calm your breathing. You kiss his cheek before he stands up, holding out a hand to help you stand up as well. You take his hand, and go to grab your loincloth once you've stood up. You cover the parts of your top thats ripped with your hands.
You don't talk while getting dressed, and the only conversation after that is him leading you out of the forest to your house. "Thank you" you speak, smiling and looking into his eyes while breaking the awkward silence. He doesn't look up into your eyes, nor does he smile. He only responds "You're welcome." before leaving to go to his own tent. Your stomach drops, getting upset over his odd behavior, considering you just had sex.
You enter your tent, seeing your mother eating alone. She looks over at you as you walk in, and she doesn't fail to notice your ripped top. Your mother speaks as she stands up, "What happened? You're late and your top is all ripped up."
You quickly go over to your stack of clothes and pick out another top to wear. "I encountered a wild Prolemuris (Pandorian monkey basically), it ripped off my top while I was fighting it." you replied as your mother nodded understandingly, not comprehending the fact that it was a lie.
--
Omgg second request!! I write LONG when I write, so this had to be a 2 part story :( but I'm not going to make you wait, the second part is already published. I hope you enjoyyy and send in more requests :D
See you in part 2!
-dero
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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year
Text
Snow Falls Collaboration
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Three couples. One town named Snow Falls. Too much fun to handle? Only time will tell as you join us for three heartwarming holiday stories. Prepare to laugh, cry and possibly chuck your phone across the room out of happiness (or frustration). This holiday season, enjoy chaos and cheer from @suga-kookiemonster , @underthejoon and @kpopfanfictrash!
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all is bright by @suga-kookiemonster
Pairing⇢ Jeon Jungkook x Reader
Summary⇢ the last year hasn't been the kindest to you, but you're trying really hard not to let that ruin the holidays, since christmas has always been such a Big Deal in your hometown. still, it's difficult to be festive when not too long ago, your high school sweetheart dumped you and turned your world on its head. enter jungkook – the shy, scrawny boy you haven't seen since graduation who is now apparently a lot less shy and way less scrawny man. when a chance encounter throws you back into each other's orbit, it doesn't take long for you to wonder if he's just the person you need to help regain your holiday spirit.
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Not Another Holiday Romance by @kpopfanfictrash
Pairing⇢ Kim Namjoon x Reader
Summary⇢ You, a perpetually alone (and utterly cynical) movie director, are sent to the town of Snow Falls, Middle-of-Nowhere for your latest film assignment. Stuck in holiday hell until the new year, you’re determined to get in and get out with minimal damage to your Grinch reputation. That is, until a ridiculously gorgeous (and young?!) town historian is assigned to help with your film. Suddenly, you find yourself the heroine of one of those corny romances you direct – and are discovering they might not be so corny after all.
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Evergreen Acres by @underthejoon
Pairing⇢ Min Yoongi x Reader
Summary⇢ You've heard the old adage "don't look a gift horse in the mouth" more than a time or two. This time, however, you may just heed it. The town of Snow Falls isn't exactly the first place you'd choose for yourself. But desperate times call for desperate measures and desperate you are, indeed. Starting over is never easy, but with small town hospitality, new friendships and the attentions of a soft-spoken cowboy, this may just be the perfect place to set down roots.
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Happy Holidays, all!
© kpopfanfictrash, 2022. Do not copy or repost without permission.
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shoulmate · 11 months
Text
Rin doesn't remember the first time he met you.
Mostly because he was so young he was still in diapers but more importantly, whenever he's asked, it's because you failed to make an impression of any kind.
You've always just sort of been there.
A blurry smudge that exists on the periphery of his awareness.
Parties. Celebrations. Festivals.
Anytime his mother would drag him to an event which your mother was also attending he would inevitably catch a glimpse of you, not that you showed anymore interest in interacting with him than he did with you.
And then BLUELOCK happened and, after everything with Sae, he was just...worn out.
Throw in a couple of 'relationships' that were really nothing more than extended hookups and definitely more trouble than anything else and he was burned out.
Done.
Done with people.
Done with anything that wasn't soccer.
He lived to exist on the pitch and on the pitch alone.
And then he met you.
Really met you.
Away from your overbearing families he crossed your path you were like a crisp fall breeze at the end of fall.
You recognized him, knew him
but didn't care.
You didn't scurry away from his intensity or begin to obsessively orbit him in an attempt to draw some reaction out of him for validation.
You were the first person who wasn't affected by him in exactly the way he needed.
How easy it had been, falling into bed with you.
You who hadn't asked anything of him.
You who, in stark contrast to the point-obsessed, power-hungry pro-athletes he was surrounded by everyday, was content to just live and let him be.
He may not remember the first time he ever met you but that first time he met you in the real world as your own person…you looked at him with knowing and chose indifference.
You've become a refuge for him and he's not sure how he's going to handle this if it's the end.
"Rin?"
He looks up to see you and Osamu already inside your small but undeniably--though-he'll-never-admit-it--comfortable apartment. Worry creases your brow as you watch him expectantly holding the door open.
Nothing feels different when he crosses the threshold and he's not sure what to think of that.
Osamu glances between the two of you. "I'm gonna...give ya both some space ta talk..."
He kisses the side of your head as he walks past and lets himself into your bathroom.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" you ask as the shower starts with a squeak and Rin loiters awkwardly.
"No." He hasn't even taken off his coat or set down his bag; if you're going to cut him loose he'd rather you just do it--
"Rin," you sigh. "I would ask what you're thinking but I don't imagine you're one for talking about that kind of stuff..." You shrug at yourself. "And we don't really have that kind of...dynamic."
Rin scowls. "I was just thinking that if you don't want me to come around anymore just spit it out."
You straight up, head tilting in confusion. "Is that what you think is happening?"
"Yes." He throws a dark look at the closed bathroom door. "You're clearly preoccupied."
A dozen things pass through your normally indifferent gaze; so many emotions that Rin starts to wonder if, after all this time, maybe you haven't been indifferent...just guarded.
"One of the reasons I really like spending time with you Rin," you ignore his sass, "is because you're blunt. Direct. And it means I can be that way, too. So yes: Osamu and I are together," --you quickly hold up a finger-- "but I was clear that I didn't want to end things between you and I."
Rin feels a shiver of delight down the back of his spine, like hearing a laugh down a dark hallway, but he remains rigid. "What."
You gesture your finger between the two of you. "Whatever this is...I know it's not a complete relationship, Rin, but that's something I want. It's taken me a while...getting out of my house...figuring things out...finding my way...But I have a better idea of the things that I want now. I want to be loved. I want to love someone. And as much as I enjoy sleeping with you, I know you aren't interested in those things. At least, not now. Not with me."
Rin snorts, looking away from your wry smile.
"I know you, Rin. And even though you haven't wanted those things before...well," you shrug again, "I don't think it's impossible for you to ever want those things."
"What are you saying?" he asks with an almost sneer.
"I'm saying," you answer with all the patience of a preschool teacher, "I would enjoy things to continue between us for as long as we're both enjoying it."
"And him?" he scowls at the bathroom door again.
"He's fine with it," you shrug. "In some ways I think 'Samu's grateful. He knows running his restaurant in it's early stages right now takes as much, if not more, time and energy as a relationship. So knowing I've got someone else I can..." you gesture between the two of you with a cheeky smirk that makes Rin roll his eyes, "...It takes some pressure off of him."
"And when his restaurant doesn't need all that time and energy?"
"OooOOo," you crow, "look who's reading into things now."
Rin scoffs, not completely repulsed by your teasing but crossing his arms in a failed attempt to remain unphased.
You wave a hand in front of your face. "Let's not worry too much about the future. Yeah? I want to just enjoy this moment...And who knows." You gesture widely. "Maybe you'll find someone you do want more from."
"Unlikely." He scowls down at you but you fold your hands behind your back, sauntering up to him. "What do you get out of this?"
"Aside from access to your absolute killer bod?" you say knowing it won't affect him and it doesn't; you give him a warm smile that he doesn't hate. "We may not love each other, Rin...but I do care about you. In some strange way that's as weird as you are--"
"Hey!"
You give him a flat look with pursed lips. "You know you're a little maniac deep down. Even if most people don't."
He looks away scowling.
"I do care about you, Rin," you say in a soft voice not expecting anything in return.
And maybe it's just that you don't expect anything...that you've always been the comfortable ambiguous entity in his life...the place where he can truly just be...that he realizes he's grown up. Just a little bit.
Just enough to realize that in his own strange, weird way
he cares about you, too.
"Okay."
Your brow lifts like you're really surprised by what he has to say. "Okay?"
He nods, arms slowly uncrossing to cup your face as your eyes light up. "We can keep doing this."
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thatdeadaquarius · 2 months
Note
HELP I JUST HAD A THOUGH
WHAT IF
What if....
Blunt reader became a harbinger
I have NO idea how that would go but im here for the crack lol
I BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE-
(and to use this gif more importantly they're all so hot here lol)
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Sun: Reader (you/they/them), Blunt Language AU :D
Orbit: Headcanons-ish, crack treated srsly (yes im using ao3 tags atp)
Stars: Harbingers!
Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: none known & Trigger Warnings: none known.
Please comment if I missed any. /gen
SO thought I’d update anyone missing out bc of the new year but-
I made this silly thing called Blunt Language AU, that was my 1st post for this blog/fandom actually! :D
I’ll link it here, but TLDR: it’s just our modern speech sounding “ancient” to the Teyvatians, who speak really flowery/fluffy/lots of context in comparison!
That’s all you rlly need to know to read this I think, so enjoy! :)
u fall into Genshin Impact, and Snezhnaya is where you land first type of energy lol
weird golden star falling from the sky? that sounds like a prophecy the Tsaritsa knows abt alright
so they sent Childe, one of the friendliest (if not The Friendliest) Harbinger, to see if it was a valid claim you’d finally descended,
and ofc as soon as the redhead heard you try and talk to him, he knew the claims by the small village nearby (who had taken u in from the cold weather/taken care of you) were legit
pantalone did manage to squeeze some examples of what you’d possibly sound like into his head before he left so while Childe personally has a tough time talking to you, it doesn't mean he’s not willing to try!! >:)
he mostly just kept asking questions forever until he understood what you meant, and as soon he got u were asking abt the Tsaritsa, the other Harbingers, himself, even how to get Sneznayan-made clothes lol
he was like: 👀👀👀???!!!!
it wasn't so much recruitment at first as it was “omg the exalted one wishes to learn abt us, the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers? abt me?? well would your highness like to come to our palace perchance???!!!!”
= have u ever been seduced and worshipped by a god and her country?? would you like to- ??? ← Childe actually
and with that convinces you to come straight to the Harbingers/Tsaritsa’s very home
No, you’re not just spoiled.
No, you’re not just pampered.
You are cosseted and coveted.
The Tsaritsa makes her first in person appearance to the people in decades to personally announce your return, and to get a festival going to literally parade you into the capital lol
And tbh it was kind of shocking how quickly the people of Snezhnaya are able to whip out the party supplies, within days of traveling via horses/sleds/carriage/trains all kinds of transportation, u arrived at the capital in full swing of a parade for you
The Tsaritsa herself in what looks like a genshin-ified kokoshnik, the elaborate headress draped with a veil so thin it looks like frost covering her face,
flocked on either side by her harbingers in full (kinda goth) ceremonial outfits waiting on your arrival too
needless to say you are properly smitten intimidated
and you stay nervous around them for the first few days or so,
that is before you run into the weekly, what you would call “family dinner nights”, but they call “dinner reports”…
in which Childe, the only one you’d been comfortable enough around to be a bit more genuine to, and surprisingly the only one to quickly adapt to your speech after traveling with you for days, would translate for you what tf you were saying to them vs. what everyone at the table was saying to you/around you
you would also like to propose other titles for these weekly dinner meetings you’re invited to, aka “family feud dinner night/family fight night/harbinger on harbinger hate night/fruit on fruit crimes, if you will” 💀
the Tsaritsa is just peacefully talking to you abt any and everything, bc ofc Pierro’s on her right, and ur on her left
(she and Pierro are surprisingly soft spoken, very polite, and able to say something interesting/take an interest in whatever subject you all end up on)
u don't think you've ever been more comfortable and on such equal footing around ppl sm older than you (what are older ppl to you, but to them ur literally fucking eldritch with how ancient u are, and u can tell with how they treat u like it lmao)
hard cut back to the rest of the table:
an argument that just gets louder and louder has broken out between Childe, Dottore, La Signora, and Pantalone abt who should get free time with you first/get to do smth with you first as you get over ur adjustment period here, Childe has taken his butter knife to throw and just barely missed Dottore’s eye, and it is now embedded in the back of his fancy chair (the servants placing down dinner courses just move abt w/the most bored expressions on their faces)
(u send half the table if this group gets out of hand and u just: “Please shut the fuck up, each of ur comebacks take 30 minutes and it’s killing me” 💀 bc they're the most likely to understand u too, even Pierro/Capitano/Pulcinella chuckle a little, and u think the Tsaritsa smirked under her veil)
ur honestly too scared to see what Scarmouche, Sandrone, and Arlecchino are arguing about, because they're arguing so silently further down the table. They have murder in their eyes.
Columbina and Capitano are having a peaceful collab over weapons, armor, and clothing to offer you, Pulcinella is close enough to both participate in that convo and in you, Pierro, and the Tsaritsa’s convos too
by the 2nd week you've decided to choose chaos, and get them to play board games together sometimes (they cant all make it all the time, tbh u don't know if u can handle that either) but groups of them will play at a time
u remembered early on what a dick Dottore was, and sentenced asked if he’d like to play this new board game called “Monopoly” from ur world with Childe, Pantalone, Pierro, Arlecchino, La Signora, and Scaramouche all together :)
(so what ur trying to bring khaenri’ah part 2 down on his head as punishment?? u owe scara and collei that at least)
Columbina is more than happy to help get you Harbinger-like clothes to wear since ur so interested in the style!! (yes yesss get converted, she already has a title picked out for you)
she also giggles anytime u talk abt whether u like an outfit or not, bc u just “no thank you I’d rather wear a trash bag than that shirt, but lets try another?”
meanwhile the tailors in the background u could literally edit them to one of those videos where it just zooms in on their faces with a vine boom of shock
like Pierro, ur unranked, just above the other Harbingers really, as it wouldn't do to make you the 12th Harbinger or smth
the names they gave you being, “The Playwright” or “The Renaissance” or even “Drammaturgo”
(pls anyone who speaks Italian correct if I'm wrong ToT )
ok but the first time, unsurprisingly, one of them got snappy with you, likely Scara I would think,
Scaramouche, pissy: “And what shall we do if it appears our almighty god is perhaps a descender who is entirely human? Why I dare say you’d be transgressing on privileges that were never yours to begin with!”
Every other Harbinger, the Tsaritsa herself, the servants, the frost on the walls: 😶😦😨😶‍🌫️
You, unbothered, still eating and fully expecting this moment: “I don't want to hear it from someone who has god-mommy issues. You shouldn’t have an opinion about me, ur biased.”
yeah, so obviously, they’re emotionally all attached now whether they know it or not, and this was of course the moment they realized they're god would fit in so perfectly here
(the other nations are going to have to pry you from Snezhnaya from their cold dead hands, esp since u now have legal deniability to visit bc ur technically a Harbinger, only commanded by her majesty lol)
(Scaramouche, Arlecchino, and Sandrone were fighting about who gets the room nearest to your quarters lol)
(Capitano won, somehow??)
sorry ive been slow lately guys, been just trying to work on alllll the fics these past weeks/days/however long its been??
anyway had the shift from hell last week so wish me luck with work this week if u see this 😭
hope u enjoyed this old ask/crack treated srsly post orah!! :D
Safe Travels,
💀♒
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If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"
(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")
♡the beloveds♡
@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit
@kiyomi-uchiha777
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dancingtotuyo · 3 months
Text
Kryptonite | Dave York x Reader | One Shot
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Rating: EXPLICIT/Mature
Summary: Running into Dave York changes your life and unleashes a new part of yourself.
Inspired by Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down
Tags: dark!Dave York, infidelity, Germany, song fic
Warnings: infidelity, violence and descriptions of violence, death (not Dave or reader), descriptions of blood, murder, self defense, explicit smut (p in v), oral sex (both m & f receiving), heavy groping, choking, smacking/hitting in a sexual manner, knife play, power dynamics, use of “daddy” in a sexual manner (minimal), consensual sex, possible dub con, cream pie
Notes: I wrote this one for the LOML @janaispunk for Christmas 🫶, though you won’t find it filled with Christmas festivities! Huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to my ideas, reading through it, and being an overall huge encourager!
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO WARNINGS ON THIS ONE
Words: 7160
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THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND DARK THEMES. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT
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“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.”
Dave York isn’t a bad guy. If one were to give him a chance, he would explain how he’s actually one of the good guys. He’s simply standing up for those who have been wronged by the fucked up system that abandoned the ones who do the dirty work. It’s all conjecture. How he rationalizes it all away. How he lets himself sleep at night, and go home to his wife and beautiful daughters. He does this for them. He isn’t a bad guy.
Yet, even he starts to see through his bullshit. He won’t admit it, but it’s getting harder to sleep at night. Tonight is one of those nights. That’s how he finds himself wandering the streets of a German city he can’t remember the name of.
The air is just verging on chilly, the breeze whipping at his typically well-kempt hair. He usually keeps to the shadows when he’s managing his side business, worried about being picked up on a camera, but it’s late now. He keeps out of the street lights, the stars shielded by the light pollution.
He inhales deeply. This time tomorrow he’ll be on a flight back to the States and slide into bed next to his wife. He’ll wake up, make lunch for the girls, and take them to school. The perfect all-American family. Dave loves them. His girls are his world. He is doing this for them. Every smile and giggle makes this all worth it. Alice and Molly deserve the world. Sometimes, he wonders if his wife knows. Carol hasn’t said anything, but sometimes he catches her just staring at him. Logic says she just loves him. How many times early on in their life together had he done the same thing? How long has it been since he looked at her with that awe?
If he’s honest, Dave doesn’t give his marriage much thought anymore. It’s something that’s just there like two planets orbiting each other but never intersecting. It’s something that’s just part of the persona of Dave York. The version of him his friends and family know. He is starting to wonder if that man still exists. He’s found himself feeling freer during his “work trips” than he does at home.
If it weren’t for his girls…
Dave can’t finish the thought as he collides with a woman in a blue dress and billowing feather boas wrapped around her neck. You.
“Oh shit!” Dave’s hands shoot out, steadying your form, one on each shoulder.
You let out a soft snort quickly covering it with a giggle. “Oh my god.” You try to sober but fail before another giggle takes over. You buzz with the carefree energy of someone a couple drinks into the evening but not wasted.
Any words forming in Dave’s head die there. Your eyes sparkle with mischief. Your smile leaves him stunned. He’s seen his fair share of women even as a married man, but never crossed the boundary of infidelity. Dave doesn’t label what is about to happen as infidelity because right now he isn’t Dave York from Arlington, Virginia, father to two and husband. Right now, he’s Dave York private gun for hire, or Patrick Smith born in Pennsylvania if you looked at his passport.
“I’m sorry,” you say. Dave’s hands don’t move from your shoulders. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Dave flashes a smile, the same one he used to pick up Carol years ago, but she’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I should be more aware of my surroundings. Especially with such a beautiful woman about.”
Your cheeks flush with heat. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not from the alcohol in your system. Dave has never been above sweet-talking to get his way during his time with the agency. “You’re American.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Dave winks. You laugh. Dave swears he could listen to that sound every day if given the chance. “But are you with anyone? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here all alone.”
You tilt your head to the side, life glowing in your eyes. Whether you’re always like this or it’s all alcohol-induced, Dave doesn’t know, but he wants to find out. He needs to know.
“And I’m supposed to trust you, Mr. America.”
He chuckles, looking up at the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to you. He can’t stop taking you in. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his stifling life. He smiles, the first time he’s felt fully himself in possibly years. “My name is Dave.”
You glance between his hand and his face, sussing out if he is trustworthy. He seems so, comes across as genuine. He’s a bit older than you, but handsome nonetheless with big brown eyes and the sincerity of a well-raised child.
You inhale deeply, choosing to be a little wreckless for once and jump head first into something. What’s the worst that could happen? You take his hand.
“I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”
It’s probably a stupid choice, but Dave gives you his number. His real number. He doesn't have enough time to see you again before he leaves Germany and he isn’t ready to let this go yet. He escorts you safely to your apartment, chatting idly over the 10-minute walk and the 30 minutes you spend on the front stoop. As he goes to leave, you stand on tiptoes, pressing your lips against his. In return, he pushes you against the front door, hands roaming up your sternum. You giggle at him like a smitten schoolgirl and hand him your phone.
Dave has a second number. He could’ve given you that one. He probably should have, but he wants easier access. He risks it. Dave is not a careless man, but he leans into the easiness of it in the moment. He kisses you again before leaving, much more chastely this time. He promises to see you next time he’s in town. He tells you he does business in Germany often. It won’t be long.
His veins buzzed with electricity the whole walk back to his apartment, his body alive in a way that feels almost supernatural. As he crosses the threshold, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number. Dave knows who it is before he looks at the text.
Over the next two weeks, Dave finds himself instantly reaching for his phone with each ping. The time difference is a pain in the ass but sometimes works in Dave’s favor. Like when Carol is sound asleep and you’re wide awake across the sea.
When the call comes through from a contact that they’re ready to move in on a target in Germany, Dave almost jumps up in celebration. He’s never hit the tarmac with his bags packed so fast. He tacks on a couple extra days to visit you.
Those extra days can’t come soon enough. He always prides himself on his ability to compartmentalize. He can tune out the rest of the world, get a job done with the precision of the assassin he is, and return to life as if nothing happened, but this time, he finds himself rushing through the process, eager to get to the finish line, eager to get to you.
However, when the night of the hit comes, he slips right into Dave York The Killer, cold, heartless, robotic. The crew is smaller this trip, the target not as high profile, but still a big payout. He forces himself to stay steady, forces himself not to speed through his progressions. The team doesn’t notice a difference in him. He takes that as a good sign. The target is asleep, alone, thank god.
Dave slides the knife into the victim’s chest. He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find a particular beauty in it. The firm pressure, the slice of the knife, the crimson blood. It’s always a rush, the planning, the practice, the kill, and Dave enjoys it all. This particular hit sends an extra rush of pleasure through his veins.
He takes the train to get to you, fighting the urge to show up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Dave York is not a patient man, but he somehow manages, pacing his hotel room still as he buzzes with the high of the night’s hit and the excitement of seeing you in the morning. You recommended meeting at a small cafe, but as Dave lays awake with the sun peeking through the curtains, he decides to surprise you at the apartment.
Dave has to force himself not to rush, which seems to be becoming a theme with him. He makes himself a cup of coffee in the hotel room and sits down drinking every drop until he can’t stand to wait any longer, leaving his hotel 30 minutes before he needs to.
Dave could’ve taken time to enjoy the city in daylight. He spends so much of his time in these destinations under the cover of darkness, missing the beauty, but he doesn't. He wants to believe he keeps to his training, keeping an eye out for someone following him and staying out of the view of cameras, but the truth is, he’s completely unaware of it all. His sole purpose is to get to you.
When your apartment building comes into view, he finally slows, aware of how early he is. Hell, he’s supposed to meet you there.
One of your curtains is open, giving him a faraway view into your apartment. Dave has fully accepted that he’s verging into creep territory, but he doesn’t care. It’s been two weeks since he’s laid eyes on you. That’s two weeks too long for him.
He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of you, patience dwindling within a few minutes of waiting. The anticipation grows into anxiety. Did he come to the wrong building? That’s impossible. Dave never forgets places, even if he did, he would never forget yours. Are you home? Did you forget? He studies the window searching for any evidence of life. Has something happened to you? Oh god, has someone connected the two of you? Figured out his whole facade? He has half a mind to break down the door and go in guns blazing.
His phone pings. It’s the only thing that could break his concentration. Your name pops up, granting him instant relief.
See you in 20?
He smiles, glancing back up toward the window. You are okay. Everything is okay because Dave is a smart man. He knows how to cover his tracks, and you are a sacred treasure he wants to keep all to himself. He will hide you away, protect you from it all.
He catches the subtle flutter of the curtains. The world around him becomes nonexistent as his full attention is pulled toward the window. She moves into view, head whipping around as you search for a specific item. He smiles, all of the anxiety leaving his body.
Instead of responding via text, he hits the call button. The dial tone plays against his ear. She moves out of view, no doubt searching for her cell.
“Hello?”
A smile overtakes his face. Dave can’t remember the last time one did so effortlessly. “Look out your window, Darling.”
His voice sits low in his chest, sending shivers through your body. You pull back the curtain. Dave waves down below. “Are you stalking me now?”
“It’s not stalking if you showed me where you live.”
You bite back your smile, heat gathering in your cheeks. “We were supposed to meet there.”
“I couldn’t wait.”
“Give me two minutes.” You say and the line goes dead.
Dave watches you zip away from the window. The swinging of the curtains is the only indication you were ever there. His chest tightens as he waits. Dave York considers himself a patient man, but he checks his watch for the 5th time in two minutes.
Then your door swings open. You come barreling toward him, a smile plastered to your face. It’s contagious as Dave chuckles, spinning you around like an episode of The Bachelor. His lips are warm against your cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”
A shiver runs down your spine as your feet plant on the ground. Dave’s warm brown eyes meet yours. “How can you miss someone you’ve hardly seen?”
“How can someone not miss you?” He laughs, fingers weaving with yours.
“You lie, Dave.”
“I could never lie to you.” He winks.
Dave holds your hand all the way to the cafe. He pays for your meal. He’s engaging, charming, making conversation, desperate to know everything he can about you. You’ve never felt such intention from another person.
After the cafe, you walk through town, hand in hand in broad daylight. The conversation continues to flow as naturally as a river. Dave is captivated. There’s no other word for it. He wants you. He never wants to leave. He thinks he may need you for survival.
You steer your steps toward your apartment. There’s a time and a place for subtlety. Today is not that. Dave picks up on it, catching the dilation of your pupils, feeling the shift between you.
But when you make it to the door, Dave plays the gentleman, asking when he can see you again. You cut him off with a kiss, tongue quickly delving into his mouth. His large hands plant solidly on your hips. You pull him inside. Dave remains respectful, but commanding. You eagerly submit to him. He stays the night.
“After all I knew it had to be something to do with you.”
Dave is losing it. One might argue that’s a bad thing. He’s not so sure as his mind is overrun with flashes of you. He’s quick to check his phone each time it dings. He knows better than to assign you a specific tone, but he wants to, even knows which one he would choose.
His team is building quite the reputation in the gun for hire business. They’re turning down jobs, having to play the cautious game of balancing their time between murder and families. They can’t arouse suspicions. They take turns staying stateside, sending in different crews depending on the job and need. Dave accepts every job within a quick train ride of you. He goes on each one. Sometimes it’s just him. Those are the easiest. He doesn’t even need to tell the team. It makes it easy to slip in, add more red to his ledger, and run to you with his hands dripping, metaphorically of course.
He can never stay more than the weekend, usually no more than a night, but you take every moment. He’s a drug you crave, an addiction you can’t kick. In fact, you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if you never get more than a stolen night here and there, you’ll take whatever you can get running your hands over his toned muscles, tracing the scars littered over his body, some new and red, some old and faded.
It gives him an air of danger that sends a rush through you each time, like there’s darkness embedded in each scar and it seeps into you. The feeling should unnerve you. It doesn’t.
You want to ask, but you bite your tongue. They seem almost glaring compared to the person you know. Dave is sweet and gentle. The most violence you’ve seen in him is the intense fly hunt you went on last weekend as it buzzed intently around the two of you on the couch. You wonder about the stories behind each nonetheless. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.
He leaves again. He always does with the promise of returning soon. He can’t give you a date. He never can. His phone rings as he walks out the door. You catch the flash of a couple on his screen and a woman’s name drops from his lips. He doesn’t know you see it. Carol.
“But still your secrets I will keep”
You’re drenched. Sweat gathers across your naked skin. Dave thrusts into your dripping pussy, cock soaked in your juices. Your moans marry together, echoing off the walls of your apartment at 2 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.
You called out of work when he appeared on your doorstep without a warning. He seemed broody, crashing his lips onto yours with more force than you were used to, setting your body ablaze in a new way.
Dave’s hips snap into yours with greater force than usual, his grip a little tighter, but it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expect it to. You like it, this rough side, the way his large hand pins both your arms to the mattress. “You’re taking me so good, Darling. Like a good little girl.”
His words strike a chord within you. Your walls tighten around him. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers run through your sopping folds, flicking at your clit with skill and precision. Your back arches. You feel like you need to crawl out of your skin. “I’m almost there.”
“I know, baby.” He keeps pace, pushing you closer and closer.
The invisible line snaps as waves of pleasure roll over your body. Dave keeps going, so close to his own release. He’s relentless, prolonging your own orgasm.
“I want to finish inside you. Fill you up like a dirty little whore.” Your cunt clenches around him. You’re not sure why his words affect you the way they do, but you love it. He moans. “Please, Darling.”
“Yes,” You hiss, feeling as if your orgasm has started over. “Please, fill me up.”
“Fuck!” Dave thrusts into you. Once. Twice. And then he buries himself into you, filling you with every drop he has.
Once the high settles to a mild thrum and you’ve cleaned up, you sit on the bed, fresh sheets below you, watching Dave as he gathers his things off your dresser. The sex was different this time, good, mind altering.
Dave has yet to put a shirt on. There’s a scar along his back that disappears beneath the waistband on his jeans. You’ve seen it before. You know all his scars, and you’re gathering his secrets too.
“I hope that wasn’t too much,” Dave says, back still turned to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he turns to you, with worried eyes. You saw a piece of him today that no one has seen before. Of that, you have no doubt.
“No, I liked it.” A small smirk quirks your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying some new things.” Heat pools in your belly again. That same darkness flashes in Dave’s eyes. You want to pull it out and learn it.
He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”
He pulls on his shirt, turning his phone back on. Your heart drops, popping the bubble. “You can’t stay.”
Dave sighs. You catch the guilt hanging off of him. “I’m sorry, Darling.”
“It’s okay…”
Dave bites his lip. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I-”
“I know you’re married.” It rolls off your lips without a second thought. You’re not sure where it comes from.
Dave’s face pales, tongue going dry as sandpaper. “Darling-”
“And I don’t care.”
The color fills his face again as he steps over to you. “How do you know?”
You shrug, laying back on the bed. “She called you when you were leaving last time. I did my research, Dave York.”
Dave isn’t sure what to think. In his line of work, it’s scary to know you found him on the internet. It’s a safety issue. If something ever happened to Molly and Alice… but he’s trusted you with much more than anyone else.
“You mean it? You don’t care?” He searches your eyes for any doubt, but finds none.
“You’re the one traveling across the ocean to see me. I also think you’re not just ‘working for the government’.”
There’s a deep growl low in his throat. He oozes evil like your favorite book to movie villain, sending shivers through your body. He cups your neck, using force to pull your lips to his. It’s hot and needy like he didn’t just spend the afternoon buried inside of you. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, fighting with yours. He grabs your ass kneading it in his palms.
Then, he pulls away, voice gravely in your ear. “One of these days I’m going to tell you every single evil thing I’ve done, and you’re going to like it.”
You gasp, toes curling. He keeps eye contact with you, searching for any sign that you might reject him for it. You don’t ask. You don’t scoff. You believe him. You’ve seen the slivers of evil before, felt them. You’re beginning to wonder if they’ve seeped into you too.
Then he’s gone, disappearing like a ghost.
“I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.”
Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your heart pounds in your ear. You can’t tell much in the dark, except there’s a man in your apartment, clad in black, and it’s not Dave.
You clutch the kitchen knife to your chest, thankful for Dave’s obsession with keeping things sharp. His boots are steady on your hardwood floors, leaving you to wonder if you’re safe huddled in the corner, or if you should sneak up behind him. Dave taught you to attack only if you are sure you can land a debilitating blow by surprise. You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not an assassin. You’re pretty sure Dave is.
Then, you see your chance. A small opportunity where you know you’ll be hidden in the darkness, not exposed by the open window. You know which floor boards to avoid.
You expect it to go by in a blur, but your mind feels clear. The exposed point on his neck calls to you like a beacon. The artery. He’ll bleed out before he knows what’s happening. Dave’s voice echoes in your head.
Your knife sinks into his neck, slicing skin and tissue like it’s softened butter. You pull the knife out, it drips with crimson blood. He tumbles forward, your lamp shattering into a million tiny pieces as he falls forward.
“You bitch!” He manages to his feet, blood spurting out of his neck. He tries to cover it with his hand, but he’s already losing color in his face. He stumbles toward you. You easily step out of his path, sinking the knife into his chest cavity. It’s more difficult, but you know when you hit his lung.
You watch him fall to the floor, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon as he coughs and sputters. He’s trying to speak, but can’t. You cock your head to the side, watching it happen, watching the life drain from his eyes, listening to his final breaths. You did that. You took down a man bigger than yourself with two quick blows, without hesitation.
You can feel the thick, red blood dripping off your fingers, soaking into your clothes.Your chest heaves. The knife clatters to the floor. You turn your hands over. You should want this off of you, scratching at the skin to remove it. Instead, you just stare in awe.
Dave appears, heart racing as he takes in the scene. He was gone for only a few hours. A quick job in a neighboring town. “Darling?”
You don’t respond, still inspecting your coated hands. He puts a hand on your shoulder, desperate to know that you’re okay. You jump, eyes blow wide.
“What happened?”
“I don't know. I woke up and he was here… I just- I did what you taught me.”
Your eyes focus on him. He’s in weird clothes- tactical gear. He probably killed someone tonight too.
“Are you okay?”
Your eyes snap back down to your hands. Are you okay? You don’t remember getting hit or knocked over, just the steel blade sinking into flesh over and over and over.
“Darling, look at me!” His hand wraps around your neck and your back hits the wall.
Your eyes snap to him. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the deafening silence that coats your apartment. His eyes are dark. Darker than you ever remember seeing them. You think, maybe, there’s a hint of cruelty floating in them.
“You’re okay.” His eyes scan over you to assure himself as well. He reminds himself that blood is not yours.
Your eyes drift back toward the body. The body that used to house a person with a life and family and-
“Look at me.” Dave’s voice is commanding, forcing obedience. The other side of him is coming out. This is not the Dave you know. It’s the one you’ve caught glimpses of. The one he told you about. This Dave is a monster. A monster you should run from.
“You did nothing wrong. He would’ve killed you.” His hand presses into your neck again. “You did the right thing.”
You thought this moment would break you, losing your Dave, but this Dave is yours too. You thought the monster would scare you. It’s everything you’ve ever stood against, but you want the monster.
A thrill shoots through you, unlocking a deep urge. The world should be blurry, hazing like the TV shows when someone experiences a trauma, but it’s buzzing around you instead. Your senses feel heightened.
Dave says your name. You look up at him. Time stands still. He knows you know. It’s a question of if you will accept it. You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him. He shouldn’t tarnish you, but he catches that look. It’s everything he feels after a kill. The adrenaline rush, the buzz of life through your veins. Maybe he didn’t tarnish you. Maybe he unlocked something in you. Your bloodied hands tangle in his thick hair as he surges forward lips colliding with yours.
This is wrong, so wrong. Another man’s blood is literally on your hands as they tangle in Dave’s hair. You should be disgusted with yourself. This is wicked. You’ve run from the wickedness your entire life. Now you feel like you should have embraced it. He bites your lip, so hard there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. It only spurs you on. A familiar ache grows in your core. Your teeth nash against his, meeting each of his tortuous movements.
His hand squeezes your neck just enough to make your head go dizzy. You should hate this. You should despise this, but your cunt clenches again. “You like that don’t you?”
He loosens his hold, the blood rushing back quickly. It’s a new rush, crashing over the edges of your heightened senses. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you never want it to stop.
His rough voice presses to your ear as he caresses your exposed neck reminding you how fragile your own life is. “The little slut likes when I get rough.”
You whimper at his words, your underwear growing wetter with each passing second. His knee presses between your thigh, granting some tension to your aching core. You move your hips against it. “Not so fast, Darling.” He tightens his grip on your neck, pressing you further against the wall. “You think just because you killed him you’re in charge now?”
Another whimper falls from your lips. An involuntary tear seascapes the corner of your eyes, beginning its descent. Dave’s eyes flicker to it, head cocking to the side. His eyes look different- wild verging on insane. You should be scared, but it’s still Dave. You trust him. Then his tongue is against your cheek, wiping it away with a long, slow swipe. Your nipples pearl under your thin nightshirt.
He whispers in your ear. “I'm in charge. Do you understand?”
You nod.
“Good.”
He produces a knife out of thin air. It’s one you’ve seen before. He’s sharpened it at your kitchen counter. He brushes the tip along your collarbone. Your eyes track its every movement. It’s not enough to cut you, but enough that you can feel how sharp it is. Your heart thuds harder, but your hips move against his knee of their own accord.
He clicks his tongue, forcing the knife down in a single swift movement. You cry out, expecting to feel pain, only to find your chest exposed and your nightshirt torn down the middle. He hand gropes your breast, squeezing it like a stress ball. A gasp falls from your lips as his finger runs over your nipple.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
By your neck, he leads you in front of him to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut, pressing you against it. He produces the knife again, running it through your pajama shorts. The scraps fall to the floor, leaving you in the delicate lace pair of underwear you wore in anticipation of Dave’s arrival.
His tongue clicks appreciatively. The tip of the knife traces over the lace. You whimper, eyes falling closed. He falls to his knees.
“So pretty.” Dave presses his mouth to your clothes cunt. He works his tongue over the thin fabric, pulling it between his teeth. It’s just enough to tease and not enough to provide relief.
“Dave.” It comes out so hoarse you don’t recognize your own voice.
He grins up at you, pulling the knife through your underwear with a rehearsed flick of his wrist. They join your shorts on the floor. You’re bared to him while Dave is fully clothed.
You catch the blood in his hair, splattered on his clothes. It’s drying on your skin now. You know you should be repulsed by it, but the thought of what you did still makes you buzz to life.
“Stay right there.” He eases to his feet. “I mean it. Don’t move.”
He turns on the shower, pushing the hot water all the way. As steam starts to fill the room, Dave removes his clothing item by item. He’s not making a show of it per se, but he is commanding, concise. He pulls another knife from his belt and sets it on the counter. Your breath catches and he makes eye contact. A whisper of a smirk plays on his lips. “Standing so still for me, darling.” You squeeze your legs together, feeling the familiar squelching between your vaginal lips.
You eye the knife a moment longer, biting your lip. Something about it calls out your name. You’re not sure if you should grab it and find the nearest person to plunge it into or if you want Dave to use it with you, on you.
Dave catches the glimmer in your eyes as you eye it. A newfound excitement tugs in his belly. A whole new world is opening before him. One where he doesn’t have to hide all this shit from you, one where you might enjoy it too. You’re not shutting down after killing that man, his body cooling on your living room floor. You liked it. He likes it.
He kicks off his boots and socks. His pants follow. Your eyes travel over his body. The scars make sense now. You still don’t know what Dave does, but you know it’s bad. There’s a small band across his ankle that houses another knife. You should hate him for all of this, kick him to the curb. Instead, your cunt is soaking, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted him more.
He chuckles as you eye the knife on his ankle. It’s the only thing he wears other than his briefs now. His dick bulges, usually pulling your attention, put you can’t pull your eyes away from the knife.
Pulling off his underwear, Dave comes back over to you, pressing his body against yours. His teeth scrape over the veins of your neck and he bites down on your earlobe as his hand tangles in your hair.
You release a soft yell. You barely recognize the man in front of you, but it doesn’t matter.
He grips your thigh, hiking it over his hip, running his dick through your sopping cunt.
“You like my knives, Darling?”
You nod as pleasure plays like a movie across your body.
He gips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words.”
“Yes.” It barely comes out.
His brows raise in amusement. “Would you like me to use them?”
“You won’t hurt me.” You say it as a statement.
Flashes of his softer side show before he clamps them down. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Yes.” It’s almost a yell.
Without hesitation, he grabs the knife off the vanity, pressing it to your neck. “On your knees.”
You obey coming face to face with his hard cock. The knife stays against your delicate flesh.
“You know what to do, baby.”
Again, you obey, taking it into your mouth. The knife is cool against your neck, the only reminder it’s still there. You don’t know how it never pierces your flesh either by dumb luck or expert skill.
Dave’s hips thrust forward, almost triggering your gag reflex. Tears fall from your eyes. Curses sputter from Dave’s lips as he uses your mouth. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
You breathe from your nose, forcing yourself to nod.
“Shit!” Dave curses, pulling out of your mouth. “I’m going to paint that pretty pussy of yours.”
Your cunt clenches as a small moan tumbles from your lips. He chuckles, hand closing around your neck once more as he ushers you into the shower.
The water is hot, burning against your skin as if it might melt your skin off. Dave holds you under the water. Your breath catches as your body screams out. The water beneath you runs red as the blood washes from your skin.
Your back hits the cool tile wall granting relief from the scalding water. He lathers soap over the parts of your body still stained red, fingers occasionally brushing under your breasts, tweaking nipples.
“You’re so beautiful, darling. Even covered in blood.”
You whimper again, senses overloaded from the trauma, the rush, the teasing. “Dave, please.”
“Please what? You have to use your words, Doll.”
Your walls constrict again, desperate to be around something. Your arms and legs are heavy with need. He’s never used that term with you before. It should be degrading. It is, but it sets another wave of pleasure. You wonder if it’s possible to orgasm virtually untouched. If it is, you’re close.
“Fuck me.”
His tongue clicks as he floats around yours, almost taunting you. He grabs your boob, hard enough it should hurt. It does a little, but pleasure overrides the pain.
“Ask nicely, Doll.”
His finger trails over your collarbone traveling between your breasts and down across your hip. Your thighs squeeze. His palm slips around as he grabs the back of your thigh, kneading it.
“I said.” His words come out like a punch. Concise. Almost sharp. “Ask. Nicely.” He pushes your thigh over his waist, forcing your supportive leg to your tiptoes.
You feel his cock near your entrance, brushing your pussy lips. You moan, hips bucking. He pushes against your neck, running your head into the tiles behind you. “You little slut. You think you can just take it.”
You gasp. “Please.”
“What do you want?”
“I want your cock inside me, Daddy.” It tumbles out of your lips before your brain catches up.
He thrusts his cock into you, sheathing himself fully, hitting the deepest parts of you. Then he’s gone, making you feel empty but only for a second until he enters you again. His hand squeezes tighter around your neck. You come for air as he continuously splits you apart thrust by thrust, pulling out almost fully each time.
Your moans are loud, drowned out by the steaming shower. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Dave pays you little mind, shows little care as he continues with a brutality you’ve never encountered, a brutality that only makes you soak his cock. He doesn’t slow. You don’t want him to. He never touches your clit, but you're propelling forward, chasing that high in a way you never have.
The pitch of your voice steps up. The spasm starts in your stomach traveling down to your core as you flutter around Dave’s cock. Your supporting leg shakes. Still, he never eases up, working you through your orgasm.
It hits you like a punch to the gut, a scream piercing the air. Your scream. Dave doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stutter. He keeps pace, chasing his own release.
With each thrust, you yell. You hear the squelching of your sopping cunt against his dick over the roar of the shower. His continuous movements extend your release until he finally buries himself inside you, coating your pussy with his cum. “Such a perfect little doll for me.”
You let out a final whimper as he pulls around, dropping your leg. Your knees buckle. You barely keep yourself upright, legs tingling and shaking.
Dave kisses your cheek. The softness causes a sense of whiplash. He glances over your body, making sure the blood is cleared from your skin and hair. He rinses the blood from his hair as your brain slowly returns to the world. You expect to be exhausted, and you are, but there’s still that low buzz deep within your body.
You killed a man. You took a life. You should feel bad. There’s a fucking body in your living room, but all you can think about is the rush. You liked it. Watching Dave, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s no doubt to you that he’s taken lives before. You wonder if he knows how many.
The water stops. Dave dries you off with the soft bath towel. He helps you into his soft white t-shirt and tucks you into bed.
“I need to make a call.” He kisses your head and shuts himself in your bathroom. You hear him on the phone, but his words are muffled by the door.
You lay on your back, sheets cool against your hot skin. Staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the blood dripping from your hands, hear the piercing of the knife. You heart rate picks up. What would it be like to do that again? Would you feel the same rush of adrenaline? Would it feel better?
Dave comes out, tossing his cell on the nightstand and sliding under the covers. His hand covers yours.
“What about…?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”
You don’t ask. He probably knows people. His fingers drift over your cheeks and jaw. They skim lower, following the same path down your neck as your arteries. They feel cool against your skin, drawing patterns where you anticipate bruises tomorrow.
“Did I hurt you?”
He’s almost back to the Dave you know, soft and kind, but you still catch the edges of his dark side. He’s more of a blend now. You think you might be getting the real, true Dave now.
“No,” you shake your head. There was pain. You’ll be sore tomorrow, sport a few scrapes and bruises, but it doesn’t feel like he hurt you.
Dave kisses your forehead, fingers tracing your collarbone now. A question forms in your head, gnawing at the corners of your brain.
“Dave?”
“Hmmm?” He sees distracted, entranced as he follows his hand over your skin, skimming the tops of your breasts. Your nipples tighten making you curl your toes with a familiar tug of desire. How are you ready to go again after that?
“What if I liked it?”
His eyebrow quirks. “The sex?” he pinches your hardened nipple making you gasp.
“All of it?”
His palm stops. The pitch of his voice deepens. “All of it?”
You bite your lip, nodding.
“Use your words, Doll.” He cups your breath, teasing your nipple more. His breath is hot in your ear. “Tell me what you like.”
“I-” Can you really say this out loud? Will it blacken your soul? Or is it already charred and damned.
“Tell me.” He smacks your chest like a parent might smack their child’s hand away from an electrical outlet.
Your pussy clenches as you squeeze your legs together. He smacks your other breast in the same manner. You gasp, practically yelling out your answer. “Killing him.”
The air stands still. For a second, you expect a look of disgust to cross Dave’s face. Instead, a smirk grows. “You liked that?”
You nod, not able to say anything else. Dave climbs on top of you, kicking away the covers. He pushes his hand up your sternum, kneading your breast before running it back down. He repeats the motion, rotating between the two. Moans grow in your chest. He bites your earlobe.
“Did you like the way the knife slid into him?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Dave growls in your ear.
“Yes, Daddy,” you repeat between moans. Your sopping hole drips onto the sheets below you. Dave’s motions steadily grow in intensity.
“Did my doll like the way her body felt alive? Like you absorbed that bastard's energy.”
Tears drop from your eyes. You want him again. You need him again. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Does my doll want to do it again?”
“Yes, Daddy.” You practically scream. You should be ashamed of the answer. You should be ashamed that there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in your being.
“Fuck,” Dave says, shoving your legs apart. He pushes his cock inside you again. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you will.”
Dave moves inside you. It’s not as violent, not as torturous as earlier, but it’s just as satisfying. The promise of more ignites a fire inside of you.
Dave takes you to the brink, pushing you until you pass out from exhaustion, spent, used, and sated.
“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.”
When you wake up the next morning, the body is gone. The lamp you broke is replaced and a new area rug is delicately placed in your apartment. Not a speck or splatter of blood can be found anywhere. Dave stands in the kitchen gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He cooks eggs on the stovetop and a steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter.
You wrap your arms around him. He hums. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, heart beating against your palm. “I like the rug.”
“Me too.”
“Kryptonite”
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Earth 101 : A Manual for the Visiting Cybertronian
Chapter Three : Human Holidays Part 1
As a part of most human religions, there are special days celebrated all across planet Earth in accordance to the beliefs of their people.
A number of these holidays have similarities to our own Cybertronian holidays, as their emphasis tends to be that of showing appreciation for the people around them, or for the sacrifices of those that came before them.
A great many interviews were done with our human allies, many of various cultures and backgrounds so that this guide could have many for us to understand.
As the human calendar hosts several holidays within its ranks, this chapter will be divided as to not exceed the word limit and attention span of the reader who may be going over this guide.
We shall begin with the month of January, and will continue in the order of months onward!
Within the month of January, there are a small number of holidays that Earth celebrates.
January 1st is dedicated as ‘New Year’s Day’, a ‘Year’ being what Earths calls a Vorn, but lasts only a singular Orbital Cycle. This particular holiday is celebrated as the beginning of the year, and the day prior, is spent awake till the last minute of that year, then celebration ensues as the New Year begins! 
Well, at least the new year for most Western countries, or at least, those who celebrate it on what I believe sources call the ‘Roman Calendar’.
January 6th is dedicated to a Latin American known as ‘Three Kings Day’, and is also known as the last and 12th night of the Christmas holidays [to be expanded upon later in this chapter]. This holiday is celebrated with exchanges of gifts between families, as well as the sharing and consumption of a special type of holiday sweet known as a ‘Rosca de Reyes’, which appears to have plastic toys of human offspring inside, in a bizarre human tradition of finding it. 
However it would appear often the humans do NOT wish to find these toys and chose to instead hide them in their mouth, rest of their food, or even swallow them.
Editor’s Note: Apparently swallowing these bizarre toys is rare but is still a baffling choice.
Chinese New Year is also celebrated within the month of January and at times in February, and is the beginning of the lunar new year, a cultural difference. These celebrations can last several days, entailing wonderful parades, festivals, family gatherings, gift exchanges, and many many wondrous traditions which are meant to bring in good luck for the new year to come. The ending of these celebrations are sent off with a beautiful lantern festival, which I hope perhaps I may witness.
February is next and is host to an equally beautiful amount of holidays.
Valentine’s Day is a holiday which humans celebrate on the 14th of the month, and is dedicated to the romantic bonds they have with their courted or with their conjux endura, which is known on Earth by the terms of boyfriend/girlfriend/partner and wife/husband/spouse.
Romantic moments are shared on outings of various kinds, and gifts may range from treats like human made sweets, flowers, jewelry and all manner of gift from low cost to expensive.
However, it would appear that non-courted or single humans still celebrate this day, choosing to instead celebrate their bonds of friendship, and Amica, even familial bonds with their Caretakers and siblings. 
Such a holiday to celebrate loved ones in all their forms in a sparkwarming sight, and many a Cybertronian has adopted this holiday into their own lifestyle, myself included.
March is host to many a religious celebration, of which I feel that I must not cover at this time, as so to not disrespect the customs which I am currently not well informed of.
However, I may indeed speak of the holiday known of as Saint Patrick’s Day, celebrated on March 17th, which according to a human liaison, entails quite heavily of drinking the human equivalent of high grade Energon throughout the day and well into the night. It originates from the land known as Ireland, if records are correctly noted.
It is celebrated with various parades and also entails of celebrating a creature known as a ‘leprechaun’.
Editor’s note: I have been informed the creature mentioned is not real, and is in fact, just a mythological being in human folklore. I was quite concerned indeed to hear of a mischievous creature smaller than a Mini-Con who apparently carries around a pot of gold.
April is a month which has a rather interesting set of holidays.
April 1st is regarded as April Fool’s Day. As it appears, this human holiday is celebrated by the playing of tricks, pranks and other mischievous acts big and small, and they are done all in good fun. It is a quite enjoyed holiday as it appears practical jokes of this form are often taken well by most humans, though some do not like to do them and do not participate.
It is here I must pause and implore you, my dearest reader of this manual, that Commander Ultra Magnus warns any mech and femme looking to participate in this holiday must abide by certain rules.
We do not want a repeat of last orbital-cycle’s incident where the Wreckers somehow welded a large quantity of the base's furnishings onto the ceilings.
We are still not quite sure how this was achieved and would rather it not be recreated this cycle, as we are still struggling to remove the remaining welded furnishings.
Any pranks of this caliber and their culprits will have to undergo a formal reprimand and undergo a seminar about proper protocol in accordance.
Also in the month of April, is the celebration of Easter, commonly celebrated on a Sunday and is known as a religious holiday in origin.
However, with the passing of time, different traditions have also taken hold, and is now commonly celebrated as a coming of the Spring season.
Families will often hide what are known as eggs, candied, plastic or even hollowed animal eggs filled in with various goodies ranging from miniature toys, confetti paper, and small treats and sugar confections for human sparklings to enjoy. These treasure eggs are often painted in various bright colors, patterns and more, and are collected in equally colorful and delightful baskets.
This celebration is often times connected to the Terran animal known as the rabbit, who in many Terran religions is known to be a symbol of the coming spring and life.
That said, though the holiday of Easter is known to have the ‘Easter Bunny’, these creatures do not in face lay eggs of any kind, and is a common misconception. 
Once again, dear reader, we take this time to inform you that there is indeed no such creature as an anthropomorphic rabbit, the Easter Bunny is often just a human disguised as a large rabbit for the pure enjoyment of the children celebrating this holiday. 
Do not attempt to chase, capture, trap, or in any other way bring harm to said figure should you come across one, as they are harmless and just humans having a bit of entertainment.
This rabbit disguise is used often when hiding the treasure eggs, and so we implore you do not disturb the adult human’s task of doing so.
Lastly, we strongly suggest that any and all mechs do not by any means attempt to disguise themselves as said Easter Bunny, as we do not need a repeat of the last time someone tried to transform whilst wearing said suit.
We sincerely hope your knowledge of Terran holidays has been expanded with this initial dive to the many many celebrations throughout the Terran orbital-cycle!
Any and all queries regarding further analysis and explanation of these holidays and their origins are to be related to the human archivists and liaisons in our ranks who may give differing explanations but nonetheless enlightening.
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robbie, on a saturday
annie's late spring was pretty nice, all things considered. robbie was just sort of living in her apartment, which they'd never really planned on or agreed to, but annie was grateful for his presence. he cooked, he cleaned, he slept in her bed. the presence of another body there was nice for her. for the last year, she'd spent more or less equal time at ryan's apartment, and so being home all the time was jarring. and would have been crushingly lonely.
she and robbie went out with jim and julia a lot, funny little group dates that more often than not ended with sex. julia was the star around which these events orbited, as she was the one who fucked everyone else. typically, julia and annie had sex first while the boys watched, and then jim and robbie took turns on each of julia's ends. after that, she and annie sometimes resumed their festivities.
it was wonderful to be so sexually active with julia for a sustained period. annie had always thought her best friend was beautiful. she had gorgeous wavy dirty blonde hair, and a lithe, yoga-addled body. she and annie were somewhat contrasted -- julia's skin took naturally to the sun, whereas annie was pale and milky and burned easily. julia's hair was cut at her shoulders; annie's long dark hair was halfway down her back. annie had bright hazel eyes behind her glasses and big white teeth; julia had a crooked smile and tired, dark eyes. annie was taller and had bigger tits. julia had her perfect bush, and annie was still shaved smooth.
annie liked kissing julia. she was such a good kisser. she also believed herself to be getting much better at eating pussy -- julia's moans backed up her claims.
she and robbie didn't really talk about the fact that they were now regularly watching each other have sex. annie had watched very intently the first time robbie had pushed his cock into julia's cunt, and had seen him looking at her tits and her pussy, sometimes with his cock in hand, stroking it and keeping it active for julia. sometimes, julia and annie made out just moments after robbie had cum in julia's mouth. annie was well aware of what she was tasting.
but when they were around the apartment alone together, they were becoming extremely casual. they changed in front of each other, and other times lounged around mostly nude. one afternoon robbie joined annie in the bath. that was kind of fun and sweet. they had a good talk.
one night, a night when julia and jim had other plans, robbie told annie as they went to be that he was going to jerk off. "okay," she said, and positioned herself up on her pillow to watch. he let her, getting himself hard to a picture of his ex gf on his phone -- but then putting it down to just close his eyes and stroke. annie watched him cum on himself and cooed approvingly. he cleaned himself up with his shirt and tossed it aside and went to bed.
in the morning, annie woke him up using her vibrator on herself.
"you keep your panties on?" he said.
"for this one, yes, it's too intense otherwise" annie gasped.
"sounds like it."
"holy FUCK" annie laughed, her legs reddening as she came. she put her vibrator down and yanked her panties down to her knees, letting her pussy cool off.
robbie had his dick out now and was stroking it.
"you know post-nut clarity?" annie said. "my male patients tell me about that."
"you don't experience that?" he said.
"no," annie said. "cumming just makes me hornier in the moment."
"hot," robbie said.
annie laughed. "no, it's awful. i feel like i need to go stick an ice cube in my pussy."
"if you do that i wanna see it," robbie said.
annie got up and dropped her panties and walked to the kitchen to the ice dispenser. she came back to the bedroom with a little moon-shaped cylinder of ice and stood at the end of the bed in front of robbie and his dick and pushed the ice inside herself. she bit her lip.
"how does it feel? he asked.
"fucking good," she giggled. her knees buckled and she nearly fell over. she had a hand over herself, holding it in. the melting water ran through her fingers. "it's melting so fast," she giggled.
"can i feel it?" robbie said. he sat up, not jacking off anymore but still hard. annie moved her hand and was surprised to feel his hand go right between her legs, touching not quite inside her, but pushing the flat of his fingers against her ice-cold labia. "that's so weird," he said.
he took his hand away and the remainder of the ice slipped out to the floor. they both laughed.
that afternoon, jonah came over to fuck. before he arrived, annie put a buttplug in as a nice surprise for him -- one he quite appreciated.
robbie was out and about so jonah and annie went at it on the couch. she was on her hands and knees getting fucked when robbie came in with groceries. "don't stop," annie told jonah. "hi, robbie."
"oh hey," he said, laughing. "what are you guys up to?"
"you know, just hanging out," annie said, her tits bouncing hard.
jonah came on her chest and the retired to the bedroom for another round. annie went to the kitchen to see what robbie bought while cleaning herself off. "do you have a buttplug in?" he asked her.
"yeah," annie said. she turned around and spread her ass to show him.
"cool," he said. "i've never actually seen one in real life before."
"you haven't snooped in my sex toy drawer?" she asked.
"no," he said.
"why not!?" annie said, laughing.
"do you think your patients ever imagine you're like this?" robbie asked. "like, you're in your office in a cardigan, if they knew you were like, walking around naked all the time, fucking all over, using a buttplug, shaving your pussy, would it blow their minds?"
"i hope not," she said. "i hope they think about it so much that it wouldn't surprise them at all."
on sunday their dad came over. he liked that robbie was staying there too, and didn't seem to think it was weird that whenever he showed up, annie was typically in panties and rarely more than that. today, she was on her way to the shower when he arrived, and therefore was fully nude. when annie came back out, towel around her waist, she said, "I love having my men here." her dad put his hand on the small of her bare back. it felt nice.
"you sound like mom," robbie said.
"yeah but when was the last time mom just walked around with her tits out?" annie offered.
"like the last time i was there?" robbie said.
"really?" annie was shocked. "i haven't seen mom naked like since i was a toddler."
"it was probably more like around the time your tits got bigger than hers," her dad said. "that was when she stopped walking around naked. but yeah, when you're not at home, she's pretty free."
"huh," annie said. she looked at robbie. "what's her bush like?"
"trimmed, tight, controlled."
"sounds like everything else in that area," annie said. her dad laughed.
"i'm hotter though, right?" annie said. her dad looked at her and raised an eyebrow. she dropped her towel.
"of course, honey," he said.
"thank you!" annie chirped.
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gamebird · 26 days
Text
A post about my Murderbot Diaries fanfics
A lot of my TMBD fanfiction links together. Someone called it the 'Gamebird Cinematic Universe'. So you'll see events referenced across fics, backstory fleshed out, and missing scenes filled in, with the information spread out across a lot of stories. I also ship Murderbot and Gurathin, but not within the canon timeline. Thus, there are a lot of fics where that hasn't happened yet, or where they are not both present.
I've put them all together in a single series for convenience, and broken out the ones that are separate AUs or unrelated one-shots.
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Gamebird Cinematic Universe stories in (mostly) chronological order:
After Hacking - This is pre-ASR, a series of stories that track Murderbot's growing personhood and abilities during the 4 years after it hacks its governor module to before the events of All Systems Red. Each installment is around 1,000 words and they are all designed as stand-alone stories.
It's Only a Cleaning Process - Murderbot enjoys a particularly thorough cleaning process that can definitely be interpreted sexually. Murderbot declines to interpret it that way.
Two Ships, Passing in the Night - ART shows off for another ship. Seth is not amused.
Ratthi's Proposition - At the start of the ASR survey, Ratthi propositions Gurathin. This is an event referred to in various other fics.
[ASR happens here]
Rogue Trends - This is a data analyst digging into the circumstances behind Murderbot going rogue, and what happened to the other SecUnits that were in Ganaka Pit. It was my first TMBD fic and is much acclaimed.
Gurathin's Side of the Story - A retelling of ASR, ES, and other portions from Gurathin's point of view, along with key elements of his backstory. There is a little MB/G in it (occasional badly-veiled one-sided yearning; Murderbot doesn't know or care, as per canon).
BATNA - This recounts Mensah's captivity in Exit Strategy.
Things SecUnit Will Never Know - Missing scene at the end of Exit Strategy, tells the story of how the group restored Murderbot's brain after the gunship collapse.
Trust Fall - Set in the flashback scene of Network Effect - Overse and Arada argue about being cut out of the need-to-know list regarding the assassination attempt on Dr. Mensah.
Resignation - This is an elaboration of this line from Network Effect: Since I'd decided to stay (temporarily) on Preservation Station, Dr. Mensah had asked me to go places with her seven times. Six of those times were just relatively short boring meetings on ships in orbit or in dock. The seventh was when she had asked me to go down to the local planet's surface with her., telling the story of Mensah's slow crumble after the events of BATNA.
The Skinny - Murderbot sends a letter to Bharadwaj about the ways SecUnits are misused on contract. This would be in Network Effect, after the festival and before the water planet survey. This was another of my very early TMBD fics.
A Funeral for Killware - At the end of Network Effect, before System Collapse, those in orbit over the Adamantine Colony have an observance for those who were lost.
Retrieval - Three retrieves one of its fallen fellows.
Tarrathi - Tarik and Ratthi get together in System Collapse, missing scene fic.
The Talk - Perihelion's crew talk to it about how it met Murderbot. Or try to.
[post System Collapse, nebulous undefined mission with ART; in other words: canon that hasn't been published yet]
Repeat Deletion Protocol - Back on Preservation, SecUnit confronts Ratthi about a suspicious situation with one of Ratthi's partners, only to discover this isn't the first time it's confronted Ratthi about this.
De-constructed Feelings - Ratthi realizes/discovers Gurathin's past with constructs, and his present feelings toward one construct in particular. Gurathin swears him to secrecy, because he intends to take this secret to his grave. After all, Murderbot has no interest in him whatsoever and that's fine.
Skulk - This consists of the origin story for a rogue Combat SecUnit named Skulk, and then an adventure with Murderbot, Ratthi, and Gurathin.
Murderathin - This follows immediately after the end of the Skulk series and is my attempt to separate the MB/Gurathin material from the non-MB/G stuff so those readers who want to avoid shippy stuff can do so. Upon leaving the planet Skulk was on, Murderbot confronts Gurathin about certain feelings it has unexpectedly detected from him. This is where Gurathin's Side of the Story is told, although the events of it (ASR, ES, etc.) happen earlier.
[Young Gurathin section not in chronological order]
What is Love? - A late-teens Gurathin explores his sexual interests with a standard ComfortUnit in the Corporation Rim. Even back then, he wonders if there is more behind those eyes, or if he's just seeing what he wishes was there.
To Like or Not to Like - This is Gurathin in his mid-20s (I headcanon him around 50 in ASR) with a ComfortUnit. Nothing sexual or romantic this time, just two beings trying to understand one another and themselves.
[Back to chronological order]
Depends on Viewpoint - Gurathin and Bharadwaj discuss differences between the Corporation Rim and Preservation.
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Other series:
Last Client Standing - ASR, but GrayCris attacks PresAux first instead of DeltFall. This is disastrous. Murderbot is only able to save Gurathin. They escape, eventually, returning to Preservation where there is grieving and therapy, with a hopeful ending.
TMBD Metas and Headcanons - What it says on the tin. Most of these are analyses of canon, but a few are my headcanons for ComfortUnits, Combat SecUnits, and Preservation.
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Other stuff (one-shots or nearly so):
Freeze Response - Murderbot tries to figure out where a little girl went. Few words, many kudos.
SexUnit - Two versions of the same outline, one with Murderbot, one with an OC SecUnit. Both are used for sex. This is rape.
Two Peas in a Pod - Murderbot and Gurathin work together to retrieve two gestational units that have been locked in cryofreeze pods. Although both MB and Gurathin are in this fic, it isn't shippy in any romantic way. Barely even platonic.
Imagine Dragons - Murderbot tries to guard Gurathin from hostile fauna. I don't think this is particularly shippy. I think Murderbot would act the same way with any of its clients.
Personalized Security Services - Murderbot and Mensah fuck. This is not rape.
If Hostile One Had Bit Ratthi Instead of Bharadwaj in ASR - Just what it says on the tin.
Just a Piece - A man and an obliging SecUnit fuck. This is not rape.
Preservation Alliance, Politics, and World-Building - This is included in the Meta series, but is important enough for me to call it out individually. It's the background for nearly everything I've written in TMBD that has a setting in Preservation. It tells about languages, planets, and cultures.
There are also some drabbles and a couple longer one-shots I didn't count. You can find them in my AO3 works list. I have participated in two collaborative writing events, one Counting Down (combined PresAux and Perihelion crew get contaminated by alien remnants while planetside and have to fight off a CR sanitation team) and the other is Enemies, Closer (MB/G/ART/Echo). The first is not shippy in the least; the second is all shipping all the time.
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