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cherrychilli · 1 year

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Caught

Happy New Year, everyone! Have some smut to celebrate.

Steve Harrington smut, AFAB Reader, secret relationship

Summary: Car sex with Steve turns awkward when you end up getting interrupted by one of Hawkins' finest.

A/N: Idk, I’ve just been obsessed with the idea of getting caught with Steve so I had to write this up quickly and get it out of my system.

Warnings: Minors DNI, NSFW, Dom Steve, degradation, dirty talk, P in V sex, unprotected sex (don’t do it), a mention of reckless driving (don’t y’all dare)

Characters are 18-19(referred to as ‘teens’ below)

Not proofread

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this fic! (I love reading all of your comments and feedback, it really makes my day <3 )

Wordcount: 1.6k

The whole thing might have been your fault.

You were the one who initiated the kiss that night, not moments after you insisted that Steve park his car at the isolated forest clearing off the main road. You were the one pawing at his shirt, gathering fistfuls of the material and hurriedly settling into his lap. And you were the one urging his hands on your body, slipping them underneath your dress to glide over your hot skin.

“Please, Steve? I want it now”, you whine petulantly against his neck, sucking rosy bruises into his skin before slanting your lips over his.

“Baby, I really should get you home before your dad knows you’re out”, he manages to let out the corner of his mouth between your heated kisses. He means to do the right thing and explain that this was too risky, but the way you’re grinding your core against his crotch does everything to make his resolve waver.

You’d been dating Steve in secret for a couple of months now and despite how happy and proud you were to call him your boyfriend, it just wasn’t time to introduce him to your family quite yet. Having a strict father meant that you had to be extra careful but you both found that the sneaking around had added to the overall excitement.

“Can’t go yet- need to have your cock inside me”, you mewl into his ear.

Steve groans back in response. He always found it impossible to counter when you started talking like this, all needy and unrestrained. Your skirt rides us your thighs and your panties grow wetter as you pull the top of your dress down to reveal your bare breasts underneath.

Steve takes a quick moment to stare, decidedly throwing caution to the wind at this point. “Shit- we’ll have to make this quick”, he mumbles, one hand hurrying to undo his belt while the other groped at your tits.

You’d been known as somewhat of a ‘good girl’ in town. Polite, did well in school, reliable, so on and so on. The kind of daughter that would make any parent proud. As much as you didn’t mind being labeled a ‘respectable young woman’, it did bore you madly at times. Sneaking around with Steve made you realize just how much you liked doing the kind of things you were always told ‘decent’ girls shouldn’t.

Things with Steve started out nice and slow. He was the perfect gentleman but the soft lingering touches and chaste kisses didn’t cut it after a while. Eventually you started lying, telling your father that you were helping out at the local volunteer center when you were really out with Steve, letting him touch you in ways no one else had before. The more you got to know each other, you discovered the kind of things you liked. Some of it came as a surprise, even to you. You liked it when he got firm with you. Some moderate manhandling was more than welcome like having his fingers wrapped around your throat as he kissed you or being bent over his lap, waiting to feel the sting of his hand coming down on your ass. As someone who’d often been described as proper and pristine, you knew it’d come as a shock to anyone who found out just how much you liked having Steve spit into your mouth or how much you enjoyed the feeling of having his cum warm your skin. Every time he’d finish on places like your thighs, belly, breasts or ass you’d go so far as to refuse letting him clean you up entirely, haphazardly pulling your pretty clothes back on and letting his release stain the material.

One of your favorites was when Steve got a little mean with his words. You liked it when he admonished you, reminding you just how far you’ve strayed from being the ‘good girl’ everyone thought you to be.

“Bad girl, lying to your poor father just so you can sneak off and let me fuck you”, he’d grunt into your ear as he had you bent over his kitchen counter, house all to yourselves with Mr. and Mrs. Harrington out of town again. “Probably still thinks you’re his sweet, innocent princess”, he’d taunt, spanking your ass and squeezing the tender flesh as he thrust into your dripping cunt. “He has no idea what a dirty slut his little girl’s turned into”.

You raise your hips when Steve gets his cock out of his jeans, pumping it a few times before pulling your panties to the side and lining up with your waiting entrance. Your nails press into his shoulders as you sink down his length, moaning as you take him right up to the base. “Fuck- Steve, you feel so good- please start moving”.

With one hand on your hip he begins to work you on his cock, thrusting up into you as he grunts out, “greedy little pussy you’ve got babe- didn’t I fuck you enough last night?”

“Need more- please Steve, need you to fill me up again”, you whine shamelessly.

Minutes pass and you’re bouncing on his cock in a frenzy now, mouth falling open in a sultry moan when you feel him nudging your cervix. “Please please- fuck! Yes- Daddy!”

A wolfish grin spreads across Steve’s face, cocking an eyebrow up as your tits bounce in his face. “Daddy, huh? Since when- “

You cut him off with a quick smack against his shoulder. “No no, Steve- Stop!”. He ceases thrusting to turn and look out through the rear window, following your panic-stricken gaze.

“Oh fuck…”

The both of you had been too preoccupied to notice the Hawkins Police Cruiser pull up just behind Steve’s car and an officer already walking over to the driver’s window.

There’s no time to separate, Steve grabs at your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and tucking your face into his shoulder. In the middle of the scramble, he manages to pull your skirt down over your ass and throw his jacket over your back to help shield you. He’s still inside you, you’re both painfully aware of that fact when the eventual tapping against his window comes. Your blood runs cold at the sound of an all too familiar voice filtering through the minute gap, gruff and so very imposing when Steve has no choice but to roll down the window,

“Alright, break it up and go home you two”

“Yup- right on it- sorry, Chief”, Steve grits out through clenched teeth in the most deferential tone he could muster even though the tension is causing your velvety walls to clamp around his cock.

“Get back to your separate homes”, Chief Jim Hopper clarifies in the same indifferent and bored tone. Years of Police work has made him all too accustomed to situations like this. His gaze idly scans the surrounding area because he doesn’t need to peer inside to know that it was Steve behind the wheel, having already recognized his car. Neither does he have to guess what had been going on inside based on the way the BMW had been rocking when he first pulled up. Not his first time dealing with a couple of horny teens messing around in places they shouldn’t.

“Take the girl straight home, Harrington, you got that? and don’t let me catch you out here again”

Steve’s eyes momentarily flick to the gun holstered at Hopper’s waist, swallowing hard before replying. “Sure thing Chief, but could you maybe give us a moment to uh- get decent?”

Hopper sighs, deep and long and tired. “Two minutes. I better see you driving out of here in two minutes” he warns sternly and with that he’s walking back to his cruiser and begins reversing back on to the main road.

Steve waits until the headlights grow dim in the distance before speaking.

“Wow, your dad’s never in a good mood, is he?”

You pry away from Steve to swat at his shoulder again.

“That was too close!- I really thought he might recognize me- he could have killed you! Both of us! and how the hell are you still hard?”, you mean for that last part to sound reproachful but your tone betrays you, awe clearly evident behind your words.

“Are you kidding me? You’re lucky I didn’t cum in you right in front of him with the way you were squeezing me”, he laughs.

You blush madly at the thought.

“Steve! That’s so…”

“Dirty?” he smirks back and you melt.

It’s maddening having him so deep inside of you, long, hard, thick and throbbing.

Maybe two minutes might just be enough?

You can tell that he’s thinking the same, inching closer to your face.

You both abandon the idea when you hear the sudden blaring of the cruiser’s horn sounding off from the main road, your last warning to hurry up and get out of there. You pull away quickly but reluctantly from Steve’s lap, clothing yourself in a hurry before ducking out of sight when you drive past your father’s cruiser.

Cautiously sitting back up when you see his car disappear in the rearview mirror, you can’t help but feel sorry for Steve when you eye his erection straining against his jeans. You want to make it up to him after being the one who wound him up in the first place.

“Steve, I’m sorry”

He smiles back at you softly, “don’t worry babe, let’s just get you back before he finds out you were gone, alright?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wringing your hands in your lap as you watch trees whip past and contemplate for a few moments.

Your face suddenly lights up, confident that you’ve come up with the perfect solution to cap off your rocky night with Steve.

“How about I suck you off while you drive me back home?”, you purr, voice sugary and eager.

Steve nearly veers off the road when you say it, fingers tightening over the steering wheel as he tries not to cum in his pants.

You’re definitely not a good girl anymore.

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

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Erm-

Helloo‼️‼️

Havent asked before but, so here we go!

would you have any Artist Aziraphale recommendations? Or Artist Crowley?

Either one would be alright! —

You all are all angels,

thank you for making this blog!!! :D

Hi. We have #artist aziraphale and #artist crowley tags. Here are a couple more to add to both tags...

A Portrait For You by Izabella95 (T)

Aziraphale gets dragged out for the evening but not without bringing his sketchbook. He notices someone across the way and has to draw them. Anathema thinks he should give the drawing to the stranger. What could go wrong?

One Golden Glance (Of What Should Be) by Sunjinjo (G)

His first batch of pieces had all been starscapes, and increasingly big and dramatic ones at that. It’d turned out he’d really needed to get a lot of pent-up celestial creativity out of his system. Crowley discovers a new hobby. It might actually be a really old one, though, and the same sort of applies to Aziraphale. Can be read as a standalone work.

A Thousand Words by Kat_Rowe (T)

Aziraphale's been keeping a sketchbook for thousands of years. Crowley never knew that before, but somehow, it's no longer very surprising to him that he appears quite frequently.

The Poet's Eye by HolyCatsAndRabbits (E)

(Note that Aziraphale is called Ambrose in this fic) Ambrose watched Crowley stir into wakefulness just after the sun had fully risen. Ambrose was wearing a robe, sitting at the desk in his bedroom, scribbling out lines and phrases and sketches, trying to somehow capture Crowley on paper. Ambrose had never recited poetry during sex before, let alone written poetry while holding someone in his arms. He had, on occasion, stayed up all night frantically filling a notebook with ideas. Just not while staring at the man who’d fucked him the night before until he’d seen stars and all manner of other visions. Ambrose realized what had happened around three a.m., when he was in the middle of a series of drawings focusing on the line of Crowley’s neck as it curved up from his shoulder and then met the pillow. Ambrose had fallen into using "the poet’s eye" during sex, and he was still using it now, unable to stop seeing Crowley as a living work of art. It was the way he’d first glimpsed Crowley in the park, and here, with the beautiful firefighter lying naked in his bed, Ambrose was filling notebooks about him. The poor man had become his muse.

The Grand Design of Art and Coffee by kahlannightwing (E)

When sharply-dressed Anthony Crowley entered Azira Fell's coffee shop, the last thing the ex-bookseller expected was for him to be attracted to the painter. This was just a stop, per Gabriel's insistence, on Crowley's way to get rid of his art block. It was certainly not permission for Azira to develop feelings! Could it be that Crowley can fall as hard as he has?

Out of Suffering Into Love by Slow_Burn_Sally (E)

Aziraphale is a sexually repressed man who grew up in a religious household. Crowley is an artist with a sordid past. Both of them are afraid to love and be loved.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #artist aziraphale #artist crowley #mod d #adult omens

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aprocessionofthoughts · 7 months

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To succeed is to fail

whumptober2023 day 9- mistaken identity fandom- Danny phantom x Batman TW- nothing summary- The Amity Parkers have the opportunity (they didn't want) to explore Gotham. It's just too bad that Danny looks a lot like adoption bait.

First of all, I’d like to state that I know this is whumptober. But the story disagreed. So now we have whumpcracktober.

ao3 masterlist

They were not supposed to be here. They didn't want to be here. They hadn’t even tried to be here. Yet luck had never been on the Amity Parker’s side before, and they should have realized this would be no different.

It was their senior year and things around Amity had calmed down. Or at least everyone was used to Amity’s special brand of crazy.

He had told his parents about Phantom and they had helped hunt down the GIW. Most of Amity was discovered to be liminal and most of the young people had developed some basic abilities.

And then Mrs. Abernagaby decided that their science final would be a group project. This wasn’t anything new. Every year Casper participated in the Helping Intelligent Minds Be Outstanding competition–better known as the HIMBO competition.

And usually the smartest seniors would be picked to work on a group project to submit. Casper High had never won. So, this year Mrs. Abrnagaby decided that all the seniors could work on it together. Because more heads were better than one!

Obviously she didn’t remember what being part of a group project felt like. And she obviously didn't account for the fact that no one would care.

They weren’t even told what the award was since it varied year to year and was meant to be a surprise.

All they were told was that they had to design a new air filtration system.

So, being seniors who had survived ghost attacks, invasions, their town being pulled into another dimension, dealing with the GIW, and making it through adjusting to Amity shifting to the stranger side as everyone's liminality began to show, they did not try.

Which was how they ended up with this masterpiece.

The challenge was to design a new air filtrator. Which if they had wanted to, would have been easy since air filters that would reduce the amount of ectoplasm in the air had been designed before the residents realized it was too late to do any good, and so they had never been made.

They didn’t even submit a design; it was a paper mache volcano covered in everyone’s failed tests. The accompanying research paper they were supposed to submit had Dash’s and Paulina’s self-insert fanfics with– you guessed it– phantom as the love interest. Danny had tried to make them remove it since it was awkward now that they knew who he was, but they had claimed they wrote it before they knew. Danny knew this was a lie because they were lying liars who lied.

The paper also included one of Sam’s activist papers, Wes’s conspiracies about Bruce Wayne being Batman’s sugar daddy (now that everyone knew Danny was Phantom Wes didn’t feel the need to include that research (he also believed that Batman was Bruce Wayne but didn’t want to antagonize the furry who could ruin his life)).

Tucker had included evidence of a Pentagon hack he had done a few years ago, Mikey had drawn some incredible fanart about Green Lantern (he said this would have the greatest effect on Gothamites and Wes agreed saying Batman didn’t like Green Lantern. How he knew this, no one asked.).

And lastly, they attached a file of them doing the Harlem Shake.

Mrs. Abernagaby hadn’t even looked at it before sending it off.

And then of course they had won. And what a grand prize it was! They won a trip to Gotham to explore the various big businesses, as well as a chance to apply at those locations for internships. Yeah… Sam had found out all the other schools had dropped out after finding out the prize. No one wanted to go to Gotham. But the school said it was a learning opportunity! To see what it was like outside Amity! To see what normal was supposed to be like!

So, they were forced to go, but at least they got Mr. Lancer as their supervisor and they wouldn’t even have to take a long bus ride because Amity was friends with Gotham. Apparently there weren’t very many Living Cities and the two liked to talk. They also thought it would be hilarious if the Amity Parkers went to Gotham. So, Amity had temporarily turned the road that left the city into a portal that led to Gotham’s border, and at the end of the week Gotham would return them.

And that was how he had ended up here. In the back of a smelly van with a smelly bag over his head surrounded by smelly men probably heading to a smelly, sketchy location. All because these men were stupid and thought he was some Wayne kid.

Sure, he could have gotten out. But this was honestly more interesting than touring another boring building and having to almost get mugged again.

..........

AN-I plan to continue this but it probably won’t be until after October because I want to focus on completing the challenges I'm participating in.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober #no.9 #mistaken identity #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #batman #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #humor #no angst #I know this was supposed to be whumptober #but the story disagreed #what was I supposed to do #aren't we supposed to support our children's decision #I was being a supportive story writer

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pedgito · 1 year

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Can we please talk about eddie discovering that you *like* being teased?? specifically the kind of teasing that he does in bed (even though you also secretly love the gentle teasing he does out of bed too). i feel like once he put it together he'd 1) nearly short circuit and 2) be absolutely ruthless about it

author's note: anyone who says eddie is not vocal in bed is lying—lying, i tell you.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), lots of teasing, oral (f recieving), pretty self-explanatory y'all.

word count: 2k

It starts during a rousing game of D&D, another tumultuous campaign that has everyone at each other’s throat. You, especially. The anger permeates, builds, until you’re practically leaping across the table to rip Gareth a new one for rolling a three when you need ten. Eddie’s never enjoyed being the DM more, happy to not be on the receiving end of that venomous, rage filled argument that quickly died down after Eddie’s persuasion.

You apologized after, Gareth didn’t seem bothered. You still called him a dipshit for spellcasting protection when he could’ve attacked. He agrees.

Eddie watches it from a distance, recalls the tense line of your jaw, the way your finger came out stiff and sharp as it pointed in Gareth’s direction. It was a very constrained amount of emotion, but it made Eddie smile nonetheless—among other things.

He hides it behind his fist, eyes flicking between the two of you during that time. The relationship that has blossomed between you two was new, fresh—and Eddie couldn’t help but enjoy the small things he was finding out about you, including your passion for the game.

It was something you shared—well, that and the unconstrained outbursts. You’re pretty contained otherwise, but Eddie hadn’t improved much. Still, he can’t help but find it slightly attractive when Gareth takes a jab at Eddie’s story building as a weak defense, and you make him apologize immediately.

Either way, it’s quickly resolved. Plus, you promised him pizza next week for the meeting and that sealed the deal—and intrigued the several other hungry boys watching in waiting to see if you decided to finally go for his jugular.

Eddie approaches after everyone had left, his jacket slung over his arm as he catches the furrow in your brow, taut with frustration as you shoved your things away in your bag. He reaches a thumb out and soothes the worry, your eyes flicking up toward his face. He pulls back quickly, though the smile is nothing that resembles being frightened.

He laughs instead, “That really shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.”

And it’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say—but somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. If anything, it makes you smile too, though quickly snuffed out by your stubbornness to remain annoyed.

Eddie taps a finger at your chin once, twice, sucking the air sharply between his gritted teeth as he examines you.

“It’s really working for me,” Eddie teases further, “I should piss you off more.”

You scoff lightly, turning your face away as you reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

You enjoy the teasing, but it’s not something you’re privy to letting Eddie in on just yet, so you throw back a quip that leaves him speechless.

“You wouldn’t be able to handle it, Eddie.”

You’re right and Eddie doesn’t even try to argue.

And the teasing is more subtle some days.

He notices you squirm a little more when you wear shorts or dresses, bearing your skin on the days where the air is thick and hot—or god forbid, the cooling system at the school breaks for the uptenth time. Eddie never misses a chance to touch you, his touch always matching your temperature—never too hot, never too cold.

But, it always sends a jolt of excitement through you. You startle almost every time it happens, catching Eddie’s curious eyes. In the beginning he assumed you didn’t like it, only letting his touch linger for a few moments before pulling away. Soon though, he realizes that’s not the case.

And Eddie loves to tease, so he feeds into it.

On the days where he’s particularly unruly, he’ll scoot you into his lap on the low brick wall outside of the school, several yards away from buildings so he can smoke in peace—it’s not completely abandoned, a few of the other outcast kids lingering for rides or hanging out with friends.

Eddie loves hanging on you in public too, so the touches come easy—but he knows to keep it appropriate, for the most part. It doesn’t stop his words from reaching a point of absolute filth, a hand slipped around your waist and resting between the space of your thighs where they’re pressed together.

“You wanna hit?” He asks gently, letting your back fall against his chest, rocking with you slightly as he widens his legs to accommodate you. It doesn’t help though, your ass rubbing against him in a way that has him choking on nothing but smoke. He masks it lousy, but you save him the embarrassment of addressing it. But unlike you, Eddie shows no mercy.

“I forgot,” He quips, head tilted down to look at you while his fingers raise to hold the joint above you, “can’t focus on anything when I’m touching you. Isn’t that right?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head despite the small jump you respond with when he squeezes at the flesh, the bite of his rings digging into the opposite thigh from how tightly your legs are pressed together.

“What’s got you so bothered?” Eddie asks curiously.

“Nothing.” You shake your head slightly, picking at the worn black nail polish on your thumb, anything to distract your trailing thoughts.

Eddie grins evilly, chin pressing against your shoulder as he leans to look at you, though your gaze never meets. You’re staring at his shoes now, the broken pavement, anything to distract from his wandering hand, squeezing more frequently to get a reaction out of you.

“Is it the touching?” Eddie asks softly.

You shake your head slightly.

“No—you like it?” Eddie asks curiously. You nod.

“Is it—the public thing?” Eddie wonders, “I can tone it down if it bothers you, babe. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“No—no, it’s not that.” You reassure him.

Eddie tries to think, back to all of the times when you’re face scrunches in annoyance or amusement, when your face will heat up or you’ll avoid his gaze after he says something particularly bold or surprising—how you shrink away when he whispers something to you in passing as he’s heading to class, no less depraved than anything else he tells you on a daily basis.

It takes a minute, but eventually it clicks.

“Oh,” Eddie perks up, tapping away the ash and stubbing out the joint until the ember dies, fading to black, “you like it when I tease, don’t you?”

“I mean—“ You try to find a way to turn it around on him, make it not seem so obvious, but there’s no way out.

“Huh,” He huffs in quiet amusement, his hands shifting higher between your thighs, over the thick denim of your shorts but Eddie can feel the heat, the way your thighs squeeze around his hand and you make a small noise of protest, “yeah—lie again."

Eddie respects the rule of toning it down in public, though the effort is still there, just more restrained.

It ramps things up elsewhere, unfortunately. Eddie know how easily it has you writhing underneath him, now so even more as he’s been relentless, picking on every sound you made, every subtle facial expression, until you couldn’t do anything but nod, stripping you down to nothing but a mumbling mess.

And if Eddie had known earlier that all it took was his words, things would’ve been a lot easier. He’s always been a charmer, though his physicality always took over for his mouth, not that you minded much, it was a large part of his personality.

But, there was something about his voice, his tone—he always had a smile on his face, an edge to him that screamed for you to run away. Boys like this were dangerous, always up to no good, and as sweet as Eddie was, you could see it in the way he hovered over you now.

He chuckles lowly, a dark laugh that sends a jolt straight to your core, the hand not holding himself up squeezing at your waist, your thigh, those trailing touches that left you begging, practically whining for more. He mouths along your shoulder, wet open-mouthed kisses as he murmurs a snide remark.

“Words,” He counters your soft moans of protest, “can’t understand when all you’re doing is making noises.”

You glare meanly, his eyes flicking up briefly as he feels it. He smiles in turn, taking the opportunity to invade your space, grin showing his teeth, the slow glide of his tongue over the top row of them.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He quickly apologizes, looking a little amused when he speaks now, “—guess I just leave you a little speechless, huh?”

And even you can’t help but laugh at that, pushing the falling hair away from his face, “Not even close.”

Eddie looks at you skeptically, “Then? Ask for it.”

You shake your head slightly, the words catching in your throat.

Eddie shrugs, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He continues the slow, languid kisses over your skin, leaving you breathless as he hovers over your core, still covered by the thin material of your underwear, Eddie’s fingers pressed delicately around your ankles and he’s staring right at you—

“Look at that,” Eddie comments, noting the small wet patch in the lightly colored fabric, “I haven’t even touched you.”

“That’s a lie.” You argue, eyes connecting with the dark, purple mark in your stomach that Eddie had left as a reminder only moments before.

Eddie sees that fire then, the same glare he saw back during the Hellfire meeting—he knows you have the will to fight back, but he also knows your weakness too well.

“Oh,” Eddie nods slowly, correcting himself, “So, just my mouth is enough to get you off, is that it?”

You shrug slightly, “M’not saying that.”

“I am,” Eddie says boldly, his finger slipping into the band of your underwear, yanking them down and away until he can settle between your legs, hands splayed against the inside of your thighs to keep you under his control, “—you’re okay with this, really?”

Eddie tries not to linger on the idea that this is new to both of you—you haven’t done much outside of kissing and touching below the waist. He’s mesmerized, feeling the want, the need, to dive straight in—but his mouth is speaking before his brain can process.

“And she’s all for me,” He comments slyly, the chuckle he releases ghosting a hot breath over your cunt. You breath a sharp breath through your nose, your face heating up at his words, “isn’t she?”

You nod, but it isn’t enough. Eddie needs to hear it.

“Look at me,” He urges, though his tone is still soft, “say it.”

You nod again out of habit, forcing yourself to let out a soft, “Yes.”

Eddie takes things slow after that, despite himself. You gasp sharply when his tongue runs over your hole, up the seam of your cunt until he catches your clit, and he knows, can feel the way your muscles go taut under his touch.

“God, you want it bad, don’t you?” Eddie teases, “Always begging me to come but you’re too shy to say it now?”

And usually the teasing wasn’t as bad, which made it a little easier. There was always that comfortable silence, the soft sounds of your moans mixing together up until you both were asking, begging for that release and then it was over—but this, it’s so much worse.

“I’m–I’m not–fuck,” Eddie’s fingers dig into the muscle of your thighs, sucking loudly, ludicrous and noisy and you can’t even be bothered to finish the sentence, rutting selfishly into his face, letting out a low and drawn out groan that has Eddie chuckling against you.

“Yeah–can’t lie to me when you’re already fuckin’ up my sheets, sweetheart.” Eddie jabs playfully, “was the teasing always the key?”

Yes.

You laugh weakly, “Maybe.”

Eddie can see right through your lies.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #my writing

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piedpiperart · 10 months

Text

Phantom in Gotham 5

Chapter 4

After class with Tim, Danny went through the rest of his classes in relative silence. He had a few other classes with Steph, but he was still trying to keep his distance. The two reminded him of his friendship with Sam and Tucker, and he wasn’t ready for that kind of friendship again.

Danny had to remind himself that this was only temporary. He was in hiding from his parents, the GIW, and probably Vlad. It wouldn’t be fair to Tim if Danny suddenly disappeared again without word. In case anyone found his new identity, he definitely didn’t want the two normal kids to be involved. They didn’t deserve that.

“Hey Spaceboy,” Steph called, jumping up beside Danny on their way to lunch and linking their arms. Danny felt himself smile at her antics.

“Spaceboy?” Danny laughed.

“Cause you’re a future astronaut,”Steph said with a tone that felt like she was implying a ‘duh’ at the end. “It’s one of many nicknames for you.”

“Many huh? Now I’m a bit worried,”Danny added, letting her steer them to their usual lunch table. He felt a bit tired, and wondered if he could take a quick nap. Danny hated sleeping at the Pizzeria, so he tried to sleep at the library or at school when he could. That gave him enough hours to function, yet usually around lunch he got sleepy and nodded off without actively trying.

“Don’t be, Tim and Connor have their own embarrassing nicknames,’Steph informed him. She gave him a nudge with her elbow,”Wouldn’t want you to be left out.”

Danny laughed,”Does that mean I can give you a nickname too?”

Steph paused in her efforts to climb into the booth at their table without looking at him. “No,” Steph smiled slyly.

“That makes no sense,”Danny huffed. “But fine, I guess I won’t share my amazing nickname skills with you.”

Steph barked out a laugh. “Alright now I’m curious, but hey, are you gonna get lunch?”

“Nah,”Danny waved her off,”Not hungry. Had a big breakfast today.”

Steph squinted at him suspiciously. “That’s what you said yesterday, and then you fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.” Danny made to respond when she continued,”We’re getting worried for you man, you never eat, you look as sleep deprived as Tim, and you never want to hang with us after school.”

“I’m fine!” Danny protested. He knew it looked worrisome from others perspectives, but he really wasn’t hungry. He could probably try to sleep more though. Not to mention that he was trying to not get close to his friends in case he got discovered and had to leave suddenly. Hanging with them outside of school was a sure-fire way for them to get attached. “I’m just, really busy and I don’t like um, cafeteria food.”

It was obvious to both of them that Danny was lying or hiding something, but when Steph was about to say something else, Tim sat down with Connor at the table. Danny was not at all surprised to see a cup of coffee in Tim’s hand. “What’s up?” Tim asked with a raised eyebrow at the tension between the two taller teens in the booth.

“I- “ Danny started, only for Steph to interrupt, much to his mortification.

“Danny’s been avoiding us,”Steph said, not unlike a grade schooler tattling on the teacher. Heat flushed Danny’s face in panic and embarrassment.

“No- no I just don’t have a whole lot of time to hang out after school,”Danny defended, crossing his arms. Tim gave Danny a look.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind us coming with you after school? You go to the library right?” Tim asked honestly. Danny startled, not expecting that answer.

“Y-yeah but you don't have to come. It’ll be boring, just studying and stuff,” Danny stammered,”I’m sure you guys have better things to do.’

“Not really,”Steph shrugged.

“So we’ll see you after school to head to the library?” Tim asked, and Danny was pretty sure he caught a smile on Tim’s face for a second before it disappeared.

Danny sighed, resting his head on his hand,”Sure, why not.”

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

Jason groaned. This kid had absolutely no security system set up in this place. Glancing around the dilapidated Pizzeria, he could admit that not even he would know someone was living here. The kid was good at hiding his stuff.

Oddly enough, after checking the entire ground floor, Jason had to admit the kid did a good job hiding his presence. No disturbed dust, nothing that hinted at a living space or out of place objects. Jason frowned when he pulled down the rackety old attic ladder. A cloud of dust practically followed the whole thing, making Jason think Danny might not have gone up there. He waved his gloved hand to disperse the dust cloud before taking measured steps to the attic.

The place was surprisingly spacious, if not cold from the incoming weather changes. He swore it would start snowing any day now, and his heart sunk at the thought of this kid freezing to death in this place. It was still early morning, since the kid would be at school with Timmy, so he could see some light shining though one window in the corner. There wasn’t enough for him to see clearly though, so he turned on his flashlight, shining it around.

Fighting back a sneeze, he brushed past a few spiderwebs and close to a semi-cleaner space in the attic. His heart sunk at the kid’s set-up. There was a sleeping bag, a few school textbooks, a gym bag full of clothes, a flashlight, and a few prepackaged snacks. No extra blankets, no pillow, no personal items. Jason sighed, thinking about how much worse this kid was doing than he’d thought.

A few things didn’t make sense to Jason though, including how the kid got into gotham prep, or how he could afford food. The kid didn’t look like a street rat, and Jason was pretty sure he wasn’t stealing or selling drugs. Nothing in the cramped living space pointed to that. He’d make a note to inform Tim and Dick about the kid’s situation, but he figured it was time for him to step in a bit. The kid was on his turf anyway, might as well give him the good ol’ welcome to crime alley speech.

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

Danny grasped the straps to his backpack in nervousness, shuffling his feet while he waited for Tim and Steph to show up. And maybe Connor. Danny was pretty sure Connor didn’t like him very much. They’d only shared a few words every now and then. He was also pretty sure Connor and Tim were dating. Maybe.

After five minutes of waiting around, Danny decided to just head to the library by himself. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t getting attached. He didn’t want to put them in danger. Danny was already putting Sam and Tucker in enough danger back home, and he wasn’t even there to protect them. Besides, it was snowing lightly outside, and for regular people like Tim and Steph it would be cold.

“Hey Danny! Wait up!” Danny’s shoulders slumped with dismay. He put on a smile and turned to wave as they came closer.

“I kinda thought you guys weren’t coming,”Danny started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“What? No way, Space boy,”Steph said, lightly punching his arm. “We’ve never hung out with you outside of hell. I mean school.”

Danny snorted at that, while Tim added,”Connor can’t make it, but he says to tell you hi.”

“No worries,” Danny waved. “So, library? Do you guys actually have things to study?”

“Duh,”Steph crossed her arms, absently rubbing them now that the cold air reached her. “You were there when Ms. Riley assigned us the Spanish homework.”

“Oh, right,”Danny nodded.

“You any good at spanish?” Tim asked, curious. “Maybe you could help Steph so I don’t have to.”

“You know spanish too?” Danny asked. “I know a bit, I guess it’s easier to learn when you know other languages.”

“Yeah I’m fluent,”Tim stated, giving Danny a weird stare. “What other languages do you know?”

Danny froze for a moment. There was no way he could say he was fluent in ghost speak, because that wouldn’t make any sense at all. Good thing Danny was an expert at lying. Not. ”Uh, no- nothing. I mean english obviously, but only a bit of spanish.”

“Right,”Steph drawled. ‘Well you can still help me with spanish. I know we’re in the higher levels but the tenses still trip me up sometimes.”

At the library, Danny encountered a problem. He usually did his homework and then took a nap for a few hours until closing. There was no doubt that his friends would notice that, and if Danny knew them, then he knew they’d be worried about him and maybe try to kidnap him for a sleepover or something. Which he didn’t want, because he was supposed to be keeping his distance to protect them.

Almost three hours of studying with Tim and Steph flew by, and Danny was starting to yawn uncontrollably. “I should get home, it’s getting late,”Danny yawned, packing up his stuff.

“What? Already?”Steph startled, looking at Tim’s watch. Tim let her, pulling his arm away after a moment.

“Want to get dinner or something?” Tim offered, sharing a look with Steph.

“Nah, I’ll catch you guys at school tomorrow though, if the snow doesn’t cancel it,”Danny smiled. “And it was nice to hang out with you guys. Get home safe, okay?”

Tim nodded absently, and Steph looked like she was going to protest, but Danny scurried out of the library as quick he could. Letting out a sigh of relief that turned into a yawn, he made his way to his usual convenience store for an egg sandwich and a watermelon tea. It was snowing pretty hard at that point, but since he had an ice core it felt more like fresh air to Danny.

Danny ate as he walked, pondering his new schedule for the day. He’d try to catch a few hours of sleep at the pizzeria since he couldn’t get any at the library. Usually he avoided sleeping at the pizzeria, but he was too tired to scope out a different place to nap. Since he didn’t have to sleep more than four hours and eat more than one meal a day, he sometimes forgot he actually needed to sleep. His mandatory hours were usually at the library, in his comfy green bean bag. He missed that bean bag.

Looking around, he put a little bit of a boost into his steps as he climbed over the fence surrounding the place, and snuck into the kitchen area. Once he made it to the back room, he was too tired to go ghost and phase through so he pulled the ladder down, coughing at the dust that fell around him. He put a bit of flight into his steps to make his climb easier, and shut the ladder behind him.

Usually, he could see better in the dark in his ghost form, so it transferred a bit to his human form too. He finished off one of the sandwich halves he was snacking on along the way here and set the other wrapped half and the rest of his tea on the ground next to his stuff. Climbing into his sleeping bag and using his jacket as a pillow, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Chapter 6

#Phantom in Gotham #dcxdp #dpxdc

159 notes · View notes

bts-0t-7 · 5 months

Text

So What? | MYG | Chapter 5

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @codeinebelle @bontensbabygirl

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Yoongi had been holding back tears the moment they had discharged him. He had a trackable band placed on his wrist as officers guided him out of the hospital, gaining many stares from people around. He bowed his head, letting his hair cover his face, uncomfortable at so many people looking at him.

He didn’t want the attention nor did he ask for the attention. The officers led him to a black SUV with tinted windows, urging him in. He buckled himself in as they drove off. He didn’t know where they were bringing him and he didn’t want to know either.

He looked out of the windows at the passing trees and buildings, tears streaming down his face as he hastily wiped them away. The car ride was silent throughout. The officers were alert and ready, making him feel stiff. He missed you. He really did and all he wants to do is run into your arms and stay there forever. But he understands why you don’t ever want him again.

He lied, cheated, and betrayed you. Of course, you wouldn’t want a bad kitty.

More tears fell from Yoongi’s eyes and he sniffed. Breathing in a deep breath, he controlled himself as best as he could. He hated crying in front of people - especially strangers. But it was only until the officers pulled up that Yoongi was, too, pulled out of his blank state of mind. Yoongi observed that he was in your neighbourhood, more specifically directly outside your apartment building. The officers opened the door and led him out.

“Come on, you’re going home.”

Yoongi drew in a shaky breath. Maybe one of the people who unknowingly bought him coincidentally stays in the same apartment block as you. They went up the lift, to the same level, walking to the same opened door where he saw -

You.

No, no… That can’t be right. Y/N doesn’t want a bad kitty.

“Can you take over from here, Miss Y/N?” An officer questioned and you nodded.

Really? Wait - No, no.

“Alright buddy, we’ll be the transport system for the both of you to the medical checks.” The officer patted his shoulder. “See you soon. Get well.”

They left, leaving him standing there, in front of you and your opened gate. His nose twitched at the lingering smell of paint and dust wood.

Did you renovate the house while he was away?

His ears twitched at the sound of you clearing your throat and turned to you. Your hands fiddled with each other, a nervous tick he knew surfaced when you were anxious.

"Erm," Your eyes darted, looking everywhere but him.

"Hello." He started, hoping that you wouldn’t shut down his attempt to make things… Less awkward.

"Yes… Ah, hello Yoongi." You led the way into your house. "I hope your room is okay for you. I don't know what colours you like but I hope that the green doesn't throw you off."

The both of you entered a room that he was at least seventy percent sure was originally the guest room. The newly painted monochromatic walls, the fresh sheets of linen, the new and old furniture. But most of all, the black cat stuffy caught his eye the moment they walked in. It was placed on the left end of the bed, in a lying position.

Yoongi looked around in wonder. “Are - Am I - Can I really stay here?” He turned to look at you. “You want me?”

You nodded at him with a soft smile gracing your lips. “Of course, I want you, kitty. What do you even mean?” You went over to the curtains, seemingly distracting yourself. “I told you that whatever the circumstances, you’ll always be mine as I am yours.”

You stuck out your hand for him. “So what do you say, Yoongi? Would you like to continue to live with me?”

Yoongi nodded frantically, shoving his head into your hands. Your laugh is the most melodic thing he heard in his life.

“Then may I,” Yoongi walked over to the bedside. “Take this too?”

You nodded at him. “Of course, everything here is yours. They’re all yours.”

He walked over and picked up the stuffy by its paw and brought it to his nose, scenting it like he would with any of his belongings. He was happy, really, really happy and he hoped that this time, the happiness would last.

Since you had found out that Yoongi was a hybrid, you had changed many rules around the house - for one, no more kibbles, only proper human-sized meals from now on; two, no more sleeping on the same bed. The second one had caused a bit of spark in his eyes, lips protruding out into a pout.

“But - but why? I promise I won’t take up so much of the bed.”

You shook your head, standing firm. Although you would admit that the bed now felt empty since missing a fluffy bed buddy, Yoongi needed to understand the boundaries. “Yoongi, no. You are a hybrid, not a cat. I can’t just let you sleep in my bed, come into the room whenever you want anymore. There are boundaries.”

“But we never had such issues last time!”

You sighed. “That was because I didn’t know that you were a hybrid.”

And oh god, you didn’t want to know how many times and exactly what he has seen and heard by just being in your room. His presence is now an awkward one, all the thoughts of so many possibilities.

His pout stayed permanent on his lips as he trudged back to his room, realising that you weren’t going to budge with the rules.

You sighed, turned your back to the door and closed it. You had work tomorrow and whether or not you wanted to stay up arguing about this topic, you still needed sleep. You trudged over to your bed and flopped face-first, groaning at the cold that encased you. Sleep lingered at the edge of your consciousness when you felt a small dip on the bed, eyes too heavy to open and brain too murky to fully register that there was someone else on your bed.

You woke up to the blaring sound of your alarm at your bedside table, groaning to turn it off. You started to fuss when your hair stuck to your face and neck, the sheets that were tangled between your legs felt too warm. Subconsciously, you felt an impending child-like tantrum coming and your morning mood soured almost instantly.

As you continued to fuss and kick off the sheets, you felt a cool wet towel placed on your neck, lifting you up and cleaning your face. The action continued a few times before the towel got warm and the presence disappeared only to come back again a few minutes later.

Slowly, you felt cooler and started to gain more consciousness. It is then did you realise that somebody was standing at your bedside, wiping you down. Your eyes snapped open, tiredness fleeting in a second. You were about to grab your phone from the bedside table when a gentle hand shot out, holding your wrist.

Not that it helped to calm the anxiousness.

You panicked even more. Your mouth opened to scream bloody murder when two hands cupped your face, bringing them to meet the eyes of your - Oh, it’s Yoongi.

You sagged back onto your bed but shot back up, almost hitting your heads together if it wasn’t for Yoongi’s fast reactive movements.

“Oh shit.” Your voice was hoarse. “Work.”

Yoongi's hands came to your shoulders. "No work." He shook his head. "Not when you are in this state."

You didn't understand what he meant. "I'm fine, Yoongi. I'm just a bit more tired than usual. I'll sleep earlier tonight."

"No." Yoongi grabbed you harder. "Y/N, look at you. You're running a high fever."

You touched your forehead. True enough, you felt groggy and overall just really shitty. But you never really thought you were running a fever.

"You can't go to work in this state."

A cough-sneeze wrecked through your body just as he finished the sentence.

Point taken.

Definitely can't go to work. You grabbed tissue from your shelves and blew your nose, throwing the germ-infested thing away. You tucked yourself back under your sheets and wallowed in your self-pity. But you soon realised that Yoongi - your precious hybrid - can't stay here.

You shot out of bed for the third time that morning, grabbing your phone by the bedside table and calling one of your friends.

"'Sup, Y/N. How can I help you today, madam?" The caller's all too cheery voice hurts your head.

"Hoba," You croaked out. "Hoba, I need a favour from you."

You heard rustling from the other side of the line. "Shit, Y/N, are you sick?"

You nodded, forgetting that you were on a call.

"Y/N."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, yes. I'm down with…" You measured your temperature. "Well, shit. 39.6°C."

You heard a bang and then a muffled 'Fuck!'.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming over."

You groaned. "Hoba, wait… no."

"No?"

"No, I need you to come and take Yoongi."

You could physically see the scrunch of his eyebrows. "Yoongi?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "I can take care of myself. I'm fine. Come and take him. I don't want him catching my cold - or whatever sickness I have."

"Erm… I’m not sureyou can but, Y/N, who's Yoongi?"

Oh. In the haste and activities of the weeks, You forgot to tell your friends about your newfound friend.

"Yoongi? Oh, yeah. Yoongi is a hybrid." Your words started to slur. You were starting to feel groggy.

"Okay, I'll come get him but you have a lot to tell me once you recover. I'll be there in fifteen." Hoseok ended the call there.

"Y/N?" Yoongi's voice floated in from the washroom.

"Yoongiii." You made grabby hands and he walked over to you. You tend to get quite clingy when you are sick.

Yoongi made his way over to the bed. You bunched your hands in his shirt, nuzzling your face into his hands. “You’re gonna go stay with Hobi. He’ll take good care of you, I swear. If you want anything, just tell him.”

“So I heard, but I wanna stay here. You need help.”

You shook your head. “I’ll have somebody else help me. I don’t want you to get my illness.”

“But - but…” Tears start glossing over his eyes.

“Yoongi, I’m fine. I swear. I’ll be okay. Go with Hobi, okay?”

Yoongi’s mouth trembled but his resolve suddenly hardened. “No.”

You looked up. “Yoongi, please.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll stay and take care of you.”

“Yoongi, I swear you’ll go even if it means making Hobi drag you out of the house.” You fluffed his hair. “I’ll be fine in a few days. I’m not dying, just sicker than usual.”

“But who’s gonna help you?” Tears started pooling in his eyes.

Oh no, no, no. If he actually burst into tears, you might consider letting him stay.

You groaned. “Yoongi, please, no. Don’t cry, please. Oh god.” You sighed. “I’ll have Seokjinnie come over. He’s good at cooking.”

Just who was this Seokjinnie?

Seokjinnie. Seokjinnie.

Yoongi humphed in the front seat of the car. He can’t believe Y/N would actually have her friend pull him out of the house. Currently swaddled in the blanket Y/N bought him and his cat toy beside him - a surprisingly accurate identical - he was on the way to god knows where.

He humphed and further slinked between the folds of the blanket, attempting to become as small as he could with the very prominent presence of the stranger driving beside him, making the air uncomfortable. Yoongi doesn’t like to leave the warmth of his comfort space.

“So,” Her friend spoke, startling a hiss out of Yoongi. Y/N’s friend gave him a side glance, before continuing, “So, you’re Yoongi. Sorry if I fail to understand the context of the situation here, but Y/N hasn’t told any of us about you. And, I have a… hybrid at home so excuse her… Ah, excitement.”

Y/N’s friend pulled up into a driveway and exited.

Wait, is he leaving now?

The door at Yoongi’s seat was opened and he was immediately scooped into a pair of strong arms. That set of arms did not take his toy. Yoongi hissed and pawed, claws coming free as he struggled to get his toy.

“Okay! Okay, I get it! Goodness, what a temperamental hybrid Y/N’s has.” Her friend stuck his hand back into his car and picked out his cat toy. “Here ya’ go.”

Yoongi’s ears twitched as he heard a set of keys being thrown before her friend started walking into the big, luxurious building. Yoongi peeked his head out to sniff the air, immediately retreating back into the safety of the blankets.

“Sorry, it’ll take a while to get used to it. Zurie doesn’t like the strong smell either.” Her friend picked up his pace. “I promise it’s better at home.”

Home.

A home is a place where one feels safe. Yoongi doesn’t feel safe here so home isn’t here. Home is a good fifteen minutes away.

“I’m Hoseok.” Y/N’s friend finally introduced himself. “I’m sure Y/N told you about me, but it’s better if I say ‘hi’ myself, right?”

They entered a lift and Y/N’s friend - Hoesok - scanned a card, pressing the button of the highest level, the penthouse. He must be really rich then.

Nearing the floor, Yoongi could smell a stronger, more distinct scent of the hybrid that had clung to Hoseok’s clothes. Zurie, he called her. Yoongi wasn’t sure how he would fare with an energetic hybrid. He liked his sleep undisturbed and the house silent. It allows him to curl into a dark spot and rest. With an energetic owner and a probably equally energetic hybrid, Yoongi would rather catch whatever sickness you have than stay.

Yoongi wiggled out of Hoseok’s hold, pulling along his blanket and grabbing his stuffie. Just as the elevator door opened, a blur of molecules passed him, crashing into the man behind. Yoongi didn’t need to turn to know who and what that hybrid was doing. He sprinted under the furthest edge of the sofa, nesting his belongings against the wall.

At least the floors were carpeted.

116 notes · View notes

misirosekisiro · 5 months

Text

Shadow's deception

Chapter 1

Sarutobi Akiha's heart raced faster than ever as he finally stepped foot onto the Arasaka Corporation headquarters grounds. Despite years of training and preparation, the magnitude of his covert operation sent shivers down his spine. This wasn't just about revenge against those who killed his parents - this was warfare.

Inside the impenetrable fortress of glass and steel, the air carried echoes of powerful machines whirring behind closed doors. Every step forward felt like advancing into enemy territory, leaving his every nerve on edge.

Then he notice a guard, not just normal guard like outside building, but a ninja guards, dress in blue high-tech ninja's bodysuit, patroling and gurding the door.

Akiha sneak carefully towards the guard, waiting for the right moment to strike. Finally, he sees it – the perfect opportunity arises when the guard bends over to pick up something off the floor. In a flash, Akiha lunges at the unsuspecting target, grabbing hold of his wrist before pulling him closer.

The guard struggles, attempting to break free while reaching for hidden weapons under his sleeves. But Akiha’s mastery of ninjutsu proves superior, allowing him to swiftly disarm the opponent without breaking contact. With a twist of his fingers, he pins the guard’s arm securely behind his back, forcing submission as they face each other eye to eye.

As their gazes lock, the intensity rippling through both parties becomes palpable. Sweat drips down their foreheads despite the cool night air.

"Al..." Ninja guard going to shout.

But Akiha moves quickly, placing his hand over the guard's mouth to prevent any noise escaping. Then, with precision, he plunges his tongue deep inside the guard's throat, savoring the warmth of his blood. Their connection intensifies further, their breathing becoming heavy. "You know what happens now?" asks Akiha huskily, leaning close enough to whisper directly into the man's ear. His arm warp around guard's neck to do chock hold.

Guard struggle even more trying to escape death. It seems hopelessly for him, because there was no chance to resist Akiha.

"Sorry, I will take your duty for today." Akiha whisper.

Guard struggling in panic to breathe, slowly loosing consciousness due to lack of oxygen to brain. Akiha feels victorious, accomplishing his first task of the evening. However, a new sense of urgency begins to stir as he realizes time is running short. Taking advantage of the situation, he hastens to find a suitable place to don the stolen ninja attire." He found storage room, so he dragguard body there, undressed him.

First, he removed the black leather boots, then pulled off the formfitting blue bodysuit revealing smooth muscular legs beneath. Next came the gloves, followed by the headband which held the distinctive blue hair in place. Lastly, he took off the tight fitting hoodie covering the upper half of the body.After removing all these items, he left the unconscious guard lying on the cold concrete floor. Now dressed in the stolen ninja attire, he looked almost identical to the guard he had defeated earlier.

He look at naked unconcious guard. He need to make sure that he can't alert anyone, even he's early awake. He start to tie

the unconscious guard hands behind his back, rendering him helpless if he regains consciousness too soon. he also gagged the bound guard's mouth, muffling any possible cries for help. Once he finished securing the prisoner, He hidding his own belongs, his ninjs bodysuit, maskin a nearby storage area, knowing he couldn't risk having them discovered later.

Now fully assimilated into his new identity, he moved confidently throughout the maze-like structure, blending in effortlessly among the staff members. Utilizing his advanced knowledge of the premises, he managed to navigate the complex system, avoiding surveillance cameras and suspicious employees alike.

His mind constantly drifted toward thoughts of retribution.

But not long after he move toward his mission. One figure landed silently next to a place where Akiha hide his attire.

It's Mukuro, another 19-year-old gay ninja working for Arasaka Corp. His primary objective is to capture intruders like Sarutobi Akiha. His stealth skills are legendary amongst other ninjas. He found Akiha since he enter the building. So stalking him silently. He's let Akiha progress to learn what is this ninja's target. He saw when Akiha attack guard, change hisattire. And heading toward Data storage room. He pick up Akiha's ninja bodysuit, put in in his nose.

Mukuro smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly. Stepping closer, he reached for the fabric, taking it gingerly between his fingertips. His touch lingered longer than necessary, drawing attention to the supple material and exquisite craftsmanship. Unable to suppress a small smile, he traced invisible patterns along the soft fabric, reveling in the subtle sensuality embedded within its fibers.

He could feel Akiha's strength, determination, and sexual prowess radiating from the garment, enticing him beyond belief. Clasping the material tightly to his chest, he mentally saluted the ingenious design that allowed such an exceptional display of power and prowess.

He grab all Akiha's belong, then vanished.

Chapter 2

With his stolen ninja guard uniform and identity, Akiha head deeper into Arasaka's building.

Navigating through dimly lit corridors, the air thickened with apprehension. Each turn seemed to bring him one step closer to the data room holding vital information. Yet, he feel he was being tracked closely by someone else skilled in the arts of deception...someone whose sole aim was to expose and neutralize him. But he sight no one.

As Akiha navigates through the labyrinth of hallways, his mind wanders, fixating upon the prospect of success and how sweet victory would taste once he acquired the crucial intel stored within the data room. Even though he was alone amidst this vast expanse, the presence of Mukuro hung heavily in the air. His mere existence taunted Akiha, casting doubt over whether this quest for vengeance might end in failure.

He try to check a blueprint of the building in his memory.

He knew the data room should be near the top floors, far away from entrance, surrounded by high level security measures.

As he walk higher, feeling his heart race faster. Surrounded by dark corridor illuminated only by occasional emergency light. The pressure mounted exponentially as each passing second brought him closer to ultimate prize.

Finally, he reach a large metal door marked 'Restricted Area'.

He know he has arrived. Before opening the door, he take few moments to calm himself. Breath deeply and steadies his racing pulse. Gaining confidence, he steps toward the door, pressing his fingerprint scanner with his faked fingerprint on his finger.

Without warning, a male voice comes over intercom speaker: "Identify yourself!"

His voice filled with authority, making the hairs on Akiha's arms stand on end. Quickly, he composes himself, remembering the information he studied regarding the building layout and personnel. Speaking clearly yet quietly, Akiha answers, "This is agent X57, reporting for my shift." There is a brief pause before the intercom responds: "Access granted," accompanied by the metallic sound of the door unlocking. As he slides open the heavy metal door, he cannot help but marvel at the secrecy and security surrounding this highly classified space.

Adjusting his grip on the stolen ID card attached to his belt, he braces himself against the frigid draft blowing inward from the opened vault. The temperature drop signaled his proximity to the inner sanctum housing the most coveted treasures of Arasaka Corp. A thrilling mix of anxiety and excitement coursed through his veins as he ventured further, leaving nothing but darkness behind him.

Bursting forth into the main chamber, he beheld rows upon rows of gleaming server racks containing seemingly infinite amounts of digital information.

Despite the sheer magnitude of the wealth contained here, he remained focused on locating the specific data sought after.

A sudden wave of panic surged through Akiha as he realized just how pervasively the room was monitored – every action he made would leave indelible marks upon countless digital records. This thought sent shivers cascading down his spine, making his resolve waver momentarily. But resolutely, he pressed on, determined to achieve his goals.

Moving towards the servers responsible for storing critical business strategies, financial transactions, military intelligence, and various other forms of valuable data, he searched diligently for the specific file he needed. The silence encapsulating the enormous space amplified the loud clicking sounds generated by the rotating hard drives and humming fans. Each corner revealed layers of intrigue hidden behind screens of numerical codes and cybersecurity protocols.

Although familiar with some aspects of technology utilized in espionage missions, Akiha felt a rising unease as he confronted the depth of this technological conundrum. Every attempt to access the desired files triggered multiple defense mechanisms designed to prevent unauthorized access.

Unbeknownst to Akiha, he was already under intense scrutiny by Arasaka's IT department, led by Mukuro. Observing his movements via closed circuit cameras, they noted his precise navigation and swift maneuvers throughout the facility.

They were well aware of his covert tactics - a testament to his mastery of stealth and strategy. However, little did they realize that Mukuro's keen instincts were honed not merely for tracking intruders, but for recognizing kindred spirits seeking redemption in combat. He knew all too well the intensity of battle, and understood better than anyone the fire burning deep within Akiha's soul.

Meanwhile, Akiha continued his silent exploration, traversing vast spaces swathed in shadows cast by stark fluorescent lights.

Dodging past several motion sensor stations without triggering alarms proved an incredibly challenging task, requiring finesse and agility he hadn't known he possessed. Despite these obstacles, Akiha refused to falter, fueled by desperation and passionate desire for justice.

During his journey, however, he began to sense something amiss in the atmosphere around him. Although he initially attributed these feelings to the heightened stress induced by this precarious situation, he gradually became convinced there was more going on beneath the surface.

Something about the way the wind whispered through the empty corridors or the eerie echoes produced by his footsteps resonated with him on a primal level. It wasn't until he turned a sharp corner and came face-to-face with the data terminal that he truly comprehended the significance of these whispers.

The data terminal stood tall and imposing, towering above everything else in the vicinity. Its cold steel exterior emitted an ominous aura, accentuated by the dim lighting enveloping the area. As Akiha approached cautiously, he couldn't help but notice the faint outline of a shadow moving across the floor. Pausing briefly, he peered intently into the darkness, trying to discern any signs of movement. Satisfied that whatever had caused the disturbance was harmless, he resumed his approach towards the terminal.

But before he can approach it. The wall raising form the floor around him, too fast than Akiha can flee.

Sweat trickles down his forehead, he clenches his teeth. Panicking now, fearing that he will be trapped forever, Akiha decides to make a last effort to break free. Digging his fingers into the cool metal walls, he starts clawing wildly, trying to find purchase to push off. Desperate and losing hope, he remembers his fighting skills. Suddenly, he launches himself backward onto a nearby platform, performing a powerful roundhouse kick.

However, It's useless at all. Then he heard a trapdoor open above his head. follow with another ninja, step into a seal cage. Trapdoor was close after.

Akiha could see a ninja standing there, dressed in black attire, with long limbs, lean muscles, and a graceful stride. He wore a red high-tech tight ninja outfit, complete with a hood hiding his face.

"Hello friend, Nice to meet you. I'm Mukuro, who's be responsible on guarding this tower." Mukuro said in mocking tone.

Akiha glares fiercely at the figure, struggling futilely against the confines of the cage.

Angry, frustrated, powerless, betrayed, these words ring true inside Akiha's brain. He tried to gather what happened. How did he get caught? All those hours spent planning, preparing, studying…for naught! In a blink of an eye, his carefully crafted plan crumbled.

Feeling defeated, Akiha looked up at Mukuro. He decide to suddenly attack to Mukuro, hope to grab a victory with surprise attack.

In response, Mukuro reacted swiftly, blocking Akiha's strike with ease. A smile curved across his lips as he observed Akiha's efforts to escape the cage. He took advantage of the momentum created by Akiha's failed attempt, pinning him against the bars of the cell. As sweat dripped down both warriors’ faces, neither hesitated to express their determination to win.

Despite his anger, Akiha found solace in the fact that he faced one of his own kind.

Unwavering in his commitment to honor and duty, he fought furiously, pushing against the limits of his human capabilities. Mukuro, equally driven by loyalty and devotion to the cause, engaged in a merciless struggle for supremacy. Their bodies moved fluidly amid the chaos of the conflict, each thrust aimed directly at weakening the opponent's defenses. Sparks ignited when their flesh collided, and heat radiated from their clashing energies.

Both men were consumed by the urgency of the fight, displaying raw strength and expertise rarely seen among ordinary individuals. As sweat soaked their clothes, the two fighters locked eyes intensely, each absorbing the other's gaze, attempting to psychologically disarm them.

Akiha pushed harder, knowing that if he didn't defeat Mukuro quickly, he risked being exposed, captured, and potentially killed by others within the facility.

But even Akiha is talent ninja, but he still too little experience on field. Ninja fight is not like a samurai, relate on power. But cunning and stealth attack. Suddenly Akiha feel daze. His mind filled with confusion, and his body no longer responded as quickly. His eyesight seemed hazy, yet oddly clear at the same time. The air smelled different, subtle scents wafting over him. Unable to resist, he fell victim to the drug administered by Mukuro earlier. Overwhelmed by the sensory assault, Akiha lost consciousness.

As Akiha lay unconscious in the cage, Mukuro seized the opportunity to explore the contents of the data storage device strapped to Akiha's chest.

Carefully removing the case, he inserted a special USB key into its slot and waited patiently for the device to download the necessary faked information. With a soft click signifying completion, Mukuro removed the drive and slipped it safely into his pocket.

He then turned his attention back to Akiha, observing the young ninja lying helplessly before him. Feeling a mixture of admiration and pity for his adversary, Mukuro decided to spare Akiha's life for now. Instead, he chose to take matters further, binding Akiha tighter and placing a gag in his mouth to ensure his silence.

Once secured, Mukuro left Akiha alone in the dark chamber, leaving only the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallways as evidence of his departure.

Now, Akiha struggled against his restraints, unable to move freely despite his best efforts. Frustration coursed through his veins as he realized the extent of his failure.

"So you finally awake, I wait until you awake because it more fun that way."

Mukuro spoke sarcastically. "It seems your plan has failed miserably," Akiha thought bitterly, feeling humiliated by his own lack of success. Despite his disappointment, Akiha remained steadfast in his resolve, determined to seek vengeance upon those who wronged him.

His hands bound behind his back, Akiha tested the limitations of his restraints. The material used for binding was surprisingly durable, rendering his attempts at escaping utterly fruitless. Yet again, he felt defeated.

Then Mukuro bring up a bag and place beside him. Akiha remember it. That is a bag that he keep his belongs and hidden while he disguise as ninja guard.

"Why bother?"asked Akiha with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "What good does it do me now?"

Mukuro paused momentarily, contemplating whether to answer honestly or maintain the pretense. Deciding on honesty, he replied, "Well, first things first, let us start getting to know each other."

Without waiting for a reply, Mukuro sat down opposite Akira, drawing his legs up underneath him.

His movements were practiced and measured, allowing him to sit comfortably whilst maintaining a sense of control. The slight creak of leather as he shifted in his seat punctuated the otherwise silent room. Akira continued to struggle against his bonds in vain, occasionally muttering curses under his breath. This would have been highly entertaining to watch if it weren't such a testament to Akira's arrogant pride. There was something fascinating about witnessing someone who appeared confidently superior, reduced to near helplessness.

Mukuro grinned slightly, taking pleasure in watching Akiha squirm against his restraints, visibly aware of how much his pride had taken a hit. Still, Mukuro knew better than to show any weakness or triumph prematurely. So instead, he began with small talk - inquiring about Akiha's past experiences and motivations. Gradually, the subject matter most pertinent to their present situation: espionage. But Akiha know better to not share any infomation about himself. he keep silent.

"It's ok, I just think it's will more easy if you just talk. But it's really no need."

Said Mukuro, seemingly unfazed by Akiha's refusal to engage.

"You may wonder, why I need to bring your belongs here." Mukuro pats on the bag beside him.

'Your equipment, right?'

Akiha nodded silently, choosing not to speak, understanding well enough Mukuro's intentions.

'Ah yes, your radio,' Mukuro continues nonchalantly, 'wouldn't want anyone accidentally intercepting our conversation.'

Even though he couldn't remove his hand gloves without assistance, Mukuro managed to fiddle with the device, ensuring the channel was securely encrypted. However, he purposely kept the volume low, creating an air of uncertainty surrounding their interaction.

"Since it was clothes, sure it bring for someone to wear."

Akiha mumbles sullenly, his gaze fixated on Mukuro, desperately trying to comprehend his motives.

"You will know soon enough" Then Mukuro walk to Akiha, grab Akiha's hair and lift his head up. He remove Akiha's gag then thrown a pill inside Akiha open mouth. Akiha try to split it. But Mukuro punch to his guts. Make him open mouth and grab the air. the pill also pass down his throat.

Akiha coughed violously after swallowing the strange substance. It's wasn't long before he feel heat in his body. But also feel weaker in each second pass.

Mukuro noticed the change in Akiha's condition, amused by the effects of the drugs he had administered. Although it wouldn't make Akiha completely compliant, the added influence could prove useful in manipulating the course of events. He watched closely as Akiha succumbed fully to the potency of the concoction.

The warmth spread throughout Akiha's body as the drug took effect. Even as he became disoriented, a newfound euphoria emerged.

His limbs grew heavy, his muscles unwilling to obey his commands. Paradoxical feelings flooded his body; excitement and terror coexisted within him. Each part of him felt both enthralled and petrified. Meanwhile, Mukuro studied Akiha intently, observing the rapid changes taking hold of his captive.

Satisfied with the progression of the drug's effects, Mukuro proceeded to carry out his nefarious scheme.

Drawing close to Akiha once more, he positioned himself inches away from the vulnerable figure seated on the cold concrete floor. Observing Akiha's rapidly dimming faculties, Mukuro prepared to capitalize on the opportunities presented. Glancing around briefly, He put his mouth on Akiha's member.

His tongue danced around Akiha's tip, teasing the edges. Just as Akiha started to lose himself in the sensuality of the act, Mukuro leaned forward, pressing his lips to Akiha's earlobe. His whisper reverberated deliciously deep within Akiha's core.

“I hope you enjoy yourself.”

Pulling back momentarily, he looked deeply into Akiha’s eyes, sending shivers of trepidation through his spine.

Without warning, Mukuro resumed his suckling of Akiha’s erect manhood, moving faster and deeper with each passing moment. As Akiha’s hips bucked involuntarily, Mukuro smiled wickedly, reveling in the knowledge that he held complete dominance over Akiha in this state.

Meanwhile, Akiha tried desperately to break free from his binds, his desire clashing with his growing dependence on Mukuro.

Despite being consumed by lustful urges, Akiha found solace in knowing that there was a chance to escape later when his strength returned. For now, he allowed himself to surrender to the pleasures Mukuro so masterfully provided.

Mukuro moved expertly across Akiha's body, lavishing him with tender caresses along the length of his arms and legs. His touch brought forth waves of euphoric sensations that enveloped Akiha's entire being.

Swept up in the rapturous torrent of sensory delight, he found himself yearning even more intensely for release. His whole world seemed to shrink down to nothing but Mukuro's deft fingers and the tantalizing promise of fulfillment. And yet, he knew instinctively that this was merely the beginning – that they were mere players in a larger game.

Both aware of their respective roles in this twisted choreography, Akiha found himself caught in the web of passion woven by Mukuro. Unable to resist the temptation, he gave himself wholly to the experience. Their bodies tangled together, becoming one, their primal desires driving them ever onward towards a climax that promised to eclipse their wildest dreams.

Embracing the eroticism of the encounter, Mukuro unleashed the depths of his sinuous expertise.

Then Akiha can't resist any further. He break a cum.

Mukuro smirked, satisfied with his performance thus far. He step and watch at Akiha. Akiha's cock still leaking a cum. It's flow out non-stop.

Akiha moans softly in relief, finding a measure of calm amidst the chaos. He not even notice that his body start to flaten. It's like all muscle, bone in his body was melt down and turn in to his cum, flow aways form his body form his cock.

When Akiha notice that something happen to his body.

He try to stand up, to see what happened. But his body become heavier, harder to move. Slowly, he realize what happening. All of his power gone. Even worse, he don't understand why. Why everything go wrong?

While Mukuro look at Akiha curiously, enjoying the unfolding spectacle of Akiha losing control over his own fate. He walks toward Akiha slowly, studying his changing appearance with keen interest.

When the last drop of Akiha's cum, leak out to wet floor.

Finally, Akiha lay motionless on the ground, his face filled with confusion and fear. Unaware of what has transpired during these moments, he stared blankly at Mukuro, questioning the reality of this surreal scenario. In response, Mukuro only offered a cryptic smile, leaving Akiha feeling utterly defeated and defenseless.

Feeling the loss of power physically manifested itself, the sudden transformation elicited panic and horror from Akiha. He now just a conciousness skin of himself. Laid on the floor.

Akiha finally understood what had occurred. All the muscle and bones in his body transformed into his semen, draining from his penis and eventually dissolving, reducing him to nothing but a mindless consciousness confined to his original skin. Panic rose swiftly within him as he struggled to grasp the magnitude of the metamorphosis. How did this happen? What went wrong? Questions bombarded his thoughts frantically.

Unfolding his limbs, Mukuro sauntered towards Akiha.

"Seem you enjoy a process of my unique ninpo. "Skinsuit transformation""

Mukuro said casually, his voice carrying a hint of cruelty. This caused Akiha to quiver with dread, despite his diminished physical capabilities. Despite the horror that now surrounded him, Akiha remained determined to find some way to reclaim his former self.

Mukuro start to undress himself

Before Akiha, he reveals a naked body covered in scars. Scars from years of training and battles as a skilled assassin.

Mukuro approached Akiha slowly, his hands roaming suggestively along his muscular frame.

As he stands towering over Akiha, the contrast between their figures becomes evident - Akiha's body reduced to a bare shell while Mukuro stands proudly displaying his robust form.

Then Mukuro pick Akiha's skinsuit up.

He rub his finger tips against it lightly, savoring the tactile pleasure. Feeling the fine threads underneath his fingertips, he whispers to Akiha.

"Now, let me show you how powerful I really am... If I wanted to, I could simply snap your life away right here. Do you believe me?"

There was no need for Akiha to answer - his frozen state conveyed everything needed. Mukuro laughed softly, a dark sound laced with menace.

Then he lower Akiha's skinsuit, use both hand to spread Akiha's mouth open wide, even widen more than normal mouth can do. Akiha think it's may tear and he must pain. But he really feel just likewas injected with anesthesia. He can feel a touch, how his mouth was spread but it's no pain.

What is going on? Did Mukuro inject him with numbing agent? His mind races as he tries to comprehend the situation. It seems impossible for Mukuro to perform such feats without the aid of medicine.

Akiha knows he needs to focus if he wants to survive this nightmare. Yet, his rational thought is quickly subdued by his mounting anxiety.

Why doesn't his body respond? What does Mukuro want from him? These questions continue to echo incessantly within his head.

Then the fear stuck to his head, Mukuro put one leg inside Akiha's mouth.

Akiha's mind racing trying to comprehend what this meant. He couldn't accept what he saw before him. Was Mukuro truly doing this? Or was it merely a figment of his imagination born from fear and fatigue? Couldn't be real, right? It wasn't possible. No one could defy the laws of nature like this!

But it didn't matter whether it was real or imaginary, because Akiha was trapped in this terrifying illusion either way.

Mukuro bring his leg's to fill in Akiha skinsuit's leg.

Akiha head now hug to Mukuro's ass, he can smella mix of sweat and pheromones emitting from Mukuro's body. It makes him remember their first meeting. The intensity of their encounters earlier tonight replay vividly in his memory. He remembers feeling helpless beneath Mukuro's superior skills and control. Yet somehow, this newfound submission felt different — much more intense and perverse.

After Mukuro adjust his leg to fit in Akiha's leg, he put another legs inside do the same.

Akiha's mouth stretched wider as Mukuro continues filling the void within his body with his legs. The sense of powerlessness intensifies, gripping Akiha's heart like a vice. He finds it difficult to reconcile his helplessness as the reality of the situation dawns upon him fully.

Each time Mukuro steps inside Akiha's body, a wave of conflicting emotions crashed over him. There was a strange mixture of fear, anger, humiliation, and arousal coursing through his veins. Also it's feel some contents of himself was filled.

After adjust both legs, Mukuro pull Akiha's skinsuit to cover his shoulder. It's always the toughest progress to put the arms and hands in.

Mukuro grimaced slightly at the challenge of fitting his own long fingers and palms into Akiha's narrow arms and hands. As he forced each digit to conform to the limited space, he noticed Akiya shiver slightly in reaction to the invasion. The slight tremble sent a thrill running through Mukuro, igniting an inner fire that he had long since suppressed.

The sensation grew stronger, almost uncontrollably.

Akiha tried to hold back his cries, but they escaped anyway, reverberating throughout the silent chamber. The sight of Mukuro filling Akiha's body piece by piece evoked feelings of both fear and exhilaration simultaneously. He wondered how long he would endure such torment until Mukuro finished. Time appeared to drag, making each moment seem excruciatingly drawn out.

Despite his predicament, there was also a perverse fascination with watching someone else occupy his body. It fueled a hidden desire deep within him that demanded satisfaction.

Mukuro also adjust his cock to fill in Akiha's empty cock skin.

Without hesitation, he inserts his entire length into Akiha's crotch area. The act causes Akiha to cry out involuntarily, his body reacting to Mukuro's presence. However, Mukuro maintains his composure, reveling in his complete dominance over Akiha. Akiha's chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath quickening, betraying his growing arousal. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his bearings amidst the swirling sea of mixed emotions.

The weightiness of Mukuro's presence continued to press down on him, yet strangely enough, his aching desires began to stir once again. A part of him yearned for release, begging to be consumed by Mukuro's raw passion. In spite of the uncertainty surrounding his circumstances, a subtle whisper called forth from deep within, urging him to succumb completely to Mukuro's advances.

Having secured Akiha's lower half, Mukuro stepped back to admire his work. Now only last piece, he pull up Akiha's skinsuit head, to cover his head.

Inserting his head into Akiha's skull cap proved far more challenging compared to other parts. Each attempt seemed futile, causing Mukuro to grow impatient. Eventually, after several failed attempts, he managed to get his head through the small opening, securing the final piece of the puzzle.

Fully integrated into Akiha's skinsuit, Mukuro stood tall, surveying his newly acquired domain with pride. At first it's like a man try to wear too tight suit. Akiha's face was distort in different body inside. But soon Mukuro body start to shrink to match with skinsuit.

As he settles comfortably into Akiha's body, he observes his surroundings. The faint trace of Akiha's lingering essence fills him with renewed determination.

Akiha realized that Mukuro has indeed taken possession of his body entirely, leaving him paralyzed inside his own skin. It was both horrifying and surreal at the same time.

Amidst his confusion, Mukuro seized the opportunity to speak directly to Akiha, his voice echoing deeply within Akiha's skull.

"Feel the warmth caressing your insides, Akiha? Soon, you will experience something beyond your wildest dreams."

Mukuro's taunting words reverberated within Akiha's consciousness, creating a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. Simultaneously terrified and titillated, Akiha struggled to comprehend his present circumstance.

Then Akiha feel like got something slide into his brain. It's nauseating feeling. Like a slime try to read anything inside his brain.

The slithering sensation brought about discomfort as well as curiosity. Then suddenly, the sliding stops.

"Oh, Akiha right? Good name, that my name now. Ah you work under Genso, that oldie never give up right? I'm sorry about your lost that turn you into a shinobi. But why not just forget about them and seek different way of life. Than try to destroy Arasaka." Mukuro said, everything about Akiha's live

now belongs to him, his past and future included. "We should make best use of our enemy's resources, don't you agree?" Mukuro now as Akiha, move to Akiha's equiment, he start dressing it.

First, he take off Akiha's underwear, revealing his perfectly sculpted behind. Even though he was dressed in Akiha's skinsuit, he couldn't help but appreciate the firmness and smooth texture of Akiha's derriere. This sudden intimate encounter heightened his excitement further, sending waves of heat pulsing through his core.

Next, he moved onto Akiha's armor. Carefully slipping on the various pieces – gloves, gauntlets, boots, and finally the iconic black bodysuit that covered Akiha's upper body. Each item added to his transformation, enhancing his physical prowess and giving him a distinct edge over any adversaries.

The armored ensemble bore testament to Akiha's dedication and commitment to honing his craft. Mukuro marveled at the precision engineering incorporated into these garments, designed specifically for optimal performance during missions.

Then he take a Akiha's tight ninja mask.

Akiha's nose twitched as he caught a familiar scent wafting from the confines of the mask. It was a combination of perspiration, musk, and the lingering traces of Akiha's pheromone-laden presence. The blended fragrance caused a peculiar sensation to course through his body, eliciting an unexpected response. Despite the initial repulsion, he found himself oddly attracted to the unusual concoction.

As Mukuro took the ninja mask and placed it carefully around his neck, ensuring its snug fit, Akiha experienced a surge of panic. Trapped within the confines of his own skinsuit, he was unable to resist Mukuro's manipulations. His thoughts raced frantically, searching for a means to escape this bizarre predicament.

Suddenly, Akiha became aware of a throbbing ache below his waistline. Was this a side effect of being controlled by Mukuro's powers? Realizing that he could no longer control his physical responses, Akiha accepted his fate as a pawn in Mukuro's elaborate game. Acutally it's Mukuro that feel so

excited, as if electricity is flowing through his body. Sensual images flashed through his mind, sparking a flurry of ideas aimed at seducing Akiha into submitting to his will.

Unbeknownst to Akiha, Mukuro possessed knowledge regarding Akiha's weak spots. Leveraging this advantage, Mukuro sought to exploit these vulnerabilities, drawing Akiha deeper into his web of temptation.

Mukuro as Akiha, pick all left equipment, place it into his body.

As he straps on Akiha's gadgets, his confidence grows steadily, bolstered by the power and capabilities afforded by Akiha's arsenal. These tools served as the ultimate proof of Akiha's devotion to his cause - even in death, his skills remained invaluable.

Wearing Akiha's clothing and gadget gave Mukuro a sense of invincibility and potency unlike any before.

Akiha felt his heart racing in trepidation beneath his stolen skin. Meanwhile, Mukuro savored the taste of victory as he prepared to leave Akiha’s base incognito. As Akiha lay helplessly bound, he watched Mukuro don his mask, preparing to deceive the others waiting outside.

Chapter 3

Mukuro standing in the moonlight in Akiha's identity, watiching a old japanse mansion that is a base of Akiha. A rebellion group which aim to destroy Arasaka Corp. He need to report a successful mission to his master. but with false data inside the USB.

He had a plan in motion, one that would lead him straight towards destruction and chaos. The thought sent shivers coursing through his veins, igniting an inner fire that burned brighter than ever before.

When he reached Akiha's base, fully transformed, he confidently strode forward without skipping a beat. His footsteps were sure and steady as he made his way toward the entrance of the secret facility. He knew the layout of the compound by heart, having memorized every nook and cranny in anticipation of tonight's events.

With unwavering certainty, he approached the security checkpoint undeterred. Donning a calm expression, he handed over the usb containing fake intel to the guard stationed there. "This is the latest update from our field operatives," he stated authoritatively, hoping to instill trust in the minds of the unsuspecting rebels. The guard appeared satisfied with his explanation, nodding briefly before allowing entry.

Once safely inside, Mukuro swiftly navigated through dimly lit corridors, making his way towards the central command post.

His newfound physique exuded an air of authority and strength, instantly earning him respectful glances from fellow agents. With an easygoing demeanor, he introduced himself as 'Akiha', claiming to have successfully retrieved crucial intelligence vital to their campaign against Arasaka Corp. While some individuals displayed skepticism due to his apparent youth, none dared question the authenticity of such critical data.

Akiha's quarters were located adjacent to the command center, offering privacy and solitude.

Once alone, Mukuro removed the items from his inventory and began examining them meticulously. Every object held significance and value to Akiha's strategies. Disguised as Akiha, Mukuro felt emboldened, relishing the idea of manipulating Akiha's peers with ease.

Staring back at Mukuro in the mirror, a sinister grin formed across his lips. He recognized the danger lurking within these walls—the potential consequences of his betrayal.

Yet, the prospect of causing utter havoc among these traitors only intensified his resolve. Pondering over Akiha's personal files, he discovered sensitive information pertaining to several key members of the resistance movement. Smirking maliciously, he formulated a plan to sow discord amongst them using this valuable data.

Leaving Akiha's private chambers, Mukuro ventured forth, surveying the bustling activity within the compound. Invisible amidst the crowd, he observed everyone go about their business oblivious to the impending turmoil.

Beneath the surface, however, a sinister smile stretched across his face as he contemplated how to execute his destructive intentions. Utilizing his expert understanding of human psychology, Mukuro subtly embedded seeds of doubt throughout the camp, planting suspicion amongst its inhabitants. In doing so, he hoped to fracture the cohesiveness of the team and create divisions among the ranks. To solidify his position within the organization, he decided to establish a strong rapport with those who held considerable influence.

He amost can't keep his laugh to brust out.

#identity theft #stolen identity #gay #steal clothes #clothes stolen #steal uniform #uniform stolen #male body suit #male bodysuit

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pluralprompts · 2 months

Text

Prompt #1,449

A monster hunter has the sudden realization in the middle of a hunt that they're a system.

#pluralgang #plural system #plurality #pluralprompt #prompt blog #prompt #monster hunter #monster #any tone #new(ly discovered) system

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lex-the-flex · 11 months

Text

A Withered Will

Luke Skywalker x reader

Summary: Following a set of dutiful instincts, a newly transformed Master must fight his inner demons to strengthen his heart for another.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning(s): PURE FLUFF, the beginnings of an established relationship (cause Luke deserves it), Luke and the reader being their best selves, moments of heavy angst, moments of anxiety, nightmares/sleep paralysis, mentions of the hardships of a Jedi, and brief descriptions of smut and nudity. Dreams in italics.

A/N: Just pure love for Graham Hamilton and his portrayal of Luke. I can’t get enough of him and he makes me feel so soft. Feedback is always appreciated and enjoy!

Basking in the vast layers of shade, the protective layer of bamboo stalks shedding their leaves swayed in the cool breeze from the small lake, where a new pupil sat on the mossy rocks. Silently tilting his head towards the rays of warmth, Luke Skywalker enjoyed this new feeling of serenity, along with the guidance of a new ally.

Descending to the lake’s edge, the young Jedi Master walked along the shore with his hands folded behind his back.

“It’s more like he’s remembering than I’m actually teaching him anything.” He said to the acclaimed Grey Jedi, Ashoka Tano.

“Sometimes the student guides the master.” She replied with a smile.

Humming to himself, Luke reminisced in this newfound bond, the relationship you and he shared. While you two were skilled Jedi in your own right, there was something more, and Ashoka could sense these emotions like following a trail of breadcrumbs.

“Are you worried about her? About Y/N?” Ashoka asked, moving closer to Luke.

Turning his attention to her, Luke nodded. Glancing at Grogu, who now made his way to the water’s edge, Luke couldn’t help but feel a lump rise in the back of his throat.

“Yes, I am. Y/N left to track a small supply raid outside of the Coreilla System and hasn’t reached out in two weeks. I fear that– the …compass failed her.” Luke explains, trying to hide his lower lip from quivering.

Stepping closer to him, Ashoka gave Luke a reassuring touch to Luke’s shoulder, which was the kind gesture he needed.

“I know your feelings for her are strong, Skywalker. They are powerful and your love for Y/N may be what you need to conquer anything. Even the demon you’re secretly fighting. So listen to this. Listen to the very rhythm of your heart, as yours and hers are the same. Only then will you both learn to love one another.” She calmly explains, moving her hand over to cover Luke’s chest, allowing his heart the freedom it deserved.

*****

Distant echoes of waves crashing against the shore allowed a long overdue motion of serenity to be ignited on the oceanic planet's secluded beaches containing tide pools. Amongst a series of long forgotten marble ruins, specks of sunlight peeked in from the cracked dome ceiling, and the cool salty breeze filled your lungs.

Wrapping his arms around you, Luke's ebony cloak was a comfortable invisible shield covering your nude bodies whilst his lips fell to your collarbones. The soft fabric was strewn underneath your hot skin, blocking the cold marble. Nestling deeper between your hips, your grip tightened around Luke's muscular shoulders, and your fingertips traced over the fading series of lightning scars on his freckled skin.

Remaining here in this dream-like state, your shared moans and whimpers were more valuable than the sound of a harp in the Naboo War Room. It brought a different kind of music to Luke’s ears and his lungs were clogged with ecstasy. However, the vision faded, and the image of you vanished.

*****

Jolting awake from this hellish dream, the once peaceful oceanic atmosphere collapsed into the quaint bamboo forest. Lying awake in his single cot, Luke darted his eyes around the small tent, only to discover that he couldn’t move. As his light orbs desperately looked around the tent, Luke could see a glimpse of R2 in the corner, but his loyal droid was powered off for the night.

Struggling for a minute, Luke tried his best to free himself from the blanket that now became heavy at this moment, preventing him from breathing. A brief gasp escapes from his chapped lips, hoping to call out to someone – to anyone who would hear him.

But there was no one.

Until he saw the sight of you ducking your head under the tent’s entrance, and you removed the hood of your cloak, revealing your beautiful features in the dim lamp light. Rushing to his side, you take Luke’s face in your hands, gently stroking his cheeks.

“Hey, hey. Just breathe, Luke.” You advise, removing the thin camping blanket from his shoulders drenched in sweat.

Sitting on your knees, you carefully place a damp cloth on Luke’s forehead, hoping to cool him down. Even in the dark, Luke smiles at your calm demeanor, trusting you in this vulnerable state.

Taking the back of his bare neck in your right hand, you carefully made Luke sit up, and a large gasp exited his lungs, as if it was crushing his soul.

“You came back?” He asks, reeling from this sudden state of shock.

Your brows scrunched at this question, wondering why he’d ever question you.

“Of course, Luke. You're lucky I sensed something was wrong once I entered the atmosphere.” You reply, offering him your canteen.

Taking the cylinder bottle, Luke quickly downs the cool liquid, and you silently gaze at his half-naked seated stature before you. Even in the dark, your e/c eyes could make out the fading lightning scars on the brim of his shoulders. Turning away, you quietly proposed that he should get some more rest, and that you wouldn’t leave him.

*****

“So how reliable is this thing?” You ask, taking the silver compass from Luke’s hand.

“I’m not entirely sure. But there’s just something …strange about it, Y/N. I don’t know. I just know that it’ll lead us in the right direction.” Luke explains, taking the compass back.

“Well, if anything, it’ll lead us all the way to Lake Country. My father always talked about how beautiful Naboo was. Especially the mission he was assigned to with my mother. I’m so jealous of Leia right now.” You joked, nudging Luke’s bare bicep with your elbow.

Glancing at you, a furrow formed in between his brows, and the images of his previous dream. You and him, finally alone on the beaches of Naboo. Pulling himself from these thoughts, he quietly shook his head.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“I’m fine. Let’s just set up this course.” Luke replies, with a bit of strength in the back of his voice.

Nodding at his explanation, the forest’s landscape transformed into a rocky and a mountainous place past the bamboo. Heading out of the shady forest, Luke advised to scour the area for a quiet spot for a much harder training course. After mapping out a medium sized piece of land by a rocky hill leading to a cave, Luke started to sketch out a small blueprint in the soil when a slight shiver crept up your spine.

Turning your attention to the cave’s entrance, you began to subconsciously walk up the hill, dropping your bag in the process. Alerting him, Luke quickly rushed to his feet once he saw you were gone. Hearing the same series of sounds that initially pulled you in, Luke walked up the hill, and into the cave.

Reaching the end of the minuscule cave, the vision of an old and decaying tree sprouting its roots on the stone walls. Among the roots was a single intact shelf with a few old and nearly ruined books. Stepping forward, you extended your arm to grab one, however your foot got lodged in something unusual, and the vision evaporated.

Breaking the plastic cap of a chemical light, Luke wanders father towards your presence, only to discover that you’re stuck in a pool of tar. Tossing the light to the floor, the bright blue light illuminates the dark cave walls.

“Y/N!!” He shouts, pulling you away from this hypnotic state.

Facing him, you realize where you are, and the tar has taken hold of your hips.

“Luke?! What– What happened?” You frantically ask, trying to free yourself.

“It’s alright, don’t move! Here, take my hand!” Luke calls out, offering his hand to you.

Quickly taking his hand in your own, Luke desperately pulls you from the sticky tar. Shaking some remnants of the black liquid off your leg, Luke tightens his grip around you.

“You alright?” He asks, bringing his face to meet your own.

“Yeah, I- I’m okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It’s like I was…” You try to explain, but tears begin to form in your eyes.

Surrounding his arms around you, Luke pulls you in for an embrace, reassuring you that everything would be alright.

a/n pt ii. ~ ngl, i kinda want to write that smut section as an entire fic now 👀

star wars taglist ~

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#star wars #star wars fandom #star wars fanfiction #star wars luke #luke skywalker #luke skywalker fluff #luke skywalker angst #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker fic #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker request #luke skywalker imagine #graham hamilton #mark hamill

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mybworlds · 2 months

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Chapter 1

Paring: Joel x F!Reader (NO Y/N)

Warnings: pre!outbreak and post!outbreak, AU (there will be some characters, Joel's backstory is different), no Sarah, no Ellie (maybe!), a lot of flashback (at least in the first chapters!), age gap (reader is approx. 10 yrs younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, SMUT, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), language, attempted SA, trauma, death and violence.

Rating: M

Masterlist

Word count: 4k

Summary: You work in the Millers' company, you are their friend, you have a job you love, your coworkers esteem and love you. Your life is perfect. Suddenly, one day, you wake up in the hospital, you are alone surrounded by silence and strange noises, your door is barricaded, but what happened? And what happened to the world out there?

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Thanks @saradika for the divider and the banner. Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner.

JANUARY 2014

You open your eyes suddenly breathing deeply as if you had just surfaced after a long and tiring dive, your head aches and in a spontaneous gesture you bring your hand to your head which you discover is bandaged.

You feel so cold.

"What the…?" you wrinkle your forehead as you close your eyes, you look at your hands and discover that your red nail polish, the one you like to put on so much, is gone except for a few pale traces, you are surprised to see your hands full of cuts, but more importantly to be wearing what looks very much like a hospital gown. You look around and notice the white walls around you, to your right there's an open window which lets in a biting breeze into the room and closer to you unlit monitors and a medicine cart. There's another empty unmade crib, a night-blue cabinet, a small sink with a mirror to your left, but what strikes you most is the stretcher in front of the door. You sit down, a little groan escapes from your lips, and you bring your hands to your head, feeling it heavy.

How long have you been lying there? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months?

You don't remember.

What are you doing here? Did you come to the hospital for a checkup? Did you have an accident?

You uncover your legs and sit in the middle of the stretcher, your legs hurt so bad, perhaps truly you've been there for days - at least a week, you think!

You place your feet on the ground, but the muscles of your legs don't hold you up and you fall forward, you groan from fatigue and pain, you look around, and only then you notice a chair on which there are women's clothes. You reach the chair with great effort and you wear light-colored jeans that turn out to be very loose, a pink turtleneck sweater and a black jacket. All very loose.

You barely reach the sink and turn on the tap, but not a drop of water comes out. They turned off the water, maybe there are problems with the system or they've suspended the water supply for work, they've been doing a lot of work lately. But how much is lately? You have the answer to your question when you raise your face and gaze into the mirror and look at the reflection of a person who, has your eyes, but whom you don't recognize. Your eyes are hollowed out, your face is extremely pale and pinched, your hair you always wore in a tail and wasn't particularly long, today it reaches your breasts, "But how long have I been here?" it's a whisper.

You look at the stretcher standing there in front of the door, you are about to move it and open the door, but then you hear some noises coming from the hallway. It's certainly the nurses going up and down from room to room in case patients call or maybe it's the doctors who are about to start their rounds and will be coming to you shortly.

The noises though you hear, you realize after a few minutes, aren't normal sounds of footsteps, it's like a slow and crawling step, as if someone is dragging their feet on the ground. You think at first that maybe it's a patient who is walking slowly, but it's the next noise that puzzles you, a gasp, a chilling cry, something that makes your skin crawl and silently back away from there. What the hell is that?!

It must be a nightmare everything you are experiencing, yes it must be. Now you wake up and-- that sound again, you curl up in the corner of the room being careful not to bump into anything. You are still deeply stunned, in pain and now scared.

JANUARY 2012

The alarm clock rings incessantly and you totally stunned turn off that infernal contraption by throwing it across the room causing a big noise, but you still sleepy turn away and go back to sleep.

After what seems like minutes to you, someone knocks on the intercom, repeatedly. He knocks once, twice, three times. You get up with a yawn and barefoot you reach the intercom answering in a sleepy voice.

"G' morning, sleeping beauty, I brought you coffee, will you let me in?"

"Yes, come in." you answer yawning and opening the door to one of your few close friends here in Seattle, you open the door and look in the mirror observing your hair which is a total mess, you run your hand through it and yawn sonorously.

"Here she is my beautiful princess," Tommy greets you by handing you your coffee and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"You are the best," you say as you pass an arm around his neck and return the kiss on the cheek.

"I know," he replies with a big smile, "if only you could talk to Jane," he adds walking toward the kitchen with his coffee in hand. You follow him by running a hand through your hair and adjusting the top and shorts you are wearing as pajamas. Tommy is home and so you don't get too upset if he finds you like this or if he makes himself at home.

SEPTEMBER 2010

You, Tommy and his brother met one evening a few months ago when you agreed to meet a guy you met online, the evening would have been nice if he hadn't spent it just talking about his mom and how important she is to him; after an hour and a half and after two drinks you were already bored so you made up an excuse and left the club. The car wouldn't start and at that moment you were approached by three young men who looked like they were drunk and looking for a good time; they were making some rather explicit advances when two men - the Miller brothers - approached you and the small group. The two men both had dark hair, the older a string of beard and mustache, and, in the dim area you were in, appeared to be the more muscular of the two. The two invited the young men to go elsewhere to find what they wanted. You didn't know if it was the tone used or if it was Miller senior and his grim look that frightened the three young men the most, fact is that they left you alone. The younger Miller gave you a friendly look and asked if you were all right and what the problem was, you explained to him, also casting fleeting glances at the other man, that the car didn't start. That's when Miller senior, Joel, opened the front hood and started tinkering, while Miller jr. introduced himself and indirectly his brother, you didn't feel very comfortable at that moment since you didn't know exactly what the man was doing to your car, was he really fixing it?

And was the other one - Tommy - trying to talk to you to distract you? What was the intention of both of them?

"I'm sorry, but ya have to leave it here," Joel says, closing the hood, "I'll call a friend tomorrow and get it fixed for ya." he adds, reaching out and only then you find yourself swallowing in fright.

"Don't worry, my brother looks scary, but he's a gentle giant!" he exclaimed patting his brother who grunted as he rolled his eyes "What's your name? You haven't told us yet," the younger asked.

"What are your intentions?" you asked making your frightened gaze wander from Tommy to Joel.

The two brothers exchange glances, "Look," Joel said advancing toward you and causing you to back away just barely, "d' ya think that if we had any bad intentions, we would have rescued ya from those three drunks?" you shook your head lowering your gaze for a moment and then planting it in the eyes of the man in front of you "Well, honey, I know the night hasn't been the best, but I assure ya we won't hurt ya, we are two serious people with a serious job, so we would never do anything stupid. Trust me."

He sounded sincere and his eyes convinced you to trust him, you were right.

JANUARY 2012

"You had a fun night out?" Tommy asks sipping his coffee as you sit down at the kitchen table and place your espresso on the table, you shake your head and reply "No, I was in front of the computer all night trying to get a project done for our next meeting. I wanted to be ready for today, but I'm afraid I won't be able to make it." you sip your coffee, narrowing your eyes "Where did you get this coffee?"

"Max's bar was closed, so I've fallen back on one across the street," he replies "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." you answer, drinking it all in one gulp "Anyway," you say crumpling up the glass and tossing it in the trash "I didn't like what the program I use was proposing so I started messing around with it and result? The computer froze and if it doesn't turn back on today, I'll have to take it to Frank and your brother will rightly get pissed off and say..."

"Hey, hey, hey," Tommy says kneeling in front of you and taking you by the shoulders, "breathe, Joel you know how he is, he has that gruff look, but with you he's sweet and understanding." your stomach contracts in a strange grip, Tommy has noticed your reaction and so to soften your nervousness he grabs you by the chin making you smile "Besides, why don't you talk to Jane and convince her to forgive me?"

You roll your eyes, "Tommy, Jane is a smart girl and she keeps her distance from you. Unfortunately, you have this bad fault: you can't keep a girl. You're a womaniser," you reply to him.

He sighs loudly and then stands up, "Okay, sweety, I tried. Can I watch TV while I wait for you?" he asks you.

"Okay." you reply as you get up as well, "Make yourself at home." you add as you go toward the bedroom where you grab your stuff and then head for the bathroom and take a shower.

When you come out of the bathroom, you are ready to face a new day. You join Tommy in the living room where you find him lounging on the couch watching the news where you see and hear the usual bad news. When he realizes you are next to him, he smiles at you "My favorite girl is ready!" he exclaims turning off the TV and getting up "Bring the house key?"

"Yep!" you reply by dangling them in your left hand "Shall we go?"

"After you." he says spreading his arm making you go forward.

DECEMBER 2011

Tommy was the first to notice your interest in Joel, at first he made little jokes about your distraction, your blushing, but then he thought you were in awe of him although he used pet names with you - when it was just the two of you or the three of you together - and only later he realized. When he clearly asked you if you liked Joel, you remember exactly where and how you and Miller jr. were: you just got off work and Tommy was giving you credits on how you came up with the solution for building a spa, when you were flanked by Joel who greeted you fleetingly and then increased his pace by moving away from you, you were totally dumbfounded, your cheeks turned red and you found yourself with a dry throat, Tommy had to snap his fingers in front of your eyes a couple of times before you regained your words.

"You're not into my brother, are ya?" he asked jokingly, thinking you would answer no; instead, you lowered your gaze, biting your lower lip, and shrugging your shoulders "No! Really? Oh!" he exclaimed noticing your silence "Cool…"

"Please don't tell him. Don't tell anyone." you said looking nervously into his eyes, he smiled sweetly as he placed a hand on your shoulder "I would never," he looked at you and you at that moment could barely hold his gaze, you felt so ashamed "I'd love to have you as my sister-in-law," he added with a smile.

JANUARY 2012

You and Tommy enter the elevator of the Millers' company building, it's one of the most beautiful downtown buildings with panoramic windows, the interior in beech wood, all studied in detail. You go to the fourth floor, he goes to headquarters. You greet him with a small smile, he raises his hand with a smile, then the doors close and you turn your back to the elevator.

"Good morning," you greet Barbara, Paula, Jane and Charlotte, your fellow architects like you engaged in other projects for the company, who greet you warmly as soon as they see you. Barbara is a woman in her thirties, blond curtained hair, blue eyes, impeccable outfit, 12 heel shoes, she always reminded you of one of those cover models, precise and methodical character, if something is not in place she panics; Paula also in her thirties, has red hair and green eyes, a sprinkling of freckles on her cheekbones and is a sweet and smiling woman, ready to give you good advices or to address you words full of thoughtfulness; Charlotte, in her forties, sly eyes and sensual smile, likes to dress provocatively especially if she has meetings with Joel; Jane, the last girl Tommy has his eye on, is in her late thirties and is the most reserved girl you have ever met, discreet, never a comment out of place, never one gesture too many, the least suitable person for Tommy who in contrast is so exuberant at times.

Charlotte calls your name by waving a hand, "Did you manage to finish the project?"

"Not yet, the computer crashed. I'll have to take it to Frank, I'm afraid." you answer by turning on your computer and entering your password.

"Isn't Frank a Tommy Miller's friend?" she asks again without stopping looking at you, you look up at her and find her face resting between the palms of her hands, you nod then return to looking at the screen and start the programs to work "Tommy Miller is a good-looking guy, I'm amazed how he didn't hit on you! " she exclaims, when you look up again you discover that she's no longer looking at you, but at poor Jane who you think had even had a thought about Tommy, but then learning of the young man's not-so-rosy name, desisted.

"We're just friends." you simply answer her without giving her too much rope, luckily her flood of questions is interrupted by Katherine your Head of Sector who reminds you of the next meeting with the Miller brothers and your deadlines which must be before Friday; thus, before the Millers go to New York. Immediately everyone's attention is focused on the jobs assigned via company email, you actually have two projects on your hands, the former and the project.

You have to complete the previous project first and then you can think about this new construction site as your next job, you settle down in your chair and style your hair into a tail, you are about to open the program, when Katherine approaches you calling you by name, you look up questioningly, "There's also an executive summary to prepare, for Friday."

"Uhm… Katherine, I already have two works, I'll never make it!" you exclaim, widening your eyes and looking toward your computer "I don't know if I can do it, I'll make a mess!" you add, abandoning yourself against the back of the chair.

Katherine gives you a sympathetic look, lays a hand on your shoulder "You're the best here, you work twelve hours a day and I've never heard Miller senior complain about your performance, if you need an executive summary check send it to me and I'll take a look, but you've always done a great job so far."

"Thanks for your encouragement." you say with a smile, she tightens her grip on your shoulder just a little more and then lets you work.

Katherine is a wonderful woman, not only physically, but also character-wise, at first glance she seems stern and gruff, but she cares about her job and want that all her work is done in the best possible way.

And you can't blame her, you also care about your work and want it to be done properly. You love it and wish everyone would care of every detail exactly as you do.

Three hours later you send the work to Katherine, your eyes are burning and your fingers are numb, but luckily you've completed the first project, the one you were working on the night before but couldn't complete, you yawn conspicuously covering your mouth, and then get up to go to the machine to get a well-earned cup of coffee.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't even realize that your colleague - Charlotte - had wandered away from her desk. In fact, you see her coming out of the elevator doors looking annoyed. She's about to return to her desk, when she sees you and with furious eyes walks up to you and blurts out, "Since you're such good friends with the Millers, tell 'em to put on fewer airs!" she's about to turn her back on you, you don't know what happened, but frankly you don't care, the fact remains that you reply with a "No."

"I beg your pardon?" she asks, reaching out to you again.

"Precisely because I'm their friend, I'm not going to tell 'em such a thing," you reply wrinkling your forehead while keeping a calm tone "I don't know what was done or said to you, but I'm not going to deliver this your message, if you have something to say, talk to the person concerned." you add, even though you imagine who she is referring to.

Charlotte is about to retort, but then reconsiders and walks away mumbling something unintelligible. You start the coffee maker, the machine is faulty, therefore, you must be the one to stop the coffee brewing. At that moment, the doors open revealing Miller senior. You find him looking handsome in his blue suit, the one Tommy once told you Joel uses for important meetings or for meetings with his staff, which matches with his dark hair and eyes. He looks up giving you a fleeting smile, then enters your room where you see him talking to Katherine, you notice that several times they turn to you and it causes you to lower your eyes for a moment and then look back at them. You're curious about what they're saying about you, it's obvious they're talking about you or they wouldn't be looking at you, you think.

Joel nods again toward Katherine and comes out holding in his hands a small folder on which is written your draft, you see him intent on looking at the folder and with one hand massaging his chin, then he looks up at you and you raise an eyebrow caught in the act.

"Ya like long coffee, I see." he says, you look at him puzzled, then he turns his gaze towards the machine and you notice that the coffee has almost reached the brim of the plastic cup, you immediately stop the coffee brewing and then turn a guilty look towards him "No, um…I got distracted…I was thinking about the next project I want to complete in the evening and so…um, the machine is broken. " now you're babbling, but those sweet dark eyes confuses you "Sorry, I'm - the truth is I'm a bit tired." you admit, scratching the nape of your neck in an embarrassed gesture. "S' okay, honey, got it," he says in a soft tone reaching out his hand toward your cheek, you open in your eyes in amazement that he would indulge in such an intimate gesture in the workplace, he must have thought the same since he thinks again clearing his throat by putting his hands in his pockets "later…um, I'll let Katherine know what I think 'bout the project." he says by turning his back on you "Ah, um…was wondering," he says turning back to you and zigzagging his gaze from your eyes to the floor "if by any chance…I mean, yes if ya were free. After-- after work." you find yourself swallowing hard and nodding "Yes, yes." you answer trying not to sound too weird. He smiles at you and you can't help but smile back.

JANUARY 2014

When you open your eyes, you hope it's just a nightmare, you in that hospital, alone, surrounded by those creepy sounds, but unfortunately it's reality. You stagger to your feet, barely staggering, and you look out the window, you shudder from the cold but not only widening your eyes at that disturbing and unsettling sight: the world you knew, everything you knew has vanished, the houses, the buildings, the many buildings you planned, designed, the schools in the metropolis, the parks, there is nothing left. Cars are a pile of wreckage on the streets, shards of glass are scattered everywhere on the street in front of the hospital, two ambulances are overturned and seem to be burned.

You feel as if you have plunged into a nightmare, an extremely real nightmare. At that moment you hear a metallic noise coming from outside, you even seem to catch a glimpse of someone coming up, you back away and hide under the bed, maybe it's an obvious and stupid hiding place, but it's the only one you have.

That's when something starts banging against the door, you hear the stretcher squeak, once, twice, three, four times, until it moves completely and someone comes in: you can clearly see his work shoes and lab coat, it's a doctor, you think about the explanation you're going to give the doctor when you get out from under there and he looks at you strangely, but the sound that comes out of his mouth stops you. It's an eerie verse, your skin crawls and you hope he doesn't see you, you try to regulate your breathing and not let him hear you. Something making the same cry enters your room, it seems to be a nurse or whatever it is. Fear is about to take over when a noise catches your and their attention, something has entered through the window drawing the two people towards the other presence which turns out to be very fast and soon those two creepy creatures stop making those sounds staggering and falling backwards. What you thought to be a doctor and a nurse turn out to be two repulsive faceless monsters, you don't know what happened to them, but it's horrible. The third presence has stabbed them in the head and now copious streams of blood flow from their heads.

You turn your head to the other side and at that moment you hear someone calling by your name, whispering your name and only at that moment you come out from under the bed, the presence turns out to be a man who, as soon as he sees you, grabs you firmly by the arms and then lays his hands on your cheeks "You okay?" he asks you in a whisper.

You blink several times to focus on the person in front of you, his eyes are the same, but his beard is longer and slightly thicker than last time, he's wearing dirty clothes, in some places his jacket is even torn, "Joel..." you whisper, widening your eyes.

"S' me," he whispers "Did they bite ya?" he asks again, you just shake your head, too shocked to be able to answer "G', now follow me, don't make a sound, I'll help ya. Come." he goes on going to the window and slowly climbing over, you see him come out and wait for you there on what appears to be a roof "Put one leg in first," he says tapping with his palm on the window frame, you swallow and then do as he says "come, lean toward me" and you obey by laying your hands on his shoulders as he lays his hands on your waist and you climb over.

You are outside, the air is chilly and the wind bothers you, but you don't focus so much on that as on Joel grabbing your hand and telling you where to put your feet so you don't fall down.

He sits you down on another roof that makes an eerie noise and then slides you down until you hit the ground. He follows you around, your head is spinning, you're confused and scared, you don't know what happened or what's going on, all you know is that you're with a version of Joel you don't remember, you don't know how long it's been since you've seen him, how long you were in the hospital and what happened to land you there, but this is not question time, you must leave now. He grabs and squeezes your hand and confusingly you return the squeeze looking first at your hand and then at him returning a long, worried look, then together you walk away from the hospital.

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livinggeekchic · 6 months

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For #phreread2023 week 5, @laukisimp and I collaborated to analyze Hecate’s prophecy in Episode 69 “Moon Maiden” and decipher what it tells us about Lauren’s character development.

When Lauren visits the circus for the first time, she is pulled aside by Hecate (the fortuneteller) for a tarot reading. Lauren draws five cards: the two of swords, the five of cups, the tower, the ten of swords, and death. These cards foretell events that will take place over the next two seasons—and we believe the clues in Hecate’s words can be decoded to pinpoint specific moments in Lauren’s character growth arc, leading up to the moment she’s kidnapped in 158.

The two of swords represents the confusion we face when forced to make a difficult choice. Blindfolded, the woman cannot see the problem clearly and thus cannot find a solution. Throughout S2 and S3, we see that Lauren avoids facing hard truths. She knows that the people around her could be Phantom Scythe, but doesn’t want to believe it can be anyone close to her. She knows Kieran likely can tell her something about the kidnapped kids—about what happened to Dylan—but she’s too afraid to ask. She needs to remove the blindfold and allow herself to seek the answers to these questions. She needs to choose a path: continue to blindly chase the Phantom Scythe in her quest for revenge, or move on and live for the future?

The five of cups explains why she can’t make that choice: she’s too focused on the loss of her childhood friend, her perceived failure to save him and the others at Allendale (and in losing her rank, putting her even further from figuring out what happened), and the disappointment and guilt that she feels over what happened in her past. She is unable to let go and forgive herself, and thus, she cannot see the two standing cups: new opportunities and potential. She has the potential to help save Kieran, and the opportunity to do a lot of good for everyone who’s caught up in this war between the royals and the Phantom Scythe. In the episodes just prior to this, Lauren and Kieran visit Greychapel and discuss how poor the conditions are. Kieran states that while they’re trying to stop the terrorists in the Phantom Scythe, the revolution must happen. It’s possible that the “new opportunity” is Lauren joining Kieran in helping bring about this revolution.

In episode 75, titled Tumbling Tower, Sandman reveals that Lauren’s parents were apostles. This knowledge shakes her entire belief system. She thought that the Phantom Schythe was made up of monsters, and yet her parents were founding members. There is also a literal tower in this story—one that Sandman is currently locked in, as he’s writing Lauren a letter. Is it possible that there are more revelations to come? Ones that will bring Lauren’s existing goal, based on false premises, crashing down?

The destruction of the tower is necessary to clear out old mistruths and make way for something new. But how she handles that course of action depends on her reaction to the betrayal. The ten of swords: someone has stabbed her in the back. But it’s important to note that the sword series in tarot tells the story of a person who attempts to use the swords for faulty reasons, makes mistakes, tries to run from them, and ultimately suffers the pain of being stabbed by them. The story of someone who allows themselves to fall victim to that internal pressure. The swords are a weapon, and can have potential for destruction or good, depending on how they are wielded.

In episode 156, Lauren discovers that March has been lying to them. He’s led her coworkers into an ambush and Lauren herself is being pursued by PS members. Lauren didn’t want to consider that March might be PS; she dismissed Kieran’s questioning of March in episode 146, misinterpreting his statements about his family and the true criminals of Ardhalis.

In episode 158 she is pursued, chased into a warehouse where all of her anxieties and fears overwhelm her. She has been continually plagued by the guilt she feels about Allendale, and now she adds to that the losses that she fears are yet to come (images of a deceased Kieran, Kym, and Will coming to her mind). She is unable to wield the swords because of her continued avoidance of the truth. Blindfolded, she doesn’t want to face her suspicions about Dylan, and doesn't want to consider March as the betrayer. So she spirals, and all of her anxieties take over. They paralyze her in that warehouse, leading to her being knocked out and kidnapped. The title of Episode 158, Seething Sword, tells us that she has been dealt that final blow.

But like the death card, the end of one thing means a new beginning for another. She must learn to wield the swords instead of letting her trauma weigh her down. It’s a symbolic death, not a literal one. The old Lauren, the part of her that was driven by guilt and shame, needs to be buried so the new Lauren, freed of those shackles she’s carried for ten years, can instead look to the future.

And what might we see in the future? We know that Lauren is at a crossroads. The two of swords signifies that two equal and opposing forces are at war, and she is caught in the middle. She has been stuck between the PS and the government of Ardhalis. She wants to take down the PS, but she is increasingly finding that the APD isn’t the paragon of justice she thought it was. Similarly, the PS isn’t entirely evil; though their methods are, their goal is relatable. We believe that Lauren will choose her own path. She won’t side with either, and will instead forge her own way forward, alongside Kieran. Perhaps she will choose to forgo her detective rank and become a fugitive with Kieran—especially if his identity ends up becoming compromised. Perhaps she will support a revolution of the poor and mistreated against the royals who keep them in the dirt.

“He” is closer to her, more similar than she thinks. We believe this is a reference to the leader. She thinks he is hidden in the shadows, but it’s very likely that the leader is someone close to her, given the clues about her parents, the Snapdragon, and how the leader kept her alive all these years. Like Lauren, the leader has also lost people close to him and seeks revenge—against the royals for the massacre of the Snapdragon, for burying those truths along with their bodies.

Hecate mentions enemies, plural, and it’s true that Lauren has many enemies now. Not only those in the Phantom Scythe, but even within the APD, for what she’s doing as Lune. She needs to question those around her more: Stefan, Dakan, March—these people have all lied to her in the past, and yet she is too clouded by her intense focus on the Phantom Scythe to consider those around her. She must remove the blindfold, and it starts with letting go of the past.

Lauren’s obsession with Dylan is holding her back. She needs to accept the truth—that Dylan is dead, and there’s nothing else she can do for him. But that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. She can make a difference in Kieran’s life. She can save him from his cursed fate to kill and kill until he himself perishes. She can help him take down the leader. But in order to do this, she might have to set her privileged life aside. Only when she stops focusing on the past can she create a new future.

#purple hyacinth #webtoon #kieran white #lauren sinclair #ph reread #lauki

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 8 (Conclusion) [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 8 summary: Being alive with you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: breaking and entering, violence, murder, guns, light angst, minor burn injury, reader feels neglected, dave makes amends, pussy-eating god dave york, anal fingering, anal sex, lube, light bondage, light sensory deprivation, very protective dave, soft dave, unprotected piv (you know the drill besties), dirty talk, biting, the last of my pretentious literary references (for now), happy ending (it's me what do you expect)

word count: ~ 7.8k

i am deeply sorry for the delay on the very last chapter smh... i wanted it to be as good as possible for y'all and got caught up in my own head. nevertheless, here is the conclusion to THGTGTG, and i cannot thank those who have been reading this series enough for your love and support on every part. i could cry forever about you. and maybe i will!

chapter 8: one deep breath out from the sky

SEPTEMBER

There’s a storm outside tonight.

The warm breeze strips the leaves from the trees and scatters them from its palm with one strong heave of its lungs. The rain raps its knuckles on the windows, demanding entry, the thunder rolling from one end of the city to the other. Streets are washed clean with rainwater and the slick polluting oil by the river glimmers in the colours of the rainbow.

Dave lies awake on his back, his knuckles making idle, gentle patterns up and down your spine, keeping you close to him while you sleep. You lie on your stomach, half of your face buried in the pillow, your lips blissfully parted and your muscles relaxed under his touch. You're the picture of serenity, and he keeps his head turned so he can look at you.

One night, months ago, you kept him up, getting him to talk about his job in the Army, and his disillusionment with the real world when he returned home. He told you about lying on rooftops for days until his back peeled, and he told you about moulting, coming into his new skin every time he assumed a new position, a new country—each mission a brand-new way to discover things he hated about himself, and some things he liked.

Today, his ears remain fine-tuned to the slightest of sounds. It’s why he can hear the faint beeping in his open office from upstairs. A slow, rhythmic, high-pitched chirping that doesn’t stir you whatsoever from sleep, but that has his head whipping toward the direction of the noise.

Someone is tripping the security system.

Dave expertly slips onto his feet without disturbing the comforter, though you shift closer to the warmer side of the bed with a sleepy sound of protest. He mourns being forced to leave when all he wants to do is wrap himself around you, but the hair at the back of his neck prickles, and he chances a glance out the bedroom window, pushing it briefly open.

No cars parked outside that aren’t always there. Nothing amiss. Except—

The sound. He assigned a different alarm to each camera, memorised them all, mapped them in his head. Someone is breaking in through the garage.

He grabs a spare .45 from its hiding place in the walk-in closet and screws an Obsidian suppressor onto the end. If he can do this without waking you, that will be best.

Dave dresses quickly, sweatpants and a T-shirt, not bothering with shoes but slipping on some socks for added silence. Downstairs, all seems quiet. The lights are off, the doors locked, the driveway empty. But inside his office, the alarm trills away.

His gaze sweeps over each camera for slight movements, indicators of misplaced objects, but there is nothing. Or, rather, everything is as it was.

So who is in his home?

Too late to stop it, he hears another alarm trip.

There is no more adrenaline. His heart stops.

The upstairs window. He forgot to close it.

His bedroom window.

I’ve got no use for a world that doesn’t have you.

It rings true. Nothing has ever been truer. He can reach out for it and close his fingers around it.

Terror. This is what it feels like to be afraid.

The man comes stumbling down the stairs—stumbling, clumsy, because you’re putting up one hell of a fight. Dave watches in horror. This is, undoubtedly, triggering some old instinct in you, biting and scratching and kicking at the man who holds you across the shoulders, the barrel of a gun to your temple. You scream and you hiss, demanding things like Let me go and Fucking let go of me, you fucking sick bastard and Don’t fucking touch me and Dave is so horrified that he cannot move.

One cannot truly witness the past. But now, here, he is witnessing exactly what it is like to see you relive every one of those nights someone has stolen you from your bed and taken you away.

Some sick bastard broke into Dave York’s home and stole what is most precious from him. This is a transgression that can seek no repentance, find no grave but a plot made ready in hell. He feels himself scowling, raising the gun—

You draw first blood. Your teeth tear a chunk of flesh from his arm, and he howls, pushing you down the final three steps.

You don’t quite catch yourself right, landing hard on your hip, your head smacking hard against the tile. One look into your dazed eyes and Dave sees fucking red.

The man has the balls to point his gun at you, lying at the bottom of the stairs and attempting to push yourself upright, blinking hard. Your mouth is bloody, and you spit out pinkish saliva. His tiles run red.

“Pretty girl, York,” seethes Vincent Gallo, shaking out the arm you sank your teeth into. “Pretty and soft. Cameras don’t do her justice.”

This is it. Dave’s final conquest.

He promised himself long ago that he would not stop until Vincent Gallo was dealt with. He has committed the cardinal sin, after all.

All you’re wearing is a little silk nightgown, and you must be so cold lying on that floor. There’s a small trickle of blood on your temple and he worries about a concussion with the way you squint up at the man who’s holding the gun to your head.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, spitting another glob of bloody saliva onto his polished shoes. You may not be that hurt, Dave realises. “You fucking cunt.”

Gallo looks down at you for only a second, but a second is all Dave needs. He takes the shot.

It strikes wide; he’s afraid of hitting you. But it does its job: knocking Gallo off-balance, red spiralling outward on his shoulder beneath the crisp white shirt he’s wearing. Somewhere beside the bannister, his gun clatters to the floor, clip ejecting. He staggers down the stairs, and you kick out at him, screaming your vocal chords raw, primal and fucking fed up.

Because he’s smart enough to know that being in proximity to you offers a certain degree of protection, Gallo goes for you first: dragging you upright by your hair, putting your body in front of him.

You let out a soft cry, trying to grab for him, but he pins your arms to your sides, and all you can do is look helplessly at Dave, who no longer has a clear shot.

“Dave, just shoot the goddamn gun,” you say through your teeth, your eyes bleeding with tears as your captor yanks your head back.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spits. “Your boyfriend doesn’t get to come after me and my family without consequences. And you’re both going to learn that.”

“You don’t get to come after me without consequences,” you reply. “You should have learned that by now.”

“She’s right,” offers Dave. “You picked the wrong girl.”

Gallo sneers, pushing you right into Dave’s path as he drops his shoulder and tackles Dave to the ground. It knocks the wind out of him, sending him down hard, but Dave manages to hook his leg around the other man’s and turn them around, pinning his knee to Gallo’s femoral artery. His own gun is too far away to reach without letting the asshole go free.

“Baby, run,” grunts Dave, seeing you scramble to your feet out of the corner of his eye.

“No, baby, don’t,” mocks Gallo, baring his teeth as he brings his fist to Dave’s face. The blow catches him on the jaw, knocking his teeth together. Dave growls, digging his knee into Gallo’s thigh and making him seethe in pain, before throwing a punch to his face. Then another. Then another.

Knuckles split and well with blood. The tension in his shoulders eases with every blow that strikes home, relinquishing all his restraint and finishing the fucking job. He cannot speak. He cannot think. He only sees: the face he's studied for so long, the man who's eluded him for months, has arrived at his doorstep. In a way, Dave feels grateful.

Vincent Gallo has volunteered his life. Dave won't miss the opportunity to take it.

But Dave makes a mistake through his misty-red rage, glancing to the side to see where you've gone. To see if you’re watching him. Gallo thrusts his palm upward and bloodies Dave’s nose, using his new leverage to roll them over.

Gallo’s face is a pulpy mass of purple flesh and crimson and the shine of new bruises. His nose is crooked and he spits his own blood onto Dave’s face, snarling like a rabid animal. The last desperate, dying breath of a condemned man.

The fast, quiet thwip of a suppressed shot. Blood blooming on Dave’s shirt like a flower’s first awakening. Blood that does not belong to him. It's warm. Sticky. Will forever stain.

Gallo slumps over, his face ashen, his grip on Dave’s collar slackening. You drop the gun like it’s on fire.

Your eyes burn and shed tears that turn black. Your trembling hand goes to your mouth, but you only smear the Italian’s blood across your face.

Dave gets to his feet and picks up the gun you dropped. He gently cups your face, urging you to look at him. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “It's over.”

“I…” You point vaguely in Gallo’s direction. “Did I kill him?”

This will not do.

“No.” Dave turns his head, fires the gun, and shoots the man’s brains through the back of his neck. “I killed him.”

“Oh. Good.”

Your eyes are a doe’s, wide and mortified, pupils pinpricks despite the low light. “Dave, my head hurts. I didn't realise it until now, but it fucking hurts.”

“Baby, I know.” He gently guides your head to the side and examines your wound, wincing at the sight of your blood flowing from your temple. “We’re gonna take a drive, okay? Get you some help.”

“Hospital?” you wager.

Not a fucking chance. Hospitals prioritise humanity; he needs to go somewhere that will prioritise precisely whom he chooses. No questions.

Gravely, he shakes his head. You sigh through your nose and squeeze his hand. “I didn't think so.”

He lifts your joined hands. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Don't be an asshole. I need my beauty sleep, Dave York, and it's two in the morning.”

Outside, the storm quiets, the time between the lightning strikes and the thunderclaps stretching wide. “You're the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, “even bloody.”

You roll your eyes and apparently regret it, grasping Dave’s arm. “Okay,” you say weakly. “But I’m napping on the way.”

He’s not going to let you fall asleep, but he nods, wordless, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You did so well, sweetheart. Did exactly what you needed to.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you let yourself breathe in the scent of iron and cologne. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

NOVEMBER

It starts when you unleash your temper on Dave for the first time.

For the past couple months, you've been working with your publicist and agent to sort through the multitude of presses asking for interviews and your lawyer to discuss disputing your father’s will. Not much has moved; all you've managed to accomplish is effectively withdrawing public support. He still has toes in many different ponds that don't rely on goodwill or reputation. But it's something.

You've been tired, irritable, and on top of that, planning a wedding. It's no wonder that you're mad when a week passes and Dave hasn't fucked you.

Your body is humming at a low frequency of restlessness, unable to stay still for long between meetings. Dave has been working around the clock, shut away in his office or out spying on some assholes who may want him dead. When he is home, he misses meals, neglects sleep, and rarely emerges from behind his office door to give you a glimpse of him.

Last night, you poked your head inside his office with your whiteboard held up for Dave to read. DINNER? it read.

He just shook his head and looked down, returning to his books while on the phone with Kovac or Ari or both. You sat alone at the long dining table and poked the food around your plate until it was cold.

You tried to understand. You really tried. He's a busy man and he's working hard to keep you safe. He's trying to be good to you, and sometimes, he gets caught up in his own head trying to fix things.

But you're nothing if not needy when it comes to Dave, and his constant rejections are beginning to sting.

You sent Barry home for the night so you could try your hand at a new recipe. You stir a little bit aggressively under the guise of trying not to burn the garlic, your knuckles taut around the spoon. You're on the phone with Kelly, your planner.

“I don't think peonies are going to mesh well with lilies. The shapes will clash.”

Staring into your bubbling risotto, watching the colours bleed into one another, you hum a faint Uh-huh.

“And as far as colour, it's best to stick with white, but we’ll put some blush pink in to match the rest of the palette.”

“Mhm.” The risotto is beginning to thicken, puffing up like a pastry, close to the rim of the pot. You register it but keep stirring, pouring in the white wine and taking a swig for yourself.

“We have bridesmaids’ dresses on order from Fran’s, and the piano player is requesting a list of selections.”

“Good, good.”

You blink hard as a stinging pressure builds behind your nose. The gentle roiling of the substance in the pot smells sharp enough to prick at your tear ducts. Your eyes feel dry and your back aches.

It is decidedly not risotto. Risotto is thick and creamy and this is browned, burnt, boiling over. You can only watch with tears brimming as it spills onto the burner and whisper a broken, “Talk to you later, Kelly,” into your phone.

Some of the boiling liquid spills onto your leg and you stagger backward, staring through blurred eyes.

“Shit,” says a voice behind you.

Dave is here, quick to shut off the element and guide you away from the stove. “Jesus, baby, what the hell are you doing?”

He notices the burn on your leg first, dropping to one knee at your feet and frowning deep. “Fuck.”

You sniffle. “Reminds me of when you proposed.”

Dave squeezes your hip as he examines the flesh for any signs of blistering. “Yeah?”

“You told me I was beautiful,” you say weakly, your throat tightening, “and you said that… that life was a bad fable before we met. Because I was the first person who taught you anything worthwhile about living.”

Dave swallows thickly, dropping his forehead to your thigh. “Yeah,” he says gruffly.

“You made me take off the ring just so you could put it on yourself,” you croak. The tears are close now. “Now you do the same thing every morning.”

Dave seems to know where this is going, his hands gently rubbing up and down the back of your leg. “Yeah, baby. I do.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and you stare at the ceiling like it's going to close the floodgates. “You didn't do it this morning.”

Dave swears into your skin, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Why?” he demands. “Why didn't I do it?”

“Because you were gone when I woke up.”

“Why are you cooking dinner?” he asks.

“Because I needed a distraction.”

Dave shakes his head, holding onto your leg like it's grounding him in the earth. “Why?”

“Because you're my husband,” you say softly, your chest burning and your throat pushing on your vocal chords, “and you haven't been around.”

“And?”

“And I’m planning our wedding alone.”

Dave squeezes your thigh, like you're getting somewhere. “You gonna burn down the kitchen to get my attention?”

“It worked, didn't it?”

“Sweetheart.” He looks up at you, eyes honey-gold under the warm chandelier. It’s desperation. It's guilt. “You're mad,” he rasps. “Be mad.”

Your chest trembles and your breaths come out heavy, and you're sobbing, sinking to your knees, letting him pull you onto his lap and wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck. Hands caress your back, up and down, shifting the fabric of your nightgown. You cry.

Wedding. Your father. Vincent Gallo. Cameras and flashing lights and shutters. The quiet hum of night. The too-loud press of daytime on your ears. The fear and the terror and the needles they inject you with. Sunlight. Wax wings. You've been flying too close. You fall, wrapped up in his arms, shedding the extra weight from your back and breathing in. Out. In. Out.

It isn't always about the next victory. It isn't about chasing the next deal, burying the next body, screwing over the next associate. It isn't about flying, and it never has been. Neither of you have seen it until now.

It's about this. The cold kitchen floor and the scrape of his buttons against your belly and the warm, rough hands on your back. It's about your twin heartbeats, lazily encircling one another. It's about the tears soaking his skin, hot and salty, his mouth on your temple. It's about the burning risotto on the counter.

It's about the life you've made with him. The life you're going to make. The matching bands you’ll wear. You and him.

“Fuck you, Dave York,” you whisper, “for missing this dinner, and for all the dinners you’re going to miss.”

He nods, his fingers tracing every one of your vertebrae on the way up. Encouraging. Begging. He wants you to be angry with him. So you will.

“Fuck you for leaving me alone all week to plan our wedding, for locking yourself up in your office all day and night, for forgetting to put my ring on my finger. Fuck you for neglecting me.” Your restless stomach begins to settle as you inhale the scent of him for the first time all day.

Dave’s mouth trails downward until he finds your jawline. You can feel his lashes tickle your cheek. “I’m your husband,” he says. “It's my job to be good to you. I haven't been good to you, baby.”

You huff, clutching him tighter to you. You’ve missed the feeling of his strong arms around you, his broad chest pressed against yours. “Masochist,” you mumble, the anger slipping into your pocket, muffled and subdued in the wake of your need for closeness.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, his hand cupping your cheek. “Tell me what else.”

“I burned my risotto,” you sniffle. “I can't cook for shit.”

Dave wipes a tear away just as it falls from your lashes. On your lower back, you feel his thumb circling the sun of your tattoo. “I know you've got one more in you,” he says softly. “Give it to me.”

You give his chest one feeble shove and push the rest of your anger into him. It fizzles into the air and evaporates. “I’ve had to touch myself all week, and I haven't been able to come.”

He nods, sucking your anger into his bone marrow, assuming control of it, savouring its citrusy taste. His hands cannot grab enough of you, cannot pull you close enough, cannot abscond with the guilt. He will swallow it down and let it bloom in his stomach. He will mend your wounds and grow flowers on the rot. He will take every blackened piece of you that resents him and replace it with sunlight.

He wants to see honey pouring from his fingers when he touches you. He wants to crawl into your velvet skin and warm it from the inside-out.

You should never know what it tastes like to know pain, and he has put the rotting fruit directly between your teeth.

“Have you missed me?” he whispers, pushing it into you, his nose crushed against your throat, his lips leaving scorch marks. Every touch electrifies; you never want to forget how it feels to be this near to him.

You nod your head, threading your fingers through his tousled hair and fixing him to you. He expels a puff of air from his lips, like the first gasp after breaching the water’s surface, and between your bodies, his cock begins to swell against your belly, trapped in his pants. It’s how you realise he’s missed you just as much.

“I’m supposed to treat you nice.” He kisses your neck, the hollow of your throat, urging your chin upward to give him better access. “I’m supposed to make you happy, keep you warm, kill for you.”

“You have killed for me.” Your voice has softened, mellow and still crackling with the aftermath of your meltdown.

“It’s not enough,” he says, gently pushing his palm into your back so your hips roll along his. “You should never lift a finger to keep yourself satisfied. That's my job. I haven't been doing my job, sweet girl. And you're not going to let me off the hook.”

You gasp at the feeling of his hardness on your clit, barely clothed in a scrap of pink lace. Grasping his shoulder, you begin to grind against him, seeking your own pleasure, assisted by his guiding hand.

Dave looks up at you, your lidded eyes and your parted lips, cursing himself for how long he's let this go on. He's been consumed by tracking the remaining Gallos, obsessed with their every move as they go about their business, chasing their destinations before they arrive there. He's being proactive. He's ensuring nobody tries to come after him for revenge.

Despite all he’s done, Dave York’s greatest crime is neglecting his own little green patch of paradise. He's twisted the apple from the tree and left you to assume the weight of the fallout. But he is no Adam.

Your face is buried in his neck as you grind on his erection, making yourself feel good, taking out all your frustrations on his body while he ensures your needy clit gets all the attention it deserves. He watches his crotch gradually darken as you rub your wetness onto him, his teeth grinding for a taste of you. All indication he gives you of his desire is a rhythmic pulse of his hands on your hips.

“Is this enough for you, baby?” he asks, nibbling your earlobe. “Can you come like this?”

You whimper, your shoulders tense under his touch as he slides his hand between the blades. “Need you. Need you inside me. Want you to stretch me out on your big cock.” Your teeth tease his throat and he grunts, bucking up instinctively against your clit. “Wanna be your good girl.”

He knows precisely what your body is telling him, the way you melt into him, wiggle your hips down on his erection. “Wanna forget?” he says. “Wanna let go, sweetheart?”

You pull away and look into his dark eyes, the tick of his jaw, the uncompromising way he holds you firm against him. “Am I a fable?” you ask, cupping the back of his neck, your voice sweet and soft.

He drops your forehead down to his. “You’re more than anyone has words for.”

Language does not suit you. Language diminishes and classifies. It cannot identify the radiance that he sees emitting from you, nor the precise colour of your eyes.

“Not even Icarus?” you whisper, your voice breaking into a half-sob, half-mirthless laugh. “Not Sisyphus? Not Anne or Persephone?”

“Those are stories,” says Dave. “We don't need stories.”

“Because this is real?” Your hands, warm and soft on his skin, sunspots.

He takes your hand and removes your engagement ring, only to slide it back onto your finger.

“Because this is real.”

Your lips ghost over his, resting his restraint. “Then take me to bed, and make it up to me.”

The lights are off in the bedroom. He flicks on the lamps on the nightstands because he wants to see the light shift over your body. Dave begins slowly, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and yanking his tie loose, backing you toward the bed.

He hums when he crowds your space, dipping his head to inhale your sweet perfume and pressing soft kisses to the unwavering warmth of your skin. Your collar bones jut out as your breathing shudders, your heart kicking up at his gentle treatment.

“So soft,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, hands bunching the fabric of your little nightgown. His lips leave warm imprints on your throat, your shoulders, soothing the tension in your bones and letting your body deflate. Closing your eyes, you roll your head back to let him litter your neck with kisses. “So beautiful. Should never have let you go alone so long. Should be fucked properly, every goddamn day.”

You moan softly when he sucks at the spot under your ear, and Dave puts his hands on your lower back, steadying you while he walks you against the bed. Your knees hit the edge and nearly give out, but he's there to catch you. “Arms up,” he says. You obey, your nipples stiff through the silk, your body shivering as Dave lifts the shift over your head and exposes your body to the cool breeze blowing in through the open window.

“Do you want control tonight?” he asks you. He's gazing down at you, eyes black with desire, withheld action. You shake your head, and he smirks, his hand cupping the back of your neck. “I know, sweet girl. I know what you need. Hold out your hands.”

He lifts the tie from around his neck and slips the fabric around your wrists. Twice, three times it loops, until you can't pry your hands apart, and Dave gives them a gentle tug. “On the bed,” he says.

Obedience shapes your stride, your eyes liquid, pretty pink panties blooming with a dark wet spot. You shuffle backward on the mattress with your hands bound in front of you, kneeling with your knees tucked beneath you. Dave admires the picture for a moment, removing his watch, his shoes, setting the silver Cartier band on the nightstand. You glow in this light, flushed with arousal and want and the slight desperation that accompanies a week without sex. His perfect, beautiful, spoiled girl, tied up like a gift all for him. But this time, it’s not about him.

Rubbing your thighs together, you watch him stalk his way around the bed, your body gently leaning toward him. Subconscious: the pull toward him. Your need is becoming fierce, hot and tight in your stomach, tensing your body. He stares, tilting his head to the side. A sculpture of marble, carefully moulded to impeccable likeness. He will smooth over the accumulated cracks, restore the vision, preserve you for centuries to come. People will write stories, paint murals, compose music. All will sing the song of you.

He’s at your side now, clicking his tongue and giving you more directions. Arms up, pretty girl. Hold onto the headboard. You follow, your body stretching out like a lounging cat, and he loops the remaining fabric of his tie through the slats. He checks in (Too tight?) and you can only lick your lips, push out your chest: Please touch me.

Dave hums in acknowledgement, kneeling on the bed between your bare legs and lifting your ankle to his mouth. The soft kisses to the bone make you shiver. There is no reprieve from his gaze; it captures you from all corners of the room. He gets off on holding all the power. You know he does, the bastard. But it feels so good to let your body melt into the mattress, no longer in charge of your own pleasure, giving him the space he needs to make amends.

Dave York apologises with his body. You can forgive with yours, too.

You sigh, your eyes drooping, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses all the way up your leg, hooking it up over his shoulder when he gets to the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. “Mmm,” you manage, the press of his lips somehow more vibrant without the reciprocity, without your hands greedily grabbing for him. He’s indulging, tasting you the way he hasn’t in a week, closing his eyes as his teeth graze your veins. You’re sweet and honeyed and he’s so fucking stupid for letting himself get consumed by anything else.

He buries his face so fully into the meat of your thigh that it crushes his nose, and you gasp at the feeling of him sucking the blood to the surface. “Dave.”

He grunts, nipping his way to your pussy, clothed by a wet little scrap of lace. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose against your thigh, imparting his scent once more.

Whimpering, you shake your head. You want to see him eat your pussy, his big brown eyes as he locks them to you. But Dave bites your thigh and you squeak. “Don’t make me blindfold you, sweet girl.”

Reluctantly, you squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing the pull to disobey, to watch. Dave’s mouth does not find your pussy right away. He starts over again, kissing all the way down your other leg. You make a halfhearted noise of bewilderment, and he shushes you, ignoring the insistent dig of your heel into his back and continuing to make you squirm.

Once his warm, wet mouth finishes lavishing attention on your other thigh, he departs once more, earning a frustrated whine of his name. “Mmm, needy,” he says, watching the way you push your tits toward the sound of his voice, your hips canting toward the press of his mouth. Dave sits back on his haunches between your thighs, caressing your hips as he admires the faint sheen of sweat on your body from all your fruitless exertion. “Being such a good girl, keeping your eyes closed like I told you, even though you’re mad at me.”

“Please, honey,” you beg, trying to pull him closer. “Baby, please. Let me feel you.”

Fuck, he's missed this. He’s missed your pleas, your soft body wrapped around him, the world outside dissipating to white noise. He's missed being called things like honey and baby when neither of them should apply. He's missed being your pleasure.

You tug against your restraints as Dave lowers himself in front of your pussy, a long, low whine escaping your mouth. “Just a taste,” he says, as if to himself. His hands squeeze your thighs, and his eyes flicker up toward you, your gaze still shuttered. “Just let me kiss it better.”

You writhe when he licks your clit through your panties, tasting the tang of the wet spot. “Nnnh,” is vaguely what he hears from your lips.

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Just relax. Make you feel good.” He hooks his finger in your panties and pulls them aside, licking a slow stripe through your slit. You shudder, resisting the urge to open your eyes.

You're so fucking wet, so warm and supple under his tongue, that he grinds his hips into the mattress to relieve the ache in his pants. Jesus, he’s a real asshole for neglecting this all week. He thinks about you touching yourself until you cry out in frustration and fall asleep unsatisfied, alone, and he hates himself. He’s jealous of your fingers for touching what he hasn't. Fuck—this is his job. This is his calling.

Dave wraps his arms around your thighs, securing them over his wide shoulders, keeping you spread open for him. You can’t escape this way, though you make an effort to wriggle your hips under his mouth. He doesn't let you, splaying his palm over your lower belly. The pressure sparks white on your eyelids.

Dave licks you again, building the delicious tautness in your core, his tongue slow and assured. He takes his time, knowing you can't touch him, guide him, grab his hair. Seeing your body like this has him leaking into his pants: your tits pushing out as your chest heaves, your eyes closed and your head tossed back, wrists bound to the headboard. Your engagement ring shimmers whenever you flex your hands. There is no belonging for Dave if it isn’t here, between your legs.

His tongue eases your folds apart until your pussy is slathered in his saliva, your needy pearl awaiting his attention. He groans at the sound of your soft moan when he presses a kiss to your clit. Dave leaves your mouth, velvety and pitiful. Please…

His dick twitches in his pants and he delves instinctively, holding you tighter, sucking your clit into his mouth. You cry out sharply, the pleasure striking your bones. Your heart is skittering and your hips ache, and there is no reprieve from the way he fixes his mouth to you, willingly drowning in your body.

His hands feel like they're everywhere. Hands tied and eyes closed, your remaining senses are notched up high, his fingers on your skin prickling the hair at the back of your neck, his cologne poisoning your blood, the languid drags of his tongue resonating all the way up to your brain. Dave’s hand leaves your belly and slides up to your breast, kneading you like dough as he crushes his nose to your clit and licks into your hole.

“Oh! Fuck!” Dave pinches your nipple, tasting you deeply and leisurely. Your brows are drawn together in the middle, your lips parted around his name or total gibberish. Panting, sweating, begging—

His shoulders surge forward, your thighs bending back toward your chest, and you feel something prod your hole. You gasp, feeling him breach your entrance, collecting your wetness onto his fingers. He grunts against your clit when you clench around him, but he doesn't stay inside your cunt for long.

“Dave!” you cry out as you feel his finger circle your puckered asshole. “Oh, my…”

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit. “Gonna make you feel good.”

His deep, rumbling voice helps you relax, your body melting for him. You’re safe in his hands. He’s good to you. He always will be.

You choke at the first intrusion, your heels digging into Dave’s back as his finger stretches you out, lubricated by your own wetness. He rears back slightly to watch himself push inside you, only to spit a glob of saliva straight onto your asshole. You mewl like a goddamn cat and the sound goes straight to his dick.

He shuffles onto his knees and hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, shucking it off and away so he can pull out his hard cock. Your hand bucks against the finger that’s opening up your asshole, the sound of the metal belt buckle hitting the floor striking your skull.

“Open your eyes,” he says, easing you onto your side and hauling your leg up against his chest. “Watch me take you like this.”

You blink your eyes open, blinded briefly by the spots of yellow lamplight, only to find him looming over you, two fingers now stuffing your asshole and his leaking dick resting on your puffy clit. “Please,” you sob, “fuck me. Fill me up, Dave, please. I need it so badly, I’ll die.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, guiding the head of his cock through your wet slit, coming away glistening. “My poor spoiled girl. Hasn't been touched for a week. I’ll touch you enough for a fuckin' lifetime. Now, behave for me, and scream.”

Your fingers flex as he slips the head inside you, and you hide your face in your arm, biting your own flesh. Dave growls, displeased, guiding his hips forward until he’s balls-deep inside you. Your resulting moan pitches high, your stomach tensing as if you're trying to keep him inside, keep him flush to you the way he is now. Dave’s fingers slowly thrust inside your ass at the same pace, establishing rhythm. You can't breathe. You can't think.

“Look. At. Me,” he says through gritted teeth, his hips punching hard into your thigh with every thrust, kissing your womb with your leg lifted high on his chest. “You look at me when I fuck you.”

You choke on your moans, your body shifting up the bed as he takes you hard and deep, struggling to meet his gaze through your bleary eyes. But he seems satisfied, enjoying the cock-drunk look on your face, baring his teeth and grinding deep inside your cunt.

“Yeah, baby, you like that,” he says, keeping your ass nice and stuffed with two fingers, filling you the way you deserve to be filled. “You like having both your holes filled, hmm, pretty girl? You like me stretching out your tight little ass?”

“Ngggh, yes! Yes! Oh, God, it feels so good!” You curl your fingers around the headboard. “I’m so close, I’m… you're gonna make me…”

He knows—can feel the pulsing rhythm of your pussy trying to suck him deeper, the instinct to pull the cum out of his balls. “Get my dick nice and wet, baby. Gotta keep it warm inside your tight ass. Come for me.”

His filthy words have your eyes rolling back, your leg kicking out as you come, fucked sideways and held up only by his hands and the tie around your wrists. He groans at the feeling of how tightly you squeeze him, your thighs trembling around him, soft flesh giving way to pleasure, to his touch. He fucks you gently through it, letting you come down, your asshole suffocating his fingers while your pussy soaks his length

“Thaaaat’s it,” he says, littering kisses all over your calf, wherever he can reach. “My beautiful girl.”

“It feels so good,” you whimper, wiggling your hips against him. “‘m so full.”

“That's right,” he says softly, giving your inner thigh a playful smack. Your body jolts, butter under his touch. “That what you needed, honey?”

“More, please,” you croak. Dave’s heart knocks against his ribs at how fucking sweet you look; eyes pleading, sweat glistening on your brow, lips forming a cute little pout that has him following your orders without thinking.

He pulls out of you, hard cock still bobbing, coated in your juices, and gently removes his fingers from your asshole to open the nightstand for the lube. When he’s behind you again, Dave shucks off his shirt, now stained with the efforts of his exertion, and manhandles you onto your knees.

You squeak, your chest dipping until it's smushed into the mattress, unable to hold yourself up thanks to your bound hands. Dave admires the shape of your back as it bows, bending over you to nip at the tattoo between its dimples.

The cool sting of the lube on your tight hole has you squirming, but Dave runs his hand up and down your hip while the other spreads the gel around your rim, dipping three fingers inside once more to keep you spread wide.

Here's the problem: Dave is big. His girth is impressive and his length equally so, ridged with veins, curved slightly to the left when it gets hard. Now that it is hard, you get a little worried that he won’t fit—and then you get more than a little determined to make sure it fits.

“Relax,” he says into your skin, kissing your tattoo before he rises, removing his slick fingers from your ass. You try, closing your eyes and focusing on the gentle caress of your hip, but when the tip prods your hole and wrenches it open, forming a tight seal that’s as unrelenting as it is pleasurable, you gasp, gooey and clicking with drool. He’s much, much bigger than three fingers.

“Oh, God.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know it’s big. Breathe, nice and slow. You’re gonna feel so good. Gonna fuckin’ beg for it.”

His hand smooths over your back, your tattoo, now your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can watch himself disappear inside you. The sound that comes from your throat is strangled, and Dave isn’t much better, chest heaving, temple dripping with sweat, restraining himself to avoid hurting you. But—

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says through his teeth, slapping your ass just to get some of his own frustration out. “Fuck, baby. You were fuckin’ made for me.”

��Mmmmm,” you say, your body keening, ass pushing against him and back arching. “Fuck me like you mean it, Mr. York. Make it up to me.”

Dave York does not back down from a challenge, not when it comes from your mouth. “Mrs. York,” he murmurs, grinding his hips against your ass. “Tell me you love me.”

“Earn it,” is your reply.

He fucking will.

Dave pulls halfway out of you and fits himself back in, earning a gurgled moan from your mouth, half-hidden into the pillows. He’s not going to last long like this, but he has never once come before you during sex, and he will not earn your forgiveness by starting now. Not that you’re making it easy, the way your tight asshole squeezes him, sucks him in, begging to be filled.

My back is gonna fucking smart tomorrow, he thinks, snapping his hips hard against your ass and holding you fast to him, impaled on his dick. You’re dripping onto the mattress beneath you, and you only know this because you can feel it dribbling down your own thighs. Dave fucks you like an animal in heat, his legs bracketing your hips, one strong arm sliding around your front to keep you supported as the rest of you crumbles.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You have heard this many times before. It’s how he checks in, gauges your comfort, makes adjustments as necessary. Only, now, you can’t speak for long enough to tell him; your teeth are bearing down on the bed sheets, your nose crushed to the mattress, the delicious drag of his cock inside your tight hole so blissfully overwhelming that speech flees your tangible skills.

You don’t even care that you can’t touch him. All you seek now is ruin.

The tone of his voice, soft and dark as the roll of tires over the road at nighttime, spills down your spine. “Oh, baby. Want me to fuck you stupid? Is that what you want, sweet girl?” Wordlessly, you nod, managing not even a whimper. Dave licks his teeth, his fingers as your clit, and begins to pound you so hard that the bed rocks.

It’s so good that nothing matters except for your orgasm. You get selfish and greedy and your cunt closes around nothing, your asshole gaping and accommodating the thick fucking cock inside, your fingers flexing uselessly, wrists bound, for a taste of something to grab when it finally happens.

You gasp, choke, swallowing stones, dirt, linen, too much, harder, cologne, you’re coming, it’s too much, Dave, cool night breeze, heralding fall, open windows, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m—

You cannot tell if your orgasm ends at all, or if he’s pulling more, more, from your body, but he begins to come, too, and it doesn’t matter because fuck, it feels so good. You feel every pulse of his cock as it pumps, pumps, pumps, filling you up, Dave growling like a fucking bear above you. Hips buck into your ass even though he cannot physically push any deeper, and his teeth sink into your throat as his body covers yours. It’s clear he needed this orgasm, too, and you take it happily, his hot cum shooting into your used asshole and none of it spilling over the tight seal that connects your bodies.

He collapses on top of you, rapidly frees your wrists from their confines, then heaves himself off to the side, his mouth on your shoulder all the way along, his big arm tucking around your waist. He keeps his cock tucked inside you, spilling its last few drops, pulling you both onto your sides, your back meeting his sweat-slick chest.

You toy with his fingers while his nose carves a path from your throat to your jawline, his mouth following. “I love your hands,” you whisper, your voice too raw still. “Love watching you write and type. They look so good inside me.”

“Fucked you stupid,” he declares, burying his face in your neck. You can feel the gradual ebb of his heartbeat against your back as he relaxes using your body. “You feel okay?”

“I feel really fucking good,” you tell him, letting your head rest against the pillow. “And I do love you.”

Dave gently nibbles your throat as if in reproach. “Don’t go forgiving me because I made you come,” he says grumpily. “Gotta earn it, remember?”

You reach back and scratch your nails against his scalp, which has him melting into you, sounds of idle pleasure leaving his pouty mouth. “Love isn’t a transaction,” you say. “It’s love because it’s a little bit unruly. I’m always going to love you, even when you fuck up. It’s about you loving me enough to make sure it never hurts for too long.”

“Hurting you,” says Dave, squeezing your fingers, “is not in the cards for me.”

His destiny is the opposite.

“You are never going to get complacent in this marriage. Do you understand me?” You thread your fingers through his and let him rub circles over your diamond ring. “If there is something you have to fix, you’ll tell me. This isn’t a guardianship. It’s a partnership.”

Dave nods, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I promise, baby, to earn your love every single day. And I promise to bother the shit out of you constantly, even when you don’t want me around. I’ll follow you around like a puppy dog.”

You laugh, tugging on his hair. “We’ll work on it.”

DECEMBER

He’s searching through his desk for a file he needs to send Kovac, a bit frantic and frustrated because he’s got a date, and of course the file fucking disappears thirty seconds before the cars pulls up outside.

As he rifles through old documents, his peripheral catches something he tucked away long ago. Eyeing the list of crossed-out names, Dave trails his finger down each one, smirking. A job done. Another, and another—

He pauses. He most certainly did not make that pen mark; it’s a straight line of hot pink ink over the very last name of the list.

Dave York.

“Honey? Are you ready?” calls a sweet siren’s voice from the other side of the door.

Dave drags his finger across the name. The ink has been dry for a long time.

He shuts the desk drawer and leaves without the file he needs. It can wait.

He’s got better things to do.

THE END.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york #pedro pascal fic #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york x reader #equalizer 2

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blue-kyber · 1 year

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What does "To be on cloud 9" mean? Where did it come from?

omg...... I just learned something new and cool that most meteorologists already know. This Ted Talk video I clicked on this morning out of curiosity is what did it to me.

Do you want to fly and touch a cloud? ME, TOO!!! :D

"To be on cloud 9" means to be "on top of the world" or "incredibly happy."

Want to know why? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya do ya do ya?

*affectionately shoves your face into science*

This comes from the cloud naming system created in the 1800's by Luke Howard, (wikipedia.com)

A nervous nerd who daydreamed in class (was he part of our ADHD or autistic tribe?).

He came to identify 7 types of clouds within 3 major classifications of clouds (cirrus, cumulus, and stratus).

These names come from Latin.

Cirrus = "hair" or "tendril"

Cumulus = "pile" or "heap"

Stratus = "sheet" or "layer"

The 4 types he discovered within those main three categories are cirrocumulus, cirrostratus, stratocumulus, and cumulostratus. Because he saw that clouds changed constantly.

There are 10 variations of cloud types (the video says 11) within these three main categories today. (separated by low lying clouds - 3km and below, middle - 9km to 3km, and high - 12km to 9km) Here he come--

(This next part is a ramble about me. You can scroll past this)

This is something we all learn in grade school science class... or at least I did when I was hyperfixated on weather after "Twister" came out and I wanted to be a storm chaser.

I also had a light crush on Bill Harding (played by Bill Paxton - RIP) because I thought he could sense the weather with the Force or something. I was 11, undiagnosed ADHD with autism, neurodivergent, had 1 friend, got bullied constantly from multiple sources, was ugly, wore glasses, not skinny, and needed an escape. The sky, clouds, sci-fi, fantasy, and space were it. Escapism is a major part of my life. Gimme a break.

I've known the names of the clouds for most of my life, but couldn't remember much of their origin, just that I could identify about 75% of what was up. I've always loved storms. I used to play hide and seek from thunder whenever I'd see lightning since I was 5, because I knew sound followed light, and laugh at the game. That's never changed. I, as a full grown adult, still do that when there's a rare storm where I live.

Anyway...

THE QUESTION YOU WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO.....

WHERE IN THE VOID DOES THE IDIOM "TO BE ON CLOUD 9" COME FROM?????

The 9th type of cloud is identified as a cumulonimbus thunder cloud - (Piling Tower) at the top of a thunderstorm. This is created by updrafts. To me, it always looked like an explosion over a storm.

"Being on cloud 9" means "being on top of the world" because THIS GIGACHAD IS THE TALLEST CLOUD IN THE ENTIRE SKY.

Now you know. :)

SCIENCE!!

#science side of tumblr #clouds #colloquialisms #popular sayings #cloud 9 #cumulonimbus thunder cloud #is the 9th identified type of cloud in the sky.#It's the tallest.#The more you know #science #weather #meteorology #a lesson in clouds I didn't mean to give.#I just wanted to say where the idiom of cloud 9 came from.#But here we are.#luke howard

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chipika · 3 months

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Monkeys Observation Diary

Gojo/reader/Geto

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

——Matthew 7:15

01-Monkeys Observation Diary

From a young age, you have enjoyed observing others.

You always notice details that others wouldn't, such as someone subconsciously touching their nose when feeling uncomfortable, the slight upward turn of the corner of someone's mouth when lying, the lack of genuine laughter in someone's eyes, which appear stagnant like a still pool.

When you were a kid, you would often accompany your parents to various parties and gatherings. In these grand occasions with many distinguished guests, people seemed lively and immersed in an atmosphere of nobility and joy. However, most of the conversations revolved around trivial matters. Adults liked to showcase their wealth through subtle details, such as prestigious watches, lapel pins, and tie clips (truly wealthy individuals never flaunt their wealth ostentatiously; that's something only nouveau riche would do). Children, on the other hand, were more direct. They would babble about the new and exciting toys their parents bought for them, and then another child would claim that their new toy was more expensive than the one mentioned before, leading to a competition of whose parents purchased the pricier toy. Essentially, adults and children are the same at their core. One could even say that children are a reflection of their parents, as they unconsciously learn from their parents' behavior and replicate it when interacting with others, especially peers. Whether adults or children, they all find joy in showcasing their status, reputation, and wealth. Ultimately, they seek validation from others to establish their self-identity. Their entire belief system is built upon gaining recognition from others, and this is what we call vanity.

It's not just the wealthy; you notice that most people are this way.

People always believe that the image they present to the outside world is more important than their true selves. They place great emphasis on others' opinions and strive tirelessly to receive praise, even if the end result may not align with their expectations. Ultimately, this stems from their own self-doubt, which is rooted in human nature's ignorance. In reality, the majority of people in society are dirty, despicable, shameless, base, arrogant, greedy, and lazy, always seeking trouble where there is none. The remaining few pretend to be "untainted by the mud" but may secretly be even more base and arrogant. They create their own clique, characterized by hypocrisy.

Similar behavior can be observed among chimpanzees, although their behavior is more primitive. A group of chimpanzees is ruled by the most mature and powerful male individual, establishing a social hierarchy from the highest-ranking ("alpha male") to the lowest. The dominant male carefully establishes and maintains his position within the hierarchy, primarily through displays of power, such as baring his teeth, pounding tree trunks, shaking branches, and throwing large rocks. Lower-ranking males and females usually respond with submissive and appeasing gestures to confirm their position. Even the contests between males for dominance can be seen as displays of prowess, as both sides try to impress the other with their strength without resorting to physical combat, until one side concedes in a submissive posture. However, in rare cases, these struggles are decided through physical fights, where battles involve beating, kicking, and biting, often resulting in severe injuries or even death. From this, it is evident that humans and chimpanzees are fundamentally the same, although they display their behaviors differently.

You discover that everything people wholeheartedly, tirelessly, and against all odds strive to pursue ultimately boils down to seeking the praise and admiration of others. Positions, titles, wealth, and social status are all just means to gain more respect from others. In this aspect, humans are as foolish as chimpanzees. It is a weakness in human nature, perhaps a result of civilization and social evolution. After all, humans are social beings and naturally seek the approval of others within the group. This emotion can be considered a powerful tool for those who wish to control others. Among various methods of "shaping" individuals, maintaining and reinforcing a sense of honor hold significant positions.

To verify this idea, you once conducted an experiment. You chose a male classmate from the same primary school as you, similar in age but a few months older. He came from a comfortable middle-class family, with both parents working as white-collar professionals. Though not particularly wealthy, they lived a decent life. There was no specific reason for selecting him as the subject of your experiment, except that he had once lent you an eraser during an exam.

The experiment was straightforward. You continually showered him with unrealistic praises. For example, if he achieved good grades in a test, you would compliment him on how smart he was, even better than you. In reality, you deliberately performed poorly on the test and asked for his guidance, creating an illusion that he was superior to you. Slowly, he started to believe that he was indeed a genius, while you appeared to be dependent on him, incapable of anything.

When the actual exam came, you scored a perfect grade while his score was lower than yours. Seeing someone he considered inferior outperform him, he fell into self-doubt and frustration. At that moment, you consoled him, saying it was just a fluke and that he would surely do better next time. However, his performance remained consistently poor in subsequent exams.

After experiencing repeated failures, his confidence suffered severe blows. It was then that you told him, "Perhaps this is as far as your abilities go," completely negating the "genius" persona you had built for him. His entire belief system was destroyed by your words.

Later, he stopped coming to school, and you didn't know what happened to him. You only heard from his mother that he seemed to be facing mental issues, not speaking anymore, becoming a complete wreck.

After this, you made another friend, but you didn't conduct the same experiment on him because you had already successfully validated your idea, and there was no need for another experiment. This friend was naive and obedient in nature, while you, deep down, harbored a tyrannical streak. You wanted to control his soul without any restraint, to mold him into what you desired. However, as soon as he obediently followed your lead, you immediately began to resent him and pushed him away. You loved his compliance, but at the same time, you hated it. You wanted him to be subservient to you, yet you also wanted him to disobey you. Yes, the process of shaping him was interesting, but the outcome was utterly boring. If he had eventually bitten back at you, you would have been even more delighted.

However, later on, you encountered someone fascinating – someone more genuine than anyone you had met before. He never concealed his thoughts and was truly consistent in his words and actions. In fact, he saw through your facade the first time you met him. That person was Gojo Satoru, the pride of the Gojo Family, the wielder of the Six Eyes, and someone who had been worth billions on his head since birth.

You met Gojo Satoru at a gathering when you were both kids. Your initial impression of him was that, like you, he was a loner. He disregarded the flattery of adults and didn't play with children of his age. He sat alone, playing with his Game Boy, emanating an aura that set him apart from everyone else. In short, he was an outsider.

Throughout the entire event, the only outsiders were Gojo and you. However, unlike him, you didn't isolate yourself with an air of superiority. To maintain good interpersonal relationships, you still participated in necessary social activities. Whatever you were thinking, as long as you played the role assigned to you by society, you could peacefully see off each day.

When facing others, you would put on a smile, accompanied by appropriate body language, while suppressing your own emotions and feelings, compressing your own space entirely. This way, you could expand the other person's space until it enveloped yours. Only then could they accept you, trust you. Everyone wants to be seen, heard, and valued, and you used this to manipulate others, but it was difficult for them to perceive it.

On normal days, no matter who you talked to, you would wear a smile, but deep inside, there was no joy. Gojo saw through this the first time he spoke to you. Nobody else had seen through your act, but Gojo had. At that time, you speculated that maybe his Six Eyes could even see through people's hearts.

"Can you stop smiling? Your fake smile is disgusting."

Gojo suddenly approached you, his expression void of emotion as he spoke. You thought he must be mocking you internally, just like how you mocked others.

Since then, you two would occasionally exchange a few words. Although this can't even be called a "friendship," only when chatting with Gojo, you don't have to disguise your expression. If it were someone else, they would surely wonder why you have a poker face. But Gojo is different; in front of him, your expressionless face is forgiven.

Perhaps for the same reason, he chose you as his chat partner when he's bored.

You thought you might want to transform him into the image you desire, but you didn't. He is already perfect, exactly the way you want him to be – he despises his surroundings, proudly detaching himself from this environment entirely. Moreover, he is the first person to see through your mask, and he unhesitatingly tears it apart. He is the person you have been searching for, a perfect subject of your observation.

And his eyes, oh, you love his blue eyes, which resemble the sky stretching infinitely into the distance. If he ever chooses to leave you, there's no telling whether you would dig out his eyes and preserve them in a glass jar for your solitary admiration.

Gojo is someone who enjoys eating sweets, to the point of an abnormal obsession. Since he has no other chat buddies besides you, he often drags you along to eat desserts, sometimes even going to several places in a single day. In the end, he becomes the only one eating the sweets, while you serve as a mere companion. It doesn't bother you, though. For you, it's an opportunity to observe Gojo up close, and for him, it's having someone to accompany him. It's a win-win situation, and you don't see anything wrong with it. After all, in the end, you both are just utilizing each other to satisfy your own desires.

Towards the end of winter vacation, Gojo called you out again. You went to Shinjuku, where various shops lined the bustling streets. The clear sky, trimmed by the scenery and tree of the street, glowed with a mysterious and distinct radiance. You could feel the apricity on your head. But besides the sun, you could also sense two intense gazes. These gazes were not the casual glances of passersby but rather the kind that stuck to you like goldfish droppings, or rather, stuck to Gojo.

The thought of the subject you were observing being observed by others stirred up a muddy emotion deep within you. However, you still spoke in a cold and indifferent tone, saying, "Looks like someone has their eyes on you, Satoru." Since Gojo call you by your first name, you also referred to him as "Satoru" (Note: In Japan, it's customary to use someone's first name directly only when you have a close relationship).

"I know." Gojo responded nonchalantly. Then, he suddenly stopped walking, glanced at a building behind him, and turned back, clicking his tongue. "What are those small fry staring at?"

At that very moment, those gazes disappeared.

"They're probably assassins looking to claim a reward using your head." you said.

"From your tone, it seems like you're finding joy in someone else's misfortune?"

"Not at all," you replied, "If even someone like me can sense their presence, it just proves that they're nothing more than that level. I know you won't be killed by those kinds of people, without a doubt."

Gojo let out a disdainful snort. "Why are even you starting to flatter me?"

"It's not what you think," you shook your head. "I genuinely believe you're strong, a person who's perfect in everything except for your personality."

He pouted in dissatisfaction. "What do you mean by that last statement, you bastard?!"

"Am I wrong?" you tilted your head and asked, looking at him.

Your words left Gojo speechless. Seemingly aware of his own shortcomings, so hedidn't respond to you.

Then, the two of you fell silent for a while and slowly entered a café on the upper floor of a building. It was lunchtime, and the café was bustling with customers. The staff were busy, but they still managed to find you and Gojo a window seat. As soon as you sat down, Gojo didn't even glance at the menu and ordered a caramel banana waffle with Hokkaido milk ice cream.

"Do you come here often?" you curiously asked.

He chuckled. At this moment, the usually mature young man showed an expression befitting his age. "First time here, but I looked up information online beforehand. The caramel banana waffle with Hokkaido milk ice cream here is delicious."

"You really came prepared." you said as you picked up the menu and looked at it.

The menu was handwritten, and based on the handwriting, there was a good chance it was written by a girl. Moreover, the menu had a spray of lavender-scented perfume.

"I'll have a French apple pie with vanilla ice cream, please." you smiled slightly at the female waitress.

"Sure, please wait a moment." the waitress replied with a smile and then walked away.

Gojo looked at you, raising his eyebrows slightly, displaying a look of surprise. "Your fake smile has improved," he remarked.

You laughed. "Are you praising me or mocking me?"

"A bit of both." he said. "But I've always wondered why you always try to please others. Do you really want to fit in with them? Yet deep down, you clearly look down on them, don't you?"

So, look like I'm being observed, you thought. But you didn't feel offended at all; instead, you found it intriguing. You wanted to know what conclusions Gojo had drawn from observing you.

"Why do you think that?" you countered.

Gojo frowned impatiently. "I'm the one asking you questions! Didn't your teacher teach you not to answer a question with a question?"

"I'm emulating Socrates. Wasn't he fond of using questioning to guide students to find answers?" you replied.

"Stop babbling and answer my question."

"If you continue like this, no girl will ever like you, you know?"

"I don't care if anyone likes me," Gojo turned his head away, muttering, "I don't like anyone else either."

Although he said so, you still noticed a hint of melancholy on his face. While he may not be aware of it, deep inside, he desires to be liked and loved. After all, he's still just a child, at an age where he needs affection. The love he seeks is not the love given by his family, not the love that stems from being the Six Eyes' bearer; it's the love given because he is Gojo Satoru. This is the conclusion you've reached after months of observing Gojo Satoru and his family. It's the imperfection that inadvertently revealed itself after getting to know Gojo Satoru.

The atmosphere seemed to call for a good performance.

"To be honest, I quite like you." you said with a serious expression.

Upon hearing your words, Gojo expressed a look of disgust, his once handsome face wrinkling. "That's so gross."

You locked eyes for a moment, then burst into laughter simultaneously. The surrounding customers cast strange glances at you, but you paid no attention, laughing heartily in your chairs.

"To be honest," Gojo laughed so hard he couldn't catch his breath, tears streaming down his cheeks, "I can't imagine you liking anyone, even me. The person you would like must be a weirdo."

"So, this is how you perceive me? Truly disappointing." you shook your head. "I genuinely like you, you know."

"Who are you trying to fool?" Gojo said, wiping away his tears and winking at you. "Weren't you just asking me why I think you try to fit into other people's circles when deep down, you clearly look down on them? It's because I've seen the pain in your eyes when you talk to others."

"Pain?" you asked.

"That's right." he nodded. "The first time I saw you, I thought you were strange. You gave me a sense of disharmony."

"Hm. Is that so?" you said thoughtfully.

"Then tell me, why do you torment yourself like this? Are you a masochist?" he joked.

"Shut up." you laughed. "I'm not torturing myself, and I don't have any intention of fitting in with them. I simply believe that the smartest way to live is to disdain the trends of that era while still living within their boundaries."

Gojo silently gazed at you for a while, then dramatically sighed, spreading his hands and saying, "I really can't understand you."

You smiled and said nothing.

You had never thought of making Gojo understand you, nor had you ever thought of making anyone understand you. If one day the people around you found out that you were a cold, merciless person, how difficult would it be to continue living? In comparison to the present, which situation would be more lonely? You pondered, realizing that there probably wouldn't be much of a difference.

As you contemplated this question, the waiter brought your meals to the table.

#anime #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #geto suguru #geto x reader #lobotomy kaisen #i need a trepanation #SoundCloud

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