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yinyuedijun · 28 days

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Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

#aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr smut #aventurine smut #lol it isnt really smut but it is nsft i suppose #nsft #yueshuo.fics

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shadowfoxsilver · 1 month

Text

Some quick tips to spotting accounts that are pretending to be a Palestinian needing mutual aid. Please keep in mind that not all of them are scam accounts, and that some may legitimate blogs who just aren’t too knowledgeable on how tumblr works. This guide is based around what I go by when checking certain blogs and usually it’s a quick giveaway the blog is a scam.

1. You was sent the ask as someone who regularly shares Palestine related content such as regular news updates of posts by other Palestinians who are regularly giving updates. You may also get these asks from sharing a popular post that is from the Palestine tag. If you post often about Palestine, you will always start getting these asks. These askers don’t care if you state don’t send the asks. They will anyway. Unfortunately minors also get sent asks.

2. The ask has odd formatting such as having odd quotation marks in it or unusual formatting that may indicate it’s been edited and copied from somewhere else. Often the ask is the same thing as the post itself minus a link to a donation site. These asks rarely change so searching it should pull up if it’s been sent to other bloggers.

3. The account is almost always a few days old or a week old or long depending on how often they have sent asks.

4. The blog has a few Palestine related posts or posts from random tags reblogged to pad out length and then no more. They will have no original posts besides the pinned post while occasionally answering asks that they may have received but otherwise nothing else and no further updates given either.

5. They may have a Linktree link that is called “GoFundMe” as if indicating they have a GoFundMe there. However, they don’t. When clicked on, the Linktree actually goes to a PayPal account whose name may not even match the one their supposed name is. They’ll say it’s a friend, but it’s just the same person not someone else. You’ll see this same name across multiple accounts after a while usually giving away it’s not legitimate even under a different theme.

6. The text used by the blogs are often real stories stolen from legitimate fundraisers and searching parts of it in your preferred search engine should pull up the sources. These sources make no mention of a tumblr account either or don’t have the PayPal account associated with them in the info. Scammers often impersonate a real person in need and will ignore you if you show them the source they copied from.

7. Legitimate Palestinians often link to their own GoFundMe posts that their friends have set up or post links to other social platforms they are found on. They will regularly post updates when possible, post sources to support them when necessary, and also generally have some method of verifying their legitimacy. They may often share links to support others as well or give links to charities that have been shown as reliable. They will have more original posts than just a single pinned one and regularly speak to other tumblr accounts beyond just an ask. Please don’t bother them with asks about possible scam accounts. There are many guides out there that can do that for you if you search.

8. Scammers don’t know anything about Palestine and will often have trouble once you ask them anything beyond the mutual aid post. They don’t know the languages decently and you can tell it pretty easily if you’re one who uses it regularly. Whatever the scammers use is often just copied off the site they got the post from.

9. These scammers can and will use names stolen off real Palestinians to look more legitimate and trustworthy. They change names constantly once one of their PayPal accounts is shut down.

Please don’t let these scams deter you from sending support where it needs to go. Even if you can’t donate personally, there are other ways to help. If you are sending money, please make sure that it’s going to where it’s needed and the place it’s sent has been verified accordingly. If you find a blog is a scammer, and have been able to prove it, please make sure to alert anyone sharing the post and report the account.

#how to spot a scam blog #scam #Palestine #psa #important info #long post is long

1K notes · View notes

baddiewiththebook · 8 months

Text

ONE OF THE BOYS

-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]

-> a/n originally a one-shot, but I couldn’t help myself and wrote some more!

Part 1 [Part 2]

-> <-

Your heart sinks into the deepest pits of your chest. The tiny inconspicuous hole where no one would ever look. Your spirit lies under the earth, while Eddie lies bricks instead of dirt across your corpse. A quite violent death you have taken on.

“Are you still with us?” Gareth waves a hand in front of your face. Grease slips between his fingers from his two day old burger that your school pretends was freshly slapped on a grill that morning.

You squirm. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Eddie says you could come to practice,” he throws his hand up. “You’re one of the boys!”

Right.

Like someone had thrown water across your face, you slide theatrically to the floor in a puddle of you. Theatrically speaking - of course.

The lunchroom chatter dies in the back of your head like you just did a moment ago. You excuse yourself from the group, while claiming that you have forgotten your exam in the next class period and you should really put in at least a few moments of study time.

Your few moments are actually spent stowing yourself away in the ladies room.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he asked you out!” A girl squeals. “What are you going to wear? Tell me everything!”

You had stopped your self doubting and your eternally ill fading romantic imaginations you came up with while you stare at the dull gaze in your eye behind the dirty spotted bathroom mirror. You should focus on your studies anyway. Failing your senior year of high school, again, was not on your list of to-do's.

Then again, the two girls gossiping were very pretty. You took notes. Hair full and down to her chest in length. The kind of hair Texas wishes they had. Cheeks were plump, and dusted pink with some powder of sorts. Full lips covered in sweet strawberry gloss. You can smell their gloss from just a sink away. That, or perhaps that was their perfume. Sweet and feminine.

“I'm sorry,” one of them notices you staring, while she applies a thick coat of her lip-gloss. 'Strawberry Dream' is what the little label on the tube reads. “Are we being loud?”

“No, no,” you shake your head.

“Okay,” she sings awkwardly, before continuing the conversation her friend had started. “Anyway, Josie, I think we should go shopping for a new outfit. Oh! I - so - need a new gloss. Something sexy!”

“Sexy?” You accidentally slip the words, before you could stop yourself.

The girl cocks her head. “Do you usually eavesdrop?”

Not that they weren’t talking in front of her.

“My bad,” you tug at the ends of your t-shirt. “Erm- you’re trying to impress this boy?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “Do you have some sort of advice?”

Looking you up and down, she spots the stains from your lunch at your chest. Trying not to snort and jeer at your expense, she waits for you to respond. Her cocky tight lipped smile says enough.

“Actually,” you reply. “I- Why don’t you try being yourself? He clearly likes you to ask you out, so maybe you could tone it down?”

“Tone it down?” She frowns. “Like you? Tell me er- girl of some sort- how many dates have you gotten with that fresh out of bed look you wear every single day. You look like a shy boy. Yeah, I see you around. You’re small like a shrimp. You need to be shark in these waters or your going to get your head bitten off. Put on a bra. A low cut top. And, maybe some blush to hide that dead corpse face you wear-,”

“It’s my skin-,”

“When you get a date, then you get an opinion. Got it?”

“Got it,” you zip your lips. What a bitch.

-> <-

Practice, as the group of men slamming poorly synchronized chords together, is held at Gareth’s garage promptly after school. You did not participate in the noise, but rather you sit in a lawn chair onlooking. Fanning yourself with your hands, sweat glistens across your skin like armor.

Your friends finish their set. Eyes on you, you cheer for their noise that will surely draw eyes from the neighborhood. Someone will be by soon to tell the boys to quiet their racket, and to perhaps indulge themselves in a new activity like reading a book. The Book, perhaps.

“You’re getting better,” you propose promisingly.

Eddie nudges your shoulder with a fist on his way to the cooler to grab a cold soda. You pretend like your heart didn’t just stop inside of your chest.

“I told you, guys,” Eddie has been raving to his band mates (and occasional D&D players) that you, his B.F.F., wasn’t going to ruin practice. That just because you might have a new rack and hips hidden underneath this t-shirt wasn’t going to change any dynamic within the group.

They all agreed about this while staring at your ever growing chest and hips. You cover your chest again, before speaking out of turn.

“Are you ever going to preform these songs?” You ask the group.

Eddie’s plush lips touch the bottle his soda came in. Condensation from the glass dripped across his chin and down his neck to the exposed flesh of his chest.

And, they were so worried about you “developing.” Here you are, eyeballing your best friend like you haven’t ever seen him before. Suddenly, you woke up one morning and you were obsessed with him!

It isn’t like that at all. You didn’t know when you began having feelings for your best friend. Somewhere between living next to each other in the trailer park. Sneaking out after your curfew to splash in Lovers Lake (Eddie’s favorite way to wash off his worries). And, the times you tripped over your own clumsiness when Eddie was the first to rescue you. You might have just fallen into his eyes you stared at them so long. Maybe- maybe that’s when something changed.

No more boys and girls - there are men and women. High school changes us - all of us. There’s science behind it all, you suppose. You took health courses, but no scientific explanation could bring you to figure out how you were completely enamored by your best friend.

Your best friend, who is sweating underneath the heat of the garage. Finding himself without options, he strips his shirt.

“Hold this for me,” he says like there’s no issue. Because there was no issue for him, you’re alone in your feelings. Classic.

“Sure,” you fold his shirt up in your lap, while resisting the urge to inhale his scent like a trained dog trying to find a missing person. Or, like an addict getting their fix for the first time in days.

“And, yes,” Eddie announces, before slamming down a new chord. “Come watch us at the Hideout!”

“Really?!”

“Sure,” Gareth speaks for his friend. “If you want.”

“I’ll come,” you ask, “What time?”

“We’ll start setting up around six in the evening, but we’re not set to play until seven,” Eddie explains to you. “Friday.”

You nod. “I’ll be there!”

“Oh, Eddie!” Gareth grabs his attention. “You gonna bring Roxie?”

Roxie Martin? Now, she’s a hot pair of tits in a mini skirt. Full scarlet lips, Rockin’ Roxie, as some people called her, was a She Devil in human skin. Sinking her teeth into her pray, she poisons them with feminine venom. She doesn’t even have to sing them a tune, for men will follow her into the depths of the vast blue ocean without question.

Some just thought she was a slut in heels, though.

Whatever story floats.

Eddie strums a sour note.

“Dude, I’m just teasing,” his friend snickers.

Eddie scolds his friend, then the group of boys begin to slam on their instruments some more.

You sat there for hours watching Eddie slobber over his guitar. Sweat glistened down across his skin. His fingers striking each chord by heart as he did every night. Touching the strings expertly with the tips of his cherry red fingers. He begun feeling sore towards the end of the night, and the guys agree that it would probably be a good opportunity to turn in for the night.

Practice would resume tomorrow.

And you were forever and eternally frustrated.

-> <-

“Robin,” you slouched over the clear candy bowl labeled ‘Free.’ “I need to be a girl.”

Robin jabs away at the keypad of the store computer that is clearly frozen. While she might be renting out videos to people, Robin’s shit with technology.

That gave her more time to ignore her responsibilities, however, and acknowledges to your moping. With an arched brow, she sucks in her lips and she lets them go with a loud pop.

“You are a girl,” she states the obvious, while appearing to look down at your chest. “Or- so I think.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you stuff more candy into your mouth like a starved squirrel just coming out from hibernation. Squirrels hibernate, don’t they? Whatever.

“What ever could you possibly mean?” She props herself up onto her elbows.

There was a time when you were a child that a mean boy kicked dirt on you at the playground. Swooping in like your knight in shining armor, Eddie came to you to brush the dirt from your clothes and to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Feeling outcasted, Eddie surrounded himself in the weaker kids. The kids that enjoy recess sitting on the brick wall of their school, or close by the door to wait for your teachers to let you back inside.

You read books with him during quiet reading because he didn’t know how to keep the letters from mixing together. Eddie would apologize for his hair being frizzy, and all over the place. You thought he was funny looking like that.

Sometimes you wish you could go back to the good old days where your heart didn’t sing in your chest whenever your childhood best friend was near. You wish the aching in your bones would sooth itself instead of feeling fuzzy every time Eddie greeted you at a whisper from behind. That his strong hand touching you like a doll would become friendly again, and less like you want to shove him against the lockers to kiss his pretty face.

You knew better.

Yet, here you are.

Say it had something to do with what happened yesterday. Roxie’s sexy. You want her sexy. Not her. But, just the sexy. And, whoever was in the bathroom was right. You’re much more than a baggy t-shirt and a pair of denim on your legs. You grew up during the summer, and so what if you want to show off a bit. You earned your assets.

“I can’t tell you,” you put out there for Robin to read. “You’ll blab to Steve, and Steve will tell- doesn’t matter.”

You wait for her to speak, but Robin never does. She blinks at you.

“There’s this boy-,”

“A boy?!” Her voice echoes against the furthest most walls.

You wave your hands. “Robin!”

“Go on!”

“I just - I want to grow up a little.”

The jangle of the front door opening broke their conversation apart. There was nothing elegant about Eddie Munson. He slammed his jacket into the stand of desperately rentable tapes. The display wobbled. Swiveled. And, slammed into the floor. The video tapes splattered.

“Dude!” Robin huffs. “I just put those up!”

Eddie scrambles to rescue the mess. “My bad, Robs. You know? You might not want to put these right in front of the walkway. ‘Could get knocked over - see?”

Robin knew Eddie from class. Smart mouth guy with a lot to say about literature. He held a lot in his head, but once he got to a piece of paper, he could just go.

“The usual, Eddie?”

Oh, and he also rented out the same tape once a week for the past three weeks. It was a Rated R film that had a single one minute scene of a nude woman on top of a man she was suffocating. Not with her boobs- with his belt.

Robin snaps back into reality.

“Eh, looking for something new,” he fixed the display, before joining the girls at the register. “Suggestions?”

Robin slams her palm against the monitor. “Stupid thing is still frozen. Oh! Did you hear your little pal has a crush on a boy?”

“Robin!” You cringe. Turning into the wallpaper sounds really nice right about now. Hell, you’ll fix that computer if it gets Robin off the topic of you.

Anyone, she can blab to anyone, but Eddie. Where was Steve when you needed him? Oh, you are so screwed!

“What? It’s just Eddie!”

Just Eddie - yeah, Robin, that’s the problem.

“A crush? On who?” Eddie scoffs out loud.

Your jaw goes agape. “Are you saying I can’t have a crush on someone?”

“No, I just- you’re one of the guys!”

“She can’t be one of the guys forever,” Robin defends you. Perhaps she saw you twitch. “She’s a girl underneath those stains.”

You brush your dirty t-shirt.

“Robin-,”

“What? Whoever this boy is, he’s shit out of luck if he doesn’t see what we all see,” your friend continues.

Eddie teeters his balance back and forth on each foot.

“I’m going to go look for a movie,” he says.

Robin ignores him shuffling into the isles. “I’m just saying if he doesn’t like you back that is his loss. Right?”

You peak around for any sight of Eddie. His frizzy mane is locked onto a movie in the farthest isle.

“Oh my god,” Robin follows your gaze. “Oh my god! This is big- no, huge- I can’t believe before my eyes your friends to lovers trope-,”

“Robin! Hush!” You whisper at a much louder volume than you anticipate.

Yet, here comes Eddie back to the counter without a film in hand. Robin shoots you a glance that screams that she’s about to burst like a toddler who has to pee, but they can’t get their overalls off.

“Can’t find anything?” Robin intertwined her fingers in front of her.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Eddie sighs.

The sound that came from Robin’s lips could have been the earth splitting in two, and trying to suck her in or the angels above calling her back to heaven. She’s a bit eccentric.

Oh, God, you think she’s plotting.

“Actually,” she settles. “I have a film back here that we haven’t set out on shelves yet.”

“Is it a romance?” He guesses purely based on the actors gazing longingly on the front cover. “Robin, I don’t do romance.”

“Obviously,” she says as a matter-of-fact. “Anyway, this is a mystery. Hm? You know? Like clues and shit.”

“Clues and shit?”

“Maybe,” you signal ‘no’ to Robin, but she blatantly ignores you, “you two can watch it together. Hm? Solve the mystery, before the show ends? Let me know what you think!”

“Robin-,” Eddie begins, but Robin is already scanning the tape to rent out.

“It’ll be fun!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll see you around six for a movie night like old times?”

You mask your embarrassment. Nodding in a set agreement, Eddie left with the film still eyeing the cover like it had just insulted him.

“How could you do that?” You shame her.

Robin shrugs her shoulders, while dancing behind the counter like a relationship fairy.

“Oh! You’ll need something to wear by then!” She shouts to her coworker. “Steve! I’m not feeling well! Will you be okay for the rest of the day?!”

“Ah ha,” Steve appears like he’s been waiting for permission to enter the conversation. “You’re not leaving me here by myself!”

“What was that? I can’t hear you,” she points to her ear, as she’s setting her jacket over her shoulders. “Ear ache.”

“Robin!”

“Huh? Oh, thank you!” She shuffles herself and you out the front door.

Warm air meets you outside. Although you wished to take off another layer, you felt practically naked as is. Cotton blend shirts were thick in these spring days. The same could be said for your denim jeans.

“Won’t he be mad?” You ask.

Robin snorts. “Steve? No.”

No explanation given - no explanation necessary. Robin and Steve were like a pair of siblings at most times. Although, knowing Steve had a thing for Robin at some point made the analogy much creepier than it should have been.

You drive yourself and Robin back to your home where your family was not. They’re out of town for the whole week doing an anniversary trip. Figuring your of the age to take care of yourself, they’ve left you by yourself with only the responsibility of keeping the home clean.

“What are we looking for?” You sit on your made bed hugging one of your pillows to your chest, while Robin riffles through your closet.

Robin shoves another dress across the hanger to the disapproved pile. Her grunts and sighs are discouraging as is, but rather her blatant disregard that you like some of those clothes is hurting even more. Or, maybe you like those clothes. You haven’t gone shopping in a while.

“Do you own anything that isn’t from Forever 40?” She jokes heartily.

You tilt your head to one side. “I like my clothes.”

“Well, we don’t have time for shopping,” she scans around your room for something. Jostling your clean laundry, your papers across your desk and the drawers under them - she finally lets out an, “Ah, ha!”

You groan. “Are you going to clean your mess?”

Clearly ignoring you, Robin holds up a sharpened pair of scissors like a magic wand. Holding one of your plain shirts in the air, she begins slicing away at every angle.

“Hey!” You protest.

She pauses. “Right, put it on.”

“Rob, that’s my favorite shirt!”

“I’ll buy you another one,” she shoves your head through the hole, and continues sniping at the edges. Fondling your chest, she measures where the top of your breast lies. “Hey! Your the first woman to let me touch their boobs. Congrats!”

You laugh at this. “Robin, as your friend, you can touch my boobs any time you need a fix.”

“Don’t tease me with a good time,” she jokes back. With one more snip, she steps away from you. “You have any skirts? No, of course you don’t. Jeans will have to do.”

You couldn’t hear Robin’s tangent. In the standing mirror hung on your wall, you saw someone new. Surely, she moves when you move. Her chest bounces while she breathes. That tan from the summer on the beach is touching her skin in a most devilish manor. You hold your chin a bit higher seeing what a few snips from craft scissors will do.

“Makeup!” Robin insists.

Pink rouge presses into your cheekbones. Those cheekbones you earned from your grandmother. That’s always the compliment your mother spoke. And, mascara coated thickly across your eyelashes. Your lashes are rather short, but with that black mascara you were seeing yourself glow with confidence.

Lip gloss that tasted like honey-

“In case you’re kissing any boys tonight,” she clicks the tube together with the wand. “My dear, you’re ready.”

You take a spin in the mirror.

“I hardly recognize myself,” you touch your hair.

Robin slaps your hand away. “Don’t mess that up, before Eddie gets here. Oh! And, look at the time, I should go.”

You’re left by yourself for another hour. Twiddling your thumbs, and checking your makeup by the minute. Eventually, you pop popcorn in the microwave and place the bowl in the center of the coffee table in the living room. You twist the bowl around, so you can’t see the chip on the side from when you dropped the bowl a few years ago.

Tapping your foot against the plush carpet beneath your feet, you travel between worlds where you feel ridiculous for dressing up like this, but you also feel hot.

Denim cuts at your waist, and you begin to doubt wearing jeans instead of pajamas. You never wore jeans after you got home. Eddie will surely know what’s up.

You have no time to change your mind because the doorbell rings through the quiet house. Stillness - as if moving would threaten your life somehow. Then, again, the doorbell sings.

You drag the sweat from your hands onto the back of your jeans. Jeans that you should have changed to shorts. He’ll see right through your ruse!

You settle your nerves with one more glance over in the mirror in your little entryway. When you open the front door, Eddie’s tickling the lavender your mom set out on the front porch last week.

“What? Your shirt go through a lawnmower?” Was the first thing he says.

You knew it.

“Erm-,”

“I brought the movie, and beer,” he held up the movie and a six pack he snaked off of his uncle. “Come on, I’m freezing out here.”

Eddie doesn’t ask where anything is. He’s been here so many times before, birthdays, holidays and any time your mother has just come back from the supermarket with “the good snacks.”

You knew each other for some time, which is probably why he’s never going to see you as someone other than his best friend. Why would you think about that? You had a shot, right?

“I popped popcorn,” you pointed in the living room.

“Sick,” he drops down into your couch. “We can go ahead and start the movie - the guys will be here soon.”

“The guys?” You blurt.

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says. “Like old times?”

“Right,” the light in your eye fades, and you just hope Eddie can’t sense the hesitance in your tone.

In the next hour, your quiet date night that had been set up by your overly optimistic friend, swirls in the direction that it is always meant to be. You squish into the couch arm rest, while Gareth battles Eddie over the movie choice. Although, this time the boys came to an agreement that this was not an action movie like Robin promised Eddie earlier.

“Where’s the gore?!” Gareth flings popcorn at the television screen. “Throw her off the ledge!”

“You want to see an innocent woman flung to her death?” You snap at him.

A piece of popcorn drops from Gareth’s mouth, and into his awaiting lap. You didn’t come to raising your tone with the boys unless something truly bothers you. Clearly, by the tightness in your chest, some of the anger spills over the edge. Quite like the woman dangling the man’s waist.

“Never mind,” you stand. “I’m going to make more popcorn.”

Taking the bowl from Eddie, you stow away in the comfort of your kitchen. Before your mother left for her trip, a folded note stacked on the island told you to not bring anyone over. But, if you are going to have boys over, she asks that you use protection. She has a wild imagination if she thinks her daughter has a sex life.

She must have passed this onto you. You toss yourself at someone, who obviously holds no similar feelings as you do. This whole night was a bust. Your eyes itch from the mascara. Your lips bled from when you chewed on them like they’re your last meal. At least the color matches with your lip gloss that you reapplied many times in the bathroom when you need a break from the crowd in your living room. And, you can’t feel your waist anymore. Tingling below the belt - and for all the wrong reasons.

“You okay?” Gareth’s voice startles you.

You spin around, and he’s there standing where the carpet meets the linoleum.

A yell from the living room suggests something mortifying must have happened in the film like the boy finally kissing the girl, or perhaps saying something romantic.

“Yeah,” you blink. “Just- making more popcorn.”

Gareth doesn’t say anything about the popcorn bags sitting on the counter next to him, but the room reads itself. You scamper over to the bag, before ripping the plastic and the bag apart by accident sending kernels across the floor. Gareth meets you at the floor below.

“Shit,” you sniff. “I’ll get the broom.”

“Hey,” he grabs your arm, before you can run off again. “What’s going on?”

You sit next to the mess on the floor letting out a gust of air from your lungs that you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

“It’s stupid,” you tell him.

Gareth moves a piece of your hair from in front of your face. “What?”

You look at him for the first time. Between you two, you didn’t have to say a word he didn’t already know. Because while you’re chasing Eddie, Gareth’s warm heart is following after you. You’re blind to him before.

“Eddie’s not going to like me back, is he?” You whisper at an almost inaudible volume. Dabbing at your eye, you wipe the single tear threatening to break the damn.

Gareth sits next to you with his arms wrapped around his knees.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I think he just hasn’t woken up yet. He does talk about you a lot when your not around.”

“Really?”

“You scare him,” Gareth lets out a breathy laugh. “In a good way. He- he’s never had someone to rely on in his life besides his uncle. And, if what Eddie says is true, you’ll never truly change to please anyone. You’re loyal, and your funny. You’re beyond beautiful. The Goddesses shrivel in your light-.”

Your cheeks heat up.

“Okay, I might have added that last part,” he admits. “But, you never know if you don’t try.”

You reach out for his hand. “Thank you, Gareth.”

He squeezes your hand. “Anytime.”

You say. “And I- I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Erm- you know.”

“I guess I do,” he looks away. “I’ll be fine.”

You toss a popcorn kernel Gareth’s direction hoping to lighten the mood. Gareth snorts and tosses one back.

“We should clean up,” you tell him.

Gareth agrees. “Oh, and - when I said you don’t change, I meant it.”

You pull at your half shirt. “Yeah, I don’t think this is me. Everyone just kept telling me to stop dressing like a boy.”

“Trust me,” Gareth suggests. “You do not look like a boy.”

“Oh, shut up,” you gather yourself on your own two feet. “I don’t know - I kind of like the look, but maybe tone it down a bit?”

“I’ll get the broom,” Gareth says leaving your question unanswered. "Oh, and I promise to keep myself and the guys out of your way the next time Eddie suggests we all have a 'movie night'" at your house."

"You caught onto that?"

"It's a classic move," he sweeps. "I can't say I wasn't going to try it on you some day."

"Well, I'm sorry that it won’t work out between us," you assure him.

"I'll survive," he won’t really look at you now, only at the task at hand. "Besides, I know how great of a guy Eddie is. If you do go out with him, there’s no hard feelings."

Gareth sweeps every last kernel from the floor, then uses the dust pan to scoop them up and finally tosses them into the bin. By the time he's done scoping out every inch of your floor, you're done popping a new bag of popcorn.

The movie night continues without a hitch (aside from the merciless damning of the film coming from each of the boys in your home). Your eye on the one man, who could never look at you the way you do him. But, you don't know that for sure.

Because, as soon as you look away, Eddie's full attention is on you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson preference #angst

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luvyeni · 7 months

Text

— MY SHY NEIGHBOR ( YANG JEONGIN ) !

( synopsis ). you move into a new apartment after breaking up with your horrible ex and you met the boy next door… jeongin is shy, and can barely speak to a girl, that’s until he starts talk to a camgirl who brings out different side of him, a cam who seems oddly familiar.

pairings. yang jeongin x camgirl!reader

genre. cam girl au, strangers2lovers, mature, social media au,

warnings. mature themes, crude language, sex work, smut… more to be announced …

started. 11.10.23

finished. tba

💬 nia's notes. this is only FICTION this does not represent any straykids member or any other idol in anyway.

— 𖦹 PROFILES !

000. meet everyone 🖤 …

— 𖦹 CHAPTERS !

001. moved in 📦💕…

002. the girl in the elevator …

003. lovestreams …

004. the elevator …

005. may he not be 70 🙏🏻 …

006. yeni <3 …

007. HE TALKED TO A GIRL🎉🎊🍾 …

008. video chat with yeni <3 …

009. daddy issues 🎉 ( debatable ) …

010. night out 🥩🤍 …

011. locked out ...

012. last night after math …

013. who that? ...

014. my favorite cashier 🥰🤍…

015. l0vergirl …

016. oh …

017. ghosted 💔 …

018. i like you ...

019. movie date 🎥🤍 …

020. movie date 🎥🤍 pt.2 …

021. morning after ...

022. disturbing my peace 😐 ...

023. jealous innie ...

024. perfect date ...

025. worst day ever 😭 ...

026. paint date ...

027. after the date ...

028. girlfriend 🤭 ...

— 𖦹 EPILOGUE !

029. special guest ...

030. amature pornstar ...

— ( taglist closes the day of release but i’ll open it up the end when finished )

©LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smau #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids smau #skz smau #skz x reader #stray kids fic #yang jeongin fic #yang jeongin scenarios #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin smau #yang jeongin smau

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daisynik7 · 7 months

Note

“Earned it” by The Weeknd for Levi Ackerman- Smut + Fluff

thank you

Earned It

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~7.0k

cw: yakuza au, modern setting au, adult themes, gang-related violence, mentions of blood, explicit language, fluff, smut – fingering, cunnilingus, PIV sex (doggy style), cream pie, unprotected sex

Summary: Levi is the current leader of a Yakuza organization called the Ackerman Clan. Fearless, ruthless, cold-blooded. Your deadbeat father owes a debt to his Uncle Kenny after borrowing a sum of money to gamble on horse races many years ago, a debt that hasn’t been forgotten. He has since abandoned you and one day, the Ackerman Clan tracks you down, claiming that you are now the owner of this debt. Without the means to pay for it out of pocket, Levi employs you to be his personal housekeeper until you’ve earned the money to pay it off.

Author’s Note: Wow okay my first Levi fic EVER and I totally got carried away! I had so much fun writing this one, so I hope the rest of you enjoy it! Thanks for the request for the y2k karaoke party! This gave me the perfect excuse to finally write for Levi. MDNI divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Thank you for reading! Tagging @crazychaoticizzy!

It's an average Wednesday when you receive a call from your mother in the middle of your workday. She usually doesn’t call unless it’s important, so you answer, already nervous for what she’s about to tell you. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Her tone is somber. “Honey, please come home. Now.” You can hear other people speaking in the background, alarm bells immediately ringing in your head. It’s been you and your mother alone for the past decade now, abandoned by your father before your high school graduation. You have no idea who would be in your home at this time. Freaking out, you ask, “What’s going on? What’s happening?!”

Before she can respond, there’s shuffling, then a man you don’t recognize on the other line. “You should listen to your mother.” His voice is cold, terse, sinister. It sends a chill down your spine.

Immediately, you excuse yourself from work, briefly describing a family emergency to your boss. You hop on the closest train, jittering in your seat, sweating bullets, stomach tight with anxiety. All you need to know is that your mom is safe. As soon as you’re out of the station, you remove the heels off your feet to run home. When you arrive, you notice a black car with tinted windows parked in the driveway and the front door already swung open. Winded and out of breath, you double over with the impulse to vomit, already expecting the worse. You swallow down the urge, collecting yourself, and walk inside.

You’re met by three strangers: two men and a woman. She looks young, gaze cold on yours, studying you carefully. The taller of the men is significantly older, hunched over, lanky, with a cigarette between his crooked smile. The other is short, but his domineering presence seems to overwhelm the rest of them. The cold gaze, the stagnant frown, the tightness in his brows. There’s an aura to him that shows he’s not one to be messed with. Before you can even confirm, you know that this man is the one who spoke to you earlier on the phone. Their leader.

Your mom is seated on the couch, cowering in fear when she calls out to you. “Honey!”

You step towards them, wanting to approach her, but you’re stopped by the woman, staring daggers at you, her hand concealed inside her jacket, ready to attack if necessary. It’s a warning: Don’t come any closer or else. “Mikasa, relax. She ain’t even armed,” the older man says. He points to her, winking at you. “Sorry about my niece; she’s got some anger issues. Runs in the family, actually.”

Without removing her gaze from you, she mutters, “Shut up, Kenny.”

He laughs, puffs of smoke escaping his mouth. He removes the cigarette, tapping the ashes onto the hardwood floor of your living room before stepping closer towards you. “I should be the one upset here.” His eyes scan your figure up and down, smirking. “Right, Levi?”

You shiver from his wicked expression, glancing at your mother who stares wide-eyed at you in a panic. “What’s the meaning of this?” you ask shakily.

The shorter man, apparently named Levi, comes forward, glaring at you. “You owe the Ackerman Clan money. Two million yen with all the interest that’s been accruing for the past ten years.”

“We never borrowed money from you!” you argue.

“You didn’t. But your father did,” Kenny interjects. “The dumbass didn’t know how to gamble on the right horse. Lost each race and came crawling back to me for more and more money. I gave him two years to pay me back without interest, but I suppose he ran off on you and your poor mother before he could pay it. Now, it’s way past due. I need my money back.”

That no-good, deadbeat father of yours. Of course he’s the one behind this. He’s always had a gambling addiction, ever since you were little. Borrowed money left and right from distant relatives, friends, coworkers, and apparently strangers. You thought he’d at least have the decency to pay them off on the occasions he actually scored big, but who are you kidding? All he spent his winnings on was more booze to drown out the fact that he never cared or provided for his family. You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes. “You should be asking him for the money, not us.”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “You don’t think we already tried looking for him? We can’t find him. He’s gone. Someone else has to be responsible for it now. And that means his wife and his kid. You.”

“We don’t have that kind of money just laying around,” you say, hoping that somehow, this Yakuza gang is nice enough to forgive the debt.

Kenny barks a laugh. “Well, you’re shit out of luck then, huh? Just like your lousy father.”

You wince at his harsh words, simultaneously agreeing with him. Levi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “If you can’t pay off this debt within the next three months, we’ll be forced to take more severe action.”

“What do you mean?” you stutter. A variety of cruel punishments flash through your head, causing your knees to wobble in fear, though you manage to stay upright.

“You don’t want to find out,” he threatens with a dark look.

You swallow loudly, unable to hide your dread any longer. Crying, you fall to your knees in a begging position, peering up at Levi with weepy eyes. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt my mom. Leave her out of this.”

Your mother sobs into her hands, your name muffled against her palms. Even through your blurred vision, you notice Levi’s expression waver just the slightest.

“Maybe she can work for you,” Mikasa suggests. Her tone has changed to one of sympathy, unexpectedly considering her intimidating demeanor moments ago.

Levi scoffs. “And what would she do for me? I doubt she can fight.”

There’s a pause as you watch them contemplate your fate. Kenny is the first one to offer an answer. “Housekeeper. She can be your housekeeper!”

Levi grimaces at the suggestion. “Excuse me?”

Kenny walks towards him, ruffling his nephew’s hair, much to his dismay. Levi swats him away, scowling as his uncle explains, “You spend so much goddamn time cleaning your own house, it’s about time you hire someone to do it for you. You’re the leader of the Ackerman Clan now. Time is money. You can’t be wasting it dusting when you can just make someone else do it for you.” He squats, legs spread wide, meeting you face-to-face. “Can you clean?”

You wipe away the tears streaming down your face, nodding.

“Can you cook?”

You nod again, more confidently this time.

He slaps his knee. “Well, there you go! Looks like we found the solution. You’re hired. Levi will pay you at the end of each day. Your wages after three months should be enough to cover the debt you owe me. If you work overtime, you’ll earn extra cash. Sound good?” He sticks his hand out, waiting for you to shake on it.

Three months of housekeeping and cooking for the leader of a Yakuza gang, who already looks like he despises you? It’s either that or whatever punishment he originally has in mind, which sounds much more painful and ominous.

Before you agree, you ask, “What about my regular job?”

He strokes his chin, thinking. “Damn, forgot about that. Well, Little Levi here can compensate you for that as well. You’ll have to quit it in the meantime, but this gig is much better, don’t cha think?”

Levi raises his voice, angry now. “Don’t I get a say in this?! Who said I have the money to pay her?!”

Kenny waves him off, smirking. “You don’t drink, you don’t gamble, and you don’t fuck. So what else are you doing with all that money?”

At this, Levi gapes at his uncle, blushing. “I’m the fucking captain here, aren’t I? I won’t allow this.”

Kenny rolls his eyes, standing up to stretch his back. “Fine. Got a better idea? We don’t have all fucking day to argue about this, you know.”

After a few more disgruntled huffs from Levi without any other real suggestions, you are officially hired as Levi Ackerman’s housekeeper.

~~~

Levi doesn’t need a fucking housekeeper. He’s the cleanest goddamn person in this entire godforsaken planet. Sure, he spends at least two hours at the start of his morning doing household chores to ensure that everything in his home is spick and span. But what’s so wrong about that? It’s the only solace he finds in this cruel world. The only aspect of his life that he can control.

So, when his new hire arrives to his house seven o’clock sharp the very next day, Levi’s already in a bad mood. And when she smiles brightly at him, greeting him, “Good morning!” in an all-too-cheery voice that drips with enthusiasm and spirit despite the shitty situation she’s in, he can’t help but become even more irritated. She can’t possibly be excited about this. It’s all a façade, an act. Fake. He’s seen it before, from so-called friends, family members, strangers on the street. People only connect with him if there’s something to gain from it. And in this case, the money to pay her father’s debt is her end-goal, and nothing else. He reminds himself that she’s not here for him. No one ever is.

He doesn’t respond to her, turning on his heel to lead her inside. Without saying so, she removes her shoes, tucking them into an empty slot on the shoe rack, following him. Unfortunately, Kenny’s been here since half an hour ago, taking his usual breakfast: a cup of black coffee and a frozen waffle, toasted until lukewarm. And of course, there’s already crumbs on the table, but Levi ignores it, knowing that she’s responsible for this mess now, not him.

“Morning,” Kenny drawls, raising his mug to her. She waves, still nervous around them, naturally, but her smile stays on.

Levi hands her a sheet of paper, typed out with proper instructions. “Everything you need to know is on here. Unless you’re illiterate and can’t read, I won’t need to explain anything to you, right?”

She scans the document quickly, shaking her head at the end. “Seems simple enough.”

“My nephew here likes things spotless,” Kenny adds, spit flying out of his mouth as he chews the rest of his breakfast. “Total clean freak and perfectionist. He’ll be on your ass about a simple speck of dust.”

“It’s not clean if there’s still dust,” he emphasizes.

Her attention goes to the fridge. “What about meals? What do you like to eat?”

“I’m not picky. I usually don’t eat breakfast and lunch is brought to me at the office. So dinner is the only meal you have to cook. Like I said, I’m not picky. But it better not be instant ramen or something. I’m not paying you to feed me that processed shit.” Truthfully, he already eats that junk for lunch, often opting for fast food because it’s quick and easy while he’s out on a job. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. He shoots a glare at his uncle when he notices him snickering to himself, clearly aware of his less-than-ideal diet.

After a brief tour of the house, not including his bedroom, which will remain off limits, him and Kenny leave to start the day. Levi is reluctant at first, unsure if she can live up to his high standards of tidiness, but even he can admit that it’s more productive when he arrives to their headquarters on time.

The day goes by smoothly; the extra two hours that Levi gains by entrusting another person to his usual morning ritual proves to be beneficial for both him and his gang. They are able to add an extra stop to their daily rounds, collecting owed money from sleezy businesses and seedy underground organizations. They only resort to violence once, with Levi squeezing a man’s head between his shoe and the pavement until he coughs up the dough. In his eyes, today was a good day.

Kenny drops him off back home around eight when it’s already dark out. The lights are on, glowing through the shaded windows. He digs into his pocket for the keys, retrieving them to unlock the door, his nostrils immediately hit with a sensational aroma wafting from the kitchen. Sliding out of his shoes, he steps further inside, following the scent.

She’s leaning over the stove, steam puffing from whatever pan she’s cooking in. He drops his keys on the counter, clearing his throat to make his presence known.

“Hello, Mr. Ackerman,” she says, turning to face him. “Perfect timing. Dinner is just about ready. I’ll serve it to you now.”

He slides a chair out from the dining table, taking a seat, watching as she moves around the kitchen. She scoops white rice into a bowl, then the food onto a plate, setting it front of him. It looks delicious; glazed meat scattered with a variety of fresh vegetables. “It’s chicken stir fry,” she explains. “It isn’t gourmet or anything, but it’s hearty and filling. I hope you like it.”

He remains silent, holding a piece of broccoli at the end of his chopstick, blowing on it before putting it in his mouth. The sauce is savory, pairing well with the typically bland vegetable. He digs into the chicken, enjoying how juicy and flavorful it is. It’s nothing he hasn’t had before, but still; it’s tasty.

She stands beside him, watching him eat with a small grin on her face. “What would you like to drink?”

He swallows, replying, “I like tea. Hot tea. Decaf.”

“On it,” she says, heading back into the kitchen, filling a kettle with water to heat on the stove. Within ten minutes, she returns with a cup in one hand, the kettle in the other, pouring him freshly brewed tea.

It’s quiet, Levi eating peacefully while she continues to observe him. He’s not quite sure what to say; do they make small talk? Does he compliment her cooking? How do people engage with others during a time like this?

Her stomach growls loudly, which he immediately notices. He raises a brow at her, pointing his chopsticks towards the kitchen. “You should eat too. If you’re hungry.”

“Is that alright?”

He nods, looking down at his plate. “It’s better than watching me eat while you’re starving, right?”

She laughs, going back into the kitchen once again. “Yes, of course.” She comes back, sitting across from him to start eating. Not knowing what else to discuss over dinner, Levi asks her about the chores she should have accomplished today, to which she reports back in detail. It sounds as if she went through eat item on the list, though the true test will be when he inspects it himself. Their conversation flows well; he usually hates conversing with people when it isn’t necessary. He can’t remember the last time he shared a homecooked meal with someone else. He’s always at home after work, alone. Mikasa is too busy with her own family, and Levi can hardly stand his uncle’s presence to begin with, so he always preferred being alone.

This, however, this he doesn’t mind. Surprisingly.

Before he gets too comfortable with the idea, he reminds himself once more that this is simply the deal they agreed to. There’s no room for sentimentality. She’s here because she was forced into this role, not because she wants to be here. This is business. This is temporary.

And with that in mind, Levi strengthens the integrity of the walls he barricades around him, determined not to let anyone but himself in.

~~~

Your first month of employment go by as smoothly as you hope it would be, given your circumstances. Every day, you arrive at Levi’s house seven in the morning on the dot, greeting him with a smile. You figured it wouldn’t do you any good to show your fear of the Yakuza in front of the leader himself. And, in all honestly, you weren’t actually that scared of him. While he’s cold and blunt most of the time, he hasn’t done anything to frighten you yet, aside from your initial meeting. It helps that you only see him for a few minutes in the morning when he lets you in, and at most an hour at the end of the day, when you share dinner together. Before you leave, he hands you an envelope with your day’s wages, and that’s that. Based on the lack of criticism, you assume that you’re doing a good enough job.

On the second month, you begin to make lunches for him in addition to your usual routine. Uncle Kenny had mentioned several times in secret that Levi eats fast food because of the convenience. Sometimes, he skips a meal all together when they’re especially busy.

When you arrive to his home, you greet him with your usual smile, while he gives you a curt nod, avoiding your gaze. He shouts behind him, “Kenny, let’s go!”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him, saying, “Oh, Mr. Ackerman! Before you leave, I prepared lunch for you.”

He whips around to face you, eyes narrowed as if you just insulted him. “What?”

Nervous now, you stammer, “I made you lunch. I heard that sometimes you skip meals, so I thought – ”

He steps towards you, glaring, not letting you finish. “This isn’t part of the list. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.” He turns on his heel, leaving you stunned as he heads for the car, slamming the door shut.

You scurry into the kitchen, face hot, reeling over his unpleasant reaction to your simple gesture. Kenny leans back in his chair, feet up on the table, chugging the rest of his coffee. “Morning.”

“Hi Kenny.” You wash your hands at the sink, processing what just happened, growing increasingly upset.

Kenny gets up, sliding his used mug beside you. “Thanks, darling.” Not wanting to waste your efforts, you call out to him, opening the fridge to retrieve the bento you prepared, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” he asks, smirking.

“I made it for Mr. Ackerman, but he doesn’t want it. I don’t want it to go to waste,” you explain.

He smiles, genuinely grateful, the expression you were mistakenly expecting from Levi. “Thank you. Take care.”

When he’s gone, you take a minute in the kitchen to relax, reminding yourself to stick to the list and not do anything extra just because you think he’d appreciate it. You’ve leaned your lesson based on today: Mr. Ackerman doesn’t appreciate anything or anyone. And you won’t be an exception.

~~~

Levi sulks silently in the car with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window while Kenny drives them to HQ. He’s replaying the interaction from earlier, recalling the hurt look in her eyes as he spat those harsh words to her. He’s an idiot. All he could have said was no thank you. He shouldn’t have berated her for doing something nice for him. At the same time, he didn’t want to appear vulnerable, like he needed her to do it for him. He doesn’t need her pity. He doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.

He catches Kenny shooting glances at him, but doesn’t say anything, knowing better than to rile his nephew up when he’s in one of these moods. They make it to headquarters as normal, and Levi goes about the day, almost forgetting about the incident. Almost.

Around noon, Kenny drives Levi and two of his henchmen across town to collect money from a client who’s been skipping out on payments recently. Levi doesn’t expect to resort to violence, so he stays inside the car while the two muscles go out and fulfill their orders. Kenny reclines, reaching his long arm towards the backseat, retrieving a small bento box. “Grub time.”

Levi scowls. “What are you doing?”

“Eating lunch, what do you think?” He uncovers it, licking his lips as his picks up a tamago sando from inside. It looks delicious, from the soft bread to the golden yellow filling. Levi’s stomach growls as he stares at his uncle bite into it. “Damn, that’s good!”

“Where did you get that?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

He shrugs, engulfing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. “Your housekeeper. Said you didn’t want it, so she gave it to me instead. Shit, that’s good!”

Levi huffs through his teeth, annoyed, but also very hungry. He snatches it from his uncle’s lap, inspecting it himself. Kenny doesn’t protest, only chuckles, licking his fingers. It’s truly an enticing sight, much better than the typical burger and fries he’s used to. He picks it up delicately, relishing how pillowy the bread is between his fingers. It’s devoured quickly, and Levi regrets watching his uncle eat part it, hoping he had it all for himself. In the bottom layer of the bento box are baby carrots and sliced cucumbers, which Levi munches on until his crew comes back, knuckles a bit bloodied and a stack of cash in their hands.

At night, Levi enters the door, a pang of guilt in his chest. He doesn’t plan to mention it; he’d rather forget and move on, pretend it never even happened. Tonight’s dinner is yakisoba, a meal she has since perfected since starting a month ago. She serves it to him, pouring hot tea into his mug, then takes her usual spot, her expression neutral. She reports on each task she completed today, starting with the kitchen, where she cleans up whatever disgusting mess Kenny leaves at the table. She scrubs the counters until they’re sparkling, mops the floors, reorganizes the refrigerator, unloads the dishwasher from the night before. Next is the living room, where she vacuums the carpets, dusts all the drawers, wipes each and every appliance with a specialized solution to prevent streaks. Then It’s laundry, and she never mentions the splatters of blood that are sometimes on his dress shirts depending on what kind of day it is. She uses the exact method he uses to wash them until they look good as new, as if he isn’t part of the gang life.

She finishes her list, looking at Levi, waiting for his nod of approval, which he gives. She’s done a decent job so far; in fact, his home looks just as tidy as it did when he spent two hours each morning doing it himself. He stares down at his plate, eating the rest of his noodles in silence.

“Mr. Ackerman?”

His jaw clenches at the sound of his name, anticipating whatever she’s about to say. Without looking up, he mutters, “What?”

She clears his throat nervously. “Earlier today, about lunch. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I hope you can forgive me.”

He senses her gaze on him, but he’s too embarrassed to meet it, slurping the rest of his food without responding. She doesn’t say anything else, leaving it at that. When he’s done, she gathers the dirty dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, starting the cycle. Levi goes into his room, stuffing her payment for today in an envelope, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Just say it. Don’t be an asshole. She doesn’t deserve it.

She waits for him at the doorway, coat and shoes on, ready to leave. He hands her the money, keeping his grip on it when she accepts it. “You don’t have to apologize. I ate it, and it was delicious. So…thank you.” He looks at her this time, wanting to convey to her that he truly means it.

Her eyes widen, clearly surprised by his sudden change in demeanor. He’s surprised himself; he just couldn’t let her leave thinking she didn’t anything wrong. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “For the way I reacted. I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.” He knows she doesn’t need an explanation from him, but he tells her anyways.

She smiles. “It’s okay. I’m happy to do it. I prepared another one for tomorrow.”

Nodding, he lets go, watching her slide the envelope into her bag. “Goodnight, Mr. Ackerman.”

He opens the door for her. “Levi. You can call me Levi. It makes me feel old when you call me that. We’re around the same age, right?”

She giggles, making his chest swell. “Right. Well then, goodnight Levi.”

He waits until she disappears into the distance, heading to the nearby train station. With the door shut, he leans against it, sighing heavily, his heart beating rapidly.

This is bad.

~~~

On the third month of working as a housekeeper and cook for Levi Ackerman, something extraordinary happens.

You’ve gotten more cordial with each other in the past few weeks, ever since you began making lunches for him on a regular basis. You know he isn’t picky when it comes to food, but you’ve noticed subtle differences when he thanks you for the meal, which he always does now. If it ends in a simple thanks, you know that it was ordinary. If he adds in a compliment, you know that he really likes it. So, you cook more of the foods that he particularly enjoys.

You’re still getting used to calling him by his first name. It still sounds foreign out of your mouth, almost like a treasured word you’re only supposed to say on special occasions. You still mostly call him Mr. Ackerman, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

Other than what you see of him in the mornings and nights, you have no idea what Levi gets up to the rest of his day. It’s an unwritten part of the deal; you keep your private life to yourselves. And, knowing he’s in the Yakuza, maybe it’s better you don’t know.

Tonight, you finish cooking dinner before Levi comes home. You cover the pan, keeping the oyakodon you prepared warm until he arrives, all the plates set up on the counter, ready for him. You sit in your usual chair, checking the clock: 8:30 PM, thirty minutes past his usual time. By nine, you start to worry. And by ten, your finger hovers over his contact information on your phone, tempted to call him, to make sure he’s okay. You debate with yourself for several minutes if you should go through with it. You were given this number only to use for emergencies. Would this be considered one? Surely, he has an entire team of people who look after him, being the leader and all. Why would he need you, his lowly housekeeper, looking out for him?

Deep down, it’s because you care. You care about him. You want him to be happy. And it’s not because he pays you at the end of the day. It’s because you truly, genuinely believe he deserves it. Even in the short time that you’ve known him, it’s plain to see how miserable he is in this life of crime. Dead eyes, permanent frown on his face, tense muscles from having no moment throughout his day to relax. No one, not even a Yakuza leader himself, deserves to be under this much stress.

You’re about ready to dial his number when you hear the distinct jingle of keys from the front door. Levi walks in, hunched over with his jacket tossed over his shoulder, big splotches of blood painted on his shirt. You can see it clearly even from the end of the hallway. He doesn’t greet you, doesn’t look at you, as he drags his feet into the living to plop himself onto the couch, sighing.

“Mr. Ackerman?” you call out, trembling. You’ve never seen him like this before. Is he injured? Or is he the one who did the injuring? Does it matter to you what the answer is? All you know is that you’re concerned about him and you want to be by his side.

~~~

Levi hears her but doesn’t respond. He sinks deeper into the couch, eyes shut, hoping she ignores him, not wanting her to see him in this sorry state. He listens to the sound of her footsteps approaching closer, then feels her sit beside him. With one eye open, he peeks at her, surprised to see her staring at him with genuine concern, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. “Mr. Ackerman,” she repeats.

“What do you want?” he asks tersely. He doesn’t mean for it to come out rudely. Or maybe he does to push her away. He doesn’t want her to witness this vulnerability, this weakness.

“I brought you some tea,” she answers quietly.

Before he can spit out an argument about how the caffeine will prevent him from sleeping, she adds, “It’s decaf, of course.”

He’s speechless for a moment, unable to come up with a smart response. His heart beats against his chest and he’s not sure what’s happening to him. Is he going into cardiac arrest? Or is this something different? Something good? Too exhausted to maintain the same frigid persona he puts up for her, he relaxes, reaching for her hands to grab the handle of the mug. He grazes her fingers wrapped around the ceramic, lingering for a second longer, then brings it to his lips, blowing air across the surface before taking a sip. It’s hot down his throat, filling his tired body with warmth and comfort.

He peeks at her once more, focusing on the gentle smile on her lips. “What are you so happy about?” he asks, taking another sip.

She looks down at her lap, shy now that she’s been called out. “I’m just happy you’re back in one piece.”

He scoffs, displaying his bruised and stained knuckles. “You call this one piece?”

She stares at his hands with terror or fascination, maybe even both. Levi can’t tell. All he knows is that she isn’t flinching away from him like he’s some monster; she leans closer, inspecting it carefully. “Hold on,” she says, standing up to retreat back into the kitchen.

Levi rests his head against the couch, stomach grumbling with hunger. He hasn’t eaten since lunch, and beating the shit out of people takes a toll on him. But the job is done and now he’s home. And for the first time, he realizes how grateful he is not to be alone.

Minutes later, she returns with a tray, carrying a steaming bowl of oyakodon and two warm towels beside it. She sets it next to him on the couch, kneeling on the floor in front of him, beside his knees. He gulps, suddenly aware at how compromising this position may seem. Though, he doesn’t mind it. He slowly reaches over to grab hold on the chopsticks, digging into the bowl of food to take a bite. It’s warm and soothing in his mouth, exactly what he needed.

“May I?” She peers up at him, pointing to his other hand, holding the damp towel.

He’s hesitant at first, aware that she’ll be touching him. This is definitely crossing a line, right? However, the thought of being pampered in this moment when he’s so fucking tired is too enticing to refuse. He stretches his arms out, offering his fist to her. She surrounds him in the soft fabric, rubbing gently between his knuckles, wiping away all the grime from tonight’s violence. His skin is on fire from her indirect touch and he can’t help but wonder what effect she could have on his body if she were actually touching him.

Skin in pristine condition, despite the temporary bruises, she switches to the other hand once he’s finished with his meal. He watches her in silence, holding back a moan, embarrassed at how much he’s enjoying this. She finishes him off with the second towel, the clean one, giving both hands a little massage. “Is that better?”

He nods, muttering a tired, “Thank you.”

She smiles, gaze flickering to the stains on his shirt. “I can wash this for you tomorrow. Just leave it in the laundry room.”

He nods again, unsure what else to say. She gets up, carrying the empty bowl and soiled towels back into the kitchen to clean up. It’s almost eleven now when Levi flips his wrist to check the time on his watch. Trains stop running by midnight, so he shouldn’t keep her here any longer. “You should head home now. It’s late,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. He stands up, slightly limping towards his bedroom to give her the payment. He slides an extra couple of bills to compensate for working overtime. Noticing how horrid he looks with blood all over him, he strips out of his shirt, thankful none of it seeped directly onto his skin. Without thinking, he rushes towards the front door, where she waits for him in her coat and shoes.

He hands her the money. “I’m giving you a small bonus today, just in case you’re wondering why there’s more in there.”

She glances at his chiseled abs before looking down at her feet. Heat rushes into his cheeks, finally aware that he’s shirtless in front of his housekeeper. This is definitely crossing a line.

“It’s okay, I don’t want the extra money,” she says.

“Take it. You’ve earned it,” he insists.

“I didn’t do it for that. I did it because I care about you. I want to - ” She gazes at him, swallowing hard, afraid to finish her thought.

There’s a flutter in his stomach as he steps closer to her, eager to hear it. “What?”

“I want to take care of you, Mr. Ackerman.”

It happens so fast that as soon as he realizes it, his lips are already on hers, kissing her passionately. His immediate reaction is to stop because he’s sure this isn’t what she intended. But when she places her hands on his chest, clinging to his bare skin to deepen the kiss, he can’t resist.

~~~

Clothes are discarded on the way to his bedroom. By the time you’re lying flat on his mattress, you’re both completely naked, him on top of you, caging you between his muscular arms. He kisses your figure, from your neck trailing down to your chest, his lips puckered at your nipple, sucking on it until it’s taut in his mouth. One hand travels along the curve of your hips, then the plush of your inner thigh, until he’s pressed to your throbbing clit. “Can I touch you here?” he asks, his voice low and trembling.

“Yes,” you breathe out, completely enraptured by him.

He flicks your bud with his middle finger, tapping on it until it’s puffy against him. He glides down to your wet slit, collecting your arousal to smear onto your clit, rubbing it faster. Pleasure courses through you as you whine into his mouth, kissing him sloppily. Soon, he slips inside you, pumping two of his fingers in and out of your pussy. You squirm for him, so close to your climax.

“You like my fingers inside this fucking cunt, huh?” he growls into your ear. He pulls out, stroking your clit with his wet digits. “How about here? You like them on your little clit too, right pretty girl?”

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, eyes glazed over in a daze. “Yes, Mr. Ackerman. Fuck.”

“Levi,” he grunts, circling your bud. “I told you to call me Levi.” He slips back in, pummeling your pussy while his thumb taps on your swollen core.

You grab the bedsheets beneath you, clenching it between your fists, bucking your hips towards him, approaching your orgasm. “Coming,” you manage to whimper, unraveling. He slows his pace, riding it out with you until you relax in his hold, spent and blissed out.

There’s a wild look in his eyes, animalistic almost. He removes himself from you, bringing his wet fingers to your mouth, inching them past your lips. “Taste yourself for me.”

You obey, opening wide for him to swipe your own cum across your tongue. He sticks it further down your throat while you surround him, sucking your slick off. His erection is hard against you, begging for attention. You slide your hand between his thighs, palming at his stiff cock, twitching at your touch.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. You start stroking him, his cock hot and pulsating in your fist. He bucks into your grasp, moaning as you rub your thumb over his glossy tip, making him shudder. “You’re driving me fucking crazy, fuck. Get on top of me. Please. Need to taste you.”

You obey, readjusting yourself to straddle his face, lowering yourself carefully until your pressed to his open mouth. “Just enjoy it, sweetheart. You’ve earned it,” he says before lapping you up greedily. You ride his face, dragging your pussy lips across his flattened tongue, moaning when he puckers around you, suckling on your swelling bud. He’s sloppy and noisy, exactly how you like it. You find yourself unraveling quickly above him, convinced you can come just like this, without him entering you at all. He senses this, grabbing firmly to your ass cheeks, guiding you to rock against him faster. “That’s it, princess. Come for me,” he muffles against your skin, slurping at your leaking cunt. No longer able to resist, you moan loudly, reaching your climax, gushing all over his face. He smacks your ass, licking off every drop of your arousal before removing himself from you. “I need to be inside you. Need to fuck this pretty pussy right fucking now.”

All control lost, you whine, “Fuck me, Levi. Fuck me, please.”

He positions himself behind you, dragging your bottom towards him, rubbing his erection between your ass cheeks. “Think you’ve earned this cock? Think you deserve it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. I’ve been so good.”

He chuckles, guiding himself inside you, stretching you out slowly as he inches his way deeper. “You’re right. You’ve been very good. You are good. So fucking good to me.” He pounds into you, fucking your sweet spot, chasing that high you’re both so desperate to reach. After a few more thrusts, your pussy squeezes around him, coming once more. He follows with his own orgasm, shooting his load inside you, filling you up with his cum.

He pulls out, rolling beside you, breathing heavily. You turn to your side, facing him, your senses gradually returning. He glances at you and breaks into a smile, the first you’ve ever seen from him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You grin, scooting closer to nuzzle your nose with his. “Like what?”

His eyes gaze into yours, flickering down your lips. “Like you want to kiss me.”

You inch closer. “Why is that so bad?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop,” he whispers, closing the gap, kissing you.

~~~

On her last day, Levi leaves her final payment on the top of his dresser. It’s next to a thicker envelope that she’s collected the entirety of her father’s debt in, ready to hand over to Kenny first thing in the morning. She could have paid it off sooner, a week sooner, to be exact. But she decides to finish the remainder of the month employed as Levi’s housekeeper. She doesn’t explain why, and he doesn’t ask.

They snuggle together in his bed, ready to sleep after fucking each other stupid just minutes earlier. This is another added part of their routine. Sometimes, she leaves to check in on her mother back home. Other times, she stays the night, which Levi prefers, though he won’t admit it out loud. It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in years.

He can tell she’s on the verge of sleep by the way her eyes flutter closed and how her head falls into his chest, relaxed. His mind is racing with thoughts, so he’s wide awake, wondering what tomorrow will hold. Will she say goodbye to him forever? Is this really over? What will he do when she’s gone?

He realizes his true feelings for her almost immediately after they begin sleeping together. He’s never relinquished control to anyone else before. But for him, giving it to her was easy. Maybe because he knew he could trust her. Though, now with her employment coming to an end, he’s not so sure what to think.

“Levi?” Her soft voice surprises him.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

She tips her chin up, peering at him. “Not yet. I want to say something to you.”

He stares at her, confused and anxious, listening. “I care about you, Levi. I don’t want this to stop just because whatever arrangement we had before is over.”

He swallows hard, trying to maintain a neutral expression as his heart races with joy. “So, what then? Do you want to keep being my housekeeper? I already feel weird paying you because of what we do.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be your housekeeper. I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yes, Levi. Your girlfriend,” she reiterates, smiling.

He lets out a small laugh. “That sounds so normal.”

She cups his face, squeezing his cheeks. “Well, maybe Mr. Ackerman deserves a little something normal for once.”

He chuckles, nuzzling into her touch. “So, how is this going to work, then? You being my girlfriend.”

“Well, I’ll get my old job back. And in the meantime, I can move in here so I can still do all the cooking and cleaning.”

“No,” he interjects. “Together. We’ll cook and clean together. Like a normal couple.”

She beams at him. “Alright. Together it is, then.”

He allows himself to smile completely now, pressing his forehead to hers. “Can it really be this simple?”

“I think it can,” she replies. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

For most of his life, Levi has never had it easy. Thirty years later, he finally has a chance at something normal, something good. Does he deserve it? With her by his side, holding his hand so lovingly in hers, he actually believes it. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi aot #levi x you #levi smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x female reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #aot fluff #attack on titan x reader #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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haveyoubeentothiscity · 17 days

Text

Väkiluku: 214 633

Kieli: Suomi (Finnish)

Credit to @milverton for the translation. Kiitos!

#city poll #oulu #finland #suomi #europe #submitted #speak your language day theme day #spyld

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reallyromealone · 1 month

Text

Title: hazbin security

Fandom: hazbin hotel

Characters: hazbin hotel ensemble, male reader

Fic type: story - romance

Pairings: angel dust x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, rape themes, reader is a giant, reader is a sweetheart, mentions of nsfw, adult language, mention of kinks, hurt to comfort

Notes: bing bong

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

The hotel went quiet as a hulking demon stepped in, having to crouch under he door to enter "uhh, hi?" Charlie said putting on a friendly smile as the 13 foot tall demon stared at her quietly and held up a paper advertisement along with a resume "oh! You're here for the security position!" She said excitedly as the massive demon nodded, everyone too unnerved by his hulking presence to even begin to think about anything else.

Charlie and Alastor went to the back with him, husk looking at angel dust with raised eyebrows as the door closed "holy shit!" Husk said to his close friend who's sipped his martini, nodding "he's a fuckin' giant, seriously! He could crush us!" The spider demon said almost awe struck as he barely hit the demons chest, angel knew he was probably hung like hell... Something he could feel in his stomach.

Charlie busted in "everyone meet our newest security! (Name)!" Charlie introduced the silent demon as the others awkwardly waved to no response as (name) nodded softly, a passive expression on his face.

And that's how it was, everyone went about their days as (name) despite his size lurked quietly in the shadows out of view but angel always kept a keen eye on him, he stressed him out... Reminded him of the people val made him sleep with.

Especially since (name) always glanced at him, like he was suspicious of him... Angel hated it.

"Give me the word, I'll handle him" husk would back up angel dust and the spider demon smiled at his best friend "thanks husky" he smiled, happy he found a genuine friend in the bartender as (name) threw out some crackhead who pissed on the carpet in defiance.

It was late as Angel dust walked to the hotel, exhausted and drained as his heels clicked against the pavement, today was shit and he just wanted to go home...

"Excuse me?" A gravelly voice called as the spider turned to see an imp with an intense glare "you're... You're Angel dust right? I saw your work..." They said seriously and angel felt his hair stand on edge as he looked at the other "what's it to ya?" Angel hissed out as the imp stepped closer and angel stepped back "I really... Admire your work... You look amazing on the big screen though... It pales to the real deal" they said heatedly as Angel felt he needed to get away and fast "no you don't!" The imp hissed out as he grabbed angel dust and pinned him to the ground "I wanna see if you're like how you are on the big screen!" The imp said maniacally as he tore at angels shirt.

Angel felt tears well up in his eyes, fuck he didn't want this to go how it did...

No!

Shit!

"Show me your cute-- holy shit!" The imp was lifted as angel shook, looking at his savior and was surprised when he saw (name) throw the imp like a ragdoll before lifting angel into his arm, the spider secured snuggly in his bicep as he went back to the hotel without a word. Angel was shaking as he just let (name) take him wherever, he didn't care anymore... He just wanted this night to be over.

(Name) Put his sweater over the other, nights in hell we're ice cold and (name) seemed genuinely worried as he took the scared demon back to the hotel. (Name) Didn't speak a word as angel looked up at him fearfully as he processed what happened.

The lobby and the hotel was pretty empty as it was late as everyone was either at home or in their respective rooms, the massive demon just clicking the elevator button as he glanced down at the other before looking forward.

"Wait this isn't..." Oh god, angel panicked as they passed his room and He felt his fears confirmed as they went to (name)s room and he was plopped on the bed unceremoniously, closing his eyes and expecting the worst until a t-shirt handed to him and the white haired demon watched as (name) turned around, Angel realized he gave him one of his massive shirts that fit like a dress. He hid the smile on his face at the fact the massive demon wanted to respect his privacy even though every part of angel had been broadcasted across hell.

But it felt nice... Being respected.

Angel felt awkward as he spoke softly "I'm uh, I'm finished changing big boy" he hoped it wasn't some kink, a lot of demons loved seeing angel in their clothes and fucking like that but was more surprised when (Name) Left the room as angel processed what happened and was elated to see the massive demon gold a tiny piggy in his hand, setting him in angels lap "nuggie!" Angel smiled as (name) sat on the ground, even sitting he held perfect eye contact "thanks... Why did you help me?" Angel didn't get it, no one ever did anything in hell without wanting something in return and (name) tilted his head "why wouldn't I?"

"So do you wanna fuck as a thank you?" Angel asked bluntly and (name) just stared at him "no"

"Then why would you help me if you didn't want to fuck?!"

"You deserve to be treated with respect, i wasn't going to allow such scum to treat you with anything less" the demon grunted, angel realizing that this was the first conversation be ever had with the other, the demons voice soothing to his ears. "you aren't as intimidating as I thought" angel said genuinely as he slid down beside (name), smiling up at him "I intimidated you?" (Name) Seemed genuinely confused and angel cackled "we all were! You're a massive demon who never talks!" (Name) Looked down at his own body and seemed to be in thought "that must be why people run..."

Angel let out a genuine laugh and kissed the others cheek "you ain't intimidating at all anymore to me!" He teased and (name) seemed flustered a bit at the others actions "nuggie seems to like ya" angel said as the tiny piggy crawled into (name)s lap and promptly fell asleep, normally he stuck to angel and angel alone.

"I just admit I have been feeding him little treats, my apologies" (name) seemed embarrassed as angel felt his heart melt a bit, not only was this giant so sweet to him but his pet!

(Name) Let angel sleep in his bed, the demon trying to set up shop on the floor when angel practically forced him on the bed "it's big enough for both of us!" And angel didn't want to sleep alone, the night shaking him up as he snuggled into (name)s side.

Waking up, angel was being held like glass as (name) cuddled him close to his chest as If he were the most precious thing in the world.

Angel didn't want to move, the domestically sweet energy making him feel emotions he wasn't used to.

And god was (name)s chest the most comfortable thing ever, practically smothered by the large pectoral muscles and his massive arms keeping him secure.

Maybe he could close his eyes and enjoy this a little longer...

When (name) woke he gently tucked the spider in as he got out of bed, grabbing a sweater for the other and a pair of boxers for him to wear as he wasn't sure if Angel wanted to wear sleep clothes when he woke...

What he didn't know was angel woke and stared at him curious as the massive demon out together some clothes for him, already dressed for the day and a goody smile played on his face.

He was gonna fuck this demon.

But romantically.

Angel stuck to (name) all day, the bigger demon letting him sit on his shoulder as he went about his day, angel dust talking away as the other listened carefully.

Eventually (name) needed to attend to things as he set angel carefully at the bar and walked off to do whatever it was charlie and Alastor needed him to do.

"So like, you fucking the big guy?" Husk asked bluntly and Angel dust explained what happened, the massive demon being nothing short of a gentleman to the lustful demon "he's only touched me to give me clothes or if I initiated it!" Angel was confused, usually people touch him first and without asking but (name) always looked at him for assurance before doing anything to the white spider, it was nice.

He felt special.

"You deserve someone nice like that, he's always watchin' ya, at first I thought he was glaring but now I think he was worried for ya" it was true, (name) always kept an eye on angel dust and the spider thought (name) was suspicious of him but...

Angel returned to the security demons room that night and (name) looks like a surprised puppy as he let the other in, angel looking up at him expectantly "I wanna fuck you but romantically" angel said simply and (name) tilted his head "you know you don't need to fuck me to be with me" he said simply and angel looked suspicious at him "what? You into cucking?"

(Name) Just lifted the spider and set him in his lap, absolutely tiny comparatively as he turned on the tv and pulled the blanket over them, kissing angel dusts forehead sweetly. Though their relationship seemed a bit rushed, angel couldn't help the goofy smile on his face as he snuggled into (name)s chest, the larger demon kissing his head softly.

Yeah...

He could get used to this.

#hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #angel dust #angel dust x reader #angel dust x male reader #Male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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readychilledwine · 22 days

Note

Pleaseee please could you do obsessive acotar boys who can’t get enough of reader please?

Obsessed

Clingy ACOTAR boys headcanons

Warnings- suggestive themes, mentions of abuse, possessive vibes, death, different ideas I either tossed out or was too insecure to post in short form (including an AU where Feyre doesn't destroy Spring and Tamlin isn't turned into what he's turned into), Beron, abuse, the Weaver, Ianthe, pregnancy

Rhysand

The bond snapped after Feyre freed them from the mountain. You were walking with her, giggling about heading home to Spring.

Of course, his mate was his enemy's little sister, and of course that only further the obsession.

Rhys wanted to free you from under Tamlin's grasp, and it became his mission.

It started with daily letters that you ignored.

Then gifts brought to you by shadows.

Then he'd show up in your room. Smiling as he leaned back against your headboard. "Hello y/n Darling."

You caved after 2 weeks of his nightly visits. Allowing him to plan your "kidnapping"

He rips you from Spring with Feyre. Having convinced Tamlin that if he was so worried about his bride to be, he should send his baby sister as a chaperone.

Once he has you in his home, in your home, those soft touches you two shared at night were no longer enough

His lips were on your body constantly. Your hands, your neck, your own soft lips.

Speaking of hands, I hope you like physical contact, because he has to constantly touch you.

In public, the placement is so respectful. Lower back to the lower side, resting just about your hips, guiding you as you shop and spend his money.

When you finally warm his bed, he cancels all plans the next day to ensure he has proper time to explore your body.

He memorized every freckle, every stretch mark, every scar. He doesn't stop until he knows every ticklish spot, every spot that makes your toes curl.

His love languages are gifts and physical touch, so once you opened that box, you opened a whole can of worms.

You are pulled into unused bedrooms, his office, Azriel and Cassian's offices when they're away, supply closets. He doesn't stop until he's tasted you on every surface and in every room.

I wish you luck during the frenzy. He won't stop until you are throughly spent and bred. How else will he ensure you never leave him?

Cassian

He had admired you while you two were growing up together in Windhaven.

He watched you do your chores and got his ass kicked for it more than he wants to admit.

Even at a young age, Cassian courted you. He didn't care that the flowers he was pulling were weeds. He still turned them into a bouquet or had Rhysand's mother weave them into your hair.

That didn't change as you two grew older together. By 18, it was known you were his, and by that point, everyone knew not to fuck with what's Cassian's.

He wouldn't touch you until your chores were done, wanting to spare you what little pain he could from your father's heavy hand.

Cassian wasn't respectful with his hand placement. The male has always had high sex drive, and he found his match in you.

You and Cassian shamelessly fucked in places that had your dear mother crying. The weapon storage shed. The forest. The mess hall once it was empty.

It was no shock to anyone, especially not you and Cassian, when the bond snapped right as he was leaving for the first war with Hybern.

When he came home to you and took you to Velaris, all bets were off. Rhys settled you two into the House of Wind, Azriel into the Riverhouse, and he took the townhouse.

The two of them never flew to the House of Wind without warning you or Cassian first. To do so had them risking walking in on you riding or Cassian with his head thrown back as you screamed for him.

Cassian can't stop touching you. He can't stop talking about you. He can't stop being in love with you. Even if the only way he knows how to show it is physically.

Not that you're complaining. You didn't need to walk anywhere today.

Azriel

Azriel worshipped you the second Rhysand's mother brought you back to the cabin.

Your voice became salvation, your scent became home, and your hands healed part of him he did not even know was broken.

The bond snapped young for you two. He had just turned 18, and you were still 16. He took his distance then, allowing you to explore the world much to your own protests. You understood why after two years.

It was the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for you. He allowed you to grow without his influence, despite how painful it had to have been watching you with other males.

Your father sees this whole relationship and mateship as a benefit to him alone. He takes you and Azriel to Velaris during the war.

He unknowingly allowed the relationship to go to heights he had already said were off limits to Azriel.

The number of times you had to mask your scent during dinner because a shadow was all too happily playing in your skirts was almost comical.

The relationship between you two is never able to go beyond heated kisses, stolen touches, and lingering glances.

Even in death, Azriel comes to you, speaking to you when he's lost and lonely.

He still obsessed over you, wishing he had more time, wishing he was with you. But the pain lessened.

Being ripped from the Cauldron by Amren was painful and terrifying.

You had a new body, modeled after your old one. You were slightly taller this time, and your face was still able to send males to war.

As much as it pained Azriel, he allowed Rhysand to be the first to you. He allowed your brother to be the one to hold you as you cried, confused and asking where you were. He let Mor go next, then Amren listening as the ancient being told you it was okay and that your purpose was not finished, so she was told to bring you back. Cassian dropped to his knees before you. Holding you as he apologized.

But Azriel waited. He walked beside you in silence as you were taken to the warcamp.

All bets were off once you were in his tent.

You don't know if you rushed to him first or if he came to you, but that reunion kiss was rough. Too much teeth and tongue. Tears falling down both of your faces.

He took things slowly with you. Your first life granted you powers like the world had never seen before, and this time was no different. You could move the stars at will, silence the connect other fae shared with their magic without even having to loosen a breath.

It was final confirmation of what many already knew. Rhysand was high lord due to his cock, not his power, and that sheer fact had Azriel on his knees for you once you were ready.

You are his living goddess, and Azriel is always ready to worship.

Lucien

Eris saved both of you. He had sent you to Spring long before you could be ripped from the market in autumn.

Lucien joined you soon after. Crying to the Mother in gratitude the second you came out from hiding behind Tamlin.

You were a rare breed of lesser fae. Your kind looked similar to the high fae by all means, but your kind had the ability to communicate with every living being.

You knew the names of each tree, of each flower, every critter. You could hear the winds whispers, see the colors he asked you to, and tell them all the meaning.

Your kind had been hunted for years, much like the shadowsingers.

It made Lucien almost unbearable when it came to his protective streak. But so did this new freedom.

Lucien is shamelessly in love with you. As an emissary, he gets to travel places you will never see. But he always brings you something back because you are always on his mind.

He brings you ornaments from Winter, jewelry from Day, sea shells from Summer, clothing from Dawn.

Lucien will speak about you for hours on end. It makes Tamlin crazy at times, but seeing how naturally you two fit together quickly makes the sting of jealousy fade.

Lucien purposes under a willow tree. Your absolute favorite one that you go to for guidance. Even if the bond does not snap, he wants you as his wife.

And boy does being his wife make things interesting.

He is suddenly growling at any male who studies your body for too long. Holding you from behind at all times. Showering you with even more things.

The bond snaps after Amarantha mutilated him. It snapped as you were nursing him back to health. Reminding him his beauty has nothing to do with why you love him, but instead it is his kindness and his soul.

You two become mutually obsessed from that point forward. More often than not, you will send a bird to shit on someone if they harm Lucien in any sense.

You both can not keep your hands to yourself anymore. It was as if that scar actually sealed his place as the most handsome male you had ever laid eyes on.

He sends you away to the forest when the 50 years is coming to a close. Not caring if he dies for it.

You would be his last thought if he did. And during that second trial, you were his only thought.

Everything he had done was for your safety, and if he ever saw you again, he would whisper those one thousand words he wanted to say as he laid between your legs, and he would never let go again.

Eris

Childhood best friends to lovers? Anyone? Anyone?

Well... kind of childhood best friends.

You met Eris when he was 6 and you were 5.

Your parents were one of two shadow hound breeders, and Beron was desperate to get his hands on one of your family's pups specifically.

You had this special talent that you could use from the moment you were able to. You seemed to know which hounds needed to be bred together to create the most powerful litters. And you did it all without inbreeding.

Your family quickly took hold of the other breeder's dogs, and you, your father's pride and joy, made their lives better.

Eris becomes obsessed with you from that day forward, and Beron knows it. Hence why you two are married at the young ages of 18 and 17.

Eris is madly in love and in private is very expressive of that.

He shows his love through praise.

"You look absolutely stunning today, little fox," is a common greeting as he brings you a tray of fresh fruits, eggs, breakfast meat of choice, and toast.

The sap cuts your toast into a heart.

He's a hopeless romantic, and it kills you that no one is able to see how he is with you outside of his mother amd your parents who are waiting for the day they get to go to war for him.

The second you end up pregnant, Eris's love turned into true obsession and not the healthy normal kind between partners.

He becomes possessive and overprotective. Your suddenly moved to one of his private hunting cabins with a guard detail and private healer assigned to you and you only.

He has to have his hands on you at all times. The only exception is when he is at the Forest House.

It is love. You know that deep down, but Gods, you are lonely.

You understand why this is happening, though, when he shows up beaten and bruised, limping into your arms for any sense of comfort.

His obsession is your safety. The safety of the lives you carry.

Once you birth his twins, the game changes. The obsession is now on him not being able to get enough of your new body.

Your mom body lives rent-free in Eris's mind. He's stroked himself in his office to the thought of your fuller breasts and supple hips more times than he'd like to admit.

He loves to squeeze your hips, loving the soft feel of them.

He would have gone to war for you beforehand. He does it now.

He wants to see a crown of leaves and berries on your head, sparkling but failing in comparison to the gem he has in his bed.

He crowns you high lady during his coronation.

You are his, and he is yours, regardless of that bond never snapping. You two do not need the Mother nor the Cauldron to decide you are each other's equal and other halves. You already know.

Tamlin

You knew you were Tamlin's mate long before Amarantha. You were a well kept secret, hidden out of fear of Rhysand coming to take you as well.

You made home in The Middle. Becoming friends with the Weaver was interesting, but you two forged a relationship. You bring her food, she offers protection, so yes. You kept her fed.

Tamlin comes back for the second he allows Rhysand to take Feyre.

You two spend the week she is there in bed, fucking like rabbits until he was content.

It's dead silence when Feyre comes back. He had expected Rhysand to keep her, not hold up his end of the bargain, and he also believed their relationship to be over.

Rhys was an idiot if he thought Tamlin couldn't scent the mating bond. He was willingly handing her over, and the High Lord had to aggressively whisper that to Rhys one night in his office to get it through the other male's thick skull.

It took Tamlin tugging the bond for you for Rhysand to understand.

The Lord of Night was almost disgusted by the love and mutual need you and Tamlin shared. He felt the two of you marked him in the scent of roses and petrichor.

The two of them sat Feyre down 3 days later, and she eagerly went to Night after Tamlin finally got her to understand that while he loves her, he cannot help her and love her the way Rhys will be able to.

That freed you two up, much to Ianthe's anger, to make up for lost time all over again.

He lives between your thighs. No one can change my mind, but Tamlin is a munch, and he cannot get enough of the taste of you.

When you find out Ianthe put her hands on him, on Rhysand, on Lucien you and Feyre become a force. Ianthe selling Feyre's sisters to Hybern had been enough for you and Tamlin to begin the process of banishing her. But much to Tamlin's delight, this made you feral.

Feyre crippled the priestess, and you dragged her by her bleach and tone blonde hair to the Weaver, smiling to Stryga.

"Feyre's apology present for stealing the ring, dear friend." Feyre held a breath, fingers squeezing your wrist as the Weaver moved, scenting Ianthe's fear, blood, and tears.

"And what is this?"

The two of you look at each other, mirrored cruel smiles before speaking in unison, "Dinner."

Tamlin, Lucien, and Rhysand watched from a distance as Feyre retreated to them, and you stayed to ensure the priestess did not somehow escape. "I can see why you love her," Rhysand started slowly. "She's-"

"Everything," Tamlin stated softly. "She is everything."

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muntitled · 1 month

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𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

Aegon Targaryen x Fem!reader

Summary: You were the only one who truly saw the tortured king. Not his mother, not his brother, and certainly not his wife.

Warning: Language, Infidelity, Humiliation, Toxicity, King Complex, Slight Angst, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Canon typical Incest, Grinding, Forced orgasm, King Kink?, Dom/Sub Themes, Controlled Orgasm, Ownership Kink, Dub/Con, Groping, Humping, Pussy rubbing, Exhibition Kink

This isn't very good, I admit. I just needed to get it out of my head.

Despite your eye following the pathway of High Valyrian ink splashed on the weathered pages of your book, your brain takes forever to process the words.. It is a story you had enjoyed since the days of your wetnurse but now you are focused on the utter injustices occurring by the dinner table before you. You always found your nose nestled in a book throughout dinner, all save for this one.

The Queen mother is bent over her plate, forgetting her table manners in the vehemence of her passions, while Aemond assumes a hostile glare from his perch at the head of the table. Aegon sits slumped in between you and Helena, with his half lidded eyes so painfully tedious as he prods at his food, while these fake gods scold him from above.

"And to make matters impossibly worse, you failed to display even a shred of sympathy towards his condition-" Despite the nature of his mother's tone, it does not stop Aegon from rebutting where necessary, with a quick, sharpness on his tongue.

"This 'condition' you speak of, being the imprisonment of a wealthy merchant's stupid son." Aegon releases a short, winded chuckle, one that you share behind the concealment of your book. "Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten himself captured."

"He is apart of your battalion, Aegon- fighting your war-"

"I am not at war. As I sit here, I am not harbouring any ill feelings towards any party-"

Aemond interrupts, "All you think about is fucking and drinking-"

"Precisely brother!" Aegon proceeds to turn to his mother, with his hands splayed outwards he reiterates, "All I think about is fucking and drinking,"

A loud, unladylike snort escapes the confines of your throat which you attempt to sheath with a cough as you study the words in your book. Aemond rolls his eyes while Aegon throws a blatant smirk beside you- "See Mother! Now our dear cousin has fallen ill as a result of the animosity stirred by your incessant scolding!” Aegon’s voice is doused in sarcasm as he rubs his hand into your shoulder, “All because of your nagging, mother," Alicent’s eyes darken as her voice descends into caution "Aegon. Tomorrow you are to formally apologise to that Knight. He is a seasoned member of your Kingsguard-" The politics was becoming far too much on him. His grip has yet to leave your shoulder.

"Why the complete and utter fuck should I be pandering to my subjects?"

Aemond is the first to inject "Have you not a shred of Diplomacy, you fucking imbecile?" You eye Aemond from above your book, and you cannot begin to imagine the younger brother would ever inject himself into Aegon's business, no reason except perhaps, jealousy?

Aegon promptly ignores Aegon, and, with his eyes on Alicent, he leans over the table and whispers:

"If Rhaenyra wishes to have the crown, she may gladly take it-"

"AEGON!" The queen's thunderous voice settles over the table like a tempest, injecting all those present with a sharp, instinctive flinch, all except Aegon, who remains lax and unaffected by her outburst, only fueling the Queen's anger to first born tenfold.

"I cannot rely on you for anything, Aegon, NOTHING! For a mother to be so utterly embarrassed by her son- her eldest son," there is venom in her incredulity, one that has your brows curving as you send a sympathetic gaze at the Usurper. You lower your novel and lean slightly closer to the battlefield that has befallen the dinner table. Aegon’s hand drops from your shoulder, landing in your lap. You clasp his trembling hand in both of yours.

How a simple visit to see your cousins in King's Landing had turned into a public execution of Aegon's dignity, is utterly beyond you. You decide that you simply will not allow it, you cannot allow it, and solidarity is all you hope Aegon feels radiating from your clasped hands under the table.. You look up at him, thinking you might look up to find anguish in Aegon's eyes, but all you find there is a sly, almost secretive smirk dancing along his visage.

"You govern this country like a child-" Aemond begins but you're quick to snip back,

"Perhaps we should be mindful, cousin of the fact that Aegon still is a child. He is but 20 years in age!" You exclaim, with your own incredulity coating your laughter, "Aegon's destiny was pre-written when you were barely able to wipe your own shit, Cousin." Aegon fails to conceal his crass bought of laughter.

"I've no time for this," Alicent says, pushing herself out of her chair before rising in silent anger, "Helena, come," she commands before leading a slightly aloof Helena out the dining hall without another word. Helena mumbles something about broken unions in iron castings before disappearing.

The silence is deafening as Aemond's one eye studies the two of you - he is not able to see your hand underneath the table, you don’t think…

"Before you think about fucking our cousin, at least think about fucking your wife." Aemond announces, to an amused Aegon who keeps his amused gaze lowered to the table. It is then that Aegon squeezes your hand, still seated on your lap. His fingers encircle yours in what you initially deduce is acknowledgement of your solidarity, but what you quickly realise is something much more sinister.

"I cannot say I will heed your counsel, brother," It is then that Aegon grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you until your palm is cupping his hardened cock. "But you can trust that your council is solemnly heard."

Aemond watches you from above the rim of his chalice as he empties the final traces of his wine before placing his chalice back on the table. His exit is a slow one, one that has your anticipation expanding and Aegon's patience waning. In all honesty, hearing your valiant defence to preserve his dignity raised an intense feeling of desire in Aegon. Even though Aegon's only feeling ever, always seemed to be desire.

"Come here," He says once Aemond footsteps have echoed away, "I need your mouth," Despite his command, Aegon is already leaning in with his hand cupping the back of your skull. Soon, all you can smell is him. All you can feel is him. All you can taste is the drunken and sunken taste of him.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, ripping a fresh groan from inside you as he twirls you into his lap. He has you arrested on him, his front to your back, with your arse pressed on his crotch. His hand on your face cranes your neck backwards and forces his mouth on yours, promising that even if you wanted to free yourself, you may never be able to.

"I love how you see me," He whispers, never breaking away too far, in fear of you disappearing, "How utterly pleased I am with the version of myself I see living in your eyes," His words spill out of him and slip inside your mouth bridged by your shared saliva.

"He is not useless. He is not pitiful," Aegon breaks away from the kiss, to lay a palm on your cheek.

As one hand lovingly strokes the side of your face, Aegon’s other hand is ravenous, as it palms your sensitive breasts through the bodice of your dress.

"Thank you for not judging me," He all but whimpers as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in until his hips attempt to grind into you like a touch starved adolescent boy, while he ventures under your soft skirts.

"You don't have to thank me, Aegon." Your hands reach backwards to cradle his head into the crook of neck just as Aegon's fingers reach around to hook into the seat of your underwear. You aren't nearly as aroused as him, but somehow that fact has Aegon spiralling even further into arousal. His eyes are squeezed shut as he leans into you, smelling you, while his fingers drift over your pussy, searching desperately for a reaction.

"It is very rare that I find myself wanting to give any woman pleasure," Aegon's admits, with a low, dense drawl. His actions steal the breath from your very lungs as you feel the first sign of wetness begin to coat your underwear. He is in utter awe when he feels it. Quickly descending into a level of pleasure that he was not even sure existed, "I fucking love your cunt," He murmurs in his desperate drunken haze, "I wish to play with it and taste it and fuck it until you’re barely able to speak-"

"God's, Aegon!" Your voice is hoarse and your cries reach the highest rafter of the dining hall. Despite your degenerate wails, Aegon does little to stop them, in fact he encourages them, as his fingers push your underwear aside.

"When did you get so fucking wet?" The warmth of his breath fans against your cheeks, as he presses his front against your behind, "Did I get you this wet?" He asks, before getting the strongest surge of arousal as he whispers, "Did your King get you this wet?"

All you are able to accomplish is a nod as your mind explodes with vibrant visions of your near release. Soon, you're moving your hips in tandem with Aegon's fingers squeezing sloppily at your clit before rubbing with vicious surety.

"Please-"

"Call me by my title," He whispers, completely stripped from his sensibilities. "Tell your King to make you come," Aegon's brain is filled with what he suspects is determination. He is determined to see the most lecherous parts of you crack, and have it done by his design. He rubs your cunt with furious passion while he pushes up from underneath you, utterly destroyed by the idea of having a monopolised control over the workings of your body.

"Fuck- please my King!" The ache between your legs is as warm and erratic as Aegon's hands. "Please let me cum-"

"Tis only I, who can get My Lady this wet and needy," He murmurs, quite literally to himself, as he pushes his hips against your arse.

"Only you, My King." You decide to humour him, seeking the quickest way to your release, "Only you can make me cum," Throughout his tirade, Aegon's other, unoccupied hand has reached around and clasped itself against your throat. He is violent in his actions, squeezing deliriously until your throat is vacuumed of all its air. It's an utterly depraved situation you have both found yourselves in.

Anyone could decide to walk in at any moment and Aegon affirms as much. "You're such a pretty little whore, making a mess on my fingers like this. Fuck, The servants could decide to walk through at any moment," His grip on your throat relaxes, allowing you gasp hungrily for air while the first spots of your organs threaten to surge through you.

"P-Please, My King-"

"What would they think if they find you humping my hand like such a needy, little whore?" He is rubbing rough circles against your cunt until finally, you're unable to resist teetering on the edge much longer. As your orgasm washes over you, and your body shudders above him, Aegon's own orgasm is triggered as he forces your hips further onto the seat of his pants.

"My Lord," your voice is shallow but a restless tremor settles on your limbs, "Have you no shame," you're partially jesting, as you try to come back from your previous delirium.

"I've already been branded a devil," He says, "There is no Grace left to fall from."

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aemond x reader #aegon targaryen smut #hotd smut #aegon smut

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taexual · 9 months

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sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice—both Sid and Jude worked for their families, which really meant that they got paid to occasionally show up at the shareholders’ meetings on behalf of their parents. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And some nights in London, depending on our flight time,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation. “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

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khurooai · 10 months

Text

insatiable desires pt. 1

leon s. kennedy x f. reader

warning: EXTREMELY DARK SMUT. NONCON, DUBCON, CNC. possessive behavior. praise & degradation. master-pet/slave relationship, size kink, corruption kink, jealousy, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, tummy bulge, dacryphilia, slight bdsm, hair pulling, slapping, spanking, brat taming, dumbification, manipulation, overstimulation, marking, love bites, branding scare.

this part is purely smut and i guess a bit of introduction to their relationship (?), the plot and story begin in part 2.

(not proofread & lowercase intended)

note: the following content contains explicit and adult-oriented language and themes. this piece is fictional and solely intended for the reader's satisfaction and imagination. the author does NOT condone or endorse any real-life activities that may be depicted. reader discretion is advised. mdni.

please bear with me for a bit, as i haven't written for a while. however, i intend to improve my writing with every part of this series.

you've tried everything. exploring every possibility in your relentless pursuit of pleasure, yet it remains unfulfilled. you want—no, you need the real thing — a real cock. not a cold silicone dildo or a vibrator but a genuine connection with a man who can satiate your deepest desires. someone who not only comprehends the hidden desires that you are yet to find in the corners of your mind, but also your current fantasies. a man of experience, confidence, and the ability to surpass your expectations, while respecting your boundaries and limitations.

driven by this longing, you made a bold decision one fateful day. you set your sights on a formidable individual, a man whose reputation precedes him. with unwavering determination, you sought to approach leon kennedy, a figure who held the key to unlocking your satisfaction, as they say.

and so, he invited you to his penthouse, seated comfortably behind his wide desk, he reclined his swivel chair. his piercing blue eyes alternated between the document resting before him and the person who stood before him—you.

leon smirks, leaning back further in his chair, his fingers steepled together. his piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, his voice smooth and confident. "let's go over the agreed-upon rules one last time." he reaches forward, picking up the paper and clearing his throat before reading out loud.

rule number one: you will address me as "master " at all times, without exception. disobedience will result in punishment.

rule number two: your body is mine to do as i please. you will obey any and all orders given to you immediately and without question. failure to do so will result in punishment.

rule number three: you are to be completely submissive and obedient at all times. any displays of resistance or defiance will be met with consequences.

rule number four: trust and honesty are crucial. you will communicate your desires, limits, and boundaries clearly and openly.

rule number five: "red" will be our safe word, a word that will signify the need for an immediate halt to any activities. and for situations when you cannot speak, a double tap from you shall serve as your signal for me to cease.

rule number six: consent is given and assumed between us. we have entered into this agreement willingly and with a clear understanding of the dynamics at play.

rule number seven: any physical marks or bruises left on your body will be solely at my discretion. i may use them as a reminder of your submission and my ownership.

rule number seven: you will wear the collar i have provided you with at all times when we are together. it symbolizes your submissive status.

rule number eight: aftercare is of utmost importance. i will provide care and comfort after each session, tending to your physical and emotional needs.

rule number nine: limits and hard boundaries will be respected. any acts or requests beyond those limits will not be entertained.

rule number ten: discretion is crucial. our arrangement and any activities that occur between us will remain strictly between us.

rule number eleven: i shall provide for you as long as our contract is in effect.

rule number twelve: communication is key. if at any time you have concerns, questions, or suggestions, you are to bring them to my attention.

rule number thirteen: exclusivity is expected. you will be mine and mine alone. you will not engage in any form of sexual activity with others without my explicit permission.

rule number fourteen: this agreement is subject to periodic review and amendments as we see fit, but any changes must be agreed upon by both parties.

rule number fifteen: above all, remember that your role is to serve and please me. your submission and obedience will be rewarded, but disobedience will not go unpunished."

leon finishes reading the rules and proceeds to enlighten you now with the punishments in order for disobedience and failure to follow the contract. the severity of the punishments depends on the nature of the transgression.

"for minor offenses, i may choose to administer a spanking, using my hand or other implements of your choosing. a whip, a belt, or even a paddle. the sting and the marks they leave will surely remind you of your place.

for more grave offenses, i might decide to deny you pleasure, subjecting you to a period of denial and frustration. teasing you, torturing you with pleasure until the brink, only to leave you unsatisfied.

for severe transgressions, humiliation. i will expose your deepest, darkest secrets, making you feel vulnerable and exposed. in front of me, or perhaps even in front of others, if i deem it necessary. the shame you feel will be a harsh reminder of your place.

another form of punishment i enjoy is forced orgasm. i will push you to your limits, overstimulating your body with pleasure until you are begging for mercy. but i will continue, without pause, until you are broken, trembling, and completely at my mercy."

and, of course, there is always the option of physical pain. whether it be through flogging, caning, or even more extreme methods, like branding.

the act of marking you permanently, etching my ownership into your very flesh. it would serve as a stark reminder of your place and your commitment to our contract. for the location, i have chosen the upper back, just below the neck. it is a prominent yet easily concealable area, allowing you to exhibit your mark when desired or to hide it under clothing when necessary."

"as for the design, a simple symbol of my choosing will suffice. an intricate "L" intertwined with a fierce dragon, symbolizing power, dominance, and the unbreakable bond between master and slave." leon's voice lowers, his gaze intensifying as he locks eyes with you.

"and now, the method. we shall proceed with scarification, using a heated branding iron. the sensation of searing pain, the sizzle of flesh meeting metal, will etch the memory of my ownership permanently into your being."

setting the paper back down on the desk and swiftly sliding it across the table towards you. he studies your face carefully, waiting for your response.

after thoroughly reviewing the contract and deeming it satisfactory, a surge of confidence coursed through your veins. without hesitation, you grabbed the pen from his desk, eager to finalize the deal with a flourish of your signature.

"done."

without wasting another precious moment, leon reached for his desk, deftly pulling open a drawer to reveal a thick and vibrant pink collar. with a determined gaze, he rose to his feet.

his fingers idly toying with the collar's texture as he approached you. then he pressed his lips tenderly against your forehead, a gesture filled with affection and a hint of dominance. it sent shivers down your spine, amplifying the anticipation that already hung in the air.

circling behind you, his hand delicately brushed your hair over your shoulder. with a confident yet gentle touch, he wrapped the collar around your neck, securing it in place. the buckle clicked, its snugness striking the perfect balance between leaving a mark and allowing you to breathe freely.

"who owns you, pretty thing? tell me,"

"you do, master. all for you."

"mmm, such sweet devotion," leon purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his hands trailed down your body, his touch both possessive and tender. he gripped your waist firmly, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to elicit a gasp from your lips.

leaning in, his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his voice a low, velvety whisper. "you belong to me now. your body, your pleasure, all for me." his words sent a jolt of desire coursing through your veins, your body growing more submissive under his commanding presence.

leon slowly guided you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body. he sat down on the edge, his gaze fixed on you with hunger in his eyes. "strip for me, pet. show me what's mine," he commanded, his voice laced with an intoxicating blend of authority and desire.

your hands shook slightly as you began to undress, the vulnerability and anticipation electrifying every movement. leon's eyes drank in the sight of you, his gaze washing over your exposed skin, appreciating every curve and contour. his lips curled into a wicked smile, his own arousal evident.

as you stood before him, bare and vulnerable, leon's hand snapped out, the sound of a sharp slap resounding through the room. a mixture of pain and pleasure ignited within you, your body responding to the delightful sting. "you've been such a good pet, haven't you?" he taunted, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "but we're just getting started."

without warning, his hand tangled in your hair, roughly pulling you towards him. his lips claimed yours in a fierce and possessive kiss, his tongue dominating yours as he explored the depths of your mouth. the taste of him consumed you, his taste lingering on your tongue as you gasped for breath.

breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "you're mine, and i'm going to make sure you never forget who you belong to," he growled, before pushing you back onto the bed, positioning himself above you.

leon's lips crashed into yours once again, the hunger and desire intensifying with each passing second. his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with a possessive grip. as your tongues danced together, the room filled with the sound of your muffled moans, consumed by your shared lust.

his fingers trailed down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. with a firm yet gentle grip, he squeezed your ass, the sting of the slap still lingering on your skin. "you like it rough, don't you? tell me," he demanded, his voice filled with a mix of dominance and eagerness.

a shuddering breath escaped your lips as you mustered the words, your voice a mere whisper. "y-yes, master. want it as rough as you want," you admitted, your submission fueling the fire within him.

in response, he threw you onto the bed. leon gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, holding them firmly in place. his kisses descended from your lips, trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of love bites and marks in his wake. the combination of pleasure and pain sent waves of electricity through your body, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

his hand slipped between your thighs, teasing your slick folds with his fingers. with a wicked smirk, he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "do you want me to claim you, pet? to make you mine in every way?" he murmured, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

desire surged through your veins as you nodded eagerly, your voice barely above a whisper. "y-yes, make me yours completely," you pleaded, your words punctuated by a moan as his fingers slipped inside you, expertly exploring your depths.

leon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt your wetness coating his fingers. he moved them in a slow and calculated manner, curling them to find that sweet spot that would elicit delicious moans from your lips. each movement of his hand was designed to bring you pleasure, to make you crave more.

keeping his eyes locked on yours, he pulled his fingers out, only to thrust them back in, setting a rhythm that matched the growing heat between you. each stroke was deliberate, leaving you on the precipice of pleasure, but never quite pushing you over.

his voice was a commanding whisper as he spoke, hot breath cascading over your ear. "so obedient and responsive," he growled, his voice dripping with authority. his fingers quickened their pace, plunging deep into your core, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

leon's smoldering eyes bore into yours, relishing in the sight of your submission. he pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit your most sensitive spot. your moans filled the room, echoing the pleasure that surged through your body like an electric current.

with a flick of his wrist, he removed his fingers from your dripping entrance, making you whimper in need. he brought them up to your lips, the scent of your arousal filling your nostrils as he traced your lips with his fingertips. "open," he commanded, his tone demanding your unquestioning obedience.

as your mouth opened, he slid his fingers inside, fully coating them with your taste. "suck them clean, pet," he ordered, his voice laced with the promise of retribution if you disobeyed. without hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, cleaning off every drop of your essence.

satisfied with your obedience, leon withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a glimmer of sadistic pleasure dancing in his eyes. "perfectly made just for me," he declared, his voice filled with lust and dominance.

a cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he unbuckled his belt, the sound of leather sliding through metal sending a shiver down your spine. holding the belt firmly in his hand, he let the leather coil against his palm before he loomed above you.

his strong hands gripped your hips, flipping you onto your stomach. "you're going to feel every strike of this belt," he warned, his voice filled with a mix of authority and sadistic pleasure. yet, he paused. "color."

"g-green."

without further delay, leon brought down the belt, the leather hitting the exposed skin of your backside with a resounding crack. the sting and burn left you breathless, each strike toeing the line between pleasure and pain. your moans filled the room as he continued his relentless assault, marking your skin with red welts that matched his voracious desire.

he leaned in closer, his voice husky and dominant. "such a good girl," he praised, his lips brushing against your ear. "you're already so wet for me, so eager and ready to get fucked rough."

he released his pulsing cock from his pants, his touch sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. his hand moved with a purpose, stroking his length firmly, the sight and sound of his hand gliding along his throbbing shaft filling the room.

leon's cock throbbed in his hand, the veins pulsating with anticipation. each stroke elicited a soft grunt of pleasure from his lips, his grip tightening around his shaft. it was a sight to behold, his arousal on full display.

with a teasing smirk, he pressed just the tip inside, relishing in the way you gasped and writhed beneath him. "you want it, don't you, pet? beg for it," he commanded, his voice a low growl of dominance.

an intense desire coursed through you, driving you to please him even further. "please, n-need you inside me, master," you pleaded, your voice dripping with desperation.

leon's dominance ignited within him. before you could prepare yourself, he shifted his body, his throbbing length pressing against your slick fold and without warning, he thrust himself inside you with a forceful intensity. pleasure mixed with pain as your body adjusted to his size, and a guttural growl escaped his throat. he set a rhythm, his movements powerful and relentless, his grip on your hips leaving bruises in his wake.

you gasped loudly, your hands gripping the bedsheets, nails digging into the fabric. "o-oh fuck, leon," you moaned breathlessly, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and surprise.

suddenly, leon's hand came down hard on your ass, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. the sting of the slap sent a jolt of pain and pleasure coursing through your body, a reminder of your place and the rules you should follow.

"address me properly, pet," he growled, his voice filled with a potent mix of warning and desire.

tears glistened in your eyes as the pain radiated through your ass, your skin tingling from the impact. "i-i'm sorry, master," you whimpered, your voice laced with both regret and desire. "please, forgive me."

leon's hand ghosted gently over the now reddened flesh, his touch contrasting the previous harshness. "you know better," he chided softly, his tone a twisted blend of affection and dominance.

with a shift of his hips, he resumed his forceful thrusts, his cock pounding into you with a relentless pace. each stroke brought a mix of sensations driving you further into submission. as your body trembled against him, you vowed to never forget his title again.

leon smirked, relishing in the sight of your desperate and needy state. "hm... you liked that, didn't you?" he taunted, his voice filled with a mix of sadistic pleasure and satisfaction. "of course you do, fucking slut."

with each forceful thrust, he drove himself deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he claimed you completely. his body moved with calculated precision, his hips meeting yours with an insatiable hunger for dominance.

the sound of skin slapping against skin resonated through the room, the bed creaking beneath you. your moans filled the air, mixing with his growls of satisfaction. his relentless pace pushed you to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure as you clung to the brink of release.

but leon wasn't done with you yet. with a sudden change in position, he flipped you onto your back. "now you're going to take it just how i want," he hissed, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

his free hand moved to your throat, hand gripping the collar firmly but not enough to cut off your oxygen. "look at me," he commanded, his eyes locked with yours. "i want to see you. look at me in the eyes as i claim you as mine. fill you up with my seed, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"y-yes!" you exclaim in ecstasy, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, on the brink of spilling over.

as your eyes met, he could see the hunger, the desperation reflected in your gaze. his hand traveled up to your face, his thumb brushing gently against the corner of your eye, capturing a tear. he brought his thumb to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he licked it clean, savoring the taste of your submission.

"there it is... such a beautiful sight," he murmured darkly, his voice filled with a mix of lust and superiority. your tears only spurred him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more frenzied.

leon's thumb found your clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive nub, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. the combination of his skilled fingers and the overwhelming pleasure he's forcing onto your body had you on the brink of release, your breaths coming in sharp gasps.

his hand released your throat and trailed down, his fingers tracing a path along your collarbone until they reached your pert breasts. with a firm grip, he kneaded them, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, relishing in the way they filled his hands.

with a smirk, he leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking on it with an irresistible intensity. his tongue swirled around your sensitive bud, creating delicious friction that made you arch your back in pleasure. he alternated between gentle and rough bites, leaving love bites in his wake. the mix of pain and pleasure sent shivers down your spine, igniting a primal need within you.

"m-more, master," unable to hold back any longer, you moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair, encouraging him to take more of you. the sensations were overwhelming, a perfect blend that brought you closer to the edge.

he couldn't resist the urge to give you a sharp bite, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of your breast which sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, earning a yelp from your trembling lips. his hot breath ghosted over the bite mark as he murmured, "beautiful."

his mouth left a trail of wet kisses and love bites along your chest, marking you as his possession. he could sense your desire building once again, your body begging for release under his touch.

with a sinful smirk, he released your breasts from his mouth. his fingers circling your nipples, tugging on them lightly before sliding down your body to grip your thigh. hoisting your leg over his shoulder to grant him deeper access and allow him to pound into you harder.

with half-lidded eyes, you gaze at leon, intrigued by his furrowed brows and the intensity of his gaze fixed on your lower region rather than your face. leon's thumb grazed against the bulge in your lower abdomen, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. his teasing caress only heightened your desire, leaving you yearning for more of his delicious domination.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered huskily, "seeing my cock bulge reminds me that you exist to serve me. you are mine, my plaything. every thrust, every swell of my cock inside you... it's a constant reminder of how deeply you've submitted to me."

with a swift motion, he thrust his hips forward, driving his bulging cock deeper into you, aching against every inch of your inner walls. the sensation was both pleasurable and torturous, a sweet torment that left you craving more of his merciless control.

"do you like feeling that bulge, my pet?" he asked, his voice laced with satisfaction. "does it make you feel owned, completely at my mercy? my cock stretching you, filling you, pushing you to your limits."

leon smirked at your trembling form, relishing the power he held over you. he firmly guided your hand to press against the bulge on your stomach, ensuring you felt every pulsation and throb of his cock as it filled you completely.

"such a good girl," he praised, his voice laced with wicked satisfaction. "feel that? feel how deeply i'm inside you? the proof of our connection lies right here."

he tightened his grip on your hand, making sure you couldn't pull away, as he thrust his hips forward, causing his cock to press even harder against your hand. every movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you, reinforcing the intoxicating control he had over your body.

"you'll take everything i give you, won't you? every drop of my seed belongs inside you, isn't that right?" he commanded, his voice filled with sadistic delight. "but not just yet, pet. you don't get to cum until i give you permission."

with that, leon withdrew his slightly, a sadistic smile crept across leon's lips as he held himself still, teasing you with just the tip of his hardened length. he savored the sight of your desperation, relishing in your need for him to fill you completely once more.

your whine of frustration and need only fueled his sadistic delight. with a cruel twist of his hips, he pushed himself deep into you once again, his length plunging into your eager depths. the sudden fullness made you gasp, a mixture of pleasure and relief flooding your senses.

but just as quickly as he had given you what you craved, he pulled back, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. a whimper escaped your lips, the anticipation and desire consuming your thoughts.

he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

he shifted his rhythm, alternating between deep, agonizing thrusts and shallow, teasing motions. the anticipation and frustration built within you, driving you to the brink of insanity. your body writhed beneath him, involuntarily seeking the release it so desperately needed.

leon began to thrust slowly, torturing you with every languid movement, pushing you to the edge of orgasm only to deny it. he wanted to see you quivering with need, desperate and helpless under his dominant control.

leon was merciless. he reveled in your torment, denying you the climax you longed for, pushing you to the edge and then pulling back. his eyes danced with sadistic delight as he watched the desperation and need etched on your face.

"master, please," you pleaded, your voice filled with desperation. "i'll do anything. please let me cum."

"no, pet," he sneered mockingly, his tone dripping with authority. "you do not get to cum until i allow it. and i must say, i'm quite enjoying watching you squirm and beg for it."

he continued his calculated torture, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each torturous stroke. your body trembled, juices dripping down your thighs as you teetered on the precipice of release.

submissively, you spread your legs wider, silently offering more of yourself to him. you desperately hoped that your actions would be enough to convince him. finally, when he deemed you had suffered enough, leon's rhythm shifted once more. his movements became rough and forceful, pushing you over the edge.

each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your walls tightening around his thick cock. you could feel him deep inside you, his size filling you to the brim.

as your body quivered beneath him, on the precipice of release, he continued his ruthless assault. your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tumbled over the edge into a mind-shattering orgasm. the waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath his dominating presence.

"l-leon!" you cried out his name, your pleasure mingling with his dominance, creating a symphony of ecstasy.

as your body shuddered and twitched beneath him, leon continued his relentless rhythm, prolonging the blissful torture. with a groan, leon reached his peak. he buried himself deep within you, emptying his hot essence deep into your waiting womb. you felt the pulsations of his release, his thick, potent seed filling you completely.

his eyes boring into yours as he slowly pulled out, relishing the way your body clenched around him leaving you feeling empty and yearning for more. the mixture of his cum and your juices dripped down your ass, a reminder of the intensity of your encounter.

leon's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smile as he scooped up the small amount of leaked cum and pushed it back inside you. his finger slid in smoothly, the wetness mixing with your own arousal. "don't waste a single drop of your master's cum, pet," he whispered throatily, his voice filled with a possessive hunger. feeling the tightness of your walls around his digits, he slowly withdrew his fingers.

leaning in close, he gently wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of his hand, his touch both comforting and possessive. "mmm, such a good pet," he purred, his voice laced with mocking affection. "i can see it in your eyes, how eager you are to please me. those tears only make it more enticing. you crave my approval, don't you?"

he caressed your cheek with a gentle touch. "and you'll do anything for my praise, won't you, my little slave? you'll endure pain, pleasure, and humiliation just to hear those words of approval spill from my lips."

a smug grin on his face as he watched your teary, half-lidded eyes and obedient nod. he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

"mine."

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unknownfortuna · 3 months

Text

Profection years

Profection Years represent the themes in the house you will be facing as well as the planets associated with the signs in the houses. REMEMBER planets within these houses also represent whether the manifestations will be positive or negative (also aspects). I will be speaking mostly positive manifestations to avoid freaking anyone out:)

Ascendent: ages 0, 12, 24, 36, 48, 60, 72...

The transformation in these years are closely tied to your identity. These years may also feel like you are starting over in some way, perhaps you are being too clingy with things that are not meant to be and will be forced to let go (you were supposed to do this in the 12th house but whatever you'll learn). A new you is reborn and you will be reintroducing yourself to those around you!

The rising sign is an indicator of what your year may hold for you (planet associated too!)

ex. Virgo rising may really lean into a more polished looking appearance. attention to detail and being a bit of a perfectionist in the work you do. You may be highly critical of yourself and others. Planet- Mercury will be activated this year. Perhaps you will incorporate more professional language depending on the profession you are in.

2nd House: ages 1, 13, 25, 37, 49, 61, 73...

These years are focused on your assets and values related to the self. (ascendent profection years is more superficial and based on others opinion/the mask you show others ex. work persona). Your material possessions and your ability to provide for yourself.

ex. Scorpio in the 2nd house. Can be going through a more secretive transition related to how you make your money. May be doing a more taboo profession or conflict may arise due to scorpio being associated with pluto and mars (also darker/obsessive tendencies with your things/self....like astrology/the occult)

3rd House: ages 2, 14, 26, 38, 50, 62, 74...

More active years; heavier emphasis on your siblings and neighborhood. Changes to your thought patterns and communication. More activity in your day to day life such as traveling or commuting somewhere.

ex. Libra in the 3rd house would be feeling more codependent on their siblings/neighbors and vice versa. Can have run ins with the law (parking/speeding tickets... also being able to get out of them bc of your charm:). More activity in your romantic and business partnerships! (Flirting with everyone bc why not??). Venus will be on your side during this year.

4th House: ages 3, 15, 27, 39, 51, 63, 75...

Family and the foundation you stand on will be heavy on your mind. What kind of legacy do you want to leave behind? How can I be more involved in my family? How is my relationship with my mom affecting me? Childhood themes may also come up. Revisiting certain memories or places associated with childhood.

ex. Leo in the 4th house would hold more emphasis on adding flair to their home; More self expression towards their family and with their mom. The sun would be activated and a perpetual spotlight would follow you making you stand out ESPECIALLY with your family (being the talk of their family bc their mom can't help but brag about an accomplishment you made this year).

5th House: ages 4, 16, 28, 40, 52, 64, 76...

This profection year can really help tap into a more creative side of yourself. Perhaps you become more into a hobby you've been wanting to do. More excitement in your dating life relationships/ going out more with friends. pets are also a theme.

ex. Gemini in the 5th house would have soooo much to talk about with people (beware of gossiping). More fun with your siblings or you could be involved in communicating with kids in some capacity (You are a part of an after school program for elementary aged kids). Mercury would be activated.

6th House: ages 5, 17, 29, 41, 53, 65, 77...

These years pertain to your health/daily routine/every day work habits. Perhaps you want to incorporate a new diet or get more into a fitness routine.

Ex. Pisces in the 6th house may incorporate a ritual of some sort. Manifestation practices/protection spell work/reading scriptures from a religious text. Neptune will be activated this year so movies can be an inspiration for change to your life (beware of being mislead, neptune=planet of illusions ; you join a pyramid scheme lol). Jupiter is the traditional ruler. May bring random good luck within your daily life.

7th House: ages 6, 18, 30, 42, 54, 66, 78..

Relationships of all kinds will be emphasized. You may feel a bit codependent during these years; influenced by your relationships. What type of relationships do I want? type of thoughts. You could also be more of a social butterfly or heavily locked into your one on one relationships.

ex. Aquarius in the 7th house will be more involved in online relationships (like gamer friends). May be more active in building an online business and harvesting a following. Become more concerned with humanitarian causes and collaborating with others to make a difference. Uranus will be activated this year and may bring random acquaintances/ friendships. Saturn is also the traditional ruler....long term relationship through a dating site

8th House: ages 7, 19, 31, 43, 55, 67, 79...

More focused on transformation in a soul searching kind of way. What are your thoughts/feelings towards Money/intimacy/shared resources? Speaking of shared resources, if you are in a serious business or romantic partnership, this year will cause you to review what exactly is being harvested between you two. Taxes may be a focus on these years.

ex. Aries in the 8th house may feel the need to take action and charge these topics head on. Due to its independent nature they will have to learn to walk the fine line with what is theirs and what is a shared resource with their partners. Can also have to fight for inheritances. Mars will be activated this year giving more fuel/power to the individual.

9th House: ages 8, 20, 32, 44, 56, 68, 80...

Changes to your spirituality/religious thoughts. College or higher education of some kind will be a focus. perhaps you adopt a new dogma from reading a higher-level text. Travel and foreign places will be themes.

ex. Capricorn in the 9th house likes structure. They may be into focusing on what the meaning of life is or planning trips in search of answers to such existential questions. May also take work trips during this year or building rapport with foreign associates. Saturn would also be activated which can manifest in implementing more disciplinary rituals based on your spiritual belief (buddhism=incorporating asceticism practices).

10th House: ages 9, 21, 33, 45, 57, 69, 81..

The public and how you are perceived. focus on career and what you want to achieve. The 10th house can also be associated with authority figures/ father. Perhaps you end up being mentored by your boss or a fatherly figure of some kind when it comes to your career. There can be changes in the type of relationship you have with your father.

ex. Cancer in the 10th house could have a career related to caregiving or nurturing role of some kind. A protective career like the military could also manifest. Others may come to you and seek out advice of some kind due to the public seeing you as a caretaker/ motherly figure. Cancer being ruled by the moon may also cause ppl to see you as a moody/emotional person. Your mom and the relationship you have with her could be a theme (moon=mother)

11th House: ages 10, 22, 34, 46, 58, 70, 82...

The community is of importance and the ties you have. Your friends could be a big part of this year. The natural ruler of the 11th house is Aquarius which rules the media/ your presence within social media could be a theme such as being recognized or discovered in some way.

ex. Saggitarius in the 11th house would have an expansive list of friends from all types of communities, ages, and cultures (diversity, diversity, and more diversity). Could take trips to meet said friends in foreign countries. Lots of fun in the community (reputation of the life of the party??). Jupiter would be activated bringing good luck and expansion in this area:)

12th House: ages 11, 23, 35, 47, 59, 71, 83..

The 12th house is kind of the final chapter to karmic cycles. You go through a sort of ego death in this house. Depending on your attachment to things in your life will really let you know whether this year will be easy for you or not. Also have you been ignoring something or pushing a serious topic off in hopes it will dissipate into fine dust? Well, this year will bring your subconscious thoughts to life as well as influence your sleep and dreams. Isolation can manifest in different ways (working nights, hospital, prison, sleep disorders). Think of this year as the final test/ palette cleanser to all of the years prior.

ex. Taurus in the 12th (hehe how interesting:) the fixed sign will have no choice but to face the changes that have been inevitable. Perhaps you have considered yourself to be someone who is flexible (Gemini Rising) but ask anyone around you and they would say otherwise. Lessons of beauty/ugly will come about as well as lessons dealing with your foundation. Material possession will have to be approached in a detached manner due to the possibility of having to let go of systems that can not be taken with you in the upcoming profection year. Venus will be activated during this year and may include lessons related to love.

"Your fear of abandonment is entirely justified. Nothing in this world stays forever. The leaves fall, the fields of sunflowers wilt, even the best people leave sometimes. You're not crazy. You're observant."

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