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hakkkuu · 5 months ago

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✮PAIRING: pervert!sohee x female!reader

✮WORD COUNT: 1.1K

✮SYNOPSIS: sohee, a nerdy loner obsessed with anime porn, lives in a room plastered with erotic images. his life changes when you use a study session to explore his fantasies, leading to intense sexual encounters.

Sohee was the epitome of the nerdy outcast; his thin frame slightly hunched over, his glasses always smudged from being pushed back up his nose. His hair was a mess of black strands, often sticking out in different directions, a testament to his indifference to anything but his screen. His school uniform was perpetually wrinkled, the tie loose, as if his mind was always elsewhere, particularly in the dark, twisted corners of his anime porn collection. His bedroom was a shrine to his darkest fantasies.

Every inch of wall space was covered with posters of anime girls in provocative poses—school uniforms with skirts hiked up, breasts barely contained by thin fabric, or completely nude, their bodies glistening with sweat or cum. His computer, the heart of his nightly rituals, was never off, always playing some explicit anime scene. He would spend hours gooning, his hand rhythmically moving over his cock, his eyes locked on scenes of girls being dominated, tentacle invasions, or schoolgirl orgies. His favorite series involved a shy girl turned into a sex slave, each episode more depraved than the last.

Sohee often returned to this series, losing himself in the fantasy that paralleled his own desires, the shy facade of the protagonist mirroring his own reluctance to connect with others beyond the screen. He imagined himself being the one to rescue her, yet always found himself drawn to the darker urges—what if he could be the monster? What if he could dominate her instead? Such thoughts excited him further, a blend of nerves and exhilaration thrumming through him.

His collection of sex toys was extensive, hidden in plain sight. The drawer beside his computer was packed with an array of fleshlights, each one more anatomically detailed than the last, some with special textures meant to mimic the insides of a vagina or an anus. There were vibrators of all sizes, some for internal use, others designed for external stimulation. He had a set of anal beads, each one slightly larger than the last, and even a tentacle dildo, a direct homage to his favorite anime scenes. Bottles of various lubes lined up, from warming to cooling, and even some flavored ones for when he wanted to experiment with taste.

The air in his room was thick with the scent of his arousal, the floor often littered with used tissues or discarded lube packets. His bed was always unmade, the sheets stained from his nightly activities, a testament to his relentless pursuit of pleasure. He often lay awake at night, replaying memories of those intimate moments, his fantasies mingling with reality in a meld that blurred the lines between the two.

One day after school, you asked him for help with history, you noticed the twitch in his pants as he agreed, his voice cracking with nerves. Entering his room, you were immediately hit by the atmosphere—the posters, the computer screen still playing a scene of a girl being taken by tentacles, the toys laid out as if waiting for their owner's return. As you tried to discuss the fall of the Roman Empire, his eyes kept drifting to your body.

Your skirt was short enough to make him salivate, and your blouse was slightly open, revealing just enough cleavage to make his cock twitch. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the desire grappling against the remnants of embarrassment, and in that moment, curiosity took hold. What would it feel like to push his limits? Sohee’s notoriety for being a dirty nerd made him the perfect candidate for your experiment.

You decided to sit on his lap, feeling his erection press against you through his pants. His breath hitched, his hands gripping the chair's armrests. As you began to grind against him, his moans escaped in short, desperate gasps. The innocence of his demeanor masked the wave of lust building within him. Momentarily, his world opened up to include you, a canvas to which his fantasies could be painted anew. His pants grew damp as he came, his face a mix of shame and ecstasy.

You didn’t stop there. Kneeling, you unzipped him, and his cock sprang free, red and throbbing. You took it in your hand, slick with his own cum, stroking him, watching his face contort in pleasure. With each muffled whimper, you could feel his inhibitions melting away, lost in the warmth of your touch. His glasses were fogging up, his mouth open in silent moans as you took him into your mouth. The taste of him was musky, mixed with the lingering flavor of his earlier release.

Your own arousal heightened as you grabbed his favorite fleshlight, coating it with lube, sliding it down his length while you sucked on his balls. The mix of sensations sent him over the edge, and he came again, his body trembling, his cum filling the toy and spilling out around the sides. All the while, you reveled in the power you held over him, his blissful abandon becoming your own delight.

Not giving him a chance to recover, you mounted him, guiding his still-hard cock inside you. His inexperience was palpable; each thrust was awkward yet passionate, his hands finally daring to touch you, squeezing your breasts, sliding down to your hips. You ride him hard, his moans turning into cries, a symphony of need that only encouraged you further. His glasses fell off as he arched his back in another orgasm, each thrust driving deeper into his fantasies as he achieved his wildest dreams.

You commanded him to taste you, his tongue clumsy but eager, exploring you with the same fervor he watched his anime girls. The passion simmering in his movements transformed the environment—a blend of fantasy and reality where desires merged seamlessly. His final orgasm of the night came from the friction of the bed beneath him as he ate you out, completely lost in the sensations swirling around the two of you, his world relegated to this blissful moment shared solely between you.

Each interaction with you ignited a spark within Sohee, illuminating a path he unknowingly craved. After that day, every time he saw you in school, his pants would betray him, his trips to the bathroom frequent, his mind replaying the debauchery of your study sessions.

And in return for his continued, eager participation, your grades in history were nothing short of miraculous, each 'A' a silent thank you for the pleasure you both indulged in. With each passing day, the boundaries of your worlds blurred, a volatile mix of lust and learning that kept Sohee hooked within this fever dream.

#riize hard hours #riize fanfic #riize scenarios #riize smut #riize #sohee #sohee x imagine #riize sohee #sohee x reader #lee sohee #riize x reader #riize imagines #hakkkuu

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byhees · 1 year ago

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wearing a hoodie that’s not theirs.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 700 genre fluff established relationship non-idol au warnings not proof-read skinship kissing petnames light jealousy — more

a/n. this was written back in mid-2023 ㅠㅠ

heeseung would notice right away; he tends to be more observant when it comes to you— the way the hoodie falls a little higher above your knee, the colour looking unfamiliar against your skin. would definitely ask you, in the most indirect of ways, why you hadn’t asked him for his hoodie. doesn’t want to make a whole scene, but it does tick him off a little; would ask if you’d like to swap hoodies, fingers already lightly tugging on the ends of the outerwear…

jay would spot the difference almost immediately. everything about it feels unfamiliar to him; a dead give-away would be the smell of said hoodie, the new scent of laundry eliciting furrowed brows. probably wouldn’t mention it, not wanting to seem protective over such a little thing— would only hold you closer, arm lightly pressing against the fabric as it snakes around your waist; feels like such a small article of clothing doesn’t hold much weight, given the light peppering of kisses over his features— when he loves you, and you love him, the hoodie’s out of the equation…

jake would put on a small facade— no, he’s actually crumbling internally, but he can’t let you see that, so here’s a big, radiant smile; pretends that he’s okay, and brushes off his occasional staring as daydreaming. would bombard you with a bunch of questions, all along the lines of “aren’t you feeling hot, love?”; it’s such an indirect and subtle way to hint that he’d prefer for the mystery hoodie to be off. the following day, he’d leave his hoodies all over your place, intentionally making the addition very obvious, in hopes of seeing his hoodie instead of another’s the next time…

sunghoon would take one glance at you, and notice the very unfamiliar piece of outerwear drowning your frame. would fake laugh a lot. his eyes would regularly dart to the article of clothing; whenever he observes you twirling the strings of the hoodie, or fiddling with the material, his gaze would linger on you for a second or two longer than usual. reminds himself to not make a big deal out of it, but would eventually ask you “who’s hoodie is that?”. would spring up from his seat, and walk over to his room, personally picking out a hoodie from his collection...

sunoo would be so so appalled, offended even; he has so many comfortably oversized hoodies, and yet the one that’s dawning you isn’t from the hefty selection? would probably pucker his lips in the shadow of a pout, arms itching to cross over his chest. would make his distaste towards the outerwear loud and clear; dropping very unsubtle hints, and highlighting the ‘extremely special warmth’ of his hoodies. a wide smile would dance on his lips the moment the hoodie’s out of sight…

jungwon would be pretty confused; would have probably thought that you were pulling some form of ‘social experiment’ on him, given the way you’d been twirling and beaming at the comfort of another person’s hoodie. would feel a little bit bothered after seeing you settle down next to him, arms outstretched in the motion of a hug, not a trace of intention to take off the outerwear. would often clear his throat, hands subconsciously tugging on the sleeves of said unknown hoodie; would try to subtly convince you to switch the outerwear for another one, preferably his own, in the tiniest of voices. has the biggest, tooth-rotting smile on his face when you agree to the offer— would dash to his closet, a hoodie clutched in his grip moments later…

riki would notice right off the bat; that hoodie, most certainly, isn’t his— the way it envelops you? no, there’s definitely something different about it. the way the sleeves fall, maybe, a centimetre shorter than usual? that’s definitely different. gets so grumpy; refuses to even make eye contact with you, eyes always swiftly shifting to another object whenever you turn to look at him. “where’d you get this?” he’d ask, a childish pout painting his lips. would take off his own hoodie, wordlessly giving the clothing piece to you; refuses to admit that he was, perhaps, a teeny-tiny bit sulky…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons @kimsunoops @pockyyasii networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

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sushi-rollss · 1 month ago

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the foolish | anaxagoras

disclaimer, context - angst. spoilers & added theoretical assumptions (since this was written before the finished entirety of amphoreus arc). taken inspirations from his trailer. quite lengthy…

“The blasphemous shall burn in hell!”

“He shan’t be forgiven, shan’t be allowed to taint the land further!”

The ignorant cries of the fools barely bothered the man who’s sole drive only was for the sake of uncovering the truth. Anaxagoras, it was he who challenged the Titans of this land, the one bold enough to proclaim the falsehoods in their beliefs, the one to criticise their knowledge of the rulings of this world.

To him, those foolish enough to be blinded by inferiority over a higher power, could never uncover the truth of this world they lived in, where humans were ruled over by the twelve Titans of Amphoreus. Thus, he has developed the natural habit to block out all these ignorant fools away from hindering his search.

‘…What a waste of time.’ He scorned their useless chatters and gossip internally, thinking it would be better if they actually used their time for good. He couldn’t care less even when they reported his (in their words,) ‘blasphemous’ behaviours to Kephale’s believers and the authorities, yet he shut them up only for the sake of continuing his research.

Though, it did take him by mild surprise when you had echoed their words similarly one night—when you were next to him, pausing from reading through his scribbled notes to speak,

“Anaxagoras, don’t you think…this has gotten a bit too far…?”

His head whipped to glance at you with his red eyes squinted slightly in displeasure, offended by your audacity to even humour such a thought. It was the first time he actually felt something more than annoyance by the criticisms of others towards his actions. Coming from you, that had been supporting his ideas and helping him progress, he was irritated.

He thought you of all people would understand.

“…Too far? Are you insinuating something, (Y/n)?”

The unfamiliar feelings inside him boiled up from irritation to anger, facing with your unexpected betrayal. His hands slammed on the desk as the research papers flew about, veins popping in his arms while he curled his hands into fists. He spat out in anger, demanding clarification from your bold question when he saw the way your expression morphed from surprise to panic.

“Spit it out, (Y/n)! What are you trying to say? You’re doubting my—,” He cut himself to correct himself, “—no, our findings now?”

Seeing his reaction, you knew you had to clear the heavy air before even convincing him of your point of view. Sweat trickled down your skin in concern as your eyes shifted away to avoid his hardened gaze, a sign of your nervousness. This, however, only worsened Anaxa’s interpretation of your answer whilst he had strong judgemental bias.

“I didn’t mean to negate all our efforts, Anaxagoras, you know that. What I mean to say is…” You couldn’t bear to meet the scorn in his eyes and the hurt expression beneath his angry facade. “…To take it this far…I can’t simply agree to you carelessly throwing away your mortal body, if even for the sake of proving the soul transfer theory.”

He scoffed at your explanation, mistaking your concern for cowardice and insult. He reached for your robe collar, pulling you in with a maddened glint in his red eyes, his judgement clouded by your ‘betrayal’. His lips curled up in a sickened grin, chuckling as he scorned you.

“Ha, careless? Don’t insult me. Our research is the pinnacle of truth—I know for a fact, that this ‘death’ will finally move my conscious through the cycle! There is a sure reward, and that alone justify the risk, (Y/n)!”

Faced by the dramatic change in his usual stoicism, a shrill shiver ran down your spine to see him act out. His grip on your collar was tight enough that the fabric dug into the skin of your neck, nearly choking you. You were forced to see the angered craze in his gaze that now shone with disdain towards you instead of the usual warmth. No words could leave your quivering lips as your heart raced from both fear and concern, while you were forced to listen to his hurtful assumptions.

“And here I truly believed were different than those ignorant fools, but it seems you are just the same. Hell, you are worse than them. For at least those fools actually believe in their false prophecies with conviction, and yet here you are—Years of hypothesising and experiments until we can conclude with enough evidence that we are correct and you still pathetically doubt.”

Shoving your fear for a moment to defend yourself, you tried to calm him down, “A-Anaxagoras! That’s not it, that wasn’t my intention! I’m just…!” You couldn’t even tell him about your true feelings in the argument, since he cut you off coldly before the message could be conveyed.

“I’ve heard enough, (Y/n).” Releasing his grip on your collar with a harsh shove, you stumbled back on your feet as your breath hitched from surprise. His height towered over you as he observed you with a condescending expression, his glare mixed in with hurt from being in disagreement with you. “I should’ve known that I was correct from the start. The pursue of my beloved sister, it doesn’t concern you.”

He ended with a huff before turning on his heel, and you were met with his cold back facing you. Tears stung at your eyelids at being so misunderstood, your concern for his sanity and well-being overshadowed by his accusations. How could he? To lump you in the same category as those other scholars whom you hated just as much, those you hated because of your belief in him and his ideals. Yet even at his cruelty, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him back, not when you saw the underlying pain beneath his facade.

And it tore you apart to be unable to save the scholar from his pain.

Months pass as Anaxagoras buried himself in his research, his sanity fleeting rapidly towards ruin while he kept perfecting his body—sculpting his skin and bones to be a perfect vessel to host a new soul. He was doing it for his sister, he convinced himself. To bring her back to life—even as Kephale’s followers tied him up at his ankles and wrists above the flames for execution, he was determined to follow through with his mission.

“Anaxagoras!” He heard your distraught cry from the benches, your body desperately pushing through the crowd of people cheering for his death. Arms flailed out as you begged them to call off the execution, with those pathetic tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. “He has done no wrong! Knowledge is free for all!”

He glanced at you from his restrained body above, his eyes still devoid of warmth for you after the ‘supposed’ betrayal. He couldn’t care less that you were defending him and pleading for his freedom, not when his research has built up to this point. The point where he will silence all these ignorant fools down, with his claim,

“This body…has long been tempered to ruin…And to prove that the Titans are inferior to mortals like us, I shall be the one to cheat death and prove the theorem of this world’s limbo!”

Blue flames enveloped him from his hollow chest—enveloping the tainted human body he possessed, burning it before the red flames casted beneath him could even reach the chains. He maintained his cocky smirk even as the smoke of the flames burned the remainder of his lungs, leaning back with his head falling to the side. In the drifting consciousness of his burning body, his hazy eyes landed on you for the last time in this life—seeing the way you screamed out for him, hands reached out in futile as those pretty tears stream down your cheeks. In those last moments, he finally noticed your face was overwhelmed with anguish rather than the contempt he had accused you of.

“Ana—xa—….!” The voices grew fainter as he felt the life dissipating out of his form, until all he saw was black in a long slumber.

But he was Anaxagoras, the blasphemer.

He awakens in the nether realm, where souls of the departed sway languidly through the grassy plains. He wasn’t like them, for he had casted away his mortal body for this tampered one that had managed to host his departed soul. From this sea of souls, he was sure he’d be able to find his departed sister’s from his cycle era, yet without a perfect vessel to host her rebirth, it was as good as nothing. His new goal was set; to rebirth his sister in an era where they both could live forward. To do that, he had to first conquer the art of transfusing a dead soul into a perfect living vessel.

And so he spent years, wandering the nether realm and passing through the changing cycles of Amphoreus with his memories conserved through alchemy.

“…Still…imperfect…” He ruined himself through trials of insanity—chasing that perfect vessel of creation of which he was just barely out of reach, every single time. And with each failure, with each shatter of test tube glasses on the floor in his lonely pursuit, even the great Anaxagoras couldn’t help but reminisce over what could have been.

Only now that his mind was clear, he finally understood why she was adamant on stopping the research short. Be it instinct or theories; perhaps she had predicted all along, how maddening this path was.

“…Tch, what a fool.” He directed his words no longer to the girl he had resented for the ‘betrayal’, but to himself. The haunting nightmares of her crying face just before his ‘first’ death like a constant reminder of his sin. It wrecks him, forcing him to feel that yearning urge to see you again.

If only…If only he had rethought it over, and maybe brought her with him through the ever-changing cycles. If only he had made time to understand her concerns. If only he had took the time to actually focus at the living girl too, instead of solely on his deceased sister.

For if he had just realised sooner of this lonely regret—perhaps he would have chosen to end it differently.

Yet he was Anaxagoras, the foolish.

#hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #honkai star rail #star rail #anaxa x reader #hsr x reader #hsr angst #hsr imagines #angst

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thewriterg · 9 months ago

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𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

pairing(s):spencer reid x gn!reader, mention of spencer x derek

summary:your meanings of a sweet tooth increased to a ten fold when the leaves start to change and the air becomes crisp. however, you have a level of self respect that your boyfriend doesn’t

word count: 650+

warning(s): fluff, pumpkin spice slander, pet names, kissing, and language

A/N: —GIFs; @undertheniall & @chemicalh3arts— im a little rusty give me a break

Spencer eyed you warily at your foreign action. Right before he could press the skin of his lips onto yours, your head turned with a quickness. A passion. The brunette racked his mind of what he could’ve done going down the mental checklist in his head.

Took the trash out, watered the plants, closed the drawer in the kitchen you frequently bump your hip into early mornings going to brew your coffee when he leaves it open, —boxes of tea sitting against each other in tip top shape and organization—

There were established boundaries in your relationship that the two of you silently promised to never cross. However, the doctor couldn’t help but to itch to break your most solid concrete one.

You weren’t allowed to profile one another.

No matter how dire the situation seemed, or how well intended it seemed. No. Profiling

All of this amused you to no end. While you struggled to keep a decent poker face at your boyfriend’s kicked puppy expression, he battled internal conflict on what could’ve changed in two hours. You were fine getting ready this morning, you were fine at the office, you were fine leaving the office, hell you were fine even with him telling you him and Morgan was going to try a coffee shop down the road.

What changed in a mere hour!?

“You’re a liar!” You accuse strongly, it’s funny how your top doctor lover couldn’t pick out the dramatic undertone in your voice. It was only a matter of time before you were going to crack your ‘hurt’ facade.

“What!? Ab-”

“Out of all the seasonal treats… Apple pie, sweet potato pie, cookie butter, pecan everything, apple cider donuts, fritters, cinnamon swirl bread, the list could run forever!” You throw the back of your hand over your forehead in mock distress. It’s comical the way Spencer deflates at the realization.

“You dare try to lay your lips on mine with that horrid, wretched, foul tas-” Before you can finish your sentence the lanky brunette is already plopping down onto the couch surface with a irritable sound of protest muffled by the fabric of your sweater.You smile down at the head full of curls staring back you, running your fingers through them making more by separating the bunches they make.

“Can’t believe I fell for that” He mumbled almost sadly for himself going crazy that he was so weak to your advances… I mean you worked with these types of people everyday! To think you were actually upset with him for a… rational reason. Instead you were ‘hurt’ simply because of his choice of pumpkin spice black coffee Morgan had convinced him to try.

“I can’t believe out of everything you chose pumpkin.” You teased in a matter of factly way while still massaging the back of his scalp. You could feel the curl of the brunette’s lips past the thin sweater you were wearing. When Spencer finally moved his head from being burrowed in your stomach the big guns were out and blazing. A certain pout with his combination of sad eyes made you fold everytime and the brunette knew it too.

“Spencer.” It was your turn to whine now dragging out the final ‘R’ in his name and he hummed satisfied. Pursing his lips and inching towards you. However, he was still to be met with a completely different texture than the softness of your lips by rather the palm of your hand.

“You seriously have to brush your teeth”

“Well studies recorded that if you face your discomforts head on then you’re 20% more likely to be less uncomfortable about it.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he inches closer, making you squeal. You quickly turn yourself loose from his hold before it can tighten around your arms and you two spend the evening playing catch the cat with smiles on your faces.

#🦇𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑;𝐆 #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #romance #fluff #spooktober #flufftober #spooky season #writing #i love you #2024 #thewriterg

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pinkofatom · 7 months ago

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Be presentable

CW: femdom, femsub, mind control, corruption, tentacles, pods, bimbofication,

Katya sighed, visible her breath rose. Annoyed she twirled a red lock. Her orher hand rubbed along her arm. The cold reflected her disappointment. Why was it so hard to find a present for Christina? With a stomp she marched down the street.

'Hey bestie, wanna shop?,' appeared on her phone, an innocent question from Christina. Katya rubbed her forehead. Perfect timing, Christina. How exactly should she buy a present for her friend when — wait no, Katya thought, this was perfect. She could go around with her friend and look what she wanted. Oh, Katya, you sly fox. Her lips crinkled.

'Sure, Christina. Just tell me where to meet,' she sent her answer. Not even ten seconds later she had the meeting place.

Christina waited for her in front of the clothing palace. 'Be Presentable' glittered in friendly colors behind the window. Christina waved Katya closer. Her best friend dressed in white from head to toe, her black hair shining. She gave her an enthusiastic hug.

"Hello Christina," Katya said, as they stepped inside. The air felt warm, compared to outside. A lot of women were here, searching for their perfect outfit. Racks of clothing stood around in no specific order. Katya spotted some very revealing ones. Wasn't that a shop for women clothing? Not for sexy lingerie? She would have to ask her friend later.

"Hello, Katya~ Hope everything is well," Christina smiled brightly, as she steered Katya to some rack. Katya felt her own face lit up. Christina could do so much with one smile, Katya sighed internally.

"Oh yes, I'm doing well," she lied. The stress of finding something for her bestie weighted down on her.

"Hmm~ Well, I believe that for now," Christina laughed, "but I can see something else behind that facade." Christina turned and poked her on the nose. "But don't worry. We are gonna have a nice shopping day."

Christina's words were like honey for Katya's soul. "Thank you, that sounds wonderful," Katya responded. Christina smiled at her. Her friend always had the talent to make her happy. But how would she find the right present for her? Especially with the way other patrons dressed here. Each person she spotted wore an outfit more risque than the former. And the women, they looked so happy and satisfied, kind of unnatural.

"Oh, I have a few questions," Katya started.

Christina turned to her, her smile even wider than normal. "Yes?"

"What kind of clothing shop is this?" Katya asked.

"Oh~ the best." Christina took a top from a rack. The fabric shimmered in pink light. "Here, you get the perfect present for yourself and your friends."

"I see," Katya said.

"But you have to be willing to change, of course," Christina added. The pink light reflected in her eyes, making them sparkle.

"Okay?" Katya felt unsure, her friend sounded so odd.

"You have to be presentable." Christina said, her smile wide, too wide. "You have to look and think and want to be the perfect woman." Christina's gaze was intense.

Katya took a step back. What was wrong with her best friend?

"Uhm, Christina? Are you alright?" Katya swallowed a lump.

"I am perfectly alright." She stepped forward.

Katya stepped backwards. Christina stepped closer.

"You should be, too." Her voice was low, and dark.

"What are you doing, Christina?!" Katya asked.

"I am gonna make you presentable, of course," Christina giggled.

"What?!" Katya was so confused. Her heart drummed in her ears.

"Kidding~," Christina smiled at her. "You are too easy, you know."

Katya felt her body relax. That was just a joke. Thank God.

Christina poked her again, on her chest. "I am just saying you could look nicer. You should try something."

"You think?" Katya asked. Her clothes were quite boring, even she admitted that.

"I am sure," Christina nodded, "we can find something nice here. Something presentable." Christina took Katya's hand, and together they went deeper into the store. Soothing lyres and crystal bells created a relaxing atmosphere. Katya liked this, especially as the tension melted out of her.

The clothing they spotted looked more and more daring, the farther they walked into the store. But with each step it felt more natural to Katya. They should be presentable. Katya felt her mind wander, caught by the strings of music and happiness filled expressions.

"You should try something," Christina whispered into Katya's ear. "It will help you relax. Here how about this top," she suggested, holding the pink top in front of Katya, "or this skirt," Christina held a pink skirt to Katya's legs.

Both were short. Katya wouldn't even dare to call them clothes. More like strings, barely hiding her body. Katya giggled at the idea. She would never wear something like this. Still her hands grabbed the outfit. Satin fabric tickled her nerves. Jolts of something delightful traveled over her skin. Her winter coat and trousers felt stifling. Maybe she could at least try them on, she thought.

"I see you are convinced," Christina laughed.

Katya blushed, "well, I just thought it wouldn't hurt to try something. I don't think this is for me."

"Maybe you are right," Christina nodded, but she had that mischievous smile Katya knew so well — yet sparkled with a hidden depth.

"Let's look for something more fitting," Christina said, the last word echoed in Katya's mind.

Fitting, yes, the perfect fitting present, for Christina, of course, she thought. "Well, you know, maybe you have something, that you'd want for yourself," she suggested to Christina. She couldn't lose focus of the whole purpose of the shopping trip.

Christina's face brightened. "Oh~ how considerate of you Katy Kat, but don't worry. I'll be presentable very soon. Let's do you first," she said with a smile that was so wide Katya thought it must hurt. Still her own lips stretched to a similar expression. Katya didn't feel so worried about her plan. Christina would show her something, that she would like, Katya was certain. She just had to keep looking and be presentable. She shook her head. Find the right present, yes that was what she meant.

They strolled through the racks. Katya's gaze was unfocused as her body was on autopilot, driven by the sounds and colors. Her hands brushed against fabrics of all kinds. Each felt so smooth, yet different. Her skin felt so warm, her coat was really too much for inside the shop. She pulled out of the boring winter coat.

"Katya, this would suit you," Christina held a pair of shoes in front of Katya. The white pumps were tall and elegant.

"They would look gorgeous on you, with the pink top and skirt." Christina nodded, "yes, perfect. Why don't you go to a changing cubicle and try it on," Christina proposed.

Yes, that sounded lovely. The ringing harps agreed.

"I'll find some matching lingerie," Christina smiled and waved. "Have fun trying that on~," she said, disappearing between racks.

Katya found the changing cubicles quite quickly, the path to them laid clear in front of her, the way paved in a deep, red carpet. Her hands touched the heavy, red curtain that would hide her from sight, as she tried the outfit on.

Electric currents of wonderful sensations sparked from her hand through her body. A pleasant heat warmed her inside. Yes, she should try this on, it would look gorgeous on her.

She pulled her shirt and pants off, folding the boring things in the corner. She felt much more relaxed, with just her bra and panties. Her skin was warm, and she enjoyed the light breeze from above. Taut, she shivered with anticipation.

Her fingers touched the satin pink fabric of the skirt, and the current traveled up, her body tensed in pleasure. Yes, this felt wonderful. The pink skirt slid along her skin as she pulled it up, a trail of warmth remained. It sat high on her body, the end of the fabric sat just beneath the line of her butt. A pleasant jolt traveled up her, when the fabric caressed her thighs and behind. She felt exposed but also so much better than in her pants. Her hands traveled down her legs and the skirt. The soft feeling on her skin was delightful.

Next was the pink top, the fabric was soft and smooth in her fingers. She put the top on. It was tight on her, but not in an uncomfortable way. Delicious warmth filled her, as she pulled her long red hair free. She looked herself over, the top ended under her boobs. She was exposed and sexy. Presentable. The bell sounds chimed, a melody that touched her deep inside, she shivered in delight. The current of energy danced in her.

The last thing were the white pumps. She put them on, and was amazed by how tall they made her look. They were perfect. Katya admired her image in the mirror. A woman looked back at her, beautiful and presentable, with her pink outfit, tall pumps, long red hair, and a look of pure lust in her dark eyes.

"You are gorgeous, Katya," Christina's voice rang, and it sounded even better than the bells.

Katya felt herself blush. "Ya — ya think so," she lisped. And ya? Katya's head swam in honey. Hot molten sweets.

"Yes~" Christina laughed, her voice so sweet and dark. Katya just wanted more of it.

"Now let me come in," Christina said, "there is this set of lingerie I found."

And the curtain opened. Christina stood there, with a smile so wide and dark eyes full of something.

"Oh~ You are presentable," she said, her eyes traveled along Katya's body, leaving behind trails of heat.

"Ya," Katya giggled. She felt warm all over, and a bit light in the head.

"Try this on," Christina suggested. In her hand she held black lingerie.

The black fabric glimmered, as Christina handed it over. It looked expensive and very revealing. The set consisted of a thong and a bra. Both would barely cover her tits and butt, yet Katya felt herself drool, imagining the fabric on her.

"Ya, Chrishdina. No, uhm, Chrishtina," Katya slurred, trying to speak. Her tongue felt numb in her mouth.

"Chrissy is fine, Katy Kat," Chrissy laughed. "Try this on," she said.

Katya felt a spark of something delicious, when Chrissy spoke. She wanted more, so she would try it on.

"Turn around, and don't peak, Chrissy, uhm, okay?" Katya pulled over the top.

Chrissy stared at the hard poking nipples. "Of course not, Katy Kat." She licked her lips, dark eyes focused on Katya. "Take your time."

"Thanks, Chrissy," Katya said. The name felt right. Chrissy giggled again, as Katya turned to the mirror, and started pulling off her bra and panties. She blushed. Her naked body in the mirror was so lewd.

"Ooh~," Chrissy exclaimed in a tone of pure delight, as she got a glimpse of Katya's bare behind.

"Chrissy," Katya pouted. She felt embarrassed and a bit ashamed. But Chrissy's words made the heat in her burn hotter. The look of admiration in her eyes, made her feel so much better.

"Don't worry," Chrissy said with her sweet, dark voice. "You look gorgeous, Katy Kat."

"G-gor-," a giggle escaped Katy's lips, "good." Katy's heart pumped the warmth of happiness into her cheeks.

First she put on the bra. The fabric shimmered, the material was smooth on her skin, and Katy's sensitive breasts were caressed in an electric embrace, as she closed the clasps behind her. It pressed her tits up, her nipples pushed against the thin fabric. She liked it, liked the exposure and feeling, but also the look of it on her. With trembling hands she pulled down the top. It was so stretched the bra perfectly visible beneath. A trail of goosebumps followed the path of the pink top. A hot current ran from the bra down.

She bit her lower lip, as her hands slipped into the panties. It felt like she was pushing herself further, as she slid them up her legs, her breath was stuck in her throat. The moment the thong touched her pussy a spark of lust jolted through her. Wetness flooded into the soft cloth. The string slipped between her butt cheeks, rubbing against the most delicate parts.

Katy shivered in hot delight. She looked herself over, her dark eyes traveling her exposed skin. Her pink top was high above her belly button and her bra visible, the panties just covered her privates, barely, and the white pumps made her legs look so long and sexy.

"Very presentable, Katy Kat," purred Chrissy. "I love it on you. You are a true slut." The word echoed in her mind. Slut, slut, slut. And she knew, Chrissy was right.

"I, I am," she whispered, and a shudder of hot lust traveled up, from the lingerie, through her body. "I am a slut," she repeated, and the current grew in strength.

"Of course you are. Only slutty sluts are presentable. And good girls are always presentable. It's like the motto. Be presentable." The words were so dark, yet the meaning clear to Katy.

Katy felt her knees go weak. Her body felt so hot, as the current ran through her. Arousal dripped out of her pussy. Her mouth was slightly open. The words felt like a revelation, like she was reborn again, as the true her. "Yes, Chrissy. I'll always be presentable."

"Good girl," Chrissy purred, the sound sent a shiver of delight over Katy's skin, and her heart skipped a beat. "Be a good girl and wait for me to get ready," Chrissy said, and the tone made the meaning clear for Katy. She had to obey. Chrissy pulled the curtain shut. "Wait here, until I get back, my perfect slut."

Katy's mind felt light, the music of the store so sweet and delightful. Her thoughts swirled, as her hands traveled over her body. A slut, a presentable slut, that was her, she realized. A moan escaped her, as her hands brushed over her breasts, her nipples so hard beneath the bra.

Katy's breath came out ragged, as she waited. Her gaze tracked all the other presentable women. A woman in a red dress, that exposed her sides and the fabric barely hid her boobs, her ass cheeks out for all to see. She strutted past the changing cubicles, with an air of content, as if the whole world was hers to enjoy. And Katy knew it to be true. They were gorgeous and perfect — presentable. Her own lips stretched into a similar empty smile.

She didn't know how much time passed, until the curtain in front of her opened again. Chrissy stood in the door frame. Her friend was perfect. A white dress framed Chrissy's vuloptuos form. It clung to her, like a second layer of skin, the material glimmered and shined in an unearthly white glow.

"You look perfect," Katy whispered in awe. Her gaze was captured by the sight. She could only admire the work of art in front of her.

"Why, thank you, my present," Chrissy smiled. Katy felt a hot spark travel down her body.

Katy stepped forward and took Chrissy's outstretched hand. Her fingers tingled, where they touched. She looked over her shoulder to the changing cubicle.

"Leave everything here. You are not going to wear anything so dull again, are you, my perfect slut?"

"No," Katy nodded eagerly, her mind swimming in the honey sweet voice of Chrissy. The current of arousal ran through her. Her body felt warm, especially where Chrissy's skin met hers. Katy's hand tingled and a spark traveled along her nerves, with each moment they touched.

"You look so perfect, Chrissy," she sighed. Her words were slow and thick on her lips, her mind sluggish.

"I know," her friend cooed. "Be presentable is such a great shop. They really help to get you ready for your perfect role."

"Mhh, yes." Katy nodded, she looked at the other women, who all seemed to be just like them, gorgeous and perfect.

Katy followed her friend's lead, they strolled deeper. Slowly the background music changed. From relaxing and soothing to alluring and enticing, harps and bells gave way to piano and saxophone.

The outfits they passed, hanging on racks, became even more daring. They wouldn't even hide the essentials. Katy didn't mind. Her pussy throbbed with each step, and the wetness dripped down her thighs, leaving behind a shiny trail. Her bra rubbed against her nipples and sent jolts of lust through her body. Her body felt hot and ready.

"You are such a perfect present," Chrissy purred, and each word was like a drop of molten desire in Katy's mind, she could barely think anymore.

"Chrissy," she moaned, her hands trembling, and her breath came out fast.

"I am so glad you wanted to go shopping," Chrissy smiled. "I really wanted to have a special present. And you~, so easily became one. It's the music and clothes, you know, Katy Kat. It just changes you into the best presentable self you can be. Like me~. I'm now so confident and dominant~. Don't you agree?"

"Ya, Chrishy," Katy's mouth didn't want to work, "you look per— perfect."

Katy followed her, like a puppy, her legs wobbly in her tall pumps. She didn't care that her arousal was dripping down her thighs, nor that the top didn't cover her bra. Her breasts jiggled with each step, sending jolts of delight through her body.

"Mhmm~ I know slut," she smiled down at her, the dark look in her eyes made Katy shudder.

"I —," Katy's gaze was drawn to the side, where another presentable woman strode past, with long, swaying strides, that drew Katy's gaze to her butt, which was completely naked and perfect.

"It's okay to stare. She is very presentable, like us." Chrissy stared too, a drop of drool fell from her lips. Then she shook her head, black glossy hair whipped around. "Let's continue, shall we?" Her fingers brushed along Katy's chin, the tingling touch drew Katy back.

"Ya," she moaned, as the woman walked past a corner. She couldn't think about anything else than Chrissy's hand in her own, and how much better her touch would feel on the rest of her.

Chrissy smiled, her white teeth a brilliant glow in the store's lights. Her dark eyes glinted, as she led Katy deeper towards an elevator. Katy could feel her pulse quicken, the wetness dripping out of her, as they entered it.

"Chrissy," Katy whispered, "please, I need it so bad." The doors of the elevator closed with a soft click.

"Shhh, my present, don't worry, we are almost there." The dark tone in Chrissy's voice promised everything. "We want those changes to stay, after all."

Chrissy pushed a button. A quiet chime rang and the elevator moved down, beneath the shop floor. The soft light around them made the atmosphere warm. It was only them in the confined space of the elevator. Katy couldn't take her eyes off her gorgeous friend.

Katy's legs shook with desire, her body trembled with the hot current running through her. "Chrissy," she moaned.

The dark, sweet voice of Chrissy purred. "You really got it bad, Katy Kat. You look ready to go off with the smallest touch." The words made Katy shudder with lust.

A soft ring indicated that the elevator reached the level. The door slid open with a soft sound. In front of them was a corridor out of some science fiction horror movie. The walls had a black and red texture, that reminded her of pulsating flesh. Flesh like squishing noises filled the music. It sounded so sensual and erotic.

"This way, Katy Kat," Chrissy purred and pulled the shuddering woman out of the elevator.

Each step was a torment for Katy's desire filled mind. Her pussy ached, as they strode along the strange walls. Katy's heart pounded in her ears, a drum beat to the rhythm of the background music, her legs were weak from arousal, as they reached a door. It opened with a wet squelching noise.

Inside was a room full of screens, pods and tentacles. Yellow strobing eyes on stalks observed them. Goosebumps ran along Katy's skin. The music was even heavier in here. Heavy musk filled the air. The heat in her core rose with each breath she took. It filled her mind with thoughts of want, desire and pure lust.

"Be presentable, Katy Kat," whispered Chrissy with her dark, hypnotic voice. The sound made the current stronger, as she pulled Katy into the room and over to the nearest pod, that stood open.

"Step in, my perfect present." Chrissy's hand brushed along the line of Katy's spine, and each cell it touched exploded in sparks of desire.

Katy shuddered. Without resistance she fell into the pod. The walls of it were organic, she noticed with a part of her, that still worked. It pulsed in a calming, sensual way around her.

"Yes," she moaned, the word slurred in her mouth.

The walls of the pod closed around Katy's trembling form, until it shut. Something probed along her lips and slipped inside. Katy's eyes went wide, as the thick tube of an oxygenator entered her mouth. It pushed deep down her throat, she could feel it. The end stopped just shy of her gagging point. It pressed against the walls of her mouth and the back of her throat. It forced her jaw wide open — her mouth so stuffed, her tongue pushed against the bottom of her mouth. Her lips wrapped tightly around it. She breathed in the hot, heavy air.

Katy's mind was in a dazed fog. She felt so hot, and her thoughts so sluggish, she barely realized, as the pod started to vibrate. No single inch of her skin was left unattended. Waves of vibrations, different frequencies and strength, traveled through her body. She groaned, as her body shook, but the sound was muffled in the pod. The sensations were too much, the heat, the vibration and music. It built up and up, her whole body tensed, but before she reached the edge, everything stopped. Desperate she whined, but it only continued when her arousal subsided.

It was torture, she was so desperate to cum. The vibrations teased her, and the heat in her core burned higher and higher. But each time she was denied her pleasure, the edge just a bit away. Thousands of inane whispers pressed on her brain. The words of Chrissy and the music were in them.

Her body ached. It burned with hot need. Her thoughts circled around a single point. Chrissy's words and how her body reacted to the vibrations and heat.

"Be presentable."

"Good girls are always presentable."

"My present."

Katy's eyes rolled back, as the words repeated over and over in her mind. Slowly memories dripped away. She forgot her past self and only her presentable self was left. She had a vague sense that this was wrong, that it had not been her. Yet she was too deep. The thoughts of resistance drowned in the waves of desire.

Katy Kat was a presentable good girl. She was a present by Chrissy.

"Perfect slut."

Her body shuddered in the throes of heat. It was so close, she could almost feel herself go over the edge. It was just out of reach. Her thoughts felt slow. She didn't want to think about anything other than what Chrissy said. She would be a good presentable present.

She was a good present. Nothing else. Nothing but a moldable present. The flesh walls pressed harder against her body. Slowly her shape changed. The heat in her core burned brighter, the vibration grew stronger and her skin became soft and malleable. It shifted to a new form.

The music in her ears droned on and on, and on, a constant stream of pleasure. She was on the edge, yet could not go over. The pod forced her body to stay on the edge, as it remolded her to the form of a perfect present. With every pound of mass increasing her bust, with each inch her waist shrank, Katy Kat forgot more of her past.

Her tits were massive, her nipples sensitive. She felt herself moan around the oxygenator, as her body became even hotter. Her tongue lapped against it, desperate to get more. A thick stream of drool leaked out of her open mouth. Between her legs and through her butt she sensed hard flesh push inside. A moan escaped her.

She couldn't think anymore, the sensations of the pod overwhelming. The pleasure of her new shape and the music kept her in an endless cycle of heat and lust, without relief, but oh so presentable.

She didn't know how much time had passed. It didn't matter. She felt the pod open. She was so weak. Her mind barely worked. All she wanted was Chrissy and the promised release. Her vision swam, her ears rang, and her tongue tasted the musky air in the room.

"Wonderful," Chrissy purred. The oxygenator retreated from her throat. A string of drool followed it. Katy Kat felt empty and desperate.

"My present." Chrissy's words were like the sweetest music to Katy's ears. Her heart throbbed and a spark of hot lust shot between her legs. "Thank you, for this present." Gurgling noises answered Chrissy. "Of course, master. She shall spread your glory, as I do."

Katy's mind spun in hot lust and confusion. She couldn't remember a single thing. All she knew was that she needed to be presentable.

Chrissy pulled Katy Kat out of the pod. Her legs were wobbly, as she stepped on the ground. The clothes Katy Kat wore wiggled. A gasp of surprise escaped her throat, as they started to crawl and move on their own.

"They are so delightful, aren't they Katy Kat? These clothes by 'Be Presentable'," Chrissy purred, the sound was so enticing for Katy's addled mind. It was the sweetest music she had ever heard. "They are now the only thing your skin will allow to cover it. But don't worry, they come in so many slutty styles. Like this dress." Katy saw how Chrissy's prestine white wriggled. It slid around her bountiful breasts and tantalizing legs. The fabric split and shifted. Her dress opened and revealed Chrissy's skin in many spots.

The sight was mesmerizing for Katy Kat, as she felt her own top squeeze her chest. Her nipples, sensitive as ever, ached and throbbed. Low moans accompanied the motion. It felt so delightful, the current of desire jolted through her, and she could barely think of anything else. Katy Kat's pussy throbbed with each motion. Her arousal increased even more, as she looked over her friend's voluptuous body.

Chrissy was gorgeous and perfect. She had an air of confidence and dominance that Katy craved. Her dark empty eyes commanded complete obedience. And Katy Kat would never think of going against Chrissy's wishes.

Her hands trembled, as she watched Chrissy step over. Her dress framed her in the perfect way. Chrissy's fingers slid over Katy Kat's arm. The trail of her touch left a line of burning desire. Katy Kat moaned in need.

"So perfect," Chrissy's hot breath caressed her neck and Katy shivered. Gurgling noises filled the air. Katy Kat understood them. "Yes, master. We obey," exhaled Chrissy.

"Ya, we obey," Katy Kat giggled as she dropped to her knees. Chrissy stood in front of her, dress open at crotch. Her lips were swollen with lust, glistening and dripping wetness down her legs.

Katy Kat pressed her hands on Chrissy's butt. A low growl of appreciation rumbled from above. She pushed her head between those glorious thighs. They closed around her, as she started to kiss along the lips. She felt her own pussy throb in delight.

The taste on Katy Kat's lips was the most delicious thing. Her tongue lapped at the juices — sweetness danced on her tongue. "Mhhh~," she groaned in revelry, licked with vigor. The hot flesh pulsed beneath her. Chrissy's relishing noises fueled her actions.

Katy Kat felt Chrissy grab her head. She pushed it against her crotch. Her tongue slipped into Chrissy. It swirled and explored the contracting cave. A deep rumble reverberated through Chrissy, the waves of her voice sent a shiver along Katy Kat's skin. The walls squeezed her tongue and wetness flooded her mouth. Katy swallowed, her tongue lapped along every surface it could reach.

"Mhhh, yes. Good slut," purred Chrissy — her hands clutched Katy Kat's hair. A low, rumbling growl escaped Katy Kat. She wanted Chrissy's praise and more of the sweet nectar.

Together their voices grew into a concert of ecstasy. Finally they cried out, bodies shaking in bliss. Rough gurgling congratulated each of them.

Katy Kat withdrew from Chrissy, her face was covered in juices, and her lips tasted deliciously of Chrissy. The aftertaste of the orgasm was a pleasant buzz on her mind.

"Thank you, master," exhaled her best friend.

"Ya, thank you, master," she repeated, as her head felt light in the afterglow. Katy Kat couldn't think straight anymore. All she felt was an intense desire to please her new master.

"We are going to make so many presents for you, master," Chrissy purred.

"Ya," she nodded along, her mind was so devoid of thoughts.

Gurgling, happy sounds echoed in Katy Kat's mind, and the promise of many presents and gifts for her master made her heart beat faster. They were perfect, she thought with her slow brain.

Chrissy pulled her to her feet and together they walked out of the room, with swaying hips and a strut in their step, both perfect presentable presents for their new master.

"What do you think, Katy Kat? We should definitely call Leah. That girl needs to be presentable~"

"Oh~ ya," Katy giggled, "She'll like totally be a super good present."

***

Leah looked at the message from Christina and Katya. She still had to find presents for them. And she knew this would be the perfect opportunity.

#hypno fantasy #corruption kink #brainwashing #bimboification #mind corruption #mind control #pinkofatom #brainwashing fantasy #brainwashing story #brainwashing kink #mind control story #dumbification

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hyperactively-me · 2 years ago

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king!ghost x reader -- the wedding

You hated your wedding dress.

As you stood there in front of the mirror, your heart sank at the sight of yourself drowning in ornate and thick fabric, embroidery, and jewelry.

The veil was long and thin yet adorned with embroidery, slightly obscuring your vision. The corset was too constricting against your figure. The train of the dress seemed to stretch for miles, making movement a cumbersome ordeal. A dainty tiara sits atop your head. It would soon be replaced by a bigger tiara, one more fit for a queen. Ghost’s queen.

You sit still as the maids apply make-up to your face and style your hair, leaving yourself to your thoughts. At this moment, there was no possible alternative for you but to face him at the altar. You had to utter falsehoods about your affection for him, til death do you part. You had to slip wedding rings onto each other’s fingers, symbols of connection and eternal love. Of course, the public had no idea of your true feelings towards their king. You had to hide behind this facade, this act, that you truly liked this man. You internally roll your eyes as the maids straighten out your dress and veil, adding final touches to your wedding outfit.

A quick knock rapped against the door and the head maid, who introduced herself, came in to help you slip on your shoes.

“It’s time to go out there. Do you have your vows ready?”

Unfortunately is what you really wanted to say, but you bite your tongue.

“Yes.”

“Good. Guests are arriving. Your family is here, your highness.”

You perk up a little at that statement, but you pretend not to care. You still hadn’t forgiven your parents, but you would be overjoyed to see your siblings.

“Diplomats and royalty from other kingdoms will be present,” the head maid continues. “They’re here to bear witness to his majesty’s wedding. They want to show their support of your union. It’s a great thing, your kingdom and Kastron creating peaceful relations. It provides more…stability and protection.”

You nod your head knowingly. You weren’t completely clueless. You knew Kastron has a history of starting battles and wars. You knew they always won. And you knew other territories, kingdoms, and rogue militias who tried to pick fights with Kastron always ended up defeated. Kastron also tended to fight unnecessary wars, burning down villages with no remorse. You supposed you had to keep track of all this, now that you were about to become the queen of Kastron. More recently, you had been thinking about asking Ghost for political lessons…

Which, speaking of, your thoughts begin to drift towards him. Where is he? What is he doing right now? What is he thinking? What is he wearing? Is he dreading this as much as I am?

You would find out soon enough.

Each passing minute brought you closer to the life with him that you didn’t want.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a gentle voice beckoning you. “It’s time to go, your highness.”

You nod, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t recognize yourself. Yes, you look beautiful, but it’s not…you, per se. The wedding dress is just a facade, a wall of innocence to hide the fact that you’re marrying a murderer.

You turn, the motion causing the heavy fabric of your dress to brush against the floor. The head maid reaches behind your head, moving the veil in front of your face. She takes your hand, helping you move down the imposing wooden doors in front of you. Everyone from Kastron was in there, royalty from far away lands were in there, your family was in there, he was in there. All waiting for the blushing bride to be married to a killer.

The head maid quickly shoves your bouquet in your hands, and you grip onto the flowers like it’s a lifeline.

This was your reality.

On cue, the doors swing open, heads turn, and the orchestra plays the wedding march. It sounds like a death march to you. (speak now by taylor swift, anyone?)

You fix your gaze on the man you detested, waiting for you at the top of the altar. He was still wearing a stupid mask, his face covered. His body was adorned in the same black regalia he had worn when asking your parents for your hand in marriage. His cape flowed down his back, pooling at the stairs. An anxiety you’ve never experienced before swallowed you whole as you dragged your feet down the aisle, hundreds of eyes picking you apart.

Ghost was looking straight at you, his form unmoving as you approached him.

You had to force yourself to keep going, this time a little faster. You wanted to get this over with. The grip you held on your bouquet made the flowers quiver. God, the feeling of hundreds of scrutinizing eyes on your back made you want to throw up.

You were almost there. Almost there. You look down at the steps in front of you, climbing up to the altar, making sure not to trip on your trailing dress.

You wondered what he thought of you at this very moment. You wondered if he understood how truly scared you were to marry him, a killer, a creator of wars and bloodshed. You hoped you made him feel guilty.

You come to a stop on the top of the stairs, turning to face him. The music stops.

The wedding officiant starts speaking, talking about love, and this and that. It bores you half to death. Every last word he says is a drag.

“Now, for the vows.”

Oh God, the fun part.

You look down at his feet, trying to tune Ghost out as he talks about “steadfast loyalty,” “honor,” “privilege,” and “responsibility.” You want to scream at him to stop.

When he’s done, he looks at you expectantly. You just know that there’s a smirk under that stupid mask of his. You clear your throat, and begin to speak lies.

Meaningless, empty vows of how you would be “patient,” “honest,” “poised,” and “loyal.” The image of a perfect wife. The moment you concluded your words, your vows ceased to exist.

The officiate turned to grab the pillow holding your wedding rings, presenting them to you. He motions for you to grab Ghost’s wedding band. Your fingers tremble as you pick it up.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness, and as I place it on your hand, I commit my very heart and soul to you,” you practically spit out, sliding the ring on his calloused hand.

You watch as Ghost grabs your ring, a rather large diamond sitting on the band. He grasps your hand gently in his own, and he repeats the same: “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness, and as I place it on your hand, I commit my very heart and soul to you,” slipping the ring onto your finger. He squeezes your hand gently before pulling away.

You had nearly forgotten about this part. The kiss. The final nail on the coffin.

He reaches towards your face, pulling your veil up and over your head gently. He stepped close to you, closer than ever before. You reach up to his own mask, pushing up the top to reveal his lips. He lets you, watching you intently. You wanted to rip the mask off his face, but something deep within you stopped yourself.

His hand comes around to the small of your back, pulling you right up against him. He angles his back to the crowd, allowing only you to see, suddenly pulling his mask higher and higher, until it completely slipped off his face.

God, he’s gorgeous.

He bends down to your height, breath tickling your skin. You try to memorize his face before he eventually covers it back up. He pulls you impossibly closer, his other hand coming up to press against your cheek as he kisses you deeply.

The breath is knocked from your lungs as his lips press against yours, hard.

He slowly pulls away after another beat, and surprisingly you find yourself not wanting it to end. He methodically pulls his mask back down, concealing his face once more. He turns back to face the crowd, hand not leaving the small of your back, now cheering loudly for the happy couple. His hand gently pushes you towards the crowd, beckoning you to move. You turn, putting on a shaky smile as you spot your family in the crowd.

Ghost pulls his hand from your back, extending the crook of his arm out for you to take. You clutch onto his arm like it’s a lifeline, wrapping your hand around his bicep.

The orchestra is deafening as you both make your way down the aisle as a couple. The double doors open and shut quickly behind you two, and you let out a shuddered gasp, pulling your hand away from his arm.

This is your life.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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gunnrblze · 8 months ago

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Some Elias filth for my fellow Elias whores. Had this half written in my drafts and it needed to see the light of day. MDNI 18+

CW: sleepy sex, use of daddy/sir/good girl. It’s nasty 💋

Elias was a simple man, really and truly.

Sure, his career was tumultuous. He made many questionable decisions, willingly put himself in harms way for the good of the country, the world. He had a temper when things got rough, and hated to lose. But who didn’t?

At home though, where he could bask in your sweet smile and the warmth you radiated when he wrapped his thick arms around you, he was simple.

So much so, that despite his age, all it took to give him a hard on was the sight of you, freshly showered and ready for bed.

He could kick himself, honestly. He was exhausted, and he knew you had to be too. However, watching you move around the bedroom with that towel tucked under your arms, hanging right under the swell of your ass, only made his cock grow further in his pajamas.

The smell of your soaps and lotions were wafting into the bedroom, your pretty figure leaving a trail of the fragrance everywhere you went, intoxicating him to the point he couldn’t even focus on whatever news article was displayed on his phone.

You carried on the rest of your night routine as usual, and he decided he’d ignore the warmth in his lower half, save it for another night where you both have more energy, perhaps. A night where he can properly love on you.

But when he watched your towel drop, revealing the expanse of your back and those supple cheeks, he felt his cock grow impossibly rigid. He cursed himself, internally. The man was in good shape for his age, no doubt about it, but he normally struggled to get it up these days.

All it took was you existing though, to send a shot through his heart all the way toward the length in his boxers. The one currently straining against the layers of fabric that kept it tucked away as he lied under the covers.

He had no trouble acting inconspicuous, of course. He was a seasoned soldier, great at pretending that the way his t shirt outlined your breasts as you slipped it on didn’t bother him. That the jiggle in your thighs as you walked over to the bed and climbed in next to him didn’t threaten his facade of decency.

He was a man too, though.

That little half smile you gave him, the one laced with sleepiness and warmth, almost made him feel guilty. Could he go to sleep with an erection, or would he have to sneak off to the bathroom and rub one out so as to not bother you with the matter? To be determined, he reckoned.

Elias turned his phone off and abandoned it on his bedside table as you settled into bed. He laid down with you, arms instinctively opening wide to accommodate your body as you scooted closer to him. He returned your pretty smile, wrapping you into his gentle hold. He willfully ignored how damned soft and smooth your skin was as the two of you murmured your goodnight’s.

Lying there with you was the sweetest torture he’d ever felt. Your warm, supple skin against his own, seeping into his body. Your scent flooding him even further as he nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling you and storing it away in his memory. The soft, slow pattern of your breath as you settled into him fully. His cock ached at this point, but he didn’t want to disturb how peaceful you were. He decided he’d wait until you fell asleep, and then he’d go take care of himself.

You tossed and turned a bit in his hold though, not quite ready to give into your exhaustion. You switched to a spooning position, and he obliged. Throwing an arm over your waist, letting you curl back into his hard body. He made a passive attempt at keeping your rear away from his crotch, but you seemed to not budge on the matter, wanting to be as close as possible.

He could almost see the smirk on your face from behind as your ass pressed into the strain under his pajamas, nestling his shaft right between your cheeks. For a silent moment, he figured maybe you’d let it go, but he knew better than to assume that you weren’t plotting something.

“Elias?” Your honeyed voice murmured into the silence of the bedroom, laced with a humor that made his heart catch.

“Hmm, sweetheart?” He answered, voice a little more gruff than usual, his face burying itself into your neck, taking an inhale to both ground himself and to further drown in your essence.

“Got a problem?” You weren’t even attempting to hide your pleasure with his circumstances now, wiggling your ass against him just to feel the way his breathing hitched, and the light groan that escaped his throat. It set a little throb deep inside your pussy, heating you up from the inside out.

He debated for a moment, but he knew it’d be futile to pretend all was well, that he wasn’t an aching, leaking mess in his boxers. That every breath you took didn’t make him grow even hungrier for you.

“Appears that way” he muttered into your neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there as you pushed your ass further into his crotch, toying with his ability to hold out. His own exhaustion had already set in, but it didn’t quell the ache that throbbed through him.

You were too good for someone like him, he decided. His pretty girl, always so perfect. Indulging that ache with a delicious grind of your backside into his lap, turning your head as much as you could to get a glimpse of him in the near darkness of the room.

“Wanna solve it?” You murmured, smiling as you set a slow pace with your hips, grinding and wiggling them into his crotch, tired brain getting drunk on the low grunts it drew from him.

He grinned easily, the hand that rested over your stomach sliding back to your hip, getting a bit of leverage as he grinded right back into you, forgoing the hang ups he had. You sweet thing…you were offering.

“You bet I do, darling” he rasped into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and slicking your pussy up. “Is that what you want, hm? Wanna help daddy out?” he whispered this time, not stopping that slow grinding into your ass. His tone made you throb a little, nipples poking through his t-shirt stuck tight to your body.

Elias slid a hand up said shirt, cupping his palm over your nipple and gently squeezing the fat of your breast, lazily grinding into your ass some more while kissing your neck. It sent a hot sensation through your body, ending in your clit that had begun to throb in your panties, wet fabric sticking to your folds.

“Yeah” you breathed out softly, voice velvety and smooth. You kept moving your hips, but you let him do most of the work, using your body gently. Relishing in the soft moans you gave when he’d toy with your nipples, stiffening them up as much as they’d go. Eyes gently closed, your back flush against his broad chest as he turned you on more and more, arousal mixing with exhaustion to create a dizzying sensation. A needy one.

You could feel the older man smile against the back of your shoulder, pressing another kiss there as he kept caressing your stomach and breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers just to hear the way your breathing shuddered, mouth open with heady breaths.

“Elias” you murmured, light and breathy and tinged with something that almost sounded impatient, his hips not stopping their relentless grinding. Your cunt was starting to do most of the talking, of course, and it amused him.

“Uh uh” the older man replied, shaking his head as it nestled into the side of your neck, his heavy breaths landing all over your fevered skin as his lips peppered kisses on top. “What’s my name, honey?” You huffed a bit at his low little reprimand, but it only made your panties more damp.

“Daddy…wanna help you” you swallowed thickly, biting your lip as his hand started to slide down your stomach, rough fingertips sending a shiver through your softer skin. He hummed gruffly in approval, a sound that never failed to set you alight. Working something desperate up inside of you.

The need to please.

His hand kept descending down your body, reaching the hem of your panties as they wrapped around your hip. You hadn’t stopped your gentle grind into his crotch and neither had he. But with his fingers so close to your pussy, your brain was already starting to melt. Almost letting out a whine, reduced into a whore by the thought of him alone.

“Yeah? You’re helping alright, just be good and let daddy use you, hm girl?” He rasped into your ear, pressing a kiss there as he started to work your panties down your thighs, only to stop when they were just halfway down. The thought of him not even bothering to take them off fully almost had the sound of his boxers being slid down next go unnoticed.

If the sound went unheard, the feeling of his hardened cock pressing into your bare ass certainly didn’t. Your thoughts were messy as is, the state of your poor, throbbing pussy matching.

“Yes, sir” you almost forgot to answer, head nodding before your mouth could pathetically catch up. You arched your back a little, the soft skin of your ass sliding up his length a bit, pulling a loose groan from his throat. You felt his cock twitch against you slightly, the title making him feel a little more indecent than he’d planned on tonight.

He held himself in one hand, rubbing his swollen tip gently between your cheeks. The unexpected, but not unwelcome feeling, had you biting down on your lip more. You were drowsy enough and your brain was a wreck with arousal, you wanted to beg.

Wanted to say all the right things, work the man up just right so that he’d slide into your weeping hole already. But more than that, you wanted to feel useful for him. Wanted to be his good girl.

So you let him continue without complaint, listening to his heavy breathing as his free arm came to wrap up under your body, keeping you snug against his chest, hand practically groping at your chest now over your shirt.

His movements were a little hungrier, despite the mutual exhaustion, but he was still taking his time. Teasingly so. Whatever itch he’d suddenly gotten tonight, you’d let him scratch it however he liked.

After indulging his teasing a little longer, feeling him smile into your neck as his arm wrapped around your own chest now, he rewarded your patience. He dragged his heavy cock between your slickened folds, wetting his shaft with so much ease it might’ve heated your cheeks up with embarrassment, had you not been so lost in arousal.

You let out a sigh in tandem with his soft groan, arching your ass back further to angle his cock just right. He let out a chuckle, amused at your neediness, how damned wet you were just from being teased a bit.

“That’s it, darling…right there. Look how ready you are…” he muttered into your ear again, slowly easing the head of his cock into your drooling hole. The angle made the stretch all the more delicious, a moan slipping out of your throat at the sensation of his rigid shaft filling you up.

You swallowed him up with ease, practically leaking down his cock as he nestled it fully inside of your body, his grunt making your clit throb. You debated rolling your hips back to get some friction, but it’s as if he was content with just stilling inside you for a bit.

He enjoyed the little huff that you gave, pressing a kiss to your cheek with a smile. It wasn’t often Elias played these games with you, he was usually eager enough to please you. Give into all your whines and whims and desires.

But he enjoyed playing with you sometimes. Working you up until you were a needy mess. He wasn’t a sadist by any means, no, but it could make him throb just to think about tears prickling those eyes of yours from all his teasing.

He let your cunt warm his dick for a moment, your back to his chest, wrapped up under the covers with him. The heat radiating from you almost made it unbearable before he started to roll his hips. The relief washing over you in the form of a soft moan.

“Mhm…there now, let daddy have it” he whispered almost sweetly this time, indulging your needy patience by slowly sliding in and out of your weeping pussy. He held you in place with the arm around your chest, his free hand wrapped over your hip.

And you did, let him have it. Let him fuck you slow and deep, at his own pace as he groaned quietly into your ear. You moaned unreservedly, your brain shutting down to only its basic senses. Only able to feel his hard cock plunging in and out of you, his hands grasping at you, the squelching sounds your cunt made as it leaked down to his balls.

His big hand slid from your hip down to your thigh, pulling your leg up over his, angling himself deeper inside of you. If his tip prodding at that spot in your pussy wasn’t enough, his hand dipped even lower to stroke at your swollen, neglected clit.

Your back arched, mouth hanging open with an almost squeaky moan as he kept on fucking you, speeding up his pace just enough to make the bed beneath you rock a bit. You were practically drooling on your pillow, letting him maneuver you any which way he pleased, doing whatever he’d like to your pretty body.

He felt like the luckiest bastard alive, getting to have you like this instead of jerking himself off in the bathroom like he’d planned. Instead, your pussy was wrapped around his throbbing cock as he relentlessly thrusted it into you. Whispering filthy little praises that had you hurtling toward the edge.

“There she is…look at you, sweetie…so patient for your daddy, shit…so well behaved” he’d rasp, his voice faltering only a little when he felt how tightly you squeezed around him.

A moaning, drooling mess molded up against his body. Skin hot under the covers, head swimming with nothing but the sound of his voice and the heat between your legs, he briefly wondered if heaven did truly exist. In the form of you.

All it took was his fingers rubbing over your clit a few more times before you were creaming all over the older man’s cock with a whimpering sob. The feeling of his cum painting your walls followed soon after, the rare sound of a moan slipping from his mouth and right into your ear.

Maybe Elias Walker was only simple in theory.

#had to do it to em #nobody look at me #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #elias walker #elias walker x reader #elias scarecrow walker #elias x reader #elias walker call of duty #elias walker smut #elias cod #elias t walker #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #gunnrblze rambles #gunnrblze writes

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somebodys-nightmare · 1 year ago

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Understanding Cloud's Identity Crisis

I've originally posted this on Twitter, but this work-up is an analysis of Cloud's identity crisis, false persona, and his real psyche as we see in in FFVII/FFVIIR.

Throughout Final Fantasy VII, Cloud's true self is buried, trying to reach Tifa. Deep down, he knows that she is the key... Because Tifa is his one true love.

Up until the Lifestream scene in FFVII, Cloud’s true identity is hidden or ‘sleeping’ beneath a false persona. This false persona- the “EX-SOLDIER First Class” persona, is built on a combination of three things:

-his ideal self

-Jenova cells

-His true self/memories/experiences

𝙄𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛: Cloud’s ideal self is constructed primarily through his personal desires to be a 'cool hero' who can save Tifa. This construct is rooted in his childhood experiences & his feelings for her - being unable to save her on the mountain when they were children and being unable to break past his introversion & prejudice against her friend group to spend more time with her & express his true feelings.

This becomes his motivation to join SOLDIER & invite her to the water tower to share his intentions with her leading to his promise to save her one day if she ever needs him. With that in mind, Cloud’s ideal self is cool, tough, and strong - someone who made it into SOLDIER, possessing the characteristics of a man who can keep that promise to Tifa.

𝙅𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙖 𝘾𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙨: The Jenova cells Cloud has from the experimentation 5 years ago glue together & fill in the holes of his false persona via its mimetic abilities. Jenova alters Cloud’s memories to ‘prop’ up his ideal self & provide the gateway for Sephiroth’s manipulation of Cloud & to push him towards the Reunion.

These cells read Tifa’s memory for her image of Cloud upon their reunion, & finding her memories of him - the boy who made her a promise before he left for SOLDIER- reinforce Cloud’s ideal, the cool hero who can save her.

𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛: Cloud’s true self makes up part of his false persona by filling in gaps in his memory & experiences so he can function & maintain the facade of his EX-SOLIDER persona. Cloud’s cold, aloof, & sometimes aggressive or confrontational behavior is informed by his real introverted, surly, indignant, & independent nature.

Cloud’s real memories & experiences as an infantryman & the second-hand experiences he heard from Zack, combined with abilities granted to him by the Jenova experimentation, allow him to demonstrate skills and knowledge consistent with that of a SOLDIER.

His true memories and experiences as a participant in the Nibelheim Incident allow him to weave a complete fabrication that suits his ideal self, especially in conjunction with Jenova’s ‘help’.

This elaborate persona acts as a coping mechanism to help Cloud navigate the world upon awakening from severe trauma & mako poisoning when Tifa finds him in Sector 7. But beneath this persona, Cloud’s true self is dormant & trying to break free, notably, to reach Tifa.

While the construction & maintenance of this false persona occur through a combination of dissociation & delusion, Cloud’s true identity sleeps beneath, trying to find a way out. Internally, Cloud knows there is something wrong with him - he isn’t sure what to do about it.

Cloud’s true self is attempting to rectify this with spontaneous attempts to surface. Most occur in connection with Tifa, showcasing not only her importance to him, but his belief that she is the key. subconsciously realizes he has to be there for Tifa for him to find himself.

Cloud is constantly fighting back the effects of his trauma & the manipulation of Sephiroth & the Reunion. He repeatedly tries to reconnect & reclaim his psyche via his interactions with Tifa - by protecting her, listening to her, comforting her - by keeping his 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚.

Cloud’s true persona even goes so far as to try to get him to connect the dots by urging him to ask Tifa why they never got a chance to spend time together 5 years ago - a conversation that unfortunately, in Junon, cannot happen yet.

Note: In Rebirth, this interaction is massively upgraded to Sephiroth's intense gaslighting of Cloud by trying to convince him that Tifa is Jenova, more dramatically driving a wedge between them throughout the game.

By the time the party reaches the Northern Crater, Cloud is completely unstable from the events leading up to the Reunion, & his true self is at risk of being completely shattered. Sephiroth’s gaslighting of Cloud & Tifa & his use of Tifa’s memories against them are the final straw, resulting in Cloud’s complete loss of himself. But it is because he loses Tifa’s faith & belief in who he truly is that Cloud breaks.

Cloud’s sense of self is restored in the Lifestream not simply because Tifa can help him reclaim his memories, but because Tifa affirms who Cloud is - his real self - & his feelings, the ones that made him feel inadequate & need to impress her in the first place. Tifa not only affirms that she noticed Cloud, but that 𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚. These are Cloud’s true desires - because he has always been 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧.

The events in Mideel are critical to all of this. Although Cloud is unaware, Tifa selflessly devotes herself to his care. Such a display of unconditional love proves that Tifa returns Cloud’s deeply held inner feelings, even if he doesn’t know it. When Mideel is attacked, Cloud emerges briefly enough to warn her - once again keeping his promise to protect her, as he does again when they fall into the Lifestream and she calls out for his help.

This is the pattern of Cloud and Tifa's relationship throughout FFVII- a constant call-and-response of protection & care that culminates with mutual understanding in the Lifestream and mutual affection under the Highwind.

Cloud, at his very core, is driven by his love for Tifa. The multifaceted depths & complexities of his character are underpinned by this very human, empathetic notion of love, and it is one reason he is my favorite character in any form of media.

#cloud strife #ffvii #cloti #tifa lockhart #final fantasy vii #ffviir #ffvii remake #ffvii rebirth #ever crisis

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spockandawe · 1 year ago

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Okay, I think I'm ready to start chewing on and articulating some Peerless/Wushuang thoughts at least, because I'm deep in the parts of the book where this starts becoming more relevant.

Feng Xiao and Cui Buqu are VERY alike. This is an asshole4asshole relationship, they're both leading secret police bureaus, they're both ruthless and calculating and VERY smart. But they're also so different in some crucial ways. Yeah, Feng Xiao is one of the strongest martial artists alive, while Cui Buqu's health is so fragile that everyone is amazed he's still alive, which is delightful, but i do think the differences in personality are even more more interesting

Like, a thing I've said before (maybe not on here?) is that one of the things that makes Yan Wushi so compelling despite being such a jackass is that he's VERY true to himself, in a considered, deliberate, intelligent way. Part of what drives him to try to break Shen Qiao is his conviction that everyone who clings to ethics and morality is just putting on a self-serving facade and it won't take much hardship to shatter that. Feng Xiao doesn't have an internal conviction like that driving him, or, he sort of does. But his core driving force is pure unadulterated self-love.

Feng Xiao has lived his life with perfect cheerful conviction that Feng Xiao is the most beauitful, most capable, most clever boy in the whole world. Now. It doesn't take long for him to become VERY wary of Cui Buqu's intelligence, but the personal vanity doesn't falter. It's a delight to read, someone trying to suck up to him sends him the most beautiful woman he's ever seen trying to curry favor, and Feng Xiao has her clean his room. He's literally like 'buddy. pal. why would i sleep with someone less beautiful than i am?' He's capable of schemes and plotting, but when it comes to personality, he is a CHEERFULLY open reflection of his own inner self however rancid that inner self is lmao

Cui Buqu on the other hand. MY GOD. The man literally starts the book acting a fabricated role. This won't have been spoilers if you read the book summary, but Cui Buqu has a whole city convinced that he's a perfectly benevolent, kind, generous daoist priest, and meanwhile. When it comes to a contest of who's the most ruthless in this book, between Feng Xiao and Cui Buqu, i think Cui Buqu handily wins! Even once that initial act is peeled away, Cui Buqu has layers and LAYERS. Mister onion ogre man. The author even calls him out for being like this in the notes. It's extremely funny, but also makes for a delightful slow burn in terms of relationship development, it's very rewarding to read.

But as i do that actual reading now, I'm really taken by how subtly that tension between them really enriches the surrounding story. The arc I'm in now involves Cui Buqu's backstory, and he's simultaneously being revealed to be more vicious and more gentle than the prior story suggested. This is DEFINITELY weighted more towards the viciousness than gentleness, but without spoilers, that really makes the moments when he chooses to be kind hit so, so hard! And while Feng Xiao is strong, he's always been openly and bluntly strong, the way more and more of Cui Buqu is gradually brought to light underscores the depth and nature of HIS strength.

Both of these men are very beloved by their subordinates, so the story communicates well that they have good points, but it's fascinating how Cui Buqu's are revealed to readers by patiently peeling those layers away, while Feng Xiao, someone much more open, but with a very demanding personality, is rounded out in large part thanks to those reveals from Cui Buqu, and the way he reacts and how his behavior modifies.

Is that coherent? I can't tell anymore. But the depth of meng xi shi's character writing is something fascinating to me, and Peerless and Thousand Autumns give a LOT of narrative attention to who their main characters are, and the different seemingly-contradictory layers of characters like Yan Wushi and Cui Buqu. Shen Qiao and Feng Xiao are fascinating in the sense of however far down you dig, what you see is what you get, lmao. But the nuance and elaboration within that space, which might seem restrictive, still makes for a FASCINATING character, and a very engaging read

#peerless #wushuang #fengcui #feng xiao #cui buqu

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moriohpsyker · 15 days ago

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MANIC DREAM PSYCHO CHAPTER 1: Psycho Killer

Pairing: Yoshikage Kira x Reader x Patrick Bateman

Summary: You work as an intern for Pierce&Pierce. By day you're obsessed with your mentor, a pretty blonde with a hand-fetish. By night you have to deal with a pretentious good-looking rich asshole with sadistic tendencies. You’ve got it all down to a routine—two separate lives, one persona for each. But things start to unravel when they both begin to see through your poorly constructed facades. Well, fuck. Good luck I guess.

Tags (More like warnings): Hand-Fetish things and skin peeling.

Words: 5k+

A/N: Hello there, welcome to a series... I guess? A horror romantic comedy about toxic romance and obsession. Setting up this post on tumblr while half-asleep LMAO.

Reader will be referred to he/him, she/her, they/them- it's like a box of chocolate of genderfluidity depending on where they are and who is interacting with them.

Danger.

That's what you seemed to attract despite your will, despite your better judgement sometimes.

Even when you felt safe, the recess of your mind decided that it would attack you for no better reason but to have stimulation then it began.

Overstimulated.

Understimulated.

It makes you wedge in between a place and time that makes you feel like you're going insane. The type of feeling where, maybe it's time to go to a psychiatrist again. Maybe two? Who knows.

However, today, you were sat at your desk.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Click. Clack.

Typing in the data that was given to you by your mentor, creating a database from scratch. Stocking inventory. Accounting. Numbers. Oh god the fucking numbers.

You tugged at the black fabric that sat on your face, you tend to hide it so you would feel comfortable sitting here at an office.

It was strange, but it was a suggestion made by one of the many therapists you saw. Not that any of the sessions lasts long enough to ease your mind; switching therapists to therapists before you inevitably stopped going overall.

The mask did help though. Maybe the pills that you were prescribed helped too. Sort of. You eventually forgot to continue taking them again.

Perhaps you were the problem, but that notion never seemed to dwell in your mind long enough before shifting to another task at hand.

“Hey.” You snapped your head up, an audible crack popping from a joint in your neck.

You swivel the chair around to see your co-worker looking at you with detached interest with a bunch of quarterly review reports you had printed out previously the day before in his hands. On closer inspection, there were a lot of red marks on it— you wanted to crawl into a hole.

However that embarrassed feeling faded once you noticed who exactly the coworker was.

“Hey. The numbers on this report are wrong… and quite a bit of them.”

“Oh. Sorry Mr. Kira…”

“It's fine. Just fix them please.”

You reached out to grab the reports, immediately from the corner of your eyes you noticed how intensely he was staring at your hands. When it came to this, you felt insecure about them, the free edge peeled too short until there was nothing but the nail bed. Cuticle a little overgrown. Hang nail indented cavities that you couldn't resist peeling back because you liked the burning sensation of it and also that it irritated you whenever it rubbed against something and you feel the—

“... the Peterson broker account needs to be… are you listening? I am not going to explain this twice.”

Your eyes completely were staring at him now, focusing.

Although it seems you could have been focusing on the wrong things again as you now had the sudden realization of how close this man was standing next to you.

Neatly combed back blonde hair.

Long light lashes.

Eyes the color of a periwinkle type blue that you didn't know was possible.

You bet that if you gouged it out and held it towards the sun, it could turn a deeper blue or a lighter purple depending on how you angled it, just like a certain nail polish you recalled seeing in your childhood.

They were so pretty. He was pretty. Your hands that were clutching the reports were now almost slightly wrinkling them from how tight your fingers curled around them.

Yoshikage Kira. 33 years old. He recently moved from a small town in Japan named Morioh to Manhattan. He was a rather mild-mannered man, kept to himself but would also mingle with others if the event calls for it.

He was also who Pierce & Pierce decided to use as a test dummy for a new mentoring system they were trying to put in place.

Kira was your mentor and you felt like you struck gold because he was actually pretty good at it. And you didn't even mind when he shoved all the hard tasks on you while he did all the easy ones since he still helped you when you had any questions.

Your brain decided that you liked him.

An awful lot. Just because he seemed mundane. Was nice to you. NEVER STARED AT YOU LIKE MEAT. And of course pretty.

You observed him. It was one of the only things that was grounding you as of late. You tracked down whether his hair grew a little longer. His habits. His schedule. His address.

His messy kills.

“Sorry. Can you please repeat that again?”

A sigh. You could tell that he was getting frustrated with you. Still however, he kept his politeness, never truly getting angry. You smiled behind the mask.

See, he's still being polite even if he was starting to get a little annoyed.

Then you listened as he explained what mistakes you made again, this time though, you were taking notes. As much as you liked the crinkle between his brows, it's best not to push his buttons too far especially at work.

“Okay. Got it! I understand now, thank you Mr. Kira.” You chirped at him.

“Also clean up your desk… It's unsightly.” You watch as he plopped your pens back into a plastic cup holder.

Guess that was the thing that bothered him the most on your desk.

He gives you a slight nod before taking his leave.

The interaction was short and fleeting, nothing interesting but still it calmed you down for now.

As you turned back to fix your errors, your mind drifted back to your last train of thought.

The killings.

You were just following him from a great enough distance after work like always— you didn't really remember when you started doing that; your body just moved by itself, he didn't seem to notice you.

Large gatherings he attended, or sometimes out on the streets—women he picked out always had nice hands. He'd lure them into dark secluded alleyways, covering their mouths before they could scream as he stabbed into them violently.

Plunging the knife deep into their neck, before stabbing randomly, quick, frantic. Still. Somehow he manages to not be covered in blood as if he was avoiding arteries where blood will spray out when hit.

You always hid in the shadows (behind some kind of dump or sometimes a far away building with binoculars), watching, lurking.

You knew it was morally wrong to kill (something you swore you wouldn't do yourself) but you didn't mind, after all, you didn't know who these women were. Why would it affect you? Plus the way his eyes light up, the way he smiled when it looked like he perfected a kill— it was beautiful. Even when he messily dismembers the hand from the body while stuffing the rest in a body bag that he made sure to prepare ahead of time. It's one of the rare occasions where his sleeves were folded up neatly revealing the taut muscles of his forearms flexing, you wish you could get close enough to see his veins— you wondered what color they were. His sweat beading down his forehead being adorably framed by messy strands of blonde as those sweet lips parted, panting ragged by the exertion of murdering someone.

He really needed to work out more often instead doing the bare minimum to be healthy or perhaps it was his age?

Attractive people really get away with anything. Huh?

Your mind recalls even deeper, his face rubbing up against the hand, adoring it, talking to it as if he had just met the prettiest person alive. He would even give it a name.

That just made him even more adorable.

You craved that attention towards you.

Pathetic. Odd. Adorable.

He doesn't kill often anyways. He only does it when he can't control himself anymore. You noticed that it occurs after the hand starts to decay where he can no longer hide the stench of it or when his own fingernails grow at quite a rapid pace.

Ironic how he wanted to live peacefully when one misstep could make him lose everything due to his uncontrollable impulses. His confidence in never getting caught was high but sometimes wavering as he interacts with colleagues. Only you noticed when he fidgets uncomfortably in his valentino suit, spritzing cologne onto a particular area.

You supposed you loved that about him anyways.

The clock at your desk blared 5:30PM.

Shit.

Before you could even finish anything, it was already time to clock out. However, due to your very poor choice in time management, you will have to clock out late to finish the work Kira gave. Which meant less time to follow him after work before he retired for his 11PM bedtime.

Irritation picked at you. Moreso at yourself for doing this again.

There was no other choice but to grab your Sony WM-DD30 walkman which was best in the market in your opinion to listen to music with. It was the only way to keep you from your distracting thoughts.

Psycho Killer from Talking Heads’ album Talking Heads: 77 blared through the headphones as you hummed along, clacking in the data.

It was their debut studio album and this song was particularly catchy. When taken at the face lyrics, one would suspect that the song was written about The Son of Sam since it was released right after his arrest but you believed that it wasn't necessarily about a crazed murderer, no, you instead thought it was just someone who was trapped in their mind and felt alienated by society as they dealt with their violent urges. It was about someone not really knowing who they really are.

Click. Clack.

At this rate you should get done in an hour or two.

The rhythm of your tapping on the keyboard, retyping the report on the IBM computer that sat on your chaos mess of a desk followed along to the beat of the chorus.

Then interruption.

“Do you need any help with that?”

Headphones were immediately pulled down. Why was he still here? He should be outside the office right now, doing any errands he needed to do before arriving home.

Kira looked down at you with a face that wasn't exactly tired, nor thrill— it was just what one might call a neutral expression. You didn't answer, not at first. Silence grew between the both of you and his expression shifted to a miffed one at the lack of your response.

Then you finally replied.

“If you don't mind.”

Now, it's not the first time your stomach twisted like someone took your small intestine and decided to put it in one of those cotton candy machines that rapidly spun sugar around and around and around. Nausea settled in as you felt yourself get too excited.

Was he here just for you? Was he worried about you? Your heart sped through the absolute canal of your throat as you swallowed heavily, trying not to freak out as he pulled up a chair to sit beside you. The sudden adrenaline in your veins made you bite down on your lip hard, making you taste iron. Pain helped you settle.

A tingle went down your arms.

“I- uhm sorry.” You meekly mumbled into your mask.

He didn't question when you apologized, rather, he ignored it.

“I'll finalize the calculations on these sheets, please just enter the data in the database… By the way…”

Kira's eyes lingered on your hands again and you resist the urge to twitch. “I have some anti-scarring cream if you want some, I notice that you have a lot of… cuts on them.”

Without skipping a beat, you replied:

“Oh yeah, I’ve recently adopted a cat. He gets fussy sometimes…”

“I see… Your hands are rather dainty.”

“What?”

You blinked, but almost softly laughed at the weird interjection, however you held it in.

“For a man I mean— actually sorry I don't know why I brought it up.”

“It's okay. I get that often.”

Then there was silence.

“You don't often stay back this late.” You tried your best to make conversation, fingers now resuming their typing.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“...Thank you for helping me.”

He just hummed in response.

A part of you wanted to whisper I like you . But you didn't.

Instead, you thought back to your hands that he mentioned were dainty . You didn't think they were dainty due to the small callouses forming on the side of your fingers, unless he was referring to their size. Eventually your hands stopped moving, you looked at them more, covered in old nicks and marks as well as newer forming scabs from a night prior.

They itch. You wanted to pick at them, to scrape them off like annoyances. But you didn't because Kira was still there next to you.

And you wanted to pretend you took good care of your hands next to him. From the corner of your eyes, you saw a small tube of cream of silicon scar gel, when did he put it there? Were you supposed to put it on now? You glanced at him.

Big mistake.

Because now you just wanted to stare at him forever.

“Is there something on my face?”

You quickly turned your head away.

“I had a quick question about the stock here…” You lied. You also knew he knew you were lying.

A long exhale and your heart tugged at you hearing it, “When you first started working, you were efficient… Do you want to talk about it?”

Deep down you knew he wanted to avoid having more work placed onto himself in the long run, which is probably why he was staying late despite it going against his schedule. Then again, he could have planned this yesterday to prepare for the deviation today.

“I guess I've just been unable to sleep as of late...”

“I recommend doing stretches before bed and sleeping around the same time.”

“And a glass of warm milk. It always helps me get to bed.” He added.

“I already knew that.”

You wanted to say but what came out of your mouth was, Thank you. I'll try that .

And that was the end of that.

Or at least it should be.

“How would you know that?”

You stood up abruptly from your chair.

“What I said was I needed to go take a piss.” And then you practically almost sprinted to the bathroom.

Why the fuck and when the fuck were you holding the hand cream?

It was only noticed that it was held tight within your mildly cold sweat hand when you entered the bathroom stall trying to calm yourself down.

You pulled down your mask and you rubbed the tube against your face, Kira held this before you did. His hands have touched it personally. It was new. Did he buy this for you?

Stop thinking. Stop thinking. STOP FUCKING THINKING.

You popped open the cap and started applying it to your hands, rubbing the cream hard enough against your hands to the point the scabs you had were bleeding again making whatever leftover residue that wasn't completely rubbed in to look pinkish on your hands.

“Hahaha. Fuck.”

Why were you panicking so much? This was the first time in a while since Kira came up so close to you, why were you fucking it up?

Tears dripped from your eyes involuntarily. You scrubbed at them with the back of your hands forgetting you had the cream on them. It only made you tear up more.

I want to rip out my eyes.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

He didn't stop you even if he was tempted to.

Kira stared at the place you left empty, contemplating. He felt his palms begin to sweat nervously— if he had heard you right the first time then does that mean he somehow mentioned his night routine before and he had somehow forgotten?

That didn't sound right. He would have remembered.

Even though you had been working here for a few months, you both were not close enough for him to mention anything about his personal life. Most of your conversations were strictly professional and about work.

Plus your voice has sounded so sure as if you definitely knew what he did instead of just taking his words for it.

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the table. The recalculation was long done by now and you haven't came back. It wasn't like you to take so long. Actually, he didn't know why he cared so much in the first place. He should have just left on time like he always did.

But Kira knew why he stayed behind to help much to his annoyance, it was because of your work slowing down making him have much more work than needed and also the curiosity of your hands had progressively almost made it difficult for him to get a peaceful rest at night.

Your hands.

They were small. He could bury them perfectly with just one of his own hands. He had noted that fact down when he got to shake it once at the introduction meeting for the mentorship program.

“This is the new kid you'll be guiding. Please treat him well, he's also not from around this city.”

Kira saw that only the top of your head grazed his shoulder so he had to tilt his head down a bit to get a clear look at you. He saw the black mask you wore covered half your face but otherwise you wore what every man wore at the office. Suit and tie. Suspenders and slacks.

Him. The way your hands looked. He had to question if his tastes were changing or did some men just take better care of their appearances here because he was slowly enraptured by the way your hands looked.

The first time when he laid eyes on them, they were almost like a clean canvas. Pristine. As if you had just got done with a freshly nice manicure, he even noted how there was a protective coat on your nails. He would have almost been surprised by how extremely well maintained they were for a man if he didn't recall someone else at the office who also took great care of his hands.

“My sister owns a nail salon and she insisted that I get them nice before my first day at work. I'm so glad she only put on a top coat instead of color.”

That was the answer you gave him when he just had to know. It surprised himself that he couldn't stop himself from asking you where you got it done but he was also relieved that you answered without hesitation as if it was something normal.

The only thing that turned him off as he observed further was the appearance of oddly discolored healing patterns on them.

Over the months, your hands eventually became unkept like your work ethic— littered in new cuts and scars, fingers occasionally inked and stained for some unknown reason he didn't pry in.

He had lost interest in them for its original purpose to put it in his mouth. Caress it. Take it on nice little dates. However, he was beginning to latch on to the idea if he was able to nurture it to its full potential just like how it was in the beginning.

He even dreamt about it.

Which was why he had planned to approach you more today.

But something was terribly off by the way you stared at him. Kira was fairly confident in his own attractiveness and it had definitely helped when he wanted a hand or two with things. He was used to a few passing stares here and there (although some days he would obsessively overcheck himself in the bathroom to make sure nothing was standing out) yet the way you stare at him was akin to a cat eyeing its prey.

As if you knew something.

The more he thought about it. The more it made him nervous. He gnawed at his thumb, effectively clipping it with his teeth, his teeth sharply hitting the hyponychium, puncturing the skin.

“Thank you for… cleaning up my desk for me?” You were finally back and Kira didn't realize that while drowning in his thoughts, he used one hand to organize your desk to his liking.

It irked you a little that he did that but your mind pushed down the slight annoyances due to your other feelings. The world was a wonderful shade of pink when you get to look at him.

“You're welcome. You sure were taking your time in there…”

“Sorry. I guess I lost track of time.” Your eyes were red. You knew that from the excessive rubbing you did on them to clear up your tears. “An eyelash fell onto my eyes and it took forever trying to get it o—.”

His thumb was bleeding.

“Are you okay Mr. Kira?” You approached him closer, more concerned about his finger to even realize how close you were getting to him.

His breath hitched when your hand was on his wrist, pulling his hand closer to your face to inspect what he had ruined nervously. He yanked his hand away abruptly only to feel regret when he realized he should have enjoyed the warmth of it longer. It was something he was going to replay in his head at some point.

He shouldn't be feeling this way.

“I'm fine.” His voice was strained, cracking a little.

You didn't know why but the nervous transition from his usually stoic nature towards you triggered something that made you want to tease him.

Kira did get nervous with peers or people above him (the whole fitting in thing)— but never with you. You were beneath him in the workplace hierarchy and you often left him alone in peace.

“Hmmm. You sure?” You could tell that you probably had a large shit eating grin underneath your mask. The corners of your mouth twitching. Your heart was still palpitating like crazy but it was for a different reason now. You dug your hands in your pocket, digging around before pulling out a bandaid and the anti-scarring gel you used earlier.

On any other given day, perhaps you would have just simply handed it to him and been done. Your fingers were trembling a little as you held out your free hand towards him as if asking a cat for its paw.

Kira was now just rubbing his wrist awkwardly, glowering down at you and at the offered hand.

He noticed a mocking mischievous glint in your eyes. If you both weren't in the office right now with some people still there, he might have just tried to choke you right there and then. You only stared back up at him, silently and expectantly before lighting up as he hesitantly placed his injured hand on yours.

Good boy.

You could literally feel how sweaty his hands were getting as you popped off the cap of the gel, gliding the pad of your own thumb to where his own was punctured with translucent silicone.

The way his trousers tightened just from this was all your fault. How could just finger rubbing be obscene? It actually had to do with the light scratches you were doing on the back of his hand. Kira had to control his breathing which mostly meant just holding it in until you finally reluctantly let go, painfully slow.

After wrapping the plaster on his finger, it was then when you noticed the odd wrinkles in his slacks. You pretend to ignore it despite a few minutes of a lingering gaze; although you did feel a twinge of smugness for causing his current state.

Meanwhile Kira was doing his best to not show that anything was off, even if he had moved his legs around a bit to hide it.

“There! All good.” You pulled back, giving an appropriate distance between the two of you. It took a few moments of trying to straighten himself but he finally said:

“Thanks..”

“No problem! Thanks for always helping me with work things.”

“... I can apply it myself next time.”

“I know but it helps having someone wrap a bandaid around your thumb, sometimes that part gets tricky.”

Internally, there was a wave of relief that washed over you due to the fact that the both of you were having a conversation that was at last, flowing somewhat. You sat back down, your head in your hand propped up by your elbow as you looked at him again.

Both of you were once again in a silent staring competition, except you were the one staring at his face while he was the one who shifted to look back down at your hands again.

Oh, well. That was sort of fun while it lasted.

“I'll finish up the report, you should probably get home now. I'll feel bad keeping you here any longer.” You tell him, repositioning yourself in a more comfortable position to type.

“... I can wait until you're done. We can perhaps get dinner?”

Were you dreaming or did Kira just ask you out after work? You chewed on your bottom lip, wanting so badly to say yes but unfortunately by the time you would be done with this report, it'll be too late to go get dinner and then attend your other appointment afterwards.

And that fucker was annoying whenever you ran late.

“I would love to, but actually I have something to do later… OH but, maybe another time?” You hope that he would offer it again.

“That's understandable. It was a sudden invite after all… Yes, perhaps next time.” Kira's tone was filled with not exactly disappointment but more of doubt because if you really had somewhere to be, you should be rushing instead of taking your sweet time staring talking to him.

“Don't clock out too late.” He said politely.

“Yes, thank you, have a good night Mr. Kira.” You replied back in the same polite manner.

He gave you and your hands one last glance before walking away to gather his things and leave.

Once he was away, you slapped your face into your hand; and then proceeded to run it over your hair, tousling it in a mess. Internally screaming as you silently kicked your legs underneath the office desk.

It all caught up to you, you touched his hand. HIS HAND. AND HE INVITED YOU OUT.

It was such a shame you had to reject it. It almost brought tears to your eyes, but you tried not to let it get to you, shaking your leg restlessly against the floor.

The appointment. It was a secondary job you've recently taken on for some nights (timed perfectly after Kira has gone to bed) although it has become very frequent as of late— as if the requester was becoming addicted to seeing you. Technically, you could have canceled but a small part of you was falling into routine with this activity.

Even if the person of your obsession had asked you out, your mind wouldn't let you fully stray from something you already planned for.

At least he said maybe next time.

Your work was done by the time the clock read 8PM in bright neon red numbers.

—

“Well. I guess I'm not too late…” You mumbled to yourself, standing in front of your appointment's door. You had rushed home after work to change out of your day clothes because you were not letting the possible chance for this man to recognize you at work.

One of the Vice Presidents for Pierce&Pierce.

Patrick Bateman.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock .

Five knocks. Between two and five you decided that was the ‘normal’ amount of knocks that a person should make at the door.

The door swung open revealing a young man with an expensive taste for clothing leaning against the door frame casually as if he has been waiting there the entire time for you. However on closer inspection, you noticed a little bit of heavy breathing, some sweat beads, and his usual combed back was slightly framing his forehead. You didn't say anything about it.

“You're late.”

“Well, hello to you too Mr. Peanut Butter.”

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid bitch.” He mumbled the last three words but you caught it so clearly.

“Well until you stop calling me a stupid bitch, I'm gonna keep calling you that.”

You stayed still in your position from the door, a polite smile on your face but your words were anything but. You watched as the taller man moved aside with an irritated expression on his face as you walked in, brushing past him, rolling your eyes. Once in, you took off your shoes and placed them neatly at the entrance. You swore every time you walked into this place, it was cold and unwelcoming especially from the monochromatic furnishing and expensive decor. It reminded you of a ‘ home’ you once lived in and it made your mouth fill up with a bitter taste every time you thought about it.

Brand new newspaper articles sprawled across the floor, his couches covered in protective cloth as you plopped down onto one with a small bounce, wrinkling the sheets a bit so you smoothed it back.

“So, Mr. PB&J what will it be today?” You hummed, “Ice pick, the scalpel, kitchen knives, the nail gun?” You listed these off as they were just nothing but a grocery list.

“Oh, but the nail gun, you have rather poor aim, I rather not lose a fucking eye— luckily I managed to dodge that nail last time and it just gave me a new piercing.” It ripped the small tip of your ear off.

You watched as Patrick held something rectangular in his hand, it had a handle and there was definitely a glinting shine of metal. But from where you were sitting, you couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was.

“Today, I was thinking about listening to some Genesis.” He began, with a smile on his face, “It was featured in the 1986 movie called the Mona Lisa—”

You already knew what it was and you interrupted him much to his chagrin to explain the song, “It's In Too Deep isn't it? That so and so uplifting song about monogamy and commitment or something but to me it just feels like there's underlying context if you take the scene it was played for in the film,” He popped the CD in his Pioneer PD-4300 player.

“Manipulation and deception. Selfishness. Falling in love with someone new. A shiny new toy you want in your hand, neglecting the old one. If he really wanted to be all about fucking commitment with the new one, he should have just straight up told the old toy that he didn't want them anymore before going after it. Instead of keeping both. Did he actually truly love her or is it to soften the blow for breaking her heart?” You only could focus on the potential negative connotations to the song, you bite back a laugh mockingly, looking at the way his face scrunched up into annoyance once again, “Something you could relate to huh?”

The way you enjoyed pushing his buttons.

He couldn't say anything at first, instead he moved closer towards you, letting the music blare from the speakers.

“Has anyone ever told you it's rude to interrupt someone when they're talking?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, “You've already told me what you thought about this song before, in case you've forgotten.” Patrick was hovering over you now, bearing his teeth in a grin that never reached his eyes, his shadow swallowing your figure and you just let out a sigh before finally taking a clear look at the object in his hand.

“You're such a stuck-up bitch, did you know that?”

“It's like you're looking in the mirror.”

He had a cheese grater.

A fucking cheese grater.

He roughly grabbed your wrist that was resting nicely on your lap, dragging your entire body up due to the strength of it, before pushing up your sleeve to reveal scarred skin.

You didn't say anything else. Didn't let out a peep when the cold metal touched your forearm, the sharp edges slowly digging into skin.

You knew you were going to be in for a long night because one, you were late and two, you interrupted his favorite little explaining time with an analysis of your own while also insulting him at the same time.

The small blades started at your epidermis, peeling back the top layer in white skin strands like a cheese stick, flaking off old and new scabs.

I guess this is how a block of cheese feels like.

You wondered if he was gonna peel enough skin to sprinkle it over pasta. You decided not to dwell on it.

#american psycho #patrick bateman #yoshikage kira #patrick bateman x reader x yoshikage kira #patrick bateman x reader #yoshikage kira x reader #reader insert #genderfluid reader #manic dream psycho #fanfiction #crossover

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some-pers0n · 1 year ago

Text

Memoir of an Albatross

Chapter 4 - Have Mercy on a Wounded Bird

[1] [2] [3] [4]

(Art by Loquatic)

Chapter Description: Queen Lagoon is throwing a party, much to Albatross's displeasure. However, it is only then when it is revealed that Lagoon has certain plans for his brother's future.

Five years had since passed Queen Lagoon's rise to power, and yet Albatross still had not felt any more respected the day since he hatched. If anything, he felt as though this newer attention was more fabricated and soulless.

These days, he would receive praise and admiration for his magic. Any dragons who stopped by for the queen would bow their heads to him. They'd call him "Albatross the Animus Prince", as though him having these powers and being of royal blood was something other than a curse he begrudgingly accepted. They talked about how powerful he was. They spoke of him as this glorious dragon.

He knew what they thought though. He knew that they thought he was just as deplorable and horrific as when he was a hatchling. They just now had to be nice since he's capable of harm. They know what animus dragons can do, even without being aware of what he's done to Sapphire and Queen Gannet. In some ways, it felt no different than being politely ignored and glossed over; just that now he had to stand around with dragons.

Yet, life could be worse. Could be better though. For as many edits and changes as Lagoon's reign had brought with it, Albatross's internal life remained the same. For one, Sapphire had not returned. Lagoon had visited with her several times, all of which she came back with the same news: Sapphire had not forgiven him. She hated him with all of her fragmented mind. She did not want to return as long as he was still alive.

He couldn't blame her. Who would forgive a dragon like him? A dragon who had been so easily influenced by his darker thoughts and gave way to the temptation of violence and destruction. He was but an animal compared to the rest of them.

At least that's what Lagoon implied from her lectures. She would go on and on these days about how she needed his magic. That his magic was a dangerous force bestowed onto him by the moons themselves or whatever spiritual belief she held. He only saw them as a sick joke, one that only Lagoon found funny.

He had been her glorified circus freak for her to parade around at parties. There had been many since her uprising, and while they did certainly bring more diplomatic leaders and open trade routes and better relations with the surrounding kingdoms, Albatross found them a waste of time. Had he been able to skip them, he would have found some joy.

Yet, his home, the Island Palace, was used as her party area. It was the one thing he wanted, his own place away from Lagoon, and even then she abused it as her party palace. His emotions became secondary, as she would drop by and announce to him that she was hosting some new event between her and whatever queen this time. How wonderful. Even better with her parading him around like an object to ogle at.

He felt more alone and isolated at those parties than ever before. He had to put up a charming, nice exterior, even if all he wanted to do was just retreat into his quarters and wait until all the guests were gone. Play nice. He didn't hate the dragons he saw, not at all, but rather felt as though they were never genuine. Playing up a nice, friendly facade like he was.

He was tired of it all. He wanted to be alone, forever.

"Albatross?" a voice called for him.

"Hm? Yes?"

"You've been standing near the fruit and juice area for a while. Are you alright?" The dragon tilted his head to the side.

It was Humpback, Lagoon's husband and King of the SeaWings. Better yet, a brother-in-law. He was nice enough; certainly a lot better than Lagoon, that's for sure. He was an upper-class noble, one that Lagoon took an interest in. He tended to ramble about his life back then, but anything he said was infinitely more preferable to being around Lagoon. He at the very least cared about him a little.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tuckered from the chit-chat," he laughed. "Standing by here, sipping this...juice." He took a sniff from his chalice. "Mango and pineapple blend, right? Though, I'm also getting a hint of lime too."

"Couldn't tell you, honestly. All I know is that the guests love it." He grinned, checking Albatross in the side playfully. "Why don't you come on out later? When you've mentally recovered a bit. It's not like this is some big diplomatic meeting anyway. Just a bunch of dragons."

He looked around. They were in the central room, one that was connected to the rest of the halls and areas. Water flowed through river-like paths on the floor, just barely deep enough to go up to his talons. Tables were set up along the sides, carrying rows upon rows of meat, fruit, and drink. SeaWings of all shapes and colours were dotted all around, chatting with one another. Some on the floor, some on the balcony. All of them nobles from various houses, coming together for some grand reason that only Lagoon seemed to know.

In the center-most part of the palace was Lagoon herself, her voice somewhat audible to Albatross even amongst the deafening sounds of dragons laughing and talking. She was with some SeaWing noble he had never seen before, showing them the statue. She blabbed about its marbling and how beautiful it was. The same inane mumblings he had heard a dozen times over.

Then, Lagoon looked at Albatross. Even across the room, her eyes were piercing. He knew she wanted him over. To have him there as some symbol of the power she has. For him to be this performing animal.

"Oh, that's her." Humpback clicked his tongue. "Might wanna get over there before she starts nagging in your ear about it." He snickered. "Geez, I can't blame you for sticking your distance if you had to grow up with her."

"That's an...odd thing to say about your wife," he said.

"What? Joking about her being a bit of a you-know-what? I mean, it's just pointing out the obvious."

"Well, you would be right. She can be a real pain in the tail..." He grumbled. "I don't know though." He shook his head. "I find it somewhat strange to sort of make fun of her."

"Oh c'mon! She yells at you all the time, and you're defending her from a lil' comment. Besides, you'll understand once you're married." Humpback nudged him. "Speaking of which, any plans for that?"

Albatross bit his tongue. Admittedly, no, he had not been thinking about getting married. The thought didn't even cross his mind. He knew it had to happen sometime, all dragons in this family eventually have to settle with somebody, but he didn't feel anything. No real pull or desire to rest with another. Whenever he imagined his future, he saw himself happily alone.

"Honestly? I've got nothing for plans." He shrugged. "I don't really think I'll settle for a while."

"Ahh, wanna stick with the bachelor life? Trust me, it was great. But, y'know, the time comes. Plus it's somewhat hard to pass up becoming royalty when the SeaWing Queen herself comes and drags you along to be her husband. Drags you away from that great ol' life, but, hey, this gig ain't that bad either. Just miss the freedom of doing whatever I wanted without coming back to see somebody scream about how reckless it was. Constantly on your case about the smallest things. Annoying, really."

Albatross blinked. "Is that really how you feel about Lagoon?" he asked, barely masking his disbelief. Is that really how a dragon is supposed to feel about their partner?

Humpback paused to sip his drink. He laughed. "Like I said, Albatross, you'll understand one day."

Albatross awkwardly laughed. "Haha, yeah..." He swirled the drink in his talons. What felt more uncomfortable than Humpback's comments was still the idea of settling with another. It was strange more so the fact he couldn't place a claw on why he felt that way. Maybe it was from him being young, but even so, he was eleven years old. Somewhat exiting his young adult years.

Maybe it was time for him to find somebody to spend the rest of his life with. Yet, the very thought of that made his scales itch. Why?

"Hey!" Another voice squawked in his ear. It was sharp and made him jump.

"Moons above– Lagoon?"

"Yes, it's Lagoon. I was trying to call you over for ages, and you just ignored me." Her scales were lit ever so slightly and her ears were pink from embarrassment. "Come. You're better off entertaining some lovely guests instead of standing there."

"Why should I?"

"They're bored and want to have a little chat with you. They think I'm an idiot.They think I can't even get my stubborn brother to do what I say."

"I doubt that somehow."

"Just come over. Stop being a grouch. Loosen up a little!" she said. From behind, Albatross could make out the faint sound of Humpback snorting.

She grabbed him by the talons. "Get over here." She began dragging him along. "You're like a hatchling. Can't you listen to me for once in your life?"

He pulled his talons away. "You don't have to treat me like that," he said, a little harsher than he'd like. "I can walk on my own." He glanced back at Humpback. "Nice getting to talk with you."

"No problem! Besides, now I can eat all the scavenger sashimi I want." He grabbed one of the delicacies in question, plopping it into his mouth. "Good idea sticking around here. Maybe I'll stay and eat all the snacks too."

"No, dear, you'll have to be with me soon enough. King business."

"Aw..." He looked at her with the eyes of a baby turtle. Sad, vaguely pathetic, yet somewhat cute.

Albatross let out a small, bemused chuckle. He then turned back to Lagoon, trailing behind her. "What do you want with me To have me explain how I made that statue of you again?"

"No, actually. Besides, I only made you do that twice."

"Twice more than I should have."

"You just can't help yourself but complain about everything, huh?" she asked. "I try and make light conversation and include you and all you do is whine and pout." She shook her head. "At least smile this time."

"I always smile. That's what I'm supposed to do at these parties, no?"

"Well, yes, but not that way. The way that shows all of your weird teeth. Fewer teeth, a little less wide. You look like a serial killer that way."

"Thanks Lagoon. You're always the best with compliments."

"Tone down the sarcasm as well. You're always like this at parties. This time it's slightly important. You need to make a nice impression."

Lagoon's face lifted as they approached the SeaWings she had been chatting with earlier. A complete shift in character. "Apologizes for the wait, Prince Albatross simply was helping himself to the buffet. Have you tried any? The best chefs in Pyrrhia have prepared the most delicious platter of seafood a dragon could ask for. Be a shame if it went to waste."

Two SeaWings stood before them. Behind was an imposing marble fountain of Lagoon. Sculpted from marble, it displayed the queen holding a spear above her head. Water flowed from the spouts below her talons, pooling in the basin.

That statue was one of the things Lagoon had asked Albatross to enchant for her. Her old sculptor had fallen ill and Lagoon didn't want to wait until they had gotten better. Instead, she had given him the diagrams and asked him to create it with the bonus of being a fountain as well. He tried to argue back, but she insisted. He complied.

Oddly enough, since that enchantment and many others before, he grew more irritated and sensitive to Lagoon's chatter. Most voices and noises in general were harsher on the ears, but Lagoon's voice in particular stood out as being shrill, especially when she raised her voice. He had chalked it up to getting older, and yet, something didn't feel right about it. Looking at that statue only reminded him of that.

"Oh, thank you, your majesty. We'll be sure to see." One SeaWing, one with sandy yellow scales and cloudy grey eyes, spoke before her husband could get a chance to. "And thank you for bringing Albatross!"

Guests had a habit of crowding and even demanding for Albatross whenever these parties happened. By all means, he is the first-ever SeaWing animus. They'd come and ask him basic questions like how he discovered his magic, to which he gave a fake story about reading a scroll that described it and jokingly tried to see if he had it. Perfectly mundane.

"Yes, yes, Albatross, the grand SeaWing animus," he playfully began. "A little birdie here told me that you two wanted a chance to meet me. Well, today is your lucky day!" He tipped his head lightly. "Whereabouts are you two from?"

The blue-white SeaWing tried to speak once again, only to be cut off by his wife. "We're from the Shifting Sands Grotto. That whole general region."

"Oh? Really?" He tried to mask his mild surprise. The Shifting Sands Grotto wasn't typically a place where Lagoon would invite guests. They were mainly a neglected area on a small island near Maelstrom's Eye. A common area mainly for trade. Not seedy or dangerous by any means, but nothing of note.

Lagoon didn't typically care for commoners. She would make passing remarks about their whininess whenever an advisor would tell her things. Strange that she would act this way to dragons who are, at best, minor nobility. Albatross would've figured she'd laugh in their face. What was she up to?

"I recall visiting there once," Albatross continued. "Very wonderful place. Is it true that the typhoons are as bad as they say?"

"Well, yes, of course. My dragonets always love going out during those storms though." She shook her head. "Reckless. However, our eldest always listened to my pleas. Oh! I'm Perch, and this is my husband, Swordfish. Terribly sorry, I forgot to introduce ourselves."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." He smiled. Fewer teeth, less wide.

Perch turned towards Lagoon. "So, will you announce it now?"

"Hm, why not? I figure it's about time. We're only putting it off if we wait any longer." Lagoon looked at the wine chalice in her talons.

"What announcement?"

"What announcement?" Perch echoed. She snickered. "Prince Albatross, you're so funny. Modest and humble too."

Before he could get another word out, Lagoon's voice boomed. "Attention guests!" She spoke like a clap of thunder. "Thank you all for coming here on this fine evening! I ask of you to gather around for a very important announcement."

"I'm so happy for you, Prince Albatross." Perch crooned. "But, where is she? Marlin should be here as well. Swordfish, do you know where she is?"

"Dunno. She wandered off. Said she was getting some food." He shrugged.

"Well, she'll hear the news. Oh, she'll be overjoyed."

"I'm sorry, did I miss a memo or something?" Albatross awkwardly laughed. "What is going on?"

Once more, the only answer he received was the voice of his sister. Despite being several paces from her, it was like she was talking directly into his ear. "Thank you, thank you." She thanked the crowd as they all turned to her, shushing themselves. "Tonight is a very special night where we will honour two dragons in this very room right now. This arrangement will lead to prosperity in our kingdom, as we will have further generations with gifts bestowed onto us by the moons themselves."

She glanced back at Albatross. A coy, wicked smirk was painted on her face. "Tonight, I am pleased to announce the engagement between Marlin, daughter of Perch and Swordfish, and Prince Albatross, royal animus my very own brother."

It was as though a tsunami had crashed down on him. Within an instant, his stomach dropped. His eyes widened, becoming little more than dark circles of shock, fear, and horror. A lump formed in his throat. He struggled to find the words. What words could he even say?

Why was she doing this? An arranged marriage?! No. No, no, no. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. She could order him around and scold him, but to do this? Was she out of her mind? She knew he was hesitant to marry. Why? How?

Between the mass clapping and clamouring, he saw a lone dragon on the other side of the room. Standing next to some boiled snails was a dragon, the same silent horror painted on her face. Her overscales were a deep, rich navy blue. Her webbed spines were long and her barbels dangled. She had yellow streaks and hints in combination with her golden bioluminescent scales. Her eyes, the hue the same as a golden hour over the sea, were still. Trapped in this expression of shock.

That had to be Marlin. His fiancé.

He couldn't hear what Lagoon was blabbing about. It sounded like rogue waves crashing against him, dragging him under the waters. He stared at the dragon in disbelief. She looked just as scared and confused as he was.

He did this. Because of his inability to find a partner of some kind, Lagoon decided to drag things into her own talons. Now he's doomed this dragon to stay with him. That's what he always does anyway. Hurts dragons.

"Pardon me, please." He mumbled. He pushed passed dragons, quelling their remarks by saying that he just needed a moment. He began to shut down, feeling as though he was acting wholly on instinct rather than conscious choices. Back in this dissociative state.

He walked aimlessly through the halls of the Island Palace. His talons clicked against the cold floor. What was he supposed to do? There was no way he could convince Lagoon to call it off. She was stubborn as an orca. His stomach felt more like a bottomless pit. His limbs were heavy. He couldn't think straight. Thoughts crashed into one another. Rigorous self-critique, parroting everything Lagoon ever said. It was a storm of self-hatred and anger.

He managed to find his room. He took a sharp breath the second he entered, gritting his teeth. He could feel tears attempting to form in his eyes. Why was he having such a violent reaction? It was an arranged marriage entirely without his consent or knowledge, but this cut deep in him. A nerve he never knew existed that had been sliced.

He kept pacing back and forth, picking at his webbing. Same old nervous tick, but never to this degree. Why was this happening to him? What had he done for the moons to curse him like this?

Then, from behind him, felt a new presence. He turned, choking back a small sob.

The SeaWing. Marlin. She was in the doorway, her expression more sympathetic and gentle.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked. The question sounded so absurd (obviously he was not okay), but the way she framed it made him feel slightly more relaxed.

Albatross bit his tongue. "If I'll be perfectly honest: no, not exactly."

"Yeah..." she sighed. "I can't believe any of this is happening. I'm sorry."

There was an odd way in which she spoke. She sounded so genuine. Not in a way like Lagoon being bluntly rude, but like she was trying to talk with him.

"I can leave if you want. It's a lot. For both of us, but you seem to be...well, not too great."

The corners of Albatross's mouth perked up. "Yeah, hah. I'm just..." He placed his talons on his head. "Moons above, what's gotten into me?"

"If it helps, I'd try to focus on something. I get like this sometimes, but one of my younger brothers has it a lot more. Maybe you could focus on the waves."

The only real thing of comfort to him was the thoughts about her. Trying to figure her out. Why was she like this? Why did she talk to him like this? She only just met him. He never knew she existed until a few minutes ago. How could a dragon be so kind despite everything he is? Isn't he the royal animus, harbinger of a new era to the Kingdom of the Sea with his magic?

Why was she normal about him?

"Again, it's okay if I can leave–"

"Please, no," he blurted out. "No, wait. No, you can leave if you want. I don't want to force you to stay if you don't. You've already been more than helpful." He mustered up every ounce of strength to say those words.

Marlin's gaze softened. She took a step forward. "If it makes you feel a little better, I can be here to talk to."

"...why would you want to do that?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Am I not Albatross? You must have heard about what they've said. I mean, look at me." He gestured to himself. "My eyes, my snout, my weird tail, even the way I talk, it's all off. It's different. Most dragons can't stand to be around me that long. Get weirded out."

"Why would they? You seem nice."

"Why would you stay then?"

"Because you seem nice."

He paused. "How could you know that?"

She tapped her talons on the floor. "I've definitely heard about you. I guess even then I thought it was sorta weird how they'd point at you like you're some deity or some blemish on the family. I thought they were overblowing things. That isn't to say I wasn't shocked when I heard I was being shipped off to marry you; and, moons above, it still feels so surreal to me."

She looked at him. "Then I saw you. You had this look that undid every sort of belief I had about you." She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't think I've ever seen a dragon look like that. You weren't some regal, intimidating, fancy-schmancy royal animus. You were just some normal dragon."

She chuckled. "Sounds weird, but I dunno. That's how I felt. I saw you run away and I wanted to help. I don't even really know if this is helping you or not either."

"It's...helping," he muttered. His heart began to slow. He could breathe easier now. "Thank you, Marlin."

"No problem. Helping you actually made me a little calmer. Thank you, uh... Albatross? Are you fine with that?"

"More than fine. Just call me Albatross." He smiled. He didn't care if he showed his teeth and was a bit too wide.

Maybe, out of all of the dragons that Lagoon could have paired him up with, she had picked the one that could perhaps be his friend.

#sp-writing #wof #wings of fire #albatross wof #wings of fire fanfic #wof fanfic #MARLIN MARLIN I LOVE MARLIN MARLINNNNNNNN!!!!

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hemipenal-system · 2 years ago

Text

Malware I

Reveria rolled her eyes, servos clicking in a way only she could hear, blinking apathetically as she turned her music up. She understood the stares, as much as she despised them. Mugorra didn't get many synthetics like her, especially on Outer Ring trains. The long, heavy shawl she wore covered most of her slender body, both to keep the sand out of her joints and to deflect any further stares.

She wasn't exactly subtle – people of all kinds drifted through here, but being a foot taller than the average human with glowing orange eyes and an extra set of arms made one stick out.

The job was simple. Get in to the storage container, get the silver case, and get out. Perhaps a tier below the usual bloodshed for a KALI-6 class synthetic, but she was doing her best to lay low and take whatever jobs would get her least noticed.

She was trying to sit somewhat still. The case wasn't large, but it was stuffed under her shawl at the moment, and occasionally a corner poked out. She shifted her grip again, moving her hand on the handle for a more comfortable position.

ding

She heard the quiet internal chime and froze. That noise meant something had connected to her. Nothing should have been able to. The shawl had a Faraday cage sewn into the fabric, and it was snapped snug around her. Wireless signals shouldn't have been able to get through, unless-

Shit. The fucking case. She ducked down into the shawl quickly to inspect the case. When she had taken it, she hadn't looked thoroughly enough at it, and had apparently missed the quick contact port in the handle that now stared back at her, her thumb an inch from it after swiping across it when she shuffled it in her secondary arms.

[Download Requested]

Fuck. Every urge in her body was screaming at her to hurl the case away. She had to maintain a facade of order. If she got the case out of the shawl it would block the download, but she couldn't take it out without raising suspicion. This was a poor district. No one carried anything like it here. She couldn't even cancel or acknowledge the download request because she was set up for somakinetic controls and that kind of movement was out of the question.

[Download Proceeding]

What the fuck was she supposed to do about that? She couldn't contact her handler this far underground, and she doubted he'd even know how to fix a software issue with her. She'd foregone her normal backers and picked up a quick contract in the area from a sketchy Vinteran because she was trying to stay within city limits. Something had seemed wrong with him the entire briefing.

Many species got edgy around synthetics, especially KALI models, but this was something else. The whole time they talked, his eyes kept flicking to the door and across the room. Anywhere but her. She wasn't that intimidating, and most people in this business had dealt with scarier synths than her. She'd seen his arms. For as many tattoos as he had, each signifying a kill, she knew he'd seen worse.

Wait. There was another tattoo. Three triangles surrounding an S. Fuck. She sighed, more out of annoyance than actual worry. That slimy, two-faced scaly piece of shit was a Trigonalist. Of course. She'd worked with them before, but it was always born of desperate necessity. "Terrorist" was a strong term, but they weren't the best people out there.

That explained the job, then. She'd wondered why this case was being treated as so important. Lab-grown neurons were a dime a dozen, even out here, and a case that could hold maybe five or six brainslabs maximum couldn't have been worth what she was getting paid to retrieve it, especially since they were blank. But if they could get a small object inside her shawl and download something onto her, like remote access software or a location log?

Well, a KALI-6 class synthetic was decidedly not a dime a dozen anywhere.

[Download Complete]

She instinctively braced up, preparing herself. She'd been cyberattacked before, and she'd lived. She knew what to expect. It was probably going to either be excessive, disabling pop-ups or a logger she could sift through herself and cull later. Nothing too hard to handle.

She wasn't expecting the sharp, drowning techno in her ears to fade out and replace itself with soft jazz. Nor was she expecting the silk-smooth voice that seemed to rebound around the narrow train car, reverberating from everywhere and nowhere.

Hi, sweetie~

She tried to move her eyes, looking around for the speaker without moving her head.

Don't bother with that, darling, I'm still miles away from you! I'm surprised I could even get a connection down in those tunnels!

No one else seemed to be reacting to it. Everyone's faces were still cast down, trying not to make eye contact. It was too late at night for social interaction, especially with this trigger-happy crowd. Accidents happened down here all the time.

Oh, no one can hear me except you! Don't bother asking them for help. It'd be a shame if anyone were to think the big scary killsynth was attacking them. It would probably get... messy.

No one could hear the voice except for Reveria. That made it easier. If it was coming straight from an external source and being processed as speech, that was likely a remote access software. If she could activate a virus scrubber and get into a dead zone, it'd be easy enough to disable.

Oh no you don't, cutie. I'm all clientside. Besides, we're having fun, right?

She needed to know who this was. If she could hold onto this, she could take it into an Enforcement station. Granted, they likely wouldn't be happy to see her, but they'd most likely let her off for bringing in a Trigonalist. Disabling her external speakers, she cast her voice across the link.

Are you a synth? It was hard to know these days. Speech synthesizers had gotten so advanced since Reveria's assembly days.

No, I'm fully human, especially the bits that matter~

What's that supposed to mean?

Watch this! A new screen flicked open, overlaying above the occupants of the train car, showing a video at half transparency. It was enough to pick out details, at least. It just seemed to be... shapes? What was she looking at?

Oh. Oh, six suns. That was human genitalia. Close to the camera and at a strange angle, but still recognizable. Reveria watched with a combination of incredulous amazement and horror as the dripping hole a foot from her face was split open by pale, slender fingers capped with electric blue nails, index and pinky resting gently on the thighs as middle and ring curved delicately through the glistening pink flesh.

Could a synth do this? Technically yes, since most synths were modular enough to install... equipment down there, and some even accessorized with it as a fashion statement, changing it out by the day, but that was beside the point.

Is... is this live? In real time, I mean?

Obviously! Only the best for a pretty girl like you! The other hand, previously out of the camera, descended into the shot holding something that made Reveria's temperature jump up a bit.

Synths didn't really have genitalia, but plenty of aftermarket manufacturers made compatible items for them. She was ashamed to admit she owned a few of different makes and models, but a girl had needs. The voice in her head was holding one of Placebo's Bruiser models, one of Reveria's favorites. It was long and slender, with a ridged underside that featured a camouflaged electroconductive strip that boosted the signal from the partially conductive outer shell.

Said signal strength was entirely customizable for the enjoyment of the wearer, meaning when the voice ran her fingers slowly up the length then circled them around the pointed end, Reveria felt it all as she tried desperately to not buck her hips into the sensation, her body involuntarily seeking more stimulation for the appendage she didn't even have connected. Fuckin' wireless transmission...

Aww, does that feel good? Don't worry, I'll help you feel it~ Reveria tried to brace herself as the feminine words in her ear ran their fingers along the length again before angling it and pushing just the tip into herself. To the synth's immense embarrassment, she couldn't physically stop her hips from slamming forwards, immediately thanking whatever spectral forces existed that no one on the train noticed.

Oh? Someone wants me, huh? Here you go, then!

The synth stifled a scream as the voice slammed the entire length in at once, arching her back slightly for a better angle as the synth was forced to watch and feel all of it. The voice, for her part, was clearly also feeling it, as the constant noise attested. Reveria couldn't think clearly. No matter where she turned her head, she could see the human practically bouncing on it, to speak nothing of the feeling which only grew stronger as the human leaned forward. The synth could feel the human touching her, one hand on her shoulder and the other pressing her into the seat with a force that she knew wasn't real but certainly felt tangible enough.

She got a momentary relief from the constant whimpering in her ear when the brakes of the train activated, the loud screech drowning out all but the words, This is your stop! Don't miss it!

The moment the train had stopped, the needy whines returned. Reveria managed to stumble to her feet, shaking like a drunken Turvoss, and stagger off the train. She had barely made it to the platform before the fire in her midsection caught up to her and her legs practically buckled as the world was drowned out in a sea of white.

Fuck, Revi, don't just stop! I need you please don't stop now! The sensation of the length being ensheathed again was so much more powerful now, and if Reveria had been halfway lucid at this point she would have picked up on the fact that the human knew her name. As it was, that was far more thinking than she was capable of. All she could think about was getting home. She managed to pool her brain function enough to find and activate the tracker beacon in her rented room, the slender white line tracing out a path in front of her that she attempted to follow, one step at a time.

The feeling was overwhelming her. It was unprofessional, but she needed some time alone. If she had anything attached to relieve herself with, she likely would have lost her composure and done it right there in the station. As it was, she just moved through the station as fast as she could, shaky, desperate movements drawing stares that she was too deep in a world of need to notice or care about.

She was halfway up the stairs to exit the station when it happened again, her entire body twitching hard then going limp as she frantically grabbed a rail to avoid falling. The voice just laughed in her ear as she did. It was only three blocks to her building. She could make it.

She wasn't even up the stairs when the next one hit. They were getting faster and faster, her increased sensitivity after each making it easier to drive her over the edge for the next.

You gotta get home, okay? I need you to pick something out and fuck me for real~

Three blocks. It was three blocks.

This was the door. The white strip on the street took a sharp left through the narrow arch. She crossed the threshold, holding the doorframe for support as she climaxed again. How many times had she? Thinking about it was too hard. There was nothing in her head anymore except for that delicious whimpering that seemed to increase in intensity along with her. She just had to take the elevator up to the eighth floor and get into her room, then she could cut the signal.

The hallway looked the same as it always did. Bare. Stumbling to her door, she tried the knob. Locked. She just snapped it off. Any measure or restriction of her own strength was gone. The door swung open.

Something was wrong. Her brain was getting sluggish, but she retained enough evidence to realize this wasn't her room. The sand-brown walls she should have seen were dark and lit with purple LEDs, and the furniture was all arranged wrong. Soft jazz was playing.

She had a sudden break of clarity, and felt cold all of a sudden as the figure sitting in the back of the room, lit from behind by a computer monitor, pulled the toy from within herself and tossed it over. Reveria's hand instinctively shot up and caught it, the liquid on it glinting in the harsh hallway light. She checked the tracker beacon she had been following. Where she had expected reveria.home in the namespace, she saw instead DEN1ZEN. This wasn't her building.

Hi, Revi~

#monster fucker #terato #hypnosis #(kinda)#synthetic #robot #robotification #robotization #wlw nsft #exhibition #fantasy nsft #sci fi nsft

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v-ividus · 6 months ago

Text

37. The Dissonance Within: Unraveling the Fabric of Self-Respect and Interpersonal Integrity in a Fragmented Age

“The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves, is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly.” — Pema Chödrön

At its core, self-respect is an intricate tapestry woven from threads of dignity, integrity, and sincerity, yet it remains perilously susceptible to the corrosive effects of societal disdain. We reside not in a vacuum, but rather in a kaleidoscope of expectations, judgments, and relentless comparisons, each contributing to an insidious erosion of our self-worth. When individuals forsake their moral compass, often in the pursuit of acceptance, they unwittingly engage in a betrayal of self, distorting their perception of innate value.

The contemporary social landscape exacerbates this fragility, introducing algorithmic biases that amplify self-doubt and resentment. These platforms create echo chambers where self-aggrandizement and vanity masquerade as authenticity, further ensnaring individuals in a web of superficial validation. Here, one must confront the bitter truth: the more we seek external affirmation, the more we distance ourselves from the foundation of genuine self-respect.

Moreover, this societal malaise manifests itself through the oppression of vulnerability; individuals are conditioned to guard their true selves behind a facade of what is deemed acceptable. The ironic consequence of this self-imposed exile is a moral disengagement that nurtures a climate of disconnection. How can we hold space for others if we cannot honor our own humanity? This inquiry invites a deeper understanding of the self as an integral part of the collective, where self-respect is not merely an abstraction but a catalyst for societal change.

As Pema Chödrön posits, ignorance breeds aggression against oneself, igniting a cycle of self-loathing that negates personal growth. Thus, the act of looking inward—equipping ourselves with courage and respect—becomes a revolutionary act in our journey toward self-respect. One must kindle the flames of introspection, however uncomfortable, to reclaim the dignity stripped away by an indifferent world.

Ultimately, as we delve into the labyrinth of self-respect, it becomes paramount to recognize that our worth is not contingent upon the fleeting opinions of others. The re-establishment of self-esteem hinges not on external approval but on internal acceptance. It is through this lens that we can begin to interrogate the nature and purpose of our existing relationships.

Interpersonal Relationships: The Paradox of Proximity

In an era marked by unprecedented connectivity, the paradox of interpersonal relationships becomes glaringly apparent. While technology propels individuals closer in a digital sense, it simultaneously erects barriers to authentic human connection. Social media perpetuates a curated existence, forcing individuals to present sanitized versions of themselves that cater to an insatiable audience, rather than fostering connections grounded in truth and vulnerability.

As we navigate this convoluted landscape, the erosion of dignity in relationships becomes stark. People find themselves ensnared in a transactional model of engagement, viewing interactions through the lens of utility rather than mutual respect. This paradigm shift engenders an environment where compassion and understanding are traded for likes and follows, breeding a culture that devalues the profound intricacies of human experience.

The psychological fallout of this disconnection is palpable, as individuals experience intensified feelings of loneliness and alienation despite a façade of social interaction. The very fabric of our relationships begins to fray under the weight of external pressures, leading to a generation plagued by anxiety, depression, and a pervasive sense of disillusionment. Here, the lack of genuine connection exacts a toll not merely on individuals, but on society as a whole.

Self-respect, thus, becomes compromised within these superficial exchanges. When our worth is measured by digital applause rather than real-world interactions, dignity erodes, fostering a cycle of self-deprecation and conflict. The challenge lies in recalibrating our expectations and priorities, shifting our focus from the pursuit of status to the cultivation of meaningful relationships grounded in empathy and authenticity.

To engage in this difficult dialogue, we must first confront the unsettling reality that many of our relationships serve as a mirror reflecting our own inadequacies. Are we truly connecting with others, or merely engaging in rituals that perpetuate our collective loss of self-respect? The answer may lie in the courage to seek out vulnerability, to embrace the complex interplay of human emotions, and to honor the underlying humanity that connects us all.

The Loss of Moral and Ethical Identity: A Societal Crisis

In this age of moral relativism, the erosion of ethical identity stands vividly illuminated. The pervasive narratives propagated by social, political, and religious institutions often prioritize conformity over moral integrity, encouraging individuals to align their beliefs with prevailing dogmas rather than cultivating personal values grounded in compassion and accountability. This dissonance between personal ethics and societal expectations marks the onset of a moral crisis.

As individuals navigate this landscape, the allure of acceptance often leads them to compromise their values in pursuit of belonging. In forsaking their moral compass, they not only forsake their self-respect but contribute to a broader societal disintegration of ethical standards. The quest for societal validation, then, becomes an act of self-sabotage—one that obliterates the possibility of genuine connection and accountability.

Moreover, the absence of moral clarity extends beyond the individual, infiltrating interpersonal relationships and societal constructs. As people grapple with conflicting ideals, a pervasive sense of apathy surfaces, fostering environments where ethical dilemmas are sidestepped in favor of convenience. This relinquishment of moral responsibility breeds distrust, resentment, and a pervasive sense of disillusionment among those yearning for authentic relationships.

Pema Chödrön’s assertion that ignorance fosters fundamental aggression towards oneself resonates powerfully in this context. As individuals neglect their ethical responsibilities, they inadvertently engage in a form of self-inflicted harm, eroding their sense of purpose and belonging. To disrupt this cycle of ignorance, one must first engage in a rigorous examination of their own values, cultivating the humility to recognize and confront one’s shortcomings.

In navigating the complexities of moral identity, it is essential to embrace the journey toward ethical rejuvenation. This requires a deliberate shift from superficial conformity to an unwavering commitment to personal values, fostering an environment where integrity thrives. In doing so, we can begin to forge relationships where respect is reciprocal, enabling the cultivation of a community built upon shared principles and a collective sense of dignity.

Algorithmic Control: The Social Media Dilemma

The algorithms governing our digital engagements have insidiously infiltrated our interpersonal relationships, distorting our understanding of self and others. They have conditioned us to prioritize engagement metrics over meaningful connections, fostering a superficial culture where worth is quantified through likes and shares. This commodification of human interaction encourages us to mask our flaws and insecurities, thereby alienating us from our authentic selves.

As users of social media, we unwittingly become participants in a grand experiment—one where our mental and emotional well-being is sacrificed at the altar of engagement-driven content. Amid this cacophony of curated realities, individuals grapple with an incessant comparison to the seemingly flawless lives of others, stoking feelings of inadequacy that undermine self-respect. Such psychological warfare cultivates a fertile ground for narcissism, as users retreat further into self-absorption to shield themselves from an unrelenting tide of external judgment.

The social media landscape thus exacerbates the erosion of dignity within interpersonal relationships, as individuals find themselves engaged in performative acts rather than authentic exchanges. The act of self-presentation becomes a battleground, where vulnerability is vilified and façade is glorified. We painstakingly construct personas that align with societal expectations, all while neglecting the profound humanity that resides beneath the surface.

Regrettably, algorithmic control extends beyond individual experience—it manifests in a collective relegation of moral consciousness. As empathy dwindles in the face of a hyper-competitive digital landscape, the capacity for altruism diminishes, eroding the social fabric that sustains healthy relationships. People find themselves entangled in a web of impersonal interactions, wherein self-interest eclipses the moral imperative to honor the humanity of others.

To counteract this disintegration, it becomes imperative to reclaim agency over our digital engagements. This encompasses not only resisting the temptations of algorithmic validation but also fostering a conscious commitment to cultivating authentic relationships that transcend the superficial confines of social media. By embracing vulnerability and empathy, we can restore the dignity required for healthy and enriching interpersonal connections.

Rediscovering Humanity: Bridging the Chasm of Disconnection

In the aftermath of this moral and ethical erosion, we find ourselves at a crossroads—a moment that demands introspection and action. The process of rediscovering the humanity of others calls for an unwavering commitment to dismantling the barriers erected by societal expectations and algorithmic control. It requires us to confront the uncomfortable reality that our relationships, too often filtered through the lens of self-interest, lack the depth and richness inherent in genuine connection.

To embark on this transformative journey, we must embrace the radical act of vulnerability—one that necessitates relinquishing the armor we don to shield ourselves from scrutiny. In vulnerability, we uncover the power of authenticity, revealing our true selves to others while inviting them to do the same. This reciprocal exchange fosters a space for genuine connection, where empathy flourishes amidst our shared struggles and triumphs.

Moreover, the act of rediscovering humanity extends beyond mere interpersonal connections—it is an invitation to reclaim our collective moral and ethical identity. As we engage with others in a spirit of compassion and understanding, we begin to dismantle the insidious forces that perpetuate division and antagonism. This reclamation of shared humanity fosters a culture of respect, where the dignity of all individuals is honored, contributing to the reparation of our fragmented social fabric.

As we navigate this path toward renewed connection, we must confront the uncomfortable truths residing within ourselves. Acknowledging our roles in perpetuating disconnection and estrangement is not an act of self-flagellation, but rather a potent catalyst for transformative growth. In doing so, we position ourselves as agents of change, committed to fostering an environment of radical empathy and respect—a process that ultimately enhances our collective sense of humanity.

The Call to Self-Examination: Embracing the Discomfort

Ultimately, the journey toward self-respect and moral clarity compels an uncomfortable but necessary reckoning. Engaging in self-examination—prompted by Chödrön's powerful reminder of the harm inherent in ignorance—serves as a vital precursor to genuine growth and transformation. In confronting our shortcomings, we not only enrich our self-awareness but cultivate the courage necessary to effect meaningful change in our lives and relationships.

This introspective journey is fraught with discomfort, as we grapple with the darker aspects of our nature—the envy, selfishness, and inauthenticity that often bubble beneath the surface. Yet, it is precisely in this discomfort that growth resides. By facing our moral failings, we can dismantle the barriers that inhibit authentic connection, allowing us to reconcile with the humanity of ourselves and others.

To invoke lasting change, we must harness the power of vulnerability and empathy, consciously choosing to engage with the world from a place of authenticity. This commitment to integrity transcends the superficial confines of societal expectations, granting us the freedom to forge relationships rooted in mutual respect. As we engage in this transformative endeavor, we will inevitably rediscover the essence of our shared humanity—an anchor amidst the chaos of contemporary existence.

The devastating psychological and sociological implications of our current milieu demand urgent attention, beckoning us to confront the uncomfortable truths that lie within. It is through confronting these truths that we pave the way for renewed self-respect and healthier relationships. By embarking on this journey of rediscovery, we reclaim not only our dignity but also the sacredness of our connections with others, nurturing a collective moral identity that fosters compassion, understanding, and a profound respect for the beauty of human experience.

Conclusion: The Path Forward

As we emerge from this intellectual journey, we are left with vital questions that challenge the status quo of our interpersonal relationships and collective moral fabric. How do we reconcile the dissonance between our aspirational ideals and the cultural forces at play? The key lies in embracing the discomfort of self-examination, recognizing the latent potential for growth inherent in vulnerability and empathy. Each moment spent digging into our moral consciousness garners the momentum necessary for this pivotal transformation.

This journey demands diligence, humility, and a steadfast commitment to reconnecting with our ethical foundations—principles that can lay the groundwork for enriching, dignified relationships. As we navigate the turbulent waters of societal pressures, mindfulness and introspection become indispensable tools, guiding us toward authentic connections that transcend the superficiality of current social paradigms. Embracing our humanity implicates recognizing the shared struggle of existence, fostering an enduring sense of solidarity that binds us together amidst our individual complexities.

In this endeavor, we come full circle to Chödrön’s striking observation regarding the perils of ignorance. Remaining willfully blind to our moral and ethical identity not only undermines our self-respect but ultimately contributes to the deterioration of trust and dignity in our relationships. By cultivating an ongoing practice of self-reflection, we kindle the flame of honesty and respect, illuminating the path toward reinventing the interconnectedness of our humanity. Ultimately, it is this revival—not only of self-respect but also of our collective ethical integrity—that holds the key to a flourishing world, one where each individual is cherished and valued for their inherent worth.

#Pema Chödrön #Self Respect #Integrity #Interpersonal Relationships #Honesty #Truth #Transparency #Philosophy #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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