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gojonanami · 4 months

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❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter.

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up.

It was him.

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak.

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises?

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers.

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,”

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment.

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,”

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile.

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped.

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,”

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze.

Fuck.

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,”

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—”

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked.

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break.

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?”

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?”

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks.

“I would,”

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile.

Fuck.

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears.

But how can you be quiet?

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck.

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,”

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass.

He’s huge.

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—”

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,”

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?”

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much.

He was too much.

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,”

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,”

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?”

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—”

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns.

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart.

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up.

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt.

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store.

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—”

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care.

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump.

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush.

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,”

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?”

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling.

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.”

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern.

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started.

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin.

“What are you—”

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,”

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type.

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?”

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,”

“Mahito—“

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money, “be a doll, won’t you?”

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?”

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?”

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice.

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?”

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.”

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling.

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger.

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods.

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot.

“I will,”

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip.

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,”

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.”

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze.

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—”

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—”

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,”

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—”

“Have another lesson?”

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you.

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue.

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt.

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was.

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—”

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,”

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release.

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure.

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks.

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much.

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light.

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach.

Your mouth runs dry.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought.

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you.

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it.

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze.

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch.

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away.

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—”

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal.

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod.

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out.

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!”

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you.

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out, “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?”

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder.

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him.

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—”

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls.

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt.

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick.

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again.

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour.

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise.

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.”

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?”

You were picking up your boyfriend.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.”

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

#sab [mlist]#choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo fanfiction #choso kamo x you #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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bunnylovesani · 1 month

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You Belong To Me

Summary: You find out about your husband Spencer’s affair with another woman. It's safe to say you don’t have the reaction either of them were expecting.

Content warnings: infidelity, voyeurism, facetime sex, humiliation, p in v sex, creampie

WC: 2.3k

“Who is she?” You shudder with disgust as you stare into the sunken eyes of your husband. He looked almost unrecognisable to you now that you’d learned of his betrayal.

“Her name’s Maeve. She’s a geneticist who’s been helping me with those headaches.” He sighs resolutely, knowing there was no point attempting to hide this from you. He didn’t mean to let things escalate but you’d been going through a rough patch and Maeve was just so understanding- she embodied all the things you lacked.

“Did you fuck her?” Your voice trembled with anger, goosebumps piercing through your thin blouse as you braced yourself for his response.

“No. It was a purely emotional affair.” He stated a little too coldly.

“Ah. And I suppose that makes it alright, does it?” You scoffed, getting up from the sofa you were curled up on with Spencer mere minutes earlier before he came out with his crushing confession.

“Of course not. There are no excuses.” He looked down, not daring to meet your appalled gaze. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“Spencer Reid speechless? I never thought I’d see the day.” You chuckle darkly, fidgeting with your wedding band. You loved him with all your heart, the day you said your vows was the happiest of your life- now that he’d broken his, you weren’t sure how much any of it really meant.

“Were you going to leave me for her?” Against your best efforts, your voice broke with a pitiful crack that left Spencer with a pained expression on his handsome face.

“No! No, I promise. I would never leave you.” He interjected, leaving no room for doubt. “She was just a distraction. You’re it for me.”

You sunk back into the plushy couch with a defeated sigh, unwelcome tears pricking your glossy eyes.

“I don’t know, Spence…” You sniffled, beginning to slide the ring off your finger.

“Baby.” He took your hands into his own as he dropped to his knees before you, still in his work suit. “I messed up. I messed up in the worst way possible. I’m a fucking idiot. But if you forgive me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please, my love. I’ll do anything.”

An unfamiliar desperation tinged his voice that made your gut twist into an iron knot. He looked pathetic right now; kneeling on the floor with furrowed eyebrows as he pleaded to save his marriage.

“I want you to call her.” You exhaled sharply after an excruciating moment of contemplation.

“You- what?” His forehead wrinkles deepened with shock.

“You heard me. Call the bitch.” He gulped at your request and his eyes darted around frantically as he analysed every possible outcome.

“A video call. I want to see what the little homewrecker looks like.” You spat as he remained motionless, mouth agape and eyes narrowed. “Unless you’d rather get a divorce?”

“I’ll do it.” He shook his head clumsily, rattled by the whole ordeal.

“Wonderful. Come sit next to me and prop your phone up on the table.” You patted the spot besides you as Spencer stumbled over, still confused by your unpredictability.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Start dialling.” You snapped snarkily as he scrolled through his phone with shaky hands. Locating her contact, his fingers hovered above the call button.

“Dr. Donovan, huh?” You peered over. “The one you told me had been helping you with a case?”

“Y-yeah.” He whispered ashamedly.

“Now this I have to see.” You murmured bitterly as the line began to ring.

“Spence, hi! Wasn’t expecting you to call at this time.” The bubbly voice of the other woman rang out through his speakers. Your eyes zeroed in on the pixelated image of a brunette woman with a choppy fringe.

“Why, do you guys have a set time for your little calls? When I’m sleeping, perhaps?” You popped into the frame, grinning wildly.

“Oh. H-hello. Spencer, what’s going on?” She looked to him for help but he just sat there resignedly, knowing he couldn't appease you both.

“So you’re the one who’s been helping herself to my husband.” You chuckled disingenously. “I thought you’d be a lot prettier.” You neared the phone to get a better look. “Really, baby? Her?”

Spencer looked away, not daring to say a word to his wife or his lover.

“And you? You don’t have anything to say?” You opened the floor to Maeve.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her cheeks reddened as she stuttered, her nauseating voice ricocheting off the walls and worming its way into your ears.

“That’s okay. I don’t need you to talk. Just watch.” You hissed in such a searing way that it made her feel threatened and inclined to obey.

Spencer looked up at you in confusion but his doubts were swiftly answered when you loosened his tie and ripped off his collared shirt with a murderous lust.

“Baby, what-“

“You’re not going to say a word.” You smoothly replied, voice barely audible.

You observed his sad eyes, entrenched with light crows feet that worsened with the weight of stress and regret. You weren’t sure how you were even going to begin to process his betrayal but right now, you had to take care of her first. What better way to drive home the point that he was yours than to show her?

Unbuckling his heavy leather belt with an urgency you’d never felt, you glanced over to make sure Maeve was watching. Sure enough, the demure woman couldn’t peel her eyes away from the sight unfolding before her.

As you pulled down his pleated black trousers, you unbuttoned your blouse and pulled down your skirt, throwing the articles of clothing behind you in a rushed hurl. Trailing your fingers down his boxers with your engagement ring flashing in front of the camera, you settled on his waistband.

“Now, Spence. You’re going to fuck me in front of her.”

His breath hitched as the unholy words left your smirking mouth.

“And you-” You turned to face Maeve, who’s hand engulfed her mouth in panic. “You are going to watch it all.“

“No! You’re insane-“

“Or I’ll tell everyone at your work that you’re a home wrecking whore.” You dropped the threat like a hammer and it instantly silenced her.

“That’s what I thought.”

A twisted grin consumed your face as you looked back at Spencer, who licked his lips at the sight before him- his wife eagerly spread open on the couch, waiting to be filled up. You weren’t sure whether it was an anxious tick or a sign of arousal and frankly, you didn’t care.

“Show me how sorry you are.” You breathed heavily as you hooked your black lace panties and pulled them to the side.

Needing no further initiative, Spencer lowered his boxers and let his heavy cock spring free from its confines. Despite sex being the last thing on his mind, he couldn’t help the natural reaction his body had to you- it didn’t matter how many times he’d seen it in the last 5 years of your marriage, the sight of you split open for him was always enough to bring him crumbling to his knees.

Shuffling closer, he let a long string of spit dribble down to your pussy before smearing it around with his painfully swollen tip. He was in a state of delirium and shock as his body moved as though it weren't his own- whatever the consequences, he knew he couldn't lose you.

“You see that, Maeve?” You cocked your head to the side. “That’s all mine.”

You moaned shakily as he pushed himself in, coating his shaft in your wetness.

“Isn’t that right, baby? Tell her.” You ordered your husband as he grabbed the back of your thigh, pushing against it to go even deeper.

“That’s right.” He groaned as he plunged his cock in as deep as it could go, his skin flush against yours.

“Who do you belong to?” You gazed up at him, running your fingers through his messy curls.

“You, baby. I belong to you.” He whispers before turning to face the camera. “I belong to her. She owns me.”

Maeve let out a short huff of disbelief, wanting to look away but struggling.

“Harder.” You choked out a whisper as your body trembled under his touch, longing for more, aching to possess and to be possessed.

His thrusts sped up in response, his hips smacking against yours fervently as you clawed at his back like a wounded animal.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whined as he took you by the face with both hands, forcing you to look clearly at him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Keep going.” You whispered frantically- the feeling of being perfectly stuffed paired with your volatile emotional state left you teetering on the edge of collapse.

“She means nothing to me.” He grunted between thrusts and you bore a wide toothy grin at the capriciously sweet words. Real or not, you knew they had to hurt her- and that brought you a sadistic amount of pleasure.

“What were you thinking going for her?” You tutted as he pounded into you like it was the last time, creamy arousal glistening in the dimly lit lounge. “I’m so much better than her. She’s so ugly. Isn’t she, Spence?”

“Y-yes.” He whimpered. “She’s nowhere near as beautiful as you.”

Satisfied enough with his taunting, you pushed him back with a bitter hand against his chest and climbed onto his lap with increasing desperation.

“Bet you wish you could ride him like this, don’t you?” You sneered as you stroked his wet cock with a couple squelchy pumps. “But you never will. This dick is all mine.”

You lowered yourself onto him, adjusting to his size with breathy moans as he threw his head back in deluge. Bouncing on it with more force than usual, you looked back to observe Maeve’s horrified face glowing on the screen.

“You got that, bitch?” You jeered mockingly as you reached for his phone and flipped the camera to show Spencer’s exasperated face. “My husband, my dick.”

With your final act of aggression, you hung up the call and threw the phone behind you. You were fairly confident she wouldn’t be inserting herself into your marriage again any time soon.

“What the hell-” Spencer’s croaky voice rang out in intervals as you continued riding him with stomach-churning speed. “was that?”

“I was reminding you who you’re married to.” You halted for a moment to catch your breath. “You seem to have forgotten.”

His firm, calloused hands snaked their way around your hips as he dug his fingernails into your flesh, bringing you closer to him.

“I'll never make that mistake again.” He declared solemnly, brushing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. “Do you forgive me, my love?”

Your limbs went numb and you felt paralysed at the thought. How could you ever forgive such an abuse of trust?

Spencer firmly grabbed you by the jaw before trailing his hand to the nape of your neck. You wanted to wriggle out of his grasp but he guided your head to rest over his shoulder as he settled his touch on the small of your back.

“I don’t know…” You slumped into him, feeling immobilised as you murmured mindlessly.

He suddenly grabbed your ass and roughly spread it apart to allow easier access to your core- he thrust up into your weeping pussy with a force that had you huffing out wordless squeaks. He set a ruthless tempo, hammering into you as your gushing arousal dripped down his thighs.

“If I’m going to let that little stunt you just pulled slide-“ He growled with a renewed ferocity. “then you’re going to suck it up and forgive me too.”

Whining, you smacked the side of his bicep in protest but the way he was fucking your brains out left you unable to speak.

“I don’t wanna hear it baby.” He kissed your temple sloppily as he patted your hair, smoothing it down while he massaged your insides. “You’re meant for me and I’m meant for you. We’re perfectly fucked up for each other.”

“Mmph-“ You moaned into his shoulder, drool dribbling down his skin as you bit into it.

“I’m never letting you go.” He sped up as his force and aggression grew, leaving bruises in the shape of fingertips littered along your hips and ass.

With one final thrust, you came undone - squeezing his cock so tight in the process that he couldn’t help but fill you up to the brim with his cum. You panted as you tried to catch your breath, creamy wetness pouring out of you as he pulled your sweaty bodies apart.

“Okay.” You sighed. “I forgive you.”

Spencer abruptly sat up as the precious words spilled from your swollen lips. “You mean it?” He trembled hopefully, melting expression tugging at your heartstrings.

“Only if you swear to me it’ll never happen again.” You wagged your finger at him as he leapt onto you unexpectedly.

“Never! Never, baby, I swear.” He planted grateful kisses up and down your body as you indulged in a reluctant smile. “It’s only you. You are the only one for me. Now and for the rest of my life.”

You could tell by his adoring gaze that he meant every word. Wrapping your arms around him, you settled into a healing embrace. He was allowed to make one mistake, you loved him enough to let it slide. And if resentment ever crept up on you, you could always fondly recall that drunken night with Agent Morgan. Who said married couples weren’t allowed a few secrets?

#spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid angst #criminal minds smut #matthew grey gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfic #spencer reid fan fiction

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wri0thesley · 7 months

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lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight.

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself.

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself.

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation.

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door.

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say.

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do.

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role.

Well.

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It.

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?”

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish.

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum.

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home.

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’.

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears.

She’s beautiful.

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground.

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair.

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile.

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches.

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it.

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks.

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied.

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man.

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic.

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires.

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied.

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms.

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor.

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself.

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone.

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.”

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time.

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room.

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles.

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush.

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm.

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing.

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands.

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here.

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .”

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs.

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers.

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you.

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite.

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea.

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you.

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--”

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.”

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter.

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety.

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General.

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you?

You’ve developed a crush on him.

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it.

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent.

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement.

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--”

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is.

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing.

It’s not quite the same.

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously).

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two.

The reality is that you almost never see the General now.

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home.

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat).

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing.

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so.

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General.

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles.

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs.

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you.

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak.

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms.

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen.

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams.

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.”

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling.

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now.

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .”

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom.

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes.

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours.

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own.

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed.

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?”

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.”

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan.

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.”

He means it.

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze.

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin.

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this.

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you.

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.”

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before.

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge.

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen.

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation.

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things.

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you.

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets.

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire.

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness.

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing.

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again.

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel.

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first.

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole.

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth.

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable.

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution.

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin.

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex.

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own.

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks.

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully.

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again.

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him.

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.”

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.”

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed.

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far.

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.”

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you.

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel.

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour.

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing.

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

#writing #not sfw text #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader #chubby reader posting #commissioned work #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr posting

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dilatorywriting · 8 months

Note

“I will love you forever and when ‘forever’ ends, I’ll love you some more.”

For the event, can I request Malleus for this? I need to send ALL my love to him ASAP. Although for this, feel free to have him being the one saying it to reader.

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 1.2k

Prompt 51: "I will love you forever and when ‘forever’ ends, I’ll love you some more."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

There was something about being in love with a fae that would always be at least a little intimidating.

No, it wasn’t the unearthly powers that could literally rip through the fabric of time and space with a snap of his fingers. No, it wasn’t the cold, serpentine stare or the sharp fangs in his mouth that shined like well-polished knives under the right light. It wasn’t even the horns. Even though they added an extra foot onto the dragon’s already stupidly impressive height.

But there were other things, sometimes. Less tangiblethings.

You tried not to think about it too much, because you loved Tsunotarou. Really, you did. And you didn’t want some… some creeping thing at the fringes of your consciousness to ruin that.

It was cold tonight, and you puffed warm breath onto your fingers. Normally Malleus was the one waiting for you to arrive at your usual Gargoyle Filled haunts, but he’d had a meeting with his retainers today. And you weren’t surprised he was running a bit late in the aftermath.

‘Man, I’m surprised Draconia is ever on time for anything,’ Ace had complained, during some mandatory assembly or other. Watching as Malleus floated into the room a solid two hours after scheduled.

‘He’s usually very punctual,’ you’d answered, confused.

‘Sure, sure. But don’t fae have, like, super fucked up senses of time?’ the redhead mused. ‘Like I bet you could tell him to meet you in an hour and he’d show up a week later or something.’

“Child of man,” a familiar timbre called out over the snow, and you perked up immediately, hopping from foot to foot to get your circulation going again before trotting out to meet him halfway.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped. “How was your day?”

“Dreadful,” he answered, deadpan, and bent his arm neatly so that you could tuck your fingers into the crook of his elbow and snuggle yourself into his side. He was like a walking furnace, what with the roaring, emerald fires in his belly. And the snowflakes seemed to melt before they’d even touched his skin. “Nothing but paperwork. Perhaps I should turn them all into enchanted quills, and then they might finally be fit for their positions.”

You snorted into your glove. “You’d need to turn some of them into ink then, too.”

“Ah, of course,” he intoned. And then shot you a smirk that was just on the right side of besotted. “Whatever would I do without your wise guidance?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you teased, and then smiled right back in that stupidly, soppy way. “But you seemed more than smart enough to manage on your own before I came along. And I’m sure you’ll go back to being brilliant when I’m gone,” you added on a laugh.

But Malleus didn’t join in your giggling.

The fae stopped in place, and you were dragged to a halt with him. You blinked up at him, confused. His expression was… complicated.

“You are leaving?” he asked, each word sounding like it had to be pried out of his mouth with a crowbar.

“What?” you blinked. “Of course not.” Crowley never having bothered to lift a feathery finger to find you a way home aside, you had more than enough reasons to stay here for as long as your meager, mortal life would allow. Going home… it soured something in your stomach that you didn’t even want to consider. So you just tightened your fingers around his arm and shot him as reassuring of a smile as you could muster. “Even if I had the choice, I’d be staying right here.”

But that just made Malleus’s brow pinch up tighter.

“Then what did you mean?” he questioned, perplexed. “When you said ‘when I’m gone.’”

Ah.

You fought a guilty wince. You hadn’t wanted to drag your own little terrors into his worries as well. You really needed to get a better leash on the poor quips that managed to tumble out of your mouth.

“Well, just that, uhm…” You waved your free hand awkwardly. “You know.”

More furrowing.

“I do not,” he said, sounding grumpy. It was a bit adorable, seeing an almighty prince and near God pout at you. But you fought off the urge to coo over his pursed lips and scrunched nose. Time and place, self. Time and place.

“I’m mortal,” you said finally, hoping that would cover it.

“And?”

Ugh. Come on, dude. Give me something here.

You shrugged, tight and awkward. “Just that, well, you know. Your lifespan is near infinite right? And mine is sort of set to be…” You held up your fingers and pinched them close together. “Uhm. Not that.”

“And you think that such an inconsequential factor means that you will be leaving me?” he asked, and you blinked at him in outright confusion.

“It’s pretty consequential,” you squeaked out, and averted your gaze. “And.. and besides. I knew that from the beginning. And I just want to be able to make the best out of the time with you that I have,” you said, hoping it sounded properly reassuring and not like the start of a particularly peppy obituary.

“…I see,” the Prince said, low. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll be gone, I’m sure.”

You blinked again, owlish and slow.

“Pardon?”

“What is the human expression…?” he hummed, tucking your arm back tightly against his side and starting up your leisurely stroll once more. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Almost so much as time itself.”

Yeah, you wanted to amend. But not from beyond the grave.

“I guess so,” you shrugged.

“Can you imagine then,” he hummed. “How much I’ll love you in a thousand years?”

“I—” you swallowed, feeling tears prick at the back of your eyes.

But rather than give your poor, fluttering soul a chance to recover, he just pushed onwards.

“I will love you forever, and when ‘forever’ ends, I suppose that I’ll just love you even more,” he said, perfectly level and serious, like he hadn’t just absolutely pulled your heart out of your chest and set the whole of you on fire.

You stared up at his regal, handsome face from beneath a soft veil of falling snow. With those cold, emerald eyes, the pointed fangs, the horns. You felt like your stomach had fallen out at your toes, like the whole of you was bound to float away like a balloon lost in the breeze. Because he’d said—he’d really—

“And of course,” the dragon shrugged. “I’ve always intended to extend your lifespan to begin with.”

You gaped at him wordlessly for a moment, before letting out a hideously embarrassed squawk and pounding at his chest with your gloved hands.

“You could’ve told me that!” you shrieked, practically steaming in the cold with the heat pulsing off your cheeks.

“I suppose,” he smirked, catching your flailing fists easily in one of his own large hands. “But then I wouldn’t have been able to see your reaction to my declarations, would I?” he cooed, all smooth, dark chocolate and smoky embers. “And I had to work so hard to memorize those lines. Fitting as they are, I was told that the moment to use them would have to be perfect, and—"

“Did Lilia set you up for this?” you choked.

Malleus snorted and turned to tug you further down the path. “Only a little.”

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #My Writing #Writing Prompts

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satoruhour · 4 months

Note

oh my god, i dont know if you write for this specifically (feel free to disregard if you don’t), but I’ve been thinking about satosugu x reader,,, imagine kissing the both of them!! spending a nice summer day with them!! just being able to enjoy spending time with the two of them!! I dont know if its my love for both of these characters and their relationship, but i just like thinking abt that dynamic,,,

a/n: wrote this yesterday to upload today since it was a loaded day today ❤️ enjoy. hope it’s up to standard cause i havent written fluff in a long time! / 1.3k, poly!satosugu x reader

sleep-ins were popular amongst the three of you. before you, suguru had his own routine of waking up early to brew some tea for himself, to get the laundry going . .

satoru, on his own, was a light sleeper, sitting straight up at any hint of sound due to his sorcerer duties but after moving in with geto, he’s been letting the long-haired man to do all the work.

and here came you, waltzing back into their lives (and apartment) after teaching at kyoto for just a few months until you couldn’t stand gakuganji and headed right back to your alma mater.

it wasn’t difficult to maintain the dynamic the three of you had from your school days, except maybe unspoken feelings and lingering glances until the two men were gassing each other up to ask you.

you’re not even sure how you even got roped in — old feelings, a crave for the younger days, the allure of satoru, the wonder of suguru — but now you’re stick in between both of them wanting to pee so badly.

alas, your body is trapped under gojo’s protective leg and geto’s gentler wrapped arm, but you still feel your bladder about to burst, trying one last time until your body is slammed back into bed.

“hm . . what’re you doing?” is gojo’s first raspy call out to you as he curls his calf around you even more, and you sigh, turning to him to brush his fringe from his face.

“i need to pee, satoru.”

“no.” and you roll your eyes because he’s always whiny like that and you’d usually employ suguru to do your bidding but he’s fast asleep, still. this was another thing: both you and gojo have inextricably fucked with his routine because now he’s more inclined to sleep in than drink his morning tea. he realised this one day when he was doing laundry, in the afternoon.

“’toru, pleeaasee?” you pout even if he can’t see and like a good boyfriend, he senses your features pulled into a face specifically meant to make him feel bad, and cracks his eyes open.

“oh, youuuu—” gojo scrunches up his eyes and squeezes, and then steals you from geto’s arm, trapping you with tight arms wound around your middle, “stop it with the eyes!”

you giggle, using your free hands to relax the tightness in his brows, using that opportunity to forcibly open his eyes and then you hit him again — knitted eyebrows and doe eyes, and a perfect pout that has gojo grumbling under his breath. silently, you wiggle yourself just enough to reach his face so you can place a peck on his lips and he hums.

another, his eyes say and you indulge him, sinking into his embrace and letting him guide you back to his mouth. morning breath is nothing to the both of you, grinning into the kiss when satoru loses himself and his embrace starts to loosen. the kiss still holds you captive, though, the other moaning softly when you deepen it with some tongue.

“you’re just going to leave me hangin’?” geto’s voice calls out from beside you, and gojo’s excited suguru! gives you just that sliver of time to slip away from the two as they catch up but—

“you’re not going anywhere, missus,” gojo pulls on your arm and you’re falling back into your space in the middle of the both of them, greeted with geto’s lovely laugh and his gentle gaze.

“good morning my loves,” he says, arm draped over the both of you before he leans down to give you a kiss while gojo replies with a good morning as well, also giving a peck to your temple. “what’s on the agenda today?”

“lazing in—”

“i need to pee, firstly,” you pipe up, cutting gojo off and patting his puffed out cheeks. grabbing his face, you wiggle his head just to emphasise your point, “your man here has been preventing me from going to the bathroom.”

“ahem! our man,” gojo corrects, sticking his tongue out just enough to lick your hand and you shriek in disgust while his giggles only fill the room.

“satoru, c’mon, let her go.” and again, the other only cuddles you closer to him, long, lanky limbs trapping your body. geto has a hand on yours like he’s trying his best to console you.

“but— she’s so much nicer to cuddle! did i ever tell you suguru once hit me in the face with his arm?”

and you laugh while the other only sighs and chaos erupts once he stands up and says in faux disappointment — “okay, i’m making breakfast for myself only. guess i lost two partners today.”

“hello?! i didn’t even do anything!” you shout in incredulity, words muffled once gojo slaps a hand over your mouth and laughs, watching through the bathroom mirror at how he chuckles at the both of you. you lick gojo’s hand and he moans obnoxiously.

geto did end up making the both of you some breakfast after some convincing (it was mostly gojo yelling “pleasepleaseplease” in the bathroom and interrupting brushing teeth time), but he’s got around it with a sloppy kiss given to the both of you, sat at the wooden table you commissioned — large enough to bring friends over but small enough for it to feel intimate with your two boyfriends.

“on the real agenda, we need to go for some grocery shopping,” geto suggests, reaching diagonally to you to wipe off the bits of strawberry lingering at the corner of your lips and gojo shouts a loud oh!, running from the table to grab his phone that he’s left on the bedside table. naturally, he has become so enamoured with the both of you that he doesn’t even need his phone to entertain him that much.

“i made the list like you asked, sugu,” and you’re giggling when you see his eyebrow raise, positive that on the list, there was more of what the house didn’t need than what it did.

silently, you’re helping to clear all three of your plates that had coatings of maple syrup on it, apart from gojo’s who licked his squeaky clean. a smile spreads across your face when you hear them bicker, a common occurrence.

“baby, there’s more candy than actual groceries on here.”

“but suguruuuu . .” gojo pulls this all the time and it hardly works on geto any more, so the both of them invade your cleaning escapades to argue. like the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, satoru sucks up to your boyfriend, suguru appeals to you.

“should we listen to him?” leaning against the counter, geto rests his arm around your torso, sidling right up to your face who only gives him a small grin.

gojo follows suit. “sweetness, don’t listen to him. you know you love the sweets i buy, i’ll even buy you your favourite brand!”

here in this kitchen in the house that gojo had no problem expanding to accommodate the both of you were all that you know in this mess of a world, destined to exorcise curses for as long as you live, but it wasn’t so bad when you had the strongest duo beside you, talking over each other on whether meiji chocolate was more important than buying celery for tonight’s dinner.

“boys.” turning off the tap, you shake off the water and turn around in their arms only to see what had escalated: geto ready to summon a curse, gojo crossing his fingers in his muryōkūsho pose, all the while keeping an arm around you like everything’s fine. and as chaotic dating the both of them were, you don’t mind putting both their hands down and calming the situation down.

with a laugh, you give one kiss to both cheeks. “let’s just buy both, okay?”

and satoru leaps to hug you, planting endless kisses on your face while suguru sighs, then smiles, defeated. “plus, we can just make ’toru pay for everything, can’t we?”

“and then make him cook tonight.” you suggest, not-so-quietly.

gojo stops, “hey!”

i didnt write the grocery shopping part since i alr rambled off about it here but maybe next time we’ll see :)

#satosugu x reader #suguru x reader #gojo fluff #geto fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #getou fluff #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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grunckle · 2 months

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Qualia and Ascension in Rain World

(To clarify I'm mostly talking about base-game lore and not including Downpour, but honestly most of these things can transfer over)

Qualia

One thing that’s relatively hidden in Rain World’s text and subtext is the concept of qualia. Qualia is described as being, “sensory experiences that have distinctive subjective qualities but lack any meaning or external reference to the objects or events that cause them.” It’s a personal sensory experience that cannot be comprehended by another person other than the individual themself, and are often hard to convey via language.

Qualia is a reoccurring motif in Rain World, but what’s more important is the way in which it’s conveyed to the player. The picture that’s painted is that of a world or civilization that placed a great importance on the individuals’ experience, and it’s shown through pearls or environmental details.

Here are some examples of qualia appearing in the text through pearls.

“It's qualia, or a moment - a very short one. Someone is holding a black stone, and twisting it slightly as they drag their finger across the rough surface. The entire sequence is shorter than a heartbeat, but the resolution is extraordinary.”

“A memory... but not really visual, or even concrete, in its character. It reminds of the feeling of a warm wind, but not the physical feeling but the... inner feeling. I don't think it has much utility unless you are doing some very fringe Regeneraist research.”

“This one... is authored by Five Pebbles, when he was young. There has been an attempt to scramble the data, but it's sloppily done, and most is still somewhat legible. It's written in internal language, or thoughts, so it is hard for me to translate so you would understand.”

But the most prominent examples of qualia and it’s importance in this world are the Memory Crypts and possibly ancient naming conventions. The deep purple pearl (shortened) found in Shaded Citadel states,

“In this vessel is the living memories of Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel, of the House of Braids (…) Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel nobly decided to ascend in the beginning of 1514.008, after graciously donating all (ALL!) earthly possessions to the local Iterator project (Unparalleled Innocence), and left these memories to be cherished by the carnal plane. The assorted memories and qualia include:”

Ancients likely mutated their own neural tissue into the cabinet beasts we see in Shaded, which were used to store their memories and qualia before ascension. Even james said once "how 5 pebs got the rot is a good hint here" in response to someone asking how cabinet beasts work, and how they're made.

Adding on to this, ancient (and iterator) naming conventions seem to be built off of the concept of qualia, with them focusing on individual images or experiences.

Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections

Droplets upon Five Large Droplets

Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets

Looks to the Moon

Generally, this all points to a world focused on the expression and preservation of the individual experience. You could even consider some of the echo dialogue as more evidence for this running motif, but I already have too many quotes lol.

Ascension

So now time to talk about my interpretation of ascension. In short, you turn into a worm, but I should probably explain more than that.

So its been surfacing on rw-tumblr that the light in the end of the game is called the egg in files. Although file names shouldn't be taken as fact or canon, it is pretty obvious given the birth imagery.

But something a little lesser known is what happens to the worm that takes us down to the void-sea depths. Void worms normally have a bright glowing effect, on their body, which is present for ours as well. But after it unhooks us, it swims down, and when it passes us on it's way back that glowing effect is gone.

To be honest, I don't really think this can be interpreted in many ways, but the most obvious one and the one I personally subscribe to is that the worm laid the egg. Biology and spirituality really aren't that different in Rain World, it's implied that karma is stored in the brain through Five Pebbles's slideshow. Adding on to that, we see voidspawn after eating an iterator neuron. One's spiritual state is innately tied to their mental state, and that dictates what and what they can't perceive.

And for that reason I decide to take a more biology leaning approach to what happens in the ending. At face value, we are fertilizing the egg of a void worm to be reborn into a voidspawn.

Not only do void spawn and void worms have multiple characteristics in common, (worm like bodies, tendrils/tentacles, glowing heads, void spawn look microbial and void worms are likely some of the oldest "life" in game)

but voidspawn are seen inside egg-like coverings and share the same egg light seen in the end of the game, confirmed to be the same thing by Videocult in a livestream they did.

I believe that all this points to ascension being re-birth into a voidspawn, which eventually undergoes metamorphose into a worm. Higher-dimensional beings, who manifest and give birth to a new world.

So how does this tie in with qualia? Another thing you might know is that the area in which void spawn are most plentiful is Shaded Citadel and areas in Shoreline near Shaded. And shaded is absolutely packed with Cabinet Beasts, even outside Memory Crypts. I believe these qualia-storing creatures are what manifest voidspawn.

From what we see in ascension, it still looks physical and largely based around the real world. Hunter still has his scars and see's an iterator, survivor sees the slug tree in a more mystical and formless state, and monk sees survivor frankly just looking like a normal slugcat. I think that ascension is a product of qualia. We transcend our earthly knowledge via the egg, and our own qualia is used to give birth to a new world. This is why voidspawn appear most in Shaded Citadel.

Now I won't be getting into Void-Worm theories too much here, I'm mostly focused on ascension but I can't ignore the Gnosticism parallels. For those who don't know, Void Worms heavily resemble the Yaldaboath from Gnosticism, along with sharing some similar celestial motifs.

and running with that some people theorize that, like the Yaldabaoth, void worms are responsible for manifesting the material world. Ascension seems to be a mix of the concepts of Gnosis and Nirvana, but I believe it might lean more on Gnosis.

From my limited knowledge, Gnosis is a few things, some of which being a state achieved from experiences or intuitions, and an essential part to salvation is personal knowledge. While researching a bit, I came across this text by Peter Wilberg called "From NEW AGE to NEW GNOSIS" which brings up some comparisons between Gnosticism and qualia as well.

"Gnosis is subjective knowledge of an inner universe made up not of matter, energy, space or time but of countless qualitative spheres or ‘planes’ of awareness – a knowledge obtained directly through inter- subjective resonance. It is the subjective science of this inner universe."

One thing though that has been brought up when discussing this is how this can be consolidated with the tone of the ending. It is pretty un-ambiguously happy, but if we're going with the Void worm Yaldaboath theory then that would put a bit of a sour twist on it right?

I agreed with these for some time, but now I actually think it ties in perfectly with Rain World's core themes as stated by the devs, "overcoming differences and finding empathy." I don't think the void worms are "evil" or malevolent, but I think they (and subsequently us after ascending) play a key role in demonstrating this theme.

By manifesting the physical world, we allow these souls to experience life and develop their own qualia so one day they can ascend themselves. We are shown compassion, and pass it forward.

#rain world #rain world lore #lore #rain world spoilers #gnosticism #gnosis

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mylight-png · 2 months

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The "Free Palestine" movement is genocidal. Straight up. It's not just a few select slogans they use or some fringe members.

The very name of the movement is genocidal.

I had a conversation with my former roommates last semester where they refused to understand why "Free Palestine" in and of itself as a statement is a problem.

To them, it's a liberation movement. But the first issue arises when we ask who or what is being liberated.

What, in modern geographical terms, is Palestine? Where is Palestine? Who is the ruling party of Palestine?

Anyone with even a bit of knowledge would realize that this is a trick question. There isn't any country actually called Palestine.

When people refer to Palestinians, they typically talk about the people either in Gaza or the West Bank, which are two separate entities with two separate governments.

So who are we supposed to be freeing? Gaza, which has its own government in the form of Hamas? Or the West Bank, which has the PA as its governing group? (By the way, the PA has this little thing called pay-for-slay I suggest you look into, but that'd be a post for another time.)

The actual term "Palestine" most commonly is used to refer to the entire area of where Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank are located.

Which brings me to my main point. When people call to "Free Palestine" they aren't calling for a two-state solution. Identically to their call for "from the river to the sea", this slogan calls for the complete destruction of Israel.

A lot of people have already spoken on the issue of why "from the river to the sea" is genocidal in nature, so I won't be going too in depth on that. My point is more so that those two phrases are equivalently malevolent in nature.

There's also the people who call themselves "pro-Palestine". If we take into consideration what "Palestine" as a term means, we're left with two interpretations.

First, they just use that instead of "Free Palestine", making their use of it still equivalent for wanting the entirety of Israel gone.

Second, they want Palestine to "win" in the war.

Now, since we've established that there isn't actually a country called Palestine right now, they're either rooting for the PA or Hamas to win.

As I recommended before, it'd be fantastic if you could just take time to read up on what pay-for-slay is. As a quick summary, that's exactly what it sounds like. The PA pays people money for killing Israelis/Jews. (That's the very vague version, since this isn't the point of the post.)

Therefore, you can probably imagine what would happen to Israelis if the PA were to take over Israel (G-d forbid).

If, G-d forbid, Hamas were to take over Israel, we'd end up with a series of atrocities akin to the horrors of Oct 7th. How do I know? Hamas leaders have repeatedly promised to repeat Oct 7th again and again and again.

Both the PA and Hamas have killed their own people for suspected collaboration with Israel, in rather cruel ways. So you can probably imagine what'd happen to Israelis in both scenarios.

I have seen very very few people who align themselves with either phrasing of the movement actually calling for two states, or for any viable solution. (And no, a ceasefire that leaves Hamas in power is not a viable solution. We had a ceasefire until the moment they attacked on Oct 7th.)

(I say "very few" as an allowance that some may exist, but in reality I haven't seen any.)

If your solution involves the dissolution of Israel and giving power to either the PA or Hamas, congratulations. You are actively backing a genocidal "solution".

And much like a previous "solution", most of the victims of this proposed genocide would be Jewish.

#jumblr #jewish #proud israeli #israel solidarity #antisemitism #israel #israel hamas war #i stand with israel #am yisrael chai #hamas is isis #hamas and the pa both want to just kill jews and have said so and acted on it before

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cherubfae · 2 months

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how they cuddle || slashers x reader

With Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Billy and Stu, Art the Clown, Vincent, Bo, Lester, Sal Fisher, & Thomas Sawyer

tags: AFAB reader (not specified), cuddling, affection, rz!Mikey, art is his own warning lmao, terrifier 2 spoilers, little spoon!slashers, nightmares (Sal), comfort, poly!Ghostface, I low-key rant about art in Vin's lmao

Michael

Exhaustion isn't something he's used to feeling so heavily in his bones. He feels the heavy weight rippling across his broad shoulders and spiraling down his spine in white hot pain. He's not a tame being, but he is a bit more docile in the months before and after Halloween. His knife doesn't thirst for blood quite as much as on the 31st.

Seeing you in your bed is a welcomed sight. Michael doesn't say much more than the soft grunt of acknowledgement as he sheds his coveralls from his dirt-caked skin. He has a lovely warm bath that loosens all the tight muscles of his lower back. You'll have his head later for leaving a ring of grime in the tub; Mikey doesn't care about that right now.

The fresh sheets are so comfortable, accepting them fully as Michael tucks his face into your side. His recently cut hair is still long enough to form a fringe curtain over his grey eyes.

Jason

Softly leans his chin to your shoulder. Depending on how far along you two are into your relationship, Jason might feel comfortable enough to have his mask removed. He's aware the material probably doesn't feel too pleasant being pressed to the side of your face or lightly digging into your skin.

His arms wind around your waist, happily sighing as he leans himself against you. Jason also doesn't mind if you switch things up and hold him in return, stroking the top of his head softly.

Brahms

If there's a way where he can wind his body around yours, Brahms will find it. He definitely likes keeping you away from all of the noise of the world, and while he's not mega happy about it, he knows you need trips into town sometimes. He likes seeing what kind of food items you bring back because the meals you make are simply delicious!

After dinner and bathing, Brahms snuggles beside you, clinging to you like you've been gone for ages. The chill of his porcelain biting into your skin as he happily huffs behind it. He's so glad to have you. <3

Billy and Stu

The pair are constantly together, if not with you, then they're almost always flanking each other's sides. The other is often not far from the first. Adding you into their duo to form a trio didn't change much of their dynamic. Instead of the two boys slinking around, they've got you as their third and final confidant.

Billy isn't the most touchy-feely person-- that's what he likes to claim. He doesn't really know how to ask for the things that he wants. He's different to Stu in the way that he's silent when you press your hand to the brunette's cheek, smiling as his eyelids flutter closed. Subconsciously leaning into your touch, chasing the feeling when you pull away.

Stu likes to be what he calls the mega spoon. It's him behind you, snuggled at your back, and with Billy pressed close to your chest still too proud to say that he enjoys being taken care of as the little spoon. You three make a nice, lovely three-person sandwich. Even when lying down, you're in the center with the boys wrapped around you like snakes. There is no them without you; you are their missing piece.

Art

This man is mostly, if not always, within your personal space. 'It's not yours, it's ours'. Art is rarely a being ever to break character or change out of his damned costume, and his hygiene is quite questionable sometimes; though he does in fact bathe and wash his suit. Just not often.

He's a man of very few words, especially when he's deep into his clown character and doing what he does best. Being immortal has its advantages, but his fight with Sienna really put him through the ringer. Art was decapitated! What a riot.

With his strength slowly returning to him, Art is always almost underfoot. In your bubble, seeing what you're doing. Snuggling up to you in a rare moment where his costume is off, leaning his head into your chest with an exhausted expression. It seemed that Pale Girl was allowing him some respite with you for a bit.

Vincent

He is a busy man, constantly sculpting and creating. His sketchbooks are filled to the absolute brim of beautiful works of art in all sorts of mediums: charcoal, graphite, watercolor, and ink. You're his muse, his favorite subject of which his art circulates. There's something so breathtaking about you, minute details that only an artist can see within people. An eternal, everlasting beauty.

Vincent is quick to jot down the rough outline of your sleeping form resting against Jonesy. He's smiling behind the wax mask, skilled fingers shading the crease of your eyelids then moving to sketch the curve of your Cupid's bow. When he felt it was finished enough for now, Vincent sets his book aside in favor of crawling into bed beside you.

His broad frame dwarfs yours as he curls his body around yours, his large hands slide beneath your sweater pressing across your tummy. Vincent really adores you, you know?

Not much of a cuddler, but if you get especially pouty about it Bo will roll his eyes and tug you to him. He can be a major asshole but he doesn't like seeing his baby upset.

He tucks you beneath his strong arm, his mechanic's hat resting on top of the back of the sofa. Waiting for you to settle down doesn't take long as you're soon drifting off with your head on his chest, focusing on his hand placed on your knee; gently stroking the skin there. His eyes begin to droop, feeling heavy. Cradling the back of your neck, Bo allows himself to drift off, too.

Lester

Long days certainly do get to him sometimes. Tiring him out something awful. He's prepared enough roadkill and deer for his brothers and you, enough to satiate any hunger for the time being until he finds time to run into the nearby town again.

Lester finds you lounging in his bed with Jonesy, Vincent must be working hard and the pup sought out attention where she could. He had no idea where Bo was or whatever the hell he was up to.

Collapsing onto the bed, Lester sighs deeply when you immediately comb your fingers through his messy short hair. He's out like a light soon after.

Sal Fisher

Poor guy has so much going on that sometimes he just wants to crash and sleep for one-thousand years. He doesn't sleep well on the best of days, plagued by frequent nightmares that not even the warmth and comfort of your sleeping form beside him can quell.

Another nightmare yanks Sal out of a fitful sleep. One that has him patting the sheets, searching for you. The heat of your skin against his hands sends a calming peace over him. He's scooping your sleeping form in his arms, his face hidden in your neck. Sal gives a weak smile as you snuggle into him. He focuses on your even breathing, allowing himself to fall asleep soon after.

Thomas

It's incredibly hot on the best of days in Duller County, the Sawyer family set up several oscillating fans that constantly work overtime without a proper functioning air conditioning unit.

Even the lackluster cool breeze and the sweltering Texan heat aren't enough to have Tommy pulling you into his lap and nuzzling his masked face into your hair.

You're much smaller than him. It gives Tommy a sense of pride knowing that he's your big, strong protector. :)

Patrick

He is such an enigma, a contradiction. Patrick isn't much of a cuddler or snuggler but he wants to play the role of being a dutiful partner. He is quick to become a jealous lover if you were to find someone else to give you attention while he's fretting over what sort of shade of cream or white Paul Allen's next business card will have.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

A prideful, vain being such as himself would never admit how much he truly does enjoy having your curl up next to him. The warmth your body exudes is a comfort, one he finds him seeking out more and more even though your relationship is still within its earlier stages. Patrick hates that he finds himself being so undone by you, but he can't find it within himself to stop either. There's something inside of you that his fervent bloodlust can't be satisfied by.

#slashers x reader #slasher imagines #slasher x you #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #billy x reader x stu #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #thomas sawyer x reader #art the clown x reader #cherubfae 2024

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krisp-xyz · 10 months

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Was experimenting with halftone effects after watching this video and it almost has spiderverse vibes honestly. I actually learned some neat things about why printers use CMYK instead of just CMY so I thought I'd share !!

So in our optimal little computer space, Cyan (0,255,255), Magenta (255,0,255) and Yellow (255,255,0) all multiplied together gives us a perfect black (0,0,0) Awesome! The issue is that ink colors irl arent exactly perfect like this, and color is a bit more complicated irl compared to how computers represent it, so they aren't the greatest at combining into black if they aren't those perfect CMY values:

Left: CMY

Right: CMYK

(thats not even black, its a dark blue in the original image but dark colors just look so much richer)

An important step to make sure you arent doubling up on the black values though is to divide the image by it's own "value" (the max of all 3 color channels) that way the value is equal to 1 everywhere, and you're letting the black ink take care of the value on its own.

Left: CMY (normalized value)

Middle: K (black)

Right: Combined

Now obviously the grids of dots cant be aligned perfectly with each other because you'd just get a bunch of black dots in unwanted areas, but if the grids are misaligned, then some dots become more prominent than others which tints the whole image. This was an issue because older printing methods didn't have great accuracy and these grids were often misaligned.

The solution was to rotate these grids such that they can move around freely while getting rid of that tint effect if they aren't perfectly aligned :D

(I have no idea how they came up with these angles but that might be something to look into in the future who knows)

SPEAKING OF MISALIGNMENT

I wanted to implement that in my own filter to get some cool effects, and I discovered another reason CMYK is better than CMY for lots of stuff !!

With CMY, you're relying on the combination of 3 color channels to make the color black. This means if you have thin lines or just details in general, misalignment can make those details very fuzzy. Since CMYK uses a single color of ink to handle value, it reduces color fringing and improves clarity a lot even if you have the exact same misalignment as CMY!

Left: CMY

Right: You guessed it! CMYK

(yes these comparisons have the exact same color misalignment, the only difference is using a fourth ink color for black)

ANYWAY I just thought there was a lot of cool information in this tiny little day project, I also just think it looks really neat and wanted to share what I learned :3c

EDITING BECAUSE THERE'S ONE MORE THING I WANTED TO ADD

So, I talked about how to get K in addition to CMY instead of just CMY, but how exactly do you separate CMY from an image in the first place?

Well, CMY is a subtractive color space, meaning the "absence of color" is white, compared to RGB where it's black. This makes sense because ofc ink is printed on white paper. You can use dot product to get the "similarity" between two vectors, and this can be used to separate RGB actually! Using the dot product of a color and red (255,0,0) will give you just the red values of the image. This is cool though because if we get the dot product of our image and the color cyan (0,255,255), we can get the cyan values from our image too! If we first divide our colors by their value to separate the value from them, then separate CMY using those dot product values, and using K for our final black color value, our individual color passes end up looking like this:

While it's called a "subtractive" color space, I find it more intuitive to treat white as the absence of color here, and then multiply all these passes together. It makes it much easier to understand how the colors are combined imo. Notice how cyan is the opposite of red: (255,0,0) vs (0,255,255) and magenta and yellow are the opposites of green and blue respectively! This means you can actually kinda get away with separating the RGB values and just inverting some stuff to optimize this, but this example is much more intuitive and readable so I won't go too deep into that. THANKS FOR READING I know it's a very long post but I hope people find it interesting! I try my best to explain things in a clear and concise way :3

oh thank you I realized I should probably add an eyestrain tag

#halftone #shaders #long post #eyestrain

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bruciemilf · 26 days

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ope don't mind me i'm just gonna-- *sets this down next to your constantine post*

The batkids have all fallen in line like Thomas is their superior officer and they've all basically decided Dick is getting thrown on the pyre (because cop) when Jason slowly raises his hand like he's back in school.

Jason, who lives for chaos, putting on the Sad Orphan Eyes that Dick taught all of them how to do, saying "Abuelo, you know I died? The clown who killed me is still alive."

All the other kids jump in with "oh he's right nonno" etc etc "don't worry bambini your nonno will take care of it" etc etc

(and while Thomas and Martha aren't exactly thrilled Jason is a crime lord, he's so much better at it than fucking Carmine. So the boy is ambitious! There are worse things to be. Thomas then slips Jason a fiver when Bruce isn't looking like grandparents do)

((also also the kids calling martha and thomas grandma/grandpa in whatever other language they grew up speaking))

just thinking that thomas highkey loves being a grandparent. absolutely considers it a promotion. softest pushover of a man but also the scary dog privilege for all of his grandchildren

NONNO THATS SO ADORABLE IM GONNA CRY— ok. But you know what? Pepa and Felix from Encanto dynamic between Martha, Thomas and Alfred.

Alfred trying to tell their grandkids about the epic love story between them, and Thomas keeps on interjecting with wildly inaccurate information (he wants Damian to find him as cool as possible)

Martha, with moscow in her voice, “You’re telling the story or is he?”

“I’m sorry amore go on ^^”

Bruce gags in the background like the world’s firstborn hypocrite.

But also, southern Thomas Wayne,,, wears the fringe styled boots with gemstones on them and sparkly jacket and talks like a honey pie, but has a glare that can silence a whole table if needed be.

He’s extremely sad about Destiny’s Child breaking up, (Dick had to deliver the news, which was a whole other experience) but BEYONCÉ HAS A COUNTRY ALBUM YOU SAY?? Sign him the FUCK up.

Bruce, under his breath: no one listens to country,,,

Thomas: oh shut i. You know, your mama and I made YOU on the dinner table with Love is a Butterfly playing in the background—-

Jason: rapidly spits his food out

#dc #dc comics #text #bruce wayne #thomas wayne #alfred pennyworth #pennywaynes #batkids #jason todd #dick grayson #batfamily #text post #batman

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pseudowho · 5 months

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Infiltration, Chapter One: Introduction

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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Kento waited in Yaga's office, pacing, restless. He hadn't wanted you invited into Jujutsu High under these circumstances, knowing you needed time after your trauma, but he couldn't deny that his heart was pounding in anticipation. He had only approved of you being called because the mission you had, if you chose to accept it, would be shared. Together. With him.

He heard three short taps on the door and his heart leapt into his throat, feeling your cursed energy approach. He contained himself, outwardly unaffected, and walked to the door to let you in.

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You were overwhelmingly anxious before even entering the school grounds. You would visit your best friend's grave today, for the first time since losing her, and you would see...him. The man who was...what, to you? Your other best friend? Your confidante? The man composed of the same formula from which your own soul was made? Or just your lunch buddy? You didn't know. Whatever had been blooming between you had surely died in your absence.

Your numb feet had carried you across the frosted grass, under Torii gates and past effigies, down a short winding staircase to where graves-- too many graves -- nestled under the shadows of the trees' bare branches. Winding past the long sleep of names known and unknown, your hand brushed lovingly over Yuu Haibara's headstone, the tears already starting to blur your vision as you stopped in front of the grave of your own best friend. Just three months old, frost decorated the white stone like diamonds, and you sat heavily in front of it, knees drawn up and arms holding them to yourself as you wept bitterly into your jeans. You had promised to hold yourself together, to make a proper apology for failing to save her, but you poured garbled nonsense between your sobs, stroking the headstone as if it were her hand in yours.

Enough, you told yourself after ten minutes had passed, she deserved better and she still deserves better, so sort yourself out. Rising up, the back of your jeans damp and muddy, you proceeded to tend to the grave, cleaning and polishing, replacing flowers and leaving a small bottle of her favourite drink. In silence, you walked away, another brush of your hand bidding Haibara goodbye, and made your way up the many steps, to Principal Yaga's office.

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Kento opened the office door, and immediately met your eyes. Thousands of unspoken words passed between you both; Kento hesitated only briefly before stepping aside in invitation, and, upon closing the door, gently pressed a cup of tea into your hands. You had been crying, and smelled faintly of the cold forest floor, and you were the most beautiful thing Kento had ever seen. He had never had the chance to hold you, but now was not the time or place-- if he pulled you to him now, he ran the risk of never letting you go.

"How...how are you...Kento?" you asked weakly. Your words seemed flat and small, so utterly unlike you. Kento's heart creaked, a child's footsteps on old floorboards, and he ached to tell you how little his own wellbeing mattered to him now.

Kento sighed, gripping the back of a chair and leaning forwards. Your eyes drank in his thick, corded forearms, the way his navy shirt stretched over his back, the lick of fringe that hopped forwards over his forehead. God, I've missed you so much. The words turned to a cold drink as they slipped off your tongue and down into your stomach.

"I'm...better than you are, I'm sure. I'm sorry Yaga is asking for you back like this, you deserved more time. I don't know what they want from us. But I know it's together and some distance away. If you have any reservations, please speak up. I won't let them take advantage of you."

You sighed into your steaming mug, the vapour clouding your glasses for a moment-- Kento's heart thumped fondly-- and answered him.

"I feel like...if I'm not dragged back, I won't come back. And I know what you're going to say--" you raised your hand to Kento in a soothing gesture as he stood, ready to argue your case even against yourself, "-- but I want to be back. I miss the students. I miss the camaraderie. I miss...god, I even miss Gojo, idiot though he is. And if anyone in this place understands what I've been through, it's you."

A flash of pain crossed Kento's face, haunted by the memories of his dead friend, and you stepped to him, hand instantly placed over his harsh grip on the chair. You felt the tendons of his hands soften under yours.

"So I'll hear him out," you continued gently, "because I owe it to her, to all of you, and to myself to try this again."

Kento nodded, folding just one digit over the back of your palm to swipe against it in wordless communication. You blushed lightly, pleased he was looking at the floor. Hearing the click of the door behind you, you stepped apart from each other, caught in shared vulnerability. Yaga greeted you both, and the meeting began.

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Seven short days later, you stepped down from your front door, locking up with a shaky outward breath. Turning to Kento, waiting for you by his car, he returned your hesitant smile with one of genuine warmth, brown eyes twinkling with affection.

"It suits you," he teased, putting your suitcase into the car as you twiddled your new ring nervously. You punched the top of his arm playfully.

"I could say the same to you...darling." Kento buried his head in the car, pretending to organise the suitcases as he blushed, alarmed by how natural a wedding ring already felt on his hand. Stepping back, he looked down at you, stern and unamused, but opening your door for you nonetheless. His heart soared at the first natural smile he had seen from you in months. Closing your door, he stepped to his own, feeling teenagerishly proud to have you in his passenger seat.

"Let's go over things just once more on the way?" You asked him. Kento hummed affirmingly, turning the heating on, and gently clasping your hands in his own against the air vents.

"Warm up," he ordered as the car rumbled to life. Bringing one arm up around the back of your seat, your breath caught in your chest as he turned backwards, thin eyebrows raised and one arm outstretched on the wheel as he made the car glide backwards out of the driveway. A waft of his cologne, familiar and woody, hit your nose as he passed his arm back, his fingertips (accidentally?) grazing your shoulder, and he began to drive.

"So," you started, trying not to stutter, "we are the...Tsuda family." Kento hummed his affirmation again. "Mr and Mrs." A short cough, and another hum. "Married for two years, but together..."

"Forever, basically," Kento interjected quickly-- too quickly, he cursed himself-- before clearing his throat and continuing, "All I mean is...it has only ever been me and you. Us. Easier than...messy exes." His ears crept with crimson as your laughter twinkled through his car.

How the fuck am I going to get through this without completely giving myself away? Kento felt utterly tortured, trapped between the divinity of your company and the agony of not knowing it more intimately.

You talked for hours, barely needing to fill each other in on the details of your lives-- you had had so many late lunches, so many late-night post-mission calls-- and instead focused on the upcoming plans.

"So, our informants are certain this cult is at the centre of a significant increase in skilled and armed curse-users, but they only seem to accept married couples as new members, both of whom should display significant jujutsu sorcery skills or the potential to do so," Kento mused, "which I have a theory for."

"Breeding," you both said, shooting each other a sideways glance and blush. Kento cleared his throat.

"Quite. It's certainly one way to grow your cult's power."

"It's eugenics in the making," you spat, "I'm sure Suguru Geto approves."

A rumble which went straight to your core came from Kento's chest, and he spoke, "Or, we end up with a Curse-user turf war. Either way, they've already been responsible for dozens of deaths and disappearances. We take them out."

Eyeing Kento admiringly, you didn't fancy the curse-users' chances against him. Your own ability, to compel the thoughts or desires of others, had some application in combat, but largely lent itself to support and reconnaissance. The cursed-energy tumbling off the giant beside you was in no way second to his commanding physique or quick mind. Unaware, you unashamedly stared at Kento, eyes taking in his thick thighs, tan trousers stretched enticingly over them and the subtle bulge between his legs, and up to his cheekbones, razor sharp and framing such a handsome face--

Before you could murmur your agreement, you caught yourself, turning swiftly to look out the window, blush creeping across your cheeks.

Unbeknownst to you, Kento stole glances while he drove, taking you in...the gentle curve of your breasts into your waist, the bow of your lips, bright eyes behind curtained lashes. He swallowed, bidding his blood to rush elsewhere. He focused on the road.

"Regardless...we've been accepted, pending Face-to-Face interview. Ijichi and the team built our false profiles, all we have to do is prove our cursed techniques, and we're part of the cult."

"I'm delighted," you chirped, "what a lovely anniversary gift, my love."

"Only the best for my girl," Kento rumbled, playing along. Neither of you knew how delighted the other was by the charade.

But, while you felt completely safe, reassured by Kento's presence, Kento felt that his heart had been removed from his chest, and walked away from him, directly into battle. He did not have his blade, too much of a giveaway, and instead planned to imbue his energy into his fists. You, however, had to rely purely on your wiles and intellect to survive. Kento knew he would punch a hole through a god to keep you safe.

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Ornate compound gates surrounded a beautiful traditional Japanese village, nestled between mountain ranges and clear rivers. As Kento crawled the car skillfully around peaks and narrow roads, you felt trepidation sink into you as, on approaching the entrance, you felt the thrum of Cursed energy seep, cold and unwelcome, into your belly.

Kento pulled up to vast gates, taking a deep, calm breath and pressing the intercom; a tinny buzz, a click, and--

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Tsuda Kento. I'm here with my wife," Kento lied smoothly. Silence.

"Come in," said the voice, accompanied by the heavy creak of the automatic gates swinging open. Kento's chin dipped, clench-jawed and staring intently ahead as he pulled forwards into an expansive driveway of pale grey gravel, a temple lying quiet and still in the distance.

Now afraid, suddenly full of doubt, you grasped at the potential consequences of your decision to return to Jujutsu High. You felt Kento's hand reach for yours, anchoring you. You turned to him, eyes full of fear.

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promise you this. I'd die to get you out alive." You squeezed Kento's hand between your own, warm and strong, unable to tell him that the loss of him would drive you past the edge of despair.

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Chapter 2: Pillow talk link HERE!

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sunny-day-jack-official · 9 months

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URGENT! Stop KOSA!

Hey all, this is BáiYù and Sauce here with something that isn't necessarily SnaccPop related, but it's important nonetheless. For those of you who follow US politics, The Kids Online Safety Act passed the Senate yesterday and is moving forward.

This is bad news for everyone on the internet, even outside of the USA.

What is KOSA?

While it's officially known as "The Kids Online Safety Act," KOSA is an internet censorship masquerading as another "protect the children" bill, much in the same way SESTA/FOSTA claimed that it would stop illegal sex trafficking but instead hurt sex workers and their safety. KOSA was originally introduced by Sen. Edward Markey, D-Mass. and Bill Cassidy, R-La. as a way to update the 1998 Children’s Online Privacy Act, raising the age of consent for data collection to 16 among other things. You can read the original press release of KOSA here, while you can read the full updated text of the bill on the official USA Congress website.

You can read the following articles about KOSA here:

EFF: The Kids Online Safety Act is Still A Huge Danger to Our Rights Online

CyberScoop: Children’s online safety bills clear Senate hurdle despite strong civil liberties pushback

TeenVogue: The Kids Online Safety Act Would Harm LGBTQ+ Youth, Restrict Access to Information and Community

The quick TL;DR:

KOSA authorizes an individual state attorneys general to decide what might harm minors

Websites will likely preemptively remove and ban content to avoid upsetting state attorneys generals (this will likely be topics such as abortion, queerness, feminism, sexual content, and others)

In order for a platform to know which users are minors, they'll require a more invasive age and personal data verification method

Parents will be granted more surveillance tools to see what their children are doing on the web

KOSA is supported by Christofascists and those seeking to harm the LGBTQ+ community

If a website holding personally identifying information and government documents is hacked, that's a major cybersecurity breach waiting to happen

What Does This Mean?

You don't have to look far to see or hear about the violence being done to the neurodivergent and LGBTQ+ communities worldwide, who are oftentimes one and the same. Social media sites censoring discussion of these topics would stand to do even further harm to folks who lack access to local resources to understand themselves and the hardships they face; in addition, the fact that websites would likely store personally identifying information and government documents means the death of any notion of privacy.

Sex workers and those living in certain countries already are at risk of losing their ways of life, living in a reality where their online activities are closely surveilled; if KOSA officially becomes law, this will become a reality for many more people and endanger those at the fringes of society even worse than it already is.

Why This Matters Outside of The USA

I previously mentioned SESTA/FOSTA, which passed and became US law in 2018. This bill enabled many of the anti-adult content attitudes that many popular websites are taking these days as well as the tightening of restrictions laid down by payment processors. Companies and sites hosted in the USA have to follow US laws even if they're accessible worldwide, meaning that folks overseas suffer as well.

What Can You Do?

If you're a US citizen, contact your Senators and tell them that you oppose KOSA. This can be as an email, letter, or phone call that you make to your state Senator.

For resources on how to do so, view the following links:

https://www.badinternetbills.com/#kosa

https://www.stopkosa.com/

https://linktr.ee/stopkosa

If you live outside of the US or cannot vote, the best thing you can do is sign the petition at the Stop KOSA website, alert your US friends about what's happening, and raise some noise.

Above all else, don’t panic. By staying informed by what’s going on, you can prepare for the legal battles ahead.

#stop KOSA #KOSA #censorship #us law #somethings wrong with sunny day jack #the groom of gallagher mansion #dachabo

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tojii-fshiguro · 7 months

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b. barnes // 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁ℯ 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽ℴℴ𝒹.

bucky barnes × (femme) reader.

summary: ❝to keep your small village protected from would-be attackers, presented omegas must be sacrificed to the mysterious alpha in the woods.❞

genre: ⚠ dark and adult content below. minors, dni.

warnings: non-con, non-con touching, non-con kissing, dub-con, dub-con touching, dub-con kissing, smut, unprotected sex, hunting/stalking, a/b/o themes, forced bonding, loss of virginity, canon violence, physical violence, mentions of blood and human sacrifice, and strong language. 18+ content. minors, dni.

word count: 3,514

note: this story contains adult and dark themes. please, do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! i am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. you have been warned. *all grammatical mistakes are my own, not proofread.

*an: if you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help! i do not condone any of the actions described in this story, this is a work of fiction.

A cold wind blew in from the north, making the trees rustle like living things. It was growing colder with every passing day as winter began its arrival. Yule had transformed the fiery hues of autumn twilight to sparkled, frosted mornings and bitter winds. You went to the window. A fine glimmer of glossy frost formed intricate swirls on the glass, as sparkling snow softened the outside world into one flurry.

You looked on as the pale, cold light of winter moonrise illuminated your village as the townsfolk worked under the stars to prepare for the Winter Solstice. You couldn’t help but frown as you watched them place green garland on the fringes of rooftops, and light candles that led into the dark forest, in the shape of carved wolves. This time last winter, you were home with your family; sitting fireside as you and your younger siblings drank sweetened milk and almond honeyed toast. Life had been colorful, full of vibrant greens, warm reds, and soft dusky blues. Now, it was nothing but a black and white night of frost that crawled along the dark outline of barren trees and twig branches. Snowflakes swirled down gently in the ghostly moonlight, and iced shadows crept along the December ground.

“(Y/N)?” a small voice called out from behind.

You turned as Gervaise came to stand next to you, peering out at the snowfall that drifted against the window. Gervaise had been your closest friend since childhood, she had been a plump girl in her youth, but now she was the most beautiful woman in your village. She had long legs that complemented her slender figure, golden hair that shone under sunlight, and azure eyes as blue and clear as the sky itself.

She shivered against the winter-cold that seeped into your bones as she neared the frosted windowpane, “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

You scoffed, “Warmer than I would be out there.”

Truth be told, you were burning from the inside out. A sheen sweat had started to form between your breasts and all of your folds and creases. Gervaise scooted closer and you unthinkingly flinched away, her heat was rolling off of her in waves and the strong scent of her made you lightheaded as tangs of jasmine, rose, and orange blossom overwhelmed your senses.

You moved away as you looked into the room you were being kept in. Women close in age all slept soundly with soft snores, their heated scents interlacing with one another to form a jumbled mess of musk, amber, bergamot, and warm sugar. It was a synchronous heat amongst the presented Omegas in preparations for the village’s annual sacrificial solstice to the White Wolf.

Gervaise nudged your shoulder teasingly, “It won’t be so bad tomorrow, (Y/N),” she tried.

You rolled your eyes, “We’re being sacrificed, Gervaise! How can it not be so bad?”

Her small smile fell as the weighted truth of your words settled on her shoulders, “I’m sorry… I was just trying to make light of it all.”

“I know,” you sighed, “You can’t make light of this, there’s too much darkness.”

You awoke hours later to the soft murmurs of falling tears as mothers dressed their daughters in traditional white hoods. White, the color of purity, innocence. You scoffed–the virgin’s color. Your own mother came to your bedside, a hood in hand and an expectant look in her eyes. You rubbed your cold feet together and reluctantly dressed.

“It’s not as bad as it seems, my love,” she spoke as she combed your hair.

You looked at the other Omegas in the room, most of whom you’ve grown up with. Idony, Meliora, and Sabine. You teared. You and your siblings used to play with Sabine as children. Idony taught you to weave dolls out of straw and vines. And you and Meliora would harvest wild strawberries together in early summer after long hours at the lake. The thought of never seeing either of them after today was heart-wrenching.

Your mother placed the hood over your head and tucked away stray hairs behind your ears as she took one last, tearful, look at you. She placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and took your hands in hers, pressing a small vial against your palms.

“Put this on once you’re away from the others,” she whispered against your hair, “It’ll hide your scent for a short time, then make your way across the stream, you’ll be safe there until the ceremony is over.”

Before you could ask more, the village mayor entered and ordered you and the other Omegas out into the square. The ceremony had officially begun.

Gervaise squeezed your hand as the mayor lit the great Yule log, the candles sculpted as white wolves. You looked around; Idony was pale in the face, Meliora shed silent tears as she held her hands in prayer, and Sabine’s chest rose and fell in shallow, frightened breaths. You held the vial tight in your hand as you stood stoic; though your pounding heart told another story.

The bells of the church began to toll as midnight quickly approached. The first toll the mayor led you all down the candlelit path that led into the mouth of the forest, the second toll you and the other Omegas were left alone as the full moon shone down on you from above, the third toll was followed by an echoed howl and the beats of your feet as you all ran through the thicket.

You ran and ran until it was only you, the full moon, and the trees. You stopped to rest against a frosted tree, your lungs burned with biting ice as you panted; your breaths coming out as vapored clouds that wisped around your head. You quickly took the vial and rubbed the liquid over your scent glands. The synthetic scent of cracked pepper, spiced ginger, decayed pear, and rotting leaves all toiled together to mask your natural, sweet and warm odor. You took a moment to calm your beating heart and collect your thoughts before bolting through the treeline. You needed to find Gervaise before the perfume wore off.

Bucky watched from the shadows as he tracked a pretty, golden-haired Omega. Her scent wasn’t unpleasant, but it didn’t ignite a fire deep within his groin, either. He followed the floral scent trail of this next best woman as she wandered aimlessly through the dense grove of pine. The woman’s face was rosy and tear-stained as the cold bit her cheeks and nose. It was pathetic, really. How she sniffled and hiccupped as she held herself against the winter winds or when she tripped and slipped over iced snowdrifts. Bucky was about to make his move when a sweet scent, carried on an icy breeze, caught his attention. The blood in his veins burst into flames as a deep desire awoke in him. Primal lust took over as he abandoned his former prey to hunt for the next. He bounded through the woods, ducking under long branches, and leaping across overgrown oak roots. It was the wildness of it that sent Bucky into a feral frenzy, in all of his years protecting this paltry village, he’d never scented anything as sweet and enthralling as this. Spun sugar, vanilla bean, patchouli, and white pumpkin with caramel glaze. His teeth ached as he took in the sweetness of your scent.

When Bucky finally found you, you were breathless and flushed with heat. Your hand on your stomach as a wave of tightness in your belly coiled and coiled. He scented the air, then. Groaning as he caught wind of your musky-sweet tang. The front of his buckskin breeches tightened uncomfortably as his rut took hold of his body. He wanted you, so he’d have you.

You whimpered as your cramps inflamed your insides. You were on fire, despite the bitter winter cold. You shed your wolf pelt that hung over your shoulders and loosened the front laces of your bodice, as you slumped against the nearest tree and focused on slowing your racing heart. The faster you calmed down, the faster you’d be able to find Gervaise and get across that damned stream to safety.

Just as your heart began to slow, a heady scent brought on iced winds set it back into panicked motion. An amber woody fragrance, with nutmeg, vanilla, and sandalwood ensnared your forebrain. You were frozen, scared like a hunted doe as you took in the masculine scent that seemed to scream “Alpha”.

Bucky watched as you looked around, trying to pinpoint his hiding spot. His heart skipped a beat in excitement as you took off into the thicket, leaving your pelt behind on the snowy ground. He chased you, then. Too focused on the hunt to worry about cornering you, too focused on you. He’d chase you down until you fainted from exhaustion if he had to.

You were faster than he expected, more agile and hellbent on escaping him than you had appeared to be. He felt an odd sense of pride as he watched you nimbly dodge and duck under and over every branch and uprooted oak that came into your way. But Bucky had the advantage, this was his territory, not yours. He knew his hunting grounds, not you. So when you came to a skidded stop at a broken bridge, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. But what did surprise him was the little snarl that left you before you broke away from him once more.

You ran and ran until your feet were numb with cold and your lungs frosted over with every breath you took. He was close, too close, and you were forced to abandon the plan on crossing the stream to safety. Gods–you didn’t even know where you were anymore. You could be going in circles and you’d be none the wiser, everything looked the same in this untouched part of the wood. You berated yourself for straying from the path, now you were lost, alone, and being hunted. You began to cry as you thought of your fate, you didn’t want to be sacrificed, you just wanted to go home back to your family. Back to your life.

You were ready to give up, your feet were tired, legs weakened, and your chest burned from the cold. You fell to your knees and looked up to the full moon, exhaustion taking over your thoughts. You were desperate and didn’t have the energy to be surprised at yourself when you began to pray to the moon above.

“Gods above… Please, please, let me live and I’ll devote myself to you. My heart, mind, soul, and body, please,” you prayed.

Just as you were about to laugh at yourself for your foolishness, a flickering candlelight in the nearby distance caught your eye. You mindlessly followed the light that pierced through the dense darkness of night, like a moth to a flame. As you got closer, you saw the lantern-light belonged to a small cottage fringed with winterberries and garland. You were uplifted as you believed the gods had answered your prayer. Without a second thought, your feet began to move on their own through the snow as you raced toward the home. You knocked once, then twice, then thrice. When there was no answer, you apologized to whatever being had heard you pray, before turning the brass doorknob and welcoming yourself inside.

The warmth of a crackling fire embraced you posthaste as you closed the door behind you. You made your way to the fireplace, rubbing your hands over the flame as you warmed yourself. The house was eerily silent as you looked around. You saw the carved candles from your village on the mantelpiece, vases of starry blue, pale pink, and white glory of the snow, and bright yellow winter jasmine were placed on the tabletops, and garland with holly flowers was wrapped around the railing of a small staircase that led upstairs. You made your way up the stairs as curiosity led you on. You called out for the owner of the home once again as you reached the top, but to no avail; the house was empty.

You crept along the creaking floorboards into a small room, illuminated by a single lantern with frosted glass windows. You explored the room. There was a bed, with an oak headboard, and thick, grey, and brown wolf and bear pelts. You sat down on the edge of the bed with a soft bounce as you rested your tired feet. Ahead of you was a wooden chest with intricate images of Yule logs, goats, and boars. Something deep within your gut urges you to go to it, to open it, and look upon its secrets; but the feeling made you uneasy, it made you afraid of what you’d find.

But you knew better than to ignore your gut, so you went to it, opened it, and looked upon its secrets. You nearly screamed as you pulled forth white hood, after white hood, after white hood. Your hands shook as you emptied the chest, white hoods covered the ground like the snow outside. There were more hoods than you could count, most of them much older than you. You sobbed as you slammed the chest shut, too focused on the white hoods before you to notice the slithering notes of amber, nutmeg, vanilla, and sandalwood that now threatened to constrict, and swallow you whole.

Your body sensed him before your mind did, your hairs stood on end, and your core tightened with primal, animalistic want. You only recognized his imposing presence after it was too late. Your throat dried as you slowly turned around to face the Alpha from the woods. He stood in the doorway, shirtless and steaming, as his heat fought against the cold of winter. To say he was big, would be an understatement. He was wordless as he strode toward you with an urgency driven by desire. You shuffled away, sobbing as he quickly crawled atop of you, trapping you beneath him. You fought against him, slapping and scratching his chest and face as he buried his face in your neck. Deeply inhaling your sickly sweet scent.

“I wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell, ‘Mega,” he said as he nipped the lobe of your ear.

Your heart dropped as he ripped at your bodice like an animal, tossing the ruined fabric aside as he bared your breasts to the air. The Alpha brushed his lips against your neck, your jaw, and mouth as he tasted you. You had never been kissed before, the feeling of it all was foreign as you felt his tongue explore your mouth. You squirmed as he palmed your breast, his thumb flicking and pinching over your sensitive nipple. Bucky let out a low snarl of disapproval as you tried to wriggle away from him, and when you ignored his warning, he bit down on your nipple. You yelped and beat against his back, clawing and punching as you flailed and thrashed. In your struggle you managed to slip out from underneath his body. Then, it was a desperate fight of him dragging you by your ankles, and you kicking wildly and blindly. With luck you landed a strong kick to his face that bloodied his nose. You ran, then. Practically flying down the flight of stairs as you made a beeline for the front door–to your freedom. You felt the cold snow on your toes as one foot met the icy ground, but the other foot was caught.

You fell on your face as Bucky dragged you back into his house. Blood stained his face and a dangerous fire was reflected in his blue eyes. He took you by your neck and forced you down onto the staircase, entrapping you under his weight. Your legs kicked out as he forced himself between your thighs, he snarled again, keeping a tight grip on the back of your neck. He ripped away the remaining pieces of your clothes, ridding you of the white garments, of your innocence, your purity.

He lifted your hips and placed a strong hand on your back, forcing you into an arch. You yipped as you felt a wet warmth lick up your sex. You tried to curl away, but his grip on you was strong and firm. A heat bloomed within your gut as Bucky dipped his tongue between your wet folds, fucking you with his hot tongue. Your brain hazed over as he stroked and rubbed your sweet spot of concentrated pleasure with his thumb. He was devouring you, and you felt your resolve melt away with every delicious flick and swipe of his tongue. You moaned and allowed yourself to arch into his mouth, desperately seeking more pleasure. You ground your cunt on his face and moaned at the feeling of him tightly gripping your hips as he gave you what you wanted–needed.

You clawed at the stairs beneath you as your voice grew shrill, the coil in your belly was beginning to unravel with every lick. Bucky felt you stiffen as he brought you to the edge of your pleasure, he sank his tongue deep inside you until he finally felt you shudder hard against him. You cried out as you came on his tongue, pure white fire ignited in your veins, consuming your thoughts, and burning away any fight you had left. The aftershocks of your pleasure left you shaking and wanting.

Without warning, Bucky buried his thick length in you with one hard stroke; mercilessly tearing through your untouched barrier. For a moment there was only a burning pain as he forced himself deeper. He pulled out a few inches, and then slammed back into you. Again and again. The Alpha above you howled with pleasure as he rutted into you hard and fast. You looked over your shoulder and moaned as you watched his narrow hips thrust against you. His eyes met yours and he bared his teeth as he indulged in his animalistic pleasure. With your mouth agape you felt another spark of pleasure ignite within you, you cried out for him, then, begging him to stoke the fire that threatened to burn, to consume you.

Your scents bled together, creating the beginning knot of your bond; his sandalwood and vanilla notes, duetting your patchouli and caramel glaze in perfect harmony. You whined as he pulled out of you, leaving you empty and clenching. He flipped you onto your back, spreading your weak legs wide as he entered you once more. He reached places that had you blaspheming as you chanted his title like a prayer.

Alpha, Alpha, Alpha…

He added fuel to your evergrowing fire as he reached down to your bundle of nerves, rubbing firm circles as he fucked into your wet cunt. He kissed you again, your lips following his lead as he claimed your mouth with his tongue. You moaned as you tasted yourself on him. His lips trailed down your jaw, peppering wet kisses down your body until he reached the scent gland on your neck. He scented you, then. A low growl left his chest as the base of his cock swelled, your pussy constricting in turn. Your howling moans clashed in dissonance as he pushed you over the edge into white-hot pleasure. Bucky thrusted into you, harder, faster, as his pleasure grew and grew until it finally exploded. As his warmth flooded you another sensation sent your senses into hyperdrive–his teeth sinking into your neck. Your arms and legs instinctively wrapped around him as he bonded you, marking you as his.

You murmured incoherently as your bodies locked together, you were so full of him that you could focus on nothing, but the feel of him locked inside you. Your head lolled to the side as your exhaustion set in, your bones felt heavy as sleep lulled you. You were vaguely aware of the man atop of you, too drunk on mated pleasure to fully acknowledge how his eyes began to once again devour your body.

He kissed your wound, breathing you in as he did, “What’s your name, Omega?”

“(Y/N),” you rasped.

“Bucky,”

As you sobered, the weight of your situation became clearer. All of those white hoods, all of those Omegas that never returned home… Your breathing picked up as panic sparked like lightning in your veins. You shoved on Bucky’s chest as you started to wiggle out from him, tugging on his knot. He snarled and snapped at you and you flinched as unshed tears glossed your eyes.

“Don’t hurt me, please,” you whimpered, “Please, I–I don’t want to die.”

“I’m not going to kill you, I’m going to keep you,”

Keep you? You trembled, “What about all of the other Omegas? What happened to them?”

He cupped your face and traced the bridge of your nose, then the cupid’s bow of your lips, “Them I killed,” he whispered with a ghost of a smile.

last updated: 10/5/2023. 10:59 pm, cdt.

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