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shinysobi · 27 days ago

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ecobrutalism (kim mingyu)

because drafting tables are not meant to be anything more than a decoration.

☆ annoyances to lovers: architect!mingyu x therapist!reader ☆ wc: 5k ☆ genres: non-idol au, annoyances to lovers, office setting? romance, fluff, comedy, no angst (this is a first for me) vibes based on second wind ☆ regular warnings apply; mingyu is both delusional and dramatic, jihoon is tired. ☆ notes: tiya was one of my first mutuals here on tumblr, and she's always been one of the people i can count on to listen to my yapping and not think of me as a strange person (is this weird? i dont think so) but our birthdays are only one day apart, and so, because i can't send a gift from so far away, here's my gift, a small mingyu fic that i hope will bring a smile to your face. happy birthday, @gyubakeries, i hope i know you for a very long time <3 thank you to alta @haologram for making the banner at my speedy request, and @mylovesstuffs for betaing this (if there are errors, there aren't.) masterlist

“She’s insane,” Mingyu mutters, holding on to a pamphlet, “she’s insane, and she’s going to make me insane too.”

“She’s not insane,” Jihoon mutters, sipping his tea, “she’s just a therapist. You’re projecting.”

“I’m not,” Mingyu mutters, “she’s the one who’s arguing about stupid rules in the building code that doesn’t even make any sense. I mean, who brings a folder with color-coded tabs to every meeting? Why does she have opinions on how we should build and decorate, for every shop in the building? No one even makes use of these codes in today’s day, they’re virtually obsolete.”

“So, object to them,” Jihoon shrugs, “you’re good at that, right?”

“I’m not, actually,” Mingyu groans, “I’m not even good at ignoring her. It’s making me anxious and irritable. To the extent that it’s affecting how I behave with my clients.”

“Your clients, meaning the old ladies who come here to ogle you and then force their husbands to get their shops redesigned by you?” Jihoon arches a brow, “I hardly doubt those count as actual clients, Kim Mingyu. You’ve got admirers here.”

“They bring money so yes, they’re my clients,” Mingyu snaps, “and you’re one to talk, hyung. Didn’t I catch you yesterday, buying random books from the bookstore? You don’t even read post-war Japanese crime fiction, for heaven’s sake. You were trying to get with the bookstore owner, weren’t you? You even composed a song for her, don’t even think about denying it.”

Jihoon colors, “none of your business, Mingyu.”

“None of your business, Mingyu,” Mingyu taunts, “anyway, help me out with this woman. She continues to get on my nerves at every possible opportunity, and I don’t know how long I can hold on before I inevitably lose my shit and kill her or something like that.”

“Not long for that,” Jihoon muses.

“Shut up, and try and help me.”

Jihoon sighs. He’s been tolerating Mingyu’s antics since the past year when the younger man decided to open his shiny new office in their dilapidated shopping centre, and while his perfect visuals have helped in footfall, it also means Jihoon has to take care of Mingyu and his tantrums on a semi-regular basis. Semi-regular now that he’s managed to find himself a sworn enemy. It’s not even a big deal, Jihoon does not understand why he keeps swearing to high heavens that he hates her guts.

“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Jihoon says, trying to get Mingyu to calm down to a certain degree, “you don’t even typically get this angry, do you?”

“I don’t,” Mingyu shakes his head, “imagine how royally annoying she has to be, to get me this mad.”

“Huh,” Jihoon turns it over in his head a few times, “are you sure it’s not just a random one-time thing? She’s not proposing bad things as such, she’s just telling us to be more aware of the city’s building rules and regulations. Something which I thought you would have been a stickler for, given how you are the architect here, not her.”

“I do care about building rules and regulations,” Mingyu seethes, “I’m just not a bloody fanatic about it.”

“Ah, so that’s the problem,” Jihoon shrugs, “anyway, sort this shit out amongst yourselves, all this is seriously cramping my rizz.”

“Your rizz?” Mingyu scoffs, “hah! You’re just going to spend all your money at the bookstore, aren’t you? You’ve got no rizz to speak of.”

“Speak nicely to your elders, you little shit.”

“I’ll speak nicely to you when you actually show me proof of your rizz that goes beyond stupid yearning from a distance,” Mingyu taunts, “wait, have you even talked to her? Or are you just planning to stare at her and creep her out? You know that’s not how anyone asks someone out, right?”

“Shut up,” jihoon ‘s looking intently at the door, “I’m actually trying to get her to go on a date with me.”

“And have these thoughts found any other home outside of your mind, Lee Jihoon?”

“You know she’s friends with the therapist you keep yelling at during the meetings,” Jihoon groans, “until you stop fighting with her friend, she’s not even going to look at me or give me the time of day. Now make up amongst yourselves and for once, let me go on a fucking date.”

He leaves to go back to his regular yearning duties, and Mingyu is left seated in his chair, pondering over two things; the current state of his finances, which would absolutely not withstand the onslaught of a renovation putting it to date with the city’s newest regulations, and Jihoon’s love life.

—

“Why the fuck won’t he just comply with whatever I’m asking?” you yell, throwing up your hands, “it’s the city’s regulations, stuff that he should be familiar with, given that he’s an architect, for heaven's sake, not me! Why the hell am I the person telling him things?”

“Maybe it’s because you can be a bit annoying about these things,” the bookstore owner, your only friend in this goddamn place, pipes up from behind her stack of books, “maybe if you weren’t so pushy about it, he’d hate you a little less.”

“He’s just an asshole," you say, “I need to look into his architecture degree.”

“Not to that extent,” she holds up her hands, “but you can be really pushy and I think maybe, if you’re really this concerned about the building regulations, then you should come to a compromise with him before the next building committee meeting two weeks later.”

“That soon?” You groan, “oh god, he’s going to be so annoying when I approach him first, isn’t he?”

“It’s not about who’s more annoying, it’s about who is more reasonable out here,” she shrugs, “have you ever seen me pick fights I don’t need to?”

You shake your head, “god knows how you manage to do it. If it were up to me, I’d have his head on a pike outside my office.”

“And risk facing the wrath of all the neighbourhood aunties?”

“Yes, that’s the only thing he’s good at,” you seethe, “he’s basically eye-candy for all the neighborhood aunties. Why the hell is he on the neighbourhood watch? He didn’t even live here until a few years ago!”

“Neither did you.”

“I did! I moved back!”

“Look, the point is that you need to make amends with him,” your friend reasons, “or else living in this shopping complex will be difficult for you. People actually like him a lot more than you think they do, which is why it will not be difficult for them to get you out of here.”

“Out of here?” you shriek, “what do you mean out of here? They can’t do that to me, not legally at least.”

“They can make your life a hundred times more difficult than it already is, which will make it worse for you to run a business,” she replies, strangely calm, “I’ve been here far longer than you have. Being likeable is currency. They want someone likeable, not someone who sticks to the rules and makes everyone more annoyed than they already are.”

“Ugh, I knew I was right about him the moment I met him,” you mutter, and your friend frowns.

“You really did have a poor choice of words back then.”

You shake your head, ignoring the jibe, “So, I need to be nice with him.”

“Precisely.”

—

Mingyu is trying to be nice, he really is. Jihoon has been blowing up his phone, asking him to fix things so he can go back to creepily stalking the bookstore owner, but he’s a good friend, so he’s going to be nice.

Which is what he’s been telling himself since the moment he stepped foot into the clinic run by that woman. Happiness Clinic, he repeats, looking at the sign on the wall, how stupid.

“Kim Mingyu,” you say, surprised to see him walking through your doors in the middle of the day, “strange to see you here.”

“No business?” he asks, offhandedly, making a motion at the empty waiting area.

“I have a consultation in half an hour,” you reply, “what do you want?”

Mingyu sighs. He’s really not looking for an argument, but your attitude is not helping his current goal. “Look,” he says, after a whole minute, “about the newest resolutions, can we at least work it out? Most of the residents don’t want to upend their entire businesses to make sure their stores are up to code.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t they be making sure they’re not violating code?” she argues, “and you of all people should be making sure they’re not being fined by the city officials. You’re an architect. I’m just a random therapist.”

“You’re not a random therapist,” Mingyu argues, before taking a deep breath, “even the city officials generally give the store owners a window of time within which they have to comply with regulations. At least give them more than a week.”

“Fine,” she snaps, “just so you know, I’m not doing this as a favour to you. I’m doing this as a favour to my friend.”

“The bookstore owner?”

“Yes, the bookstore owner,” The sarcasm is not lost on him, “she’s the one who told me I have to at least make sure the residents don’t hate my guts.”

“See, she’s got it down,” Mingyu suddenly feels a bout of gratitude towards the bookstore owner, whose name he still is not familiar with, but he’s going to give her a basket of flowers the next day. “You need to compromise to some degree, to be able to cohabitate. Life is all about cohabitation and compromise, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” she makes a face, “fine, I’ll tone down the arguing. They can make their arrangements taking as long as they want. When the city officials come knocking on their doors, don’t say I did not warn you.”

“Noted, doctor.” he gives her a mock salute, before turning to leave the same way that he came. You groan, before making a rude gesture, which Mingyu catches. He just laughs, before walking away. Cute.

—

“Hyung,” Mingyu has been running for an hour, he thinks, knocking on Jihoon’s door, until the older man opens up, angry expression on his face, “why the hell did you take so long to open the door?”

“I was taking a nap, Mingyu,” Jihoon mutters, “it’s four in the afternoon, and I don’t have customers right now, so of course I was doing what any normal person does, and was taking a nap.”

“Wow, you’re such a productive member of society, hyung,” Mingyu scoffs, before opening the door wide open, “okay, I need your help with something.”

“I don’t have money.”

“It’s not—why does everything have to be about money?”

“We live in a capitalistic society, Kim Mingyu-ssi, of course everything is about money.”

“Ugh fine, but this one is not,” he waves a hand, “I think I’m going crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure out?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, “wow, you really are a genius, as they say.”

“This is not a time to make fun of me, hyung,” Mingyu wails, which, in retrospect, is not the best look on a grown adult man, “how did you even know you liked the bookstore owner?”

“She has a name, you idiot,” Jihoon swats the back of his head, “and no, why would I tell you?”

“Just help me out once, please,” Mingyu wails again, “I’m seriously never going to ask you for help again if you help me out here.”

“Fine,” Jihoon is not entirely convinced with his declaration, but he sits down at the counter anyway, “what seems to be your problem?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, “I think I like her.”

Jihoon scowls, “like who? There are eight billion people in the world, you have to be specific here.”

“The therapist!” Mingyu throws up his hands, pacing around the shop, “I seriously think I like her or something like that. I’m going crazy here, just help me out once.”

“Might I suggest a psychiatric hospital?”

“Hyung.”

“What do you expect me to say?” Jihoon makes a vague gesture with his hands, “until yesterday, you were vowing to kill her with your bare hands or something like that. Now you’re here at my door, telling me you like her. I’m not the only person, you ask anyone else, they’ll all say the same thing; you’ve got to check yourself into a hospital or something like that.”

“You’re not even getting the point,” Mingyu groans, “up until last night, I never even had thoughts about her in that way.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. It reminds him of his elementary school teacher, just as terrifying, “Mingyu, what have we said about catching feelings from a sex dream?”

“It was not a sex dream!”

“So it was worse,” Jihoon leaned back into the chair, “go on.”

“I don’t know man,” Mingyu sighs, “I went to meet with her yesterday afternoon about the upcoming meeting, and she was actually nice to me.”

“You mean she did not actively argue with you?” Jihoon tries to smile, although it’s more of a grimace, “you seriously need to rethink the reasons for getting attracted to someone.”

“It’s not even like that!” Mingyu protests, “she was actually nice to me. And she didn’t even yell that much!”

“Mingyu, last week, at the committee meeting, she told you to go fuck yourself.”

“And I’m coming to that,” he holds up a hand, “she actually did flip me the bird when I was about to leave.”

Jihoon’s got an expression on his face that makes it very clear he does not understand anything Mingyu’s saying, “she flipped you off? Made the sign which tells you to go fuck yourself?”

“Yes, but there was no real malice behind it,” Mingyu waves, “that’s not the point here.”

“I think you’ve gone insane,” Jihoon sighs, “and what, she flipped you off, and you fell in love with her?”

Mingyu makes a face, “why would I fall in love? I’m not that stupid.”

“Yes, you just dreamed about her and are now yapping to me,” Jihoon mutters under his breath, “nothing stupid.”

“Anyway, last night, I literally saw her in a dream,” Mingyu explains, waving his hand about, “it was not even an explicit dream, I legitimately just dreamt of us going on a picnic. And I woke up, and kept thinking about her. Now, whenever I think about her, my heartbeat rises just slightly, not noticeable enough to be concerned, but just enough to make me stop and think, ‘oh? Do I actually think about her in my spare time?’ and it turns out, I actually am thinking of her in my spare time! I even went down to her clinic today, to make sure what I was feeling or thinking about were not just random feelings, and I saw her through the glass doors, and my heartbeat increased to 119, I’m not even kidding, hyung, look at it—”

“Mingyu!” Jihoon yells, “calm the fuck down, you’re rambling.”

“Am I?” Mingyu clutches at his hair, “I really don’t know whatI’m supposed to do, it’s so embarrassing, I want to die.”

Jihoon sighs. This is new. “Look, Mingyu,” he says, cautiously, as if approaching a spooked fawn, “are you confused or are you scared?”

“What do you mean?”

“These feelings, for her,” Jihoon shrugs, “do they confuse you, or do they scare you?”

He pauses, and then replies, “scares me. I’m terrified.”

“That’s good,” Jihoon replies, going to the small fridge in the shop and offering Mingyu a diet coke, “being scared of your feelings means you’re at least acknowledging the attraction. If you were confused about what you were feeling, I would have told you to drop it.”

“Yes, but like you said, I’ve only had about three civil interactions with her, and now I’m feeling attracted to her? Is this normal?”

“Attraction does not follow the rules of normal social behaviour, Mingyu,” Jihoon replies, feeling very much like the father of an emotional teenager, “it does not follow what we want it to do. And being attracted to someone is not a bad thing. She’s not a minor, nor does she have a boyfriend or girlfriend. You’re allowed to like her.”

Mingyu groans, before shoving his entire face into his hands, “I just feel like I’m going to mess everything up if I even try to like her. I mean, she’s never really going to give me the time of day, so why bother? Just look at it this way, hyung, if I go up to her right now, in that stupidly well-lit mental health clinic of hers, and tell her, ‘hey, I think I am attracted to you’, what do you think she’s going to do?”

Jihoon muses, “Probably take your teeth out with a punch.”

“See!” Mingyu wails, “even you know she’s going to think this is all a giant joke or a prank and that I am exactly what she thought of me in the first place.”

“And what exactly did she think of you in the first place?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, although he’s perfectly aware of the exact words you had said. Mingyu had agonised over it for a whole hour, before deciding to just embrace the misconception and go with it. Shallow, you had called him, a shallow man with no sense of right and wrong. “And you’re sure if you go ahead and tell her you’re attracted to her, to a certain degree, she’s going to label you as a shallow person?”

Mingyu nods.

“She does not seem like the person to do that,” Jihoon says, “and if she really does do that, then I’ll tell you to just forget about her, because that does not seem like the characteristics of a good person.”

“So, what do I do right now, hyung?” Mingyu asks.

“For starters, go to your office, and leave me the fuck alone,” Jihoon shrugs, “and in the evening, just go over to her office with a cake or something, and ask her to work with you on which regulations the business owners should adopt in the upcoming meeting.”

“Wow, hyung, look at you go. Who would say that you’ve been single since birth?”

—

“I think I’m going to be killed.”

Your friend stares at you, seated across the table in the bookstore, two lunch boxes open in front of you both. She takes a gulp, swallowing down a large piece of kimbap, and manages to warble out a “come again?”

You sigh, “I think I’m going to be killed soon.”

“By who?” she half-yells, taking a swig from her water bottle, “who the hell wants to kill you?”

“Kim Mingyu.” You whisper conspiratorially, and her face falls. “What?” You protest, “he’s really out to get me, you know that, right?”

“You told him that he was a shallow, self-centred man within thirty minutes of meeting him,” she replies, going back to eating, “I’m going to be surprised if he hasn’t made any attempts on your life yet.”

“You don’t get it,” you wail, “yesterday, he came to my office, asking about the committee meeting next week, and even made an appointment to draft a joint resolution that accommodates both the new regulations of the city and complies with the business owners’ demands of more time and extra funds.”

“And?” She's still not getting the point, which is making you slightly frustrated at this point, “he’s trying to make amends, and he’s actually doing something about what the larger community wants and needs, instead of yelling at everyone and annoying them in public meetings.”

“I’m going to ignore that jibe because I’ve got better things to think about,” you mutter, “he also smiled at me when I flipped him off! He smiled!”

“And you flipped him off, like a middle schooler,” she sighs, “was it a creepy smile, or was it a normal one?”

“Pretty normal, but you can’t really know with Kim Mingyu, right?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’s much more normal than you,” she replies, still calm in the face of your anxiety, which in other circumstances would be a good thing, but right now, it is not, “has he done anything else that would give you the impression that he intends on killing you?”

“He’s also asked me to meet him in his office this evening to discuss the joint resolution.” You say, “why the hell would he do that if he did not have nefarious intent?”

“Maybe he just wants to draft a joint resolution,” she counters, “after all, you both argued for so long last time, the committee had to disperse on their own. They even postponed the whole voting process and argument over the resolution because they wanted you to come up with a joint solution to the problem. And he’s the one who’s been making steps towards peace, not you.”

“You’re my friend. You’re supposed to be on my side, not his.”

“I am on the side of whoever makes me not attend those boring meetings,” she yawns, “the last time it ran for over an hour and half, just because you two were fighting so much. This time, please make sure you play nice with him.”

You narrow your eyes, “Are you sure you’re saying that because you want me to be nice to Mingyu, or are you saying that because you want to flirt with the music store owner?”

“At least I have better social skills than you,” she counters, “and I’m not running out my only chances at normal socialising out with a proverbial broom.” The last part of that sentence is said in English, which goes over your head.

“What the hell do you mean by that? Stop using complicated English words because you’re a bookstore owner.”

She sighs, ignoring the second sentence, “the music shop owner is Lee Jihoon, and him and Kim Mingyu, yes I know you hate him, are the only people in this shopping centre who are of our age. The rest of them are all thirty years older than us. People don’t come here to have fun and open up swanky offices, they come here to retire in peace and get a sense of community.”

“I do not get the point you are trying to make.”

“The point is, if you at least tried to be friends with those two, we would have someone of our age to at least talk to. We could go on dinners, trips, ask them to set us up with their friends—”

“Hold on,” you raise a hand to stop her, who’s rattling off things to do with friends, “why do you even want to hang out with those two after work? We already see them here seven days a week, is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not,” she makes a face, “I cannot be fraternising solely with senior citizens, you know. I’m not old. But talking to these women, every day and every week, has made me feel like I’m some sort of ahjumma, too. Last week, I corrected a child’s posture.”

“You probably spared them some very expensive spinal surgery down the line.”

“Does not matter!” she snaps, “I don’t want to be correcting a child’s posture, I want to actually go out and have fun, after I close up my shop, instead of just sitting around my house and doing nothing!”

“You actually spend a lot of time doing inventory.”

“And you are going to go and talk to Mingyu,” she practically chases you out of the door, “and don’t even think about coming back here without fixing this mess!”

—

“There, all done,” Mingyu holds up a document, waving it around like he’s won a war, “this is the joint resolution we are proposing, right? Don’t go back on it, please.”

“Now why would I do that?” You ask.

‘I don’t know, general issues. Maybe you’ll hate the way I dress in the meeting.”

“Do you plan on wearing something wildly inappropriate?” You ask, eyes narrowed, “then I will reconsider.”

“No!” Mingyu yelps, taking a step back, “I do not plan on wearing anything inappropriate for the meeting. In fact, I shall be the most appropriate man in the room that day.”

“That’s good. Bare minimum, but good,” you snipe, wondering how and why your friend wants you to be nice to him, given his penchant for saying the wrong things at the wrong times, “let’s get a meal next time, yeah?”

It’s a polite question, of course, one that does not require a proper answer, of course, no one expects an answer for this question, but Mingyu perks up instantly, wide grin in place, “do you want to get dinner with me right now?”

“Right now?” You check your wristwatch, it’s ten p.m already. If you were to stick to your usual schedule, you would have been at home by now, sitting in front of the television to catch up on your daily hour of peace and entertainment. But the man in front of you seems unable to take no for an answer, nor does he look like he’s someone who has been told no very often. Did no one ever reject him, you wonder, and contemplate idly how it would feel to be the first person to ever say ‘no, thank you’ to his face.

But he’s looking at you with an open and honest expression, so you sigh, picking up your bag, “let me close up.” another day. I’ll tell him to fuck off another day.

—

Mingyu is going insane, really. He should have left her alone, their work was done, so why bother to even hang around for another couple hours? But Jihoon’s words from earlier have kept bugging him for longer than he would care to admit. He’s even messed up a semi-important meeting and has been forced to reschedule it. Hell, he’s been so fucked up over this one little thing, he even went back to drafting plans by hand, using the same vintage drafting table he’s used exclusively as decoration. Even that failed, and he spent the rest of the evening wallowing in his misery.

Why the hell was he looking forward to spending time with her?

Even now, he’s aware that she doesn’t really want to get a meal with him, and he really feels bad, he does, but he’s also slightly selfish, and he wants to make sense of his own feelings, preferable in a setting separate from their usual one. Proximity breeds affection. Maybe all this is because I’ve been spending too much time in that shopping centre.

“What’s your favorite architectural style?” She asks, picking up a piece of mushroom from their soup.

“Huh?”

She rolls her eyes, “I asked you what your favorite architectural style was. I assume you have one, since you are an architect.”

He ignores the jab, “Organic architecture, actually. All throughout university, I was obsessed with the works of Frank Lloyd Wright.”

“The architect of Jiyu Gakuen, right?” She asks, shrugging, “I had an architect as a patient. Back in Seoul City Hospital.”

He files that information for later, “yes, the architect of Jiyu Gakuen. I was so obsessed I even took a trip to see the Fallingwater house in Pennsylvania. And yes, I made several trips to see all his Japanese works.”

“What draws you to him?”

“It’s interesting, how he uses nature, not as a foil, but as a companion to human existence,” Mingyu replies, smiling slightly, “I think I fell in love when I saw pictures of the Pope-Leighey house, when I was in my first year. Honestly speaking, I don’t think I would have been an architect if it was not for—” he pauses, “are you trying to therapize me?”

She laughs, “is it that obvious?”

“You are not as slick as you think,” he laughs, “you said you moved here from Seoul.”

She sighs, “I was hoping you would not hold on to that.”

Mingyu shrugs, “if you don’t want me to, then I won’t, but if you don't mind me asking—”

“I mind, actually.”

“—why did you move to a new clinic? From Seoul City Hospital, too.”

She sighs, “look, there were personal reasons, that’s all I will say. Other than that, I just realised one day that the big hospital did not allow me to look after my patients as well as I could. So, I moved here.”

“And opened the clinic?”

“And opened a clinic.” She smiles suddenly, broad and open, and Mingyu’s smartwatch beeps; abnormal heart rate detected: 109 BPM.

Damn, he’s fucked.

—

She’s actually having fun. Mingyu might be out to kill her, but he’s a terrific dinner partner, to the point where she does not miss the warmth of her familiar house and her familiar sofa and the familiar tv dramas. This is concerning.

—

“Traitor,” your friend scowls, over lunch the next afternoon, “did you get dinner with Kim Mingyu?”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Mingyu posted it on his instagram story,” your friend holds up her phone, where Mingyu had posted a picture of her, seated across from him in the restaurant, eating dinner. It could very well have been mistaken for a soft launch picture, if no one was aware of the facts. It should be embarrassing.

“Huh,” you mutter, going back to organising your notes for all your patients, “I did not think he’d post a picture of me.”

Your friend narrows her eyes, observes her for a full minute, “you like him, don’t you?”

“I—what the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t even give me that act,” she scowls, and for a split second, you hesitate, thinking back on the whole evening, and whether or not it would have been embarrassing if anyone had caught you out with Mingyu, of all people, and, “answer the question.”

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” you murmur, half in disbelief.

“What?” Your friend asks, but she’s heard it too, only asking you to repeat yourself.

“I said it was not embarrassing!” You yell, and immediately clap your hand over your mouth. What the hell was that about?

“Knew it. Lee Jihoon owes me ten thousand won.” Your friend grins, self-satisfied, before settling back into her chair.

“Were you actually betting on this?” You shake your head, “you’re such a traitor.”

“A traitor who will buy you coffee after work,” she grins, “happy now?”

“Ugh, I would be happier if I was not attracted to him,” you sigh, finishing your lunch, “and he was really respectful about the whole thing too, which makes it even more annoying. How can I hate him in peace when I know that he likes Frank Lloyd Wright’s work and wants to repurpose old concrete buildings into designated ‘breathing spaces’ filled with greenery? Like, that is objectively a beautiful idea.”

“Selfless, too.”

“And selfless!” You wail, “I cannot even hate him in peace. All I can do is be annoyed with myself.”

“You like those concrete buildings, don’t you?” Your friend asks after a beat, “they’re symmetrical.”

“And orderly! I like order in my life, which is why I like those buildings.”

“And he wants to turn them into ‘breathing spaces’.”

“Who the hell has heard of something so annoying?”

“It’s not a bad thing at all, you know,” she says, putting a mini sausage on your rice, as though she were comforting a small child, “not everything goes according to plan at all times. Order is well and good, but some sunshine is also good for your health.”

“I’d rather die.” You scow, “just wait, I will never even talk to Kim Mingyu ever again. Even if he shows his stupidly handsome face back in here, I am never talking to him! Never, on my life, never again—”

The door swings open, and a brightly-smiling Kim Mingyu pokes his head in, “what are you doing for dinner?”

“Nothing,” your friend says on your behalf, “she’s free after eight.”

“Great, I’ll see you for dinner, then!” He waves again, and it’s annoying, how you automatically blush, “it’s a date!”

The door closes, and your friend laughs, “should I look up architectural style names now?”

You sigh. I’m really screwed.

#ro: writings #svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #seventeen fluff #seventeen fic #svt mingyu #svt fic #mingyu x reader #mingyu x y/n #mingyu crack #kim mingyu #tiya aka gyubakeries <333 #happy birthday love

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tteokdoroki · 2 years ago

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ೀ⋆OCT 31ST LEGALLY BLONDE ━━ seishiro nagi + coercion !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. seishiro nagi + coercion. there’s no way someone broke up with nagi because he’s too blonde!? poor baby, maybe you could provide a little emotional support…(5.5K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, strangers to lovers (?), teaching assistant/student relationship, dom/sub dynamics, some switching, reader is lifted up by nagi, coercion, dubcon, handjobs, virginity loss, cherry chasing, oral fixation, mind break, praise kink, creampies, soft sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, TA!reader, elle woods!nagi.

୨୧ — director’s note. happy halloween my loves! i hope you enjoy the final kinktober fic! its been super fun writing and editing for you all. stay tuned for the bonus in the coming weeks <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

this law school thing wasn’t all what it cracked up to be.

after the love of his life, reo mikage, had broken up with him for someone smarter, blander and richer than him — nagi had been blessed with the genius idea of following his ex all the way to one of the top law schools in the world. the plan was practically fool proof, the guys at his sorority worked hard to help seishiro study — pulling all nighters for practice tests and rewarding him with naps every time he had gotten a question right.

rin itoshi had even convinced his parents to reach out to a hollywood director so that they could film nagi’s audition tape. it obviously featured isagi and bachira too. nagi had even worn his best designer swim trunks to impress the board of admissions. they’d all been super supportive of the light haired male in his endeavours and were there when he passed his LSAT exam

with all of this combined, he had managed to get in in — if that wasn’t enough for reo, then what was?

the answer? nothing.

reo still wanted that bland, basic bitch his family was marrying him off to. she was sensible, she was rich and seishiro quickly realised that he had only ever been a bit of ditzy fun to reo — a dumb blonde to stick his dick into whenever the time felt right. eye candy and nothing more. balancing his shattering hard with the complexities of law school had been tough for the white haired male and everything seemed to be going wrong. no one would study with him, reo wouldn’t even look at him and his friends back home were busy with the wedding plans nagi so desperately wished he had.

however, that’s when you came along.

after having the epiphany that he didn’t need reo to succeed — nagi knuckles down and studied hard for the law firm internship being offered amongst his cohort. he was relieved to have you as a teaching assistant in the process, not only were you absolutely gorgeous but you were compassionate and empathetic. you were smart, eloquent and everything seishiro wished he could be for his ex.

perhaps that’s what drew him to you, why he followed your every word like a puppy drooling after a treat. you’d been kind to nagi for the entire semester, from helping him out with studying for the internship right down to today, where he would be taking on his very first case in a court of law. it should have been easy, the facts were simple too. the client and fellow fraternity brother (shidou ryousei) was accused of and arrested for the murder of his wife… but something about the events weren’t seeming to add up. nagi couldn’t come up with an alibi either.

it was as if the words; the reasonings, the justification for shidou’s freedom were right in front of grey-scale eyes, only scrambled up like morse code. “how about we take a break?” as if you were a vision from his dreams or an angel from up above, you appear behind nagi’s tall frame as he slumps defeatedly against the hotel room desk — your hands fixing themselves to his broad shoulders for a massage. “you’ve been at this all night, seishiro.”

the law student swears your touch could heal all human ailments, the warmth of your palms seeping into the tense parts of his muscles like a cell performing diffusion — relaxation forming a comfortable fog over his brain. “i know shidou didn’t do it,” nagi defends with a grumpy pout, leaning back into you so that his head rests lazily against your stomach. “he told me… he said he was getting liposuction.”

“we’ll need evidence of that,” you note, jerking your head to the side so that nagi can write it down. this entire time you’d been such a good mentor. “good boy.” something clicks in the light-haired male’s brain, a crackle of electricity shooting down his spine at your praise — swirling around in his guts as if to activate arousal. “run me through the witness statements again.” there’s a sensual lilt to the tone of your voice and your touch cascades from his shoulders up to his neck like a backwards flowing waterfall.

seishiro isn’t sure if he’s making things up or reading the signs correctly — but he knows that there’s some kind of tension bubbling in the air. particles that resemble an aphrodisiac using kinetic energy to collide together, painting the room with lustful colours. “shidou’s step daughter says she heard a gunshot around 2:15pm after leaving the shower, walkin’ downstairs only to find shidou hangin’ over his wife’s body — covered in blood. ugh, this is too much hassle. this doesn’t make any sense!” he tosses an annoyed sigh into quietness of the room, moaning in surprise when you cup the base of nagi’s neck to pull his head up to face you and your eyes meet.

“you need a break seishiro, we can come back to this later,” you hum, the vibrations of your voice laced with sex appeal. as he swallows thickly, the law student’s Adam’s apple bobs under the pressure of your fairy-light grip on his throat — anticipating more from you. at this point, you’re half bent over him as he leans back in the chair, pink tongue slowly darting out to cover your lips in a spit shine. “how about it?”

this feels so wrong. nagi’s cock stirring beneath his slacks at how good and kind you’re acting towards him. no one has ever gotten him this hot before — no one aside from reo. and you were still his teacher, by technicality, it would be wrong for nagi to even consider sucking your tongue down his throat. and yet, he can’t find it in himself to stop the temperature from rising between you, for falling into your dangerously salacious trap.

“y-yeah,” he breathes deep when you squeeze his throat a little to test the waters. “i could do with a break.”

“me too,” you gasp all too agreeably, bending the rest of the way down to capture seishiro’s lips in a searingly hot kiss. just as he wished you pry his mouth open with the tip of your curious tongue — pushing through his plush lips and curling around his own pink appendage. the lip lock is passionate, ravenous despite the mess and spit that you exchange. he chases your lips until he can’t breathe, sloppily accepting anything you give him, letting you lead where he can’t.

he’s never done this before, not like this, not without reo. but in this moment, the silver-blonde doesn’t think he could ever go back to making out with his ex. not now that you’re the one kissing him.

“i-i've never done any of this before.” the blonde gulps, swallowing down the copious amount of spit that builds on the palette of his tongue — looking into your eyes as a sense of hunger dawns on him, as if you’re the very meal he’s set to devour. “not without anyone that wasn’t—“

reo.

sure they’d done stuff together. naughty touches here and there, hands ghosting over boxer briefs and fingers tweaking nipples (sei’s were especially sensitive because of the cute little piercings his ex insisted he get) — but nothing close to actual sex, nothing with a girl, nothing with someone like you. a burning heat, unlike anything nagi’s ever felt before, begins to brew in his lower stomach. his cock rises beneath his pants that suddenly feel all too tight.

nagi’s girth twitches against his thigh as your nails rake their way down his chest and slowly pop open the buttons of his crisply pressed white shirt. it heaves beneath his clothes — heart hammering against its calcium cage of his ribs.

“i can tell, pretty boy.” you soothe him by purring into the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the softness of his lobe. “but you’re a good kisser though. did reo teach you that?” your lips cascade down to his neck like a gentle flowing river at the same time that your hands delve below the belt to squeeze at seishiro’s swelling erection — testing the waters.

his hips instinctively buck up into the warmth of your palm and a grin spreads across your plush lips at the feeling of his precum soaking his underwater and smearing across your fingers in thick, clingy webs.

white and seedy and he’s nowhere close to cumming. almost like a little virgin.

“have you ever done this before, seishiro?”

the sound of his name, salaciously spelt out on his tongue, earns you a high pitched whine from nagi — his head rolling to the side and his thighs squeezing together with vicious need. “n-no,” he pauses before he grunts out a response and his entire body seizes as you take a firmer grip on his cock — jamming a thumb into his leaky slit to spread his arousal. “but i wanted to i just… reo said not until marriage—“

“— you don’t have to listen to reo anymore.” you announce breathily, setting a steady pace to your fist to jerk him off with. you’ve barely started and yet your hand is already glossed in a slight sheen of pre, soiling your knuckles from its viscousness. it’s so much for someone who’s never gone father than sloppy kisses and grinding while making out. it nurtures a certain seed of satisfaction in your chest to see him so messy so fast. “you can listen to me, sweet boy. do you want this… do you want it with me?”

without letting go of the fat, drippy cock within your grasp — you shift to stand between the desk and nagi’s chair, shoving papers and court notes to the ground in your lustful haze. nagi thrusts lazily into your closed fist as if it’s instinct, following the sensation like a moth takes to a candle light. his grey eyes grow murky like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

who was reo mikage to seishiro nagi? when there was an angel like you willing to feed this inexperienced man morsels of a heavenly pleasure he’s never felt before. the lawyer in training nods at your words like an eager man fallen to siren’s song as bait. “i want you,” he whimpers airily. “i wanna with you.”

you rub down his thick, lengthy dick far enough to have your fingertips briefly brush against seishiro’s sensitive, weightly balls — just pulsing full of seed to give to you. the feeling makes nagi jump up from his seat so that he immediately towers over you. his height doesn’t overwhelm you, not when the towering blonde collapses onto you with a case of the shakes. he trembles above you, supporting himself by using one hand on the table while is mouth sloppily finds your neck to suck on and pacify himself.

“good boy, sei,” you coo, voice as sweet as hot sugar or candy. “i want you too. i always have. you’re such a pure, darling boy. glad to see that it’s true.” your praise is hidden in your soft moans as seishiro licks at the crystalline salt on your bare skin. you’re a little too twisted, taking advantage of his inexperience and his position beneath you as a student, but neither of you seem to care in this very moment.

sweat beads against nagi’s hairline like diamonds on an expensive Chanel necklace and roses bloom across his cheeks with exertion — his hips rise and fall into your sticky fist in fluid motions, changing the steady stream of ecstasy you provide him. your hand is a solace for his aching cock, but you still make your student work for it. make nagi chase you since he only works hard for the things he wants. and right now, he wants to reach the end of the tight rope of pleasure you have him walking on. and to stave off the stormy frustration he feels from the case.

your hand wriggles it’s way into his wet silver locks, dragging nagi’s hungry mouth over yours since he’s so desperate to taste you, to have at you. it shows in the way he roughly grabs your hips too, grip so tight it threatens to leave bruises he’ll have to apologise for later. “ngh… please. g-god. miss…a-angel please,” he stutters, his bucking into your hand faster and harder, back and forth, back and forth through the tight ring of your fist. his bright and angry red cockhead peeks through the other side, glazed in opaque white — it’s a nice feeling, blistering hot and sensitive. “i…hah… gotta—“

nagi’s lashes flutter against your cheek — a strained whine reverbing in the base of his throat while you let him fuck your hands to his heart’s content, let him chase this new pleasure he’s never known. let him fall from the high heavens with blackened and burnt angel’s wings. you make him sin, for the first time ever. something about this should feel off to nagi, his law teacher taking advantage of him like this — but at this point, he’s too far gone, drowning in a hellfire of lust.

mocking his moans, your mouth falls open in one of your own as you follow along with the pitiful expressions crossing the contours of seishirou’s face. “what is it, sei? what do you need?”

the room is too hot. your bodies against each other are temperate in the sex tainted air — accompanied by wet slapping sounds from your hand around his throbbing cock. “n-need to let go. it h-hurts,” he sniffles out, forcing his tongue into your mouth again to calm himself down. the more you speed up, remorselessly jerking him off, the closer nagi gets to the end of his own tether. this sensation is unfamiliar, the crumbling foundation of his orgasm coming crashing down as you fling droplets of his precum and arousal about the place — some of it landing on your clothes, the desk and discarded papers.

again, neither of you care.

“surrender to me baby, it’s okay. i’ve got you.” guiding the pale blonde through his first ever orgasm, you pour your heated words into his slobbering mouth — tongue running over his pearly white teeth and tangling with his drool coated tongue. that’s all sei needs to hear before he crumples against you with a shout — the first wave of his high crashing over him and pulling him under.

it’s world shattering, brain melting as he cums. his abdomen contracts under your never-ending touch, ropes of hot white dribbling from his stimulated tip like a tap that keeps running. nagi swears he almost blacks out, falling dizzy and victim to your lustful charms as he twitches and cums and cums into your soiled palm.

“f-fuck,” a soft whimper bubbles up on his raw bitten lips, stuttered out in suprise. “w-what was that?”

“you orgasmed for me, sei, so pretty baby.” comes another set of your gentle praises. he feels his entire body wrack with a shakes at your words, his cock doesn’t dare to soften either. “you look so good when you cum.”

his greyish-brownish eyes roll back into his skull when you let him go, his tip slapping against his clothed tummy. the brush of his cotton shirt against the slit on his tip makes him writhe from the sensitivity. “c-can i cum for you again? promise i’ll keep being good.”

“of course,” you grin, proud that to have corrupted the poor boy. “are you okay to let me touch you again or do you want it now?”

“touch me. now.” he growls, gripping your hand and guiding it towards his dribbling shaft, aiding the movement of your palm around him to start slow and lazy — working seishiro up into a heat once more. this time, the way your hand languidly jerks him off is made smooth by the evidence of his last orgasm, which you now use as lube. if you weren’t pressed for time and with a court case first thing tomorrow, you would have gotten onto your knees to clean up his copious amounts of mess.

you quickly reduce him to a babbling mess against you, drool laden on his tongue and dripping onto his skin as you drive your thumb over nagi’s hot tip in tight circles with your free hand — touching what doesn’t fit in the other. “reo treated you so badly, poor baby,” you mewl sweetly, kitten licking at his pulse point just below his neck. “you work so hard, you deserve so much better. you deserve me.”

he believes you, blindly and naively. nodding tenderly despite the way he widely fucks both of your hands as if they’re a makeshift hole — warm and slick, all for him. dopamine shocks him at the stem of his brain, spreading throughout his body like a wildfire only you can tame — it burns so good and feels even better to have your dainty, perfectly manicured fingers wrap around his chubby girth so deliciously.

for a moment, you let seishiro go to squeeze at his heavy breeder’s balls — noticing the way they pulsate in your palm to signify the pale blonde’s second impending orgasm. “i think…hah… i think ‘m gonna… c-cum! again!”

pushing at his shirt, you press a kiss to the creamy skin of nagi’s shoulder and hum pridefully. “thank you for letting me know, sweetheart. cum for me. give it to me.”

with your permission granted, another blinding ecstasy takes over nagi, and he falls victim to you and your merciless hands once again. blood rushes through his ears like a storm surge, drowning at your angel coos while you guide him through his high, never letting up as you palm him through it all. he quivers and his knees buckle, shooting a hot and hefty load of seed all over your hand and clothes and the papers nearby. “o-oh! fuck…” nagi chokes on a weak sob, bleating like an innocent lamb at the slaughter house while he weighed against your shorter frame — allowing you to bare the brunt of his weight and height.

he’s so pretty when he cums, silvering blonde locks matted to his forehead by sweat — cheeks pink and lips swollen and red. if you could, you’d swallow him whole and selfishly devour your student for all that he has to offer. silly little blonde, stupid for trusting you, for wanting to fuck you.

your hand doesn’t slow around his pulsing cock but instead speeds up, digging your thumb into his oozing slit as arousal pearls at its centre once more. “n-no, s’too much.” seishiro cries quietly, tears stinging a pathway down the apples of his milky cheeks. “it hurts.”

“poor you, poor baby.” you say harshly, mocking the poor blonde’s sniffles and hiccups. he’s exhausted and frustrated but doesn’t dare to pull away — his hips running after your hand hungrily. “you’re so cute sei, panting for me like a bitch in heat, fucking my hand like the dumb little blonde you are.” he hisses at the overstimulation, gargles on spit as it floods his mouth to accompany his appetite for you.

“i’m not…ngh… ‘m not dumb.” he whinges in response and before either of you know it, seishiro is cumming again. hard. soiling his lap with abundant amounts of white. his chest heaves as he comes down, collapsing against you. he might deny it later, but being dumbed down and reduced to a stupid blonde seemed to really do it for him.

finding his lips again, you soothe nagi with short and sweet kisses that grow more feverish by his own demand. all of a sudden you find yourself pinned to the desk below with the tall blonde between your instinctually parted legs so that he can grind against your panty clad core. “you’re…you’re right,” you say, breathing deep through your nose as your composure threatens to fall apart. “you’re so smart, sei. you’re the best lawyer on our team but…” bucking your hips once, you lower your voice by an octave so that your words slip through his ears like molten chocolate. “you’re acting like a dumb slut right now. don’t you wanna be my dumb slut, sei?”

his palm flattens against the mahogany desk just above your head, caging you in against its cold surface. “y-yes i do, oh fuck. please lemme fuck you. lemme be inside. i’ll be good.”

“are you sure, baby?”

“please—“

“but sei,” you brush a stray hair that curls at the centre of his forehead, the dumb blonde looking down at you with swimming grey eyes because he’s so needy. “it’d be your first time…”

his face scrunches, nose crinkled at its bridge and brows knitted together in frustration. now that nagi’s had a taste of your sinful elixir he can’t seem to stop, you’re like a drug an addict can’t quit. something that could ruin his life or future prospects if he doesn’t get help. and yet he can’t look away, can’t pull his body away from yours and his achy dick from between your thighs — instead leaning closer so that it sinks between your plush pussy lips.

nagi licks his lips, tongue rolling over his bottom one as he pants desperately. “please angel,” comes his broken beg, hanging pathetically in the sex tainted hair. “i need you. need it so bad. please please please— mph—!”

satisfied with his begging, you shove a set of cum soaked digits past the swell of seishiro’s pretty lips — chuckling darkly as his tongue laps over and in between them, and he whines at the salty taste of his arousal on your skin. “atta boy,” you coo, thrusting deep into the hot cavern of his mouth until the pale blonde gags around you, swallowing your fingers down like they’re a cock. he sucks so obediently, so desperately as if to please. like a good student too — and all the while, you work on kicking off your panties and flipping up your skirt so that he can get a nice rewarding view of your glistening cunt.

“c’mere,” you reach out to the blonde and he leans into you, letting you wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him in place. “sei,” you gasp at the first contact of his thick, long shaft against your throbbing wet mound — mouth agape as if you’ve taken a gunshot wound to the chest. “do you know how to do this, smart boy? do you know how to fuck?”

nagi nods, pressing his forehead to yours while his hips jut forward on their own and his seedy tip brushes against your pearling clit so deliciously. at first, his movements are lax and the room is filled with the lewd squelches of your sexes moving over one another, but your breathing soon grows ragged and the salacious bump and grind becomes stickier and wetter.

“u-uhuh.” he mumbles in response.

he’s so good for you even when his mouth is full and his mind is dazed, sucking on your fingers while he lets you overwhelm him. however, the blonde is only so well behaved and patient, and it’s not long before he slips his girth past the tight ring of your entrance without any warning. his fingertips dance up to your waist, grabbing at the fat there and using it as leverage to drag you to the edge of the table so he can sink into you further.

“oh…fucking hell!” you whimper wetly against the junction of nagi’s neck, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself while he sets the pace to your sinful dance. he’s bigger than what you expected (despite mapping his girth out with your hands), stretching your sloppy walls wide to accommodate for his size. you don’t complain, however, eyes rolling as he brushes up against pleasure spots you could never reach on your own. “o-oh baby, fuck me.”

you pull your fingers out of his mouth with a lewd pop, desperate to hear the symphony of his sweet, low and sexy moans instead of having them muffled by your fingers while he fucks you for the first time. the pale blonde can hardly believe it — having your warmth wrapped around him and your cunt drool down on him like a waterfall.

the law student throws his weight into fucking you, bullying his way into the deepest parts of your womb to slothfully fuck up your gooey insides. your cunt, your moans, your whole body has some kind of control over nagi — dumbing him down and reducing him to a sex crazed mess. to the point where he can’t even remember his ex’s name. he’s a mop of pale blonde hair and sweaty clothes, entirely hunched over you.

“y-you’re so tight,” he tells you in a dreamy sigh, lost in the heat of your core. nagi’s grabs at your pudgy thighs and drags you back and forth onto his dick, the new deepness to his thrusts causing you to squeeze and froth around the fat base of nagi’s cock. “hah, feels so…so good.”

wrapping your shaky legs around his slender waist, you offer up the same treatment to nagi — pulling him close to the point where he’s buried in your sluice sex right up to the hilt. his precum smears against your ribbed walls and his broken whimper echoes around your hotel room. “that’s it, fuck me like you fucked my hand, sweet boy.” lust sparks against your sex slicked bodies, your breasts bouncing with every one of nagi’s calculated yet sloppy thrusts. you can’t get enough of one another, clinging and clawing at one another’s bodies madly. “you can do it, prove to reo that you don’t need him. only me.”

“o-only you.” nagi repeats weakly, tucking his face into your neck as he pounds you to the high heavens. the desk creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, threatening to break at the nails and bolts that hold it together. his eyelashes flutter against your skin, his low and deep moans mixed with high pitched gasps send a hot rush of dopamine across your brain and it really is all too much.

nagi’s already cum three times and managed to fold you in half over his desk as a virgin. he feel as though he might break with how much he loves this, loves fucking you senseless. another fresh set of tears burn tracks down his face and gather in his unfairly long lashes as they tickle your skin. he hiccups and heaves against you, whilst his breathing grows ragged every time his glistening cock escapes the snugness of your tight pussy, precum stringing along your puffy folds.

“so good baby, s-so fucking good!” your voice is broken and husky as you praise him, making his dick pulse against your g-spot over and over again. you’re fairing no better than he is, your skin blistering hot to the touch and bruised from how tight your student is gripping you — pulling you back onto his cock.

the pale blonde feels though he might burst, cream your insides like he did your hand and ruin that pretty skirt of yours — the one that sticks to his pelvis because of how close your bodies are. it’s rubbed him raw while he fucks you raw. “‘m i the best?” seishiro asks, cherishing the embrace of your viscous walls, his shaft coated in a crude mix of white as it froths from your tight little hole. “t-tell me i’m the best…”

“t-the best i’ve ever had! f-fuck, sei!” you squeal in response, only egging the law student on, babbling your praises while fat droplets of your arousal flies about the place — painting nagi’s pelvis in a shiny gloss, curling in his white happy trail as well.

“‘m the best. i’m the best for you.” grunting from the exertion and the very force of his own thrusts, seishiro wraps both of his strong arms around your middle and stands up from the table — taking you with him. at the new angle, the coil in your stomach only tightens and you fling your arms around his neck to prepare yourself for what’s to come next. “s’not enough, not deep enough. fuuuck you’re so wet and warm. i-i can’t,” he drawls lowly, nipping at the shell of your ear on instinct.

that’s when seishiro begins to use his sheer strength to lift and drop you back onto his thick girth, fucking up into you at the exact same time. “g-good god!” you cry out, your impending orgasm prickling at your pelvis — shooting down each section of your spine. all of it only serves to spur nagi on.

“give me your fingers,” he demands huskily, cantering into you from bellow — your juices running a steamy track down his heavy balls as they harshly smack against your peachy ass. “wan’ suck on ‘em. give ‘em.”

you don’t have time to register his ask because he grabs your wrist before your mind can even catch up (too occupied with the way he’s churning up your guts) and has two of your fingers in his eager little mouth — sucking on them diligently. you shudder as nagi runs his tongue between them, coats them in spit and drool that tracks across his chin once he’s done with them.

“touch yourself for me?” he pleads through a wet whine, almost too innocently. “wanna see you cum this time.”

it’s only then that you realise he’s been holding himself back, staving off his orgasm so he can see you writhe and gush all for him. the overstimulation must be burning at his brain, sizzling off his nerve endings and it’s probably more than the dumb little blonde virgin can take. so you do as he asks, trailing your spit slicked fingers between your bodies as they grind down on one another and you with your sensitive clit, pulling its hood back to draw tight circles over the pleasure nub.

“o-oh! seishiro!”

“that’s right, touch yourself f’me. wanna see you lose it like you make me lose it,” he moans softly constraining with how rough nagi pounds up into you. one of his hands slips from your hips to grope at your ass, pushing you down on him and forcing his cock to grind against that one special spot threatening to make you break. “‘m sorry,” he whimpers as though he’s going to cry. “d-don’t think i can hold back, angel.”

“then don’t,” you gasp at the new friction, holding onto your last strings of sanity as you fumble with your clit tucked away between your ravaged folds. “i know you wanna cum for me, sei. l-let go, yeah? wanna see you break for me, like a good blonde slut.”

your encouragement doesn’t give seishiro much choice, and while he’s in control of your bodies — his lean, strong frame anchoring you down onto his cock as it bullies your insides, you are in control of his mind. you destroy his train of thought, ruin the self-made man he was and send him tumbling into his final high. nagi’s orgasm breaks the surface viciously, pouring another load of his cum against your ripe and rippling walls. there’s still so much of it, the warm and viscous white seeping from your cunt and smearing all over your hot mound.

the force of nagi’s high is so strong that he nearly drops you, just about managing to pin you safely to the desk once more. he’s still cumming and cumming and cumming — but that doesn’t stop him from thrusting into you hard and fast, desperate to trigger your orgasm so he can reward himself. it doesn’t take long, he’d already had you seated on the edge before his mind had shattered to pieces just from fucking you.

you gush down his length and all over what remains of your shitty case notes (he probably didn’t need them anyways) with a pornographic shout when you finally hit your peak. it’s like the crescendo of a beautiful song — the world around you spinning and flashing white as you squirt and gush for the white haired lawyer.

“f-fuck.” you giggle with a soft smile, fatigue washing over the both of you come down from the gates of heaven — crashing back down to earth with ecstasy still buzzing in your veins. “good boy, sei. you did so good for me,” you hum softly. “do you feel any better?”

seishiro looks up at you from where his heavy frame has collapsed on your chest — clothes sweaty and askew, and offers you a lazy grin in return. “better,” he mumbles meekly and kisses a slither of your exposed skin, still grinding his seed into you as if to make sure it sticks. “thank you.”

bringing a hand up to toy with his hair and soothing him, you nod. “good, we should get some rest, you’ve got a big trial tomorrow, pretty boy.”

“do you think I can do it?”

“i know you can, sei.” you scratch at his scalp. “i meant it. what i said earlier. you’re the best lawyer on our team. shidou’s defence stands a pretty good chance.”

nagi grins once more, only this time he leans up to press a chaste kiss to your unexpecting mouth — pouring all of his gratefulness into it.

because thanks to you, he feels more confident about the trial, — almost as if he’s won the trial already. and even if nagi goes lose, at least he’s won you over.

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forthelostones · 7 days ago

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𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #11

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. 1,000 of you, this means more than you all realize. my journey with writing has been so complex and you all make me believe in myself - thanks for believing in me. much love!

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. rather be alone by leon thomas ft. halle ♫

For a moment, it became apparent that my hands were made to hold her by the way our exchange of breath aligned perfectly. I closed my eyes if only for a second to macerate in this moment. I raise my hands to show her it wasn’t intentional. “Sorry, it’s cramped in here now I didn’t realize, should we go?”

“Only if you would like to.” She said.

She was toying with me now, seeing if I would take the bait, which I did because I loved it when women entrusted me with the sole responsibility. Before I could reply my phone rang and I had never felt a greater sense of relief.

An unknown number with the local area code came across the screen. “Hello?”

“Abby?” I melt at the sound of Nora’s voice, but not in a good way, in a I’m-guilty-way.

I crook my finger in her direction to leave the club so I can hear Nora clearly.

“Nora, hi.” I said.

“Is this a bad time it sounds like you’re out?”

“No, it’s fine, uh probably can’t talk long. I got tied up in work and wanted to text you, um, yeah.”

I stood in the parking lot gasping for air letting the clarity cleanse me from the stuffy venue. I lean onto the passenger side door and see my new addition trailing behind.

“I was thinking about you that’s all.”

“Good, we still have to plan out our date night.”

She walks up to me with her hands extended behind her back, strutting like a panther in the darkness covered by a singular lamp, and stops in front of me — not even a foot away.

“Anything you want me to wear?”

“Can I think on it?”

“You absolutely can, chat later.”

I tuck my phone back into my pocket to see her even closer with my back flush to the truck I just stand there unmoved.

“I’m sorry for touching you in there. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.” She closes in.

My gaze lies down upon her, my arms to my sides, and temptation in my face I was shuttering with inability. I reach for the handle and open it, forcing myself out her way.

Nora’s voice on the other line made a wave of disgust shutter through my body — one that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

My fist gently tapped against the large entryway as the moon settled into the sky and my watch read for 2:45 a.m. After a moment, a glint of warm light illuminates within the curtains of what I assume was the living room. I stood desperately in my checkered boxers and A&C sweatshirt

“Who is it?” She groans.

“Your stupid neighbor,” I croak full of instant regret.

“Abigail, is everything okay?”

She flicked on a porch lamp that shinned on me like a police spotlight, preparing me for the inevitable interrogation. Her arms cover her chest as she stood cozy in a two piece silk set with a matching robe and a patterned scarf tied around her fro.

“Um, in a poor romantic attempt to apologize, the best thing I could do was knock on your door at the most inconvenient hour because I couldn’t sleep. I can’t wait ’til the morning to tell you how sorry I am for earlier.”

“Come in,”

Nora’s home was painted a rosy blush color, which I didn’t expect. I imagined something more exuberant like a creamsicle orange or dusty yellow but this fit her perfectly. Ornate gold frames with family photos were collaged on the walls over a tan sectional with a range of pink throw pillows. The whole space was the epitome of comfort. She directed me to matching loveseat near the window that overlooks the front corner of the lawn. I sink into the seat and she rubbed her eyes awake to adjust to me in her space.

“Abby, we all have responsibilities and I respect that.” She uncrosses her arms.

“I feel like I blew you off and that is not a true depiction of me. I—I am more than my work, I don’t just blow off the people I care about because of my career.”

“I don’t doubt that Abigail,” Nora smiles.

Before I knew it Nora was sat in my lap, smoothing my hairs down as my hands rested on her thighs. She reached under my chin to lift it to her coal eyes slightly.

“May I kiss you?”

I could only nod as I calculated how long it had been since my lips were pressed against another woman’s. Her lips were buttery, slipping across mine, awakening out of my mania. I glide my fingers across the seam of her shorts over her thigh letting the fabric slip under them. My clit tingled with a savory anticipation as Nora’s tongue entered my mouth and she feathered the hair at the nape of my neck. As I returned the favor and removes herself from my thighs leaving me with my lip parted and suddenly cold.

I sat breathless at the swift interaction in a daze of the events that just occurred. She stands sweetly with a partially lit smile. I had never had a woman be so forward with me and take the initiative in the way Nora has.

“I know you’re busy, we’re grown, and I don’t take things personally.”

I stood up adjusted my boxers subtly or so I hoped. “Well, thanks for that reassurance, I feel stupid now so I am going to leave.”

We both walk back to the door and I linger in the frame.

“Would it make you feel better if I made the plans for our date?”

I stammer. “I mean, no, I got that part. Your job is to show up as beautiful as you are now.”

She opens the door wider and perches on the tips of her toes to kiss me one last time. This was the moment I settled into the most, dragging my hand gently across her jawline, craving even more. The worst part of it thoughwas that I wasn’t craving Nora at all but someone else entirely.

✧ ━━━━

You were reeling over last night and the close proximity to Ms. Anderson was all you could wish for. The way she gripped you was unfamiliar because the way Ellie put her hands on you wasn’t in the way Ms. Anderson did… it was with intention. Not holding you just because she could but holding you to connect and make you feel safe. You felt heavy in your bed remembering the scent of her, replaying each move she made, her sunken eyes, it was all so intoxicating. For the past forty minutes you had her contact open ready to change the events of tonight possessing a sliver of courage.

There was high emotional stakes, you knew that, especially after Ellie took the initiative to end things. It wasn’t grand or particularly a shock, it was what it always was, just Ellie.

“I love you, you know that.” She says through gritted teeth.

“Love you too. I thought you would be happy to see me,”

Your stomach dropped at the sobering image of your girlfriend. She pressed her lips together like a boss that was going to fire you. A lump formed in your throat at her stoic nature that you rarely had the pleasure of seeing anymore.

“Ellie,” You whisper. “What is it?”

“We need to end this now.”

“Our relationship?”

“Before I make the move I think it’s best we split now, even if I will still be around town.”

Sure, you knew this was coming but you thought it would be you, it was simpler now to detach from this wasted partnership and move on. Living in the moment even if it was with your new boss would you had a risky crush on.

“Fine.” You shrug.

“That’s it — fine?”

You scrub your hands over you face and exhale, sick of pretending that you cared anymore, sick of this relationship and trying to understand if it was healthy or not.

“Ellie what do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg you to love me differently?”

“I mean you been wanting this haven’t you? I knew it deep down, I did.”

“If I say yes would that appease you?” You snapped.

She shrugged with a disgusting smug look on her face with her hands gripping her hips.

“What I think is you want me to follow you because I take care of you, make your life better, give you a sense of direction.”

“Oh there it is, the fucking queen has arrived. Yes, I don’t have a pointless four-year degree, been employed since I was nineteen by the way, and I’m not rich — whatever. The same old regurgitated shit we been over before! You got me one gig, congratulations.”

Her voice trembled, this was the Ellie you grew to know, unmanaged anger and buried trauma. Her skin bursting with anxious hives and eyes full of helplessness.

“I hope this attitude is fixed when I see you at work next week.”

You push the door up into the frame as hard as you can let it to finally allow a warm tear to slip out of the corner of your eye. It had hurt, but what’s going to hurt these next few weeks is your ex and boss you clearly are attracted to in a power struggle.

The familiar cherry Anderson & Co. truck rattled into your driveway, this morning you were the client, it was your demolition. Since Abigail had never done this before the unusual circumstance left you both with an added layer of awkwardness after last night. Your parents had gone to run errands and Abby was left to continue the demo on the bathroom. Knowing her she brought her own cup of coffee but you pulled out the French press just in case.

The click of the front door welcomed in a pristine and smiling Abby holding a toolbox in her right hand. You traced the outline of her veins through the spaces of her tattoos marveling at how much her muscle bulged from the weight of the box. “‘Mornin.”

You smile dryly to which Abby ignores and hurries into your bedroom. It looked better this time, less boxes, your bed was made, clothes were in their respected place. You met her in your bathroom where she already had a blueprint pulled out. You two haven’t chatted about the demo since the consultation really so now was the time to, although you didn’t want to because you didn’t care, you wanted her attention.

“Made you coffee.” You grin.

She looks at you through the mirror where you stood in the door frame.

“Thank you sweetheart, is it okay if I had a cup right now before…”

“Of course, you want cream or sugar?”

It wasn’t an inherently a sexually charged question but the way it left your lips it could’ve been.

“Cream, thank you.”

Abby explained to you the way this was going to go. “So listen, this maybe inconvenient to you for a while, this bathroom won’t have any water or power for the time being. It will be completely out of order and that’s that. First thing I am going to start by doing is tearing up some of this tiling.”

“Can I watch?” You ask childishly.

“Sure but I could give you a lesson instead?” She grins.

She hands you the coffee mug with 1/4 left in it and you move it to your desk. You both get layered up in protective gear ready to begin gutting the bathroom. With a blade Ms. Anderson begins to trace the caulk lines inside of the shower carefully. The shower was large enough for you to both be standing inside but small enough for you to brush up against one another. You tried to huddle away but her eyes gestured for you to come closer and you had no choice. Shoulder to shoulder she explained the small details and periodically turning to make sure you understood. Like actually understood.

“So, what we’re doing here is preparing to remove the tiling without ruining the wall too much,”

Her blunt fingers trace along the seams with the knife following shortly behind. You’re both in the shower, sure fully clothed but you thought of that night in her house, imagining you two.

“Gonna remove this grout. I’ll need a tile drill next.”

You both step outside of the tub as she drills into the wall and it was amazing to see her level of concentration and precision. In all honesty, you never understood how Ellie could be passionate about her work and be good at it. Abby moved with a veteran pace, the tiles dropping at her feet, and body covered in flakey residue.

Two hours pass and you are suddenly sitting on top of the toilet seat talking with Abby after an overly extended break.

“When you book Ellie for whatever job you have next, please don’t let it be here.”

She leaned off the wall. “Okay, why?”

“She broke up with me.”

“Damn,” She groans. “I’m sorry.”

You inhale as if shards of glass we’re entering your lungs. It felt painful despite the fact that you wanted it to be over, it still hurt.

“We weren’t good for each other.”

“I can take her off and place up an ad to find someone else it won’t be hard. I don’t want you to be overly stressed at work if she’s around.” Abby’s voice got a bit deeper than usual as she grew stern and authoritative — protective.

“Ms. Anderson, I promise you it’s fine, the battle is my own. Plus you still owe me.”

Despite your efforts to lighten the mood she wasn’t swayed. She moved into the doorway and took off her gloves and set them on the toolbox. She rubbed her palms together and crossed her arms, in her favorite stance.

“I’m serious.”

You freeze.

“Abby,”

“If she disrespects you or says anything outlandish I won’t hesitate to step in. Now what you do outside of me is your business but in this my job is to protect you first. Do you understand me?”

You straighten up and place your hands in your lap and nod. Fire blazed through you seeing this typically sweet woman transform before you eyes. She composed herself with a deep breath.

"She's professional if anything."

"Don't defend her, I've seen how she speaks to you. Take it from me, you'll be glad in a few years you clipped yourself away from her."

You advert your gaze to the floor. If Ms. Anderson could see it how long were you pretending?

"I'm sorry it's not my business, I've just noticed your change in energy as of late, I felt it immediately."

You choke back a tender sob, refusing to cry in front of your boss over a shitty ex. Abby made it incredibly difficult to not throw yourself into her arms right now. Maybe that's the main piece you and Ellie were missing this whole time, you never felt each other.

Her feet shuffle closer to you and you raise your head with glass eyes. "Oh," she sighs apologetically and yet full of pity.

You poor young thing, you have no clue, you imagine her thinking. You pull yourself up directly in front of her, the lack of space reminiscent of last night. Abby's hand reaches for the door, her left foot stepping back and you follow stepping forward. She softens her eyes and traces the outline of your mouth intently. You step forward this time filling in the gap just as the creaking of the garage erupts.

Neither of you react as you tie into each other an invisible string pulling you closer. The distance of the thread growing shorter. “I’m going to go check on them.” You say, not exactly wanting to leave.

“Perfect. I’ll come down to say hello.”

You both taking a whisper and speaking almost robotically. Shoving away every human urge.

Your left hand brushes by Abby’s waist as you move past her in the doorway. The woman turned quicker than you thought because there she was with her body pressed into the back of yours. Light enough to want more and close enough to feel the rise and fall of her chest.

#lesbian #abby x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby anderson #tlou abby #wlw and nblw only #abby anderson imagine #abby x you #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson x reader

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kechiwrites · 2 years ago

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gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

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nevarrhoe · 3 months ago

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mea culpa - 6 (m.m)

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut !! p in v, she/her pronouns used for reader

series master list

any minors caught interacting will be blocked and reported

It only took a few days to fall back into a routine with Matt.

This one was newer; fresher and lighter. A combination of what you had originally got into this fling for but also something…more. Now that you had admitted to one another that this meant something to you both, there was a weight off your shoulders. Having that established direction was all the confidence you needed to move forward with your whole head and heart in it. Matt’s promise to you had been important as well: you don’t have to decide what this is just yet. When you know, you just say, okay?

It was funny to hear it coming from him. He was a man that moved at a thousand miles an hour - taking on cases left right and centre, constantly chasing his next victory or the next landmark for social justice in Hell’s Kitchen. The fact he was stopping to slow down, even for a minute, was a reflection of your position in his life. Matt didn’t want to rush this. He wanted to take his time and enjoy it.

It was a warm Wednesday afternoon that you made your first public appearance together. Nothing serious - you were just strolling through Central Park on your shared lunch break. It had taken a lot of convincing on your part to get Matt to do it; he was filled with ten million panicked questions. What if someone sees us? What if they think it’s a conflict of interest?

Your argument that you could just be two colleagues grabbing lunch together was the thing that won him over. Maybe you were just taking advantage of the nice weather and walking through the park instead of having a meeting in a dinghy office, or maybe he’d bumped into you out and about and had questions about a case. They were all very plausible things, but it wasn’t until you grabbed his hand and said Matthew, I just want to spend time with you that he finally cracked.

“The weather is too nice. I don’t wanna go back to work,” Matt commented, aimlessly wandering down one of the quieter paths.

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Me too. I have a meeting this afternoon with a client and then I have some stupid dinner with some of the girls from college. I really don’t want to go.”

“You should cancel and come and see me instead,” he said. “I get off early tonight.”

“I don’t know how they would react to me ditching them to spend time with my boyfriend,” you shot back. “Pretty sure that’s breaking rule one of the girl code.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Who’s this boyfriend of yours? Should I be concerned?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening. Shit. Neither of you had brought up the whole conversation about labels: you’d never had to before because there was never even a context where you would bring Matt up. The both of you had just sort of been cruising along on the understanding that you didn’t have to define something that you didn’t have to explain to anyone.

“Fuck, Matt, I -” you stumbled on your words, pausing for a minute. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out and-”

“- no, I like it,” he gave you a shit-eating grin.

This would have been the perfect moment to kiss. Alas, you were in public, surrounded by the prying eyes of hundreds of people who may or may not know your father. It was too risky to even share a hug, so instead, you gave Matt a huge smile and a curt nod.

“Good,” you said. “Me too.”

–

It was gone 10PM by the time you got back home after dinner.

Your family resided in a penthouse high-rise, just south of the World Trade Center. It overlooked the Hudson and had a beautiful view of the skyline; it was just a shame that you felt so trapped here as of late. Getting your own apartment had been on your to-do list for a while but up until Matt, you’d never had that much of a reason too. You loved sharing his space with him, but there was a massive part of you that wanted your own place. Moreover, it would be a place where you and Matt could just be, the same way you were at his. It would just be nice to have two places where your relationship could exist.

Throwing your jacket aside, you kicked off your heels and headed further into the apartment. The kitchen lights were on; you turned the corner to see your father. He wasn’t normally up past this hour, but tonight he was standing by the marble island, a glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Any other day you would have avoided him, but you’d been texting Matt all afternoon and his sacrilegious messages had you in a good mood.

“Rough day?” you asked.

Your father looked up from his glass, eyebrows raised. “No, I’ve had a fine day. We won another case this afternoon. I went out for drinks with your mother to celebrate and when we got back, I got a call from Harrison. You know Harrison, don’t you? He works by the park.”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded. “Is everything okay?”

“He was just dropping me a message to tell me that he spotted you and Matthew Murdock out for a nice afternoon stroll,” he continued, voice ice cold. “Do you want to explain to me why you’re gallivanting about with the enemy?”

Your eyes went wide and you forced yourself to swallow. “Matt just had some questions about the Thomspon case.”

“The Thompson case closed a week ago,” your dad shot back. “And as far as I know, him asking you questions doesn’t involve a romantic walk through Central Park with ice cream-”

“- I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” you snapped. “You can’t spy on me my whole fucking life!”

“Language!” he barked. “What is going on between you and Murdock?”

“Nothing!” you insisted. “Besides, I’m not a teenager anymore. I don’t have to explain everything to you.”

“You do when it’s a conflict of interest!” he continued. “Do you know how bad it looks on my part that one of my employees is running around town with a low-level pro-bono lawyer like him?”

“I am not your employee, I am your daughter!” you yelled. “I don’t have to take this. I’m going out.”

Storming away, you exited the kitchen. Your shoes and jacket were back on in a flash. You hadn’t expected your father to find out so soon - even though he hadn’t really found out anything. It was easy to argue that your outing with Matt had been completely innocent, though your reaction to his accusations might not have helped the situation.

You had an Uber to Matt’s place booked by the time the elevator got down to the lobby. You shot him a text as well - I’m on my way over. We have a situation. He never minded when you turned up unannounced; if anything, he enjoyed it.

It was only a twenty-minute or so drive - New York was never quiet, but the roads were a little emptier now that rush hour had passed. It gave you a chance to think: about what you were going to say to Matt, about what you were going to say to your father. This felt like a sign from the universe that you really should move out soon. Hell, you were ready to completely cut your family off at that moment. That just meant finding a job and finding your own place, and when your surname was so clearly linked back to your father, it would be hard for anyone to take you seriously.

Matt still hadn’t replied to your text by the time you got to his. You didn’t think too much of it - he was normally busy at this time with paperwork or files, and his phone wasn’t always on loud. You were practically the only person he ever texted anyways.

Hopping up the stairs, you frowned to yourself when you saw that the door to his apartment wasn’t closed. It wasn’t wide open, just slightly ajar, but that was weird for him. This was the same man who triple-checked that it was locked every night. There was no way in hell that he would just casually leave it open.

You gently pushed it, making your way inside the apartment.

“Matt?” you called. “It’s me.”

There was a strewn red boot on the floor and another one beside it. Your concern only grew deeper as you headed inside the apartment, following the trail of discarded red clothes.

It wasn’t until you saw a horned helmet tossed outside the bathroom and Matt cleaning up a giant wound on his stomach that you finally put two and two together.

“Holy shit,” you murmured, “you’re Daredevil.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x fem! reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #daredevil imagine #daredevil imagines #daredevil smut #daredevil angst #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil born again

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loafgeto · 2 years ago

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A BROTHEL…! BUT WITH MEN?

fushiguro toji x fem!reader

synopsis: you and your friends enter a brothel that has men, instead of women. thus, allows you to encounter toji. and of course, he’s just working and you’re just a client— so there’s nothing else involved, right?

contents: 18+ mdni, explicit language, fem!reader, she/her pronouns. NSFW, cunninglus, teasing, dirty talk, semi-overstimulation, begging, markings/hickeys, protected sex → unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, orgasms, size kink/difference, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, cockwarming, pet names. not proofread!

word count: 5k

notes: been thinking abt this lately with toji... might make a gojo one like this idk tho (before you progress in the story just know that i enjoy including the second round of fucking lol...)

your friends heard something interesting a few days ago. they were discussing it while meeting up for a hang out. you were the last to arrive, but your friends were chatting away about some topic you wouldn’t necessarily be interested in— at least not at the moment.

when you inquired and slip into the conversation about what they were discussing about, your friends appeared to hesitate and didn’t respond at first. but your curiosity lingered and you begged them to tell you. therefore— apparently, there was a unique and secret business somewhere in the city.

it was a legal brothel home, posing as a regular club building to the public. if you wanted to go to the brothel, you’d have to see the clerk by the golden elevator. but instead of the brothel having women employees— it was men instead. and your friends were considering on going, but they weren’t certain to invite you since you had just broken up with your boyfriend.

“what? that was like a month ago, c’mon guys. i can go,” you reassured your friends with a smile. sure, the break up still recalls to your mind and pains your healing heart, but you wanted to get over it and the relationship. so of course you’d need to do something thrilling and adventurous that would occupy your mind.

“okay, if [name] wants to then we should let her join us! who knows, she might meet a better hunk there,” one of your friends reply, giggling which makes the others agree.

“what? you know those dudes there are just working and not looking for any relationship,” you furrow your brows slightly, and sigh.

“oh, don’t give us that look, [name]! we were just joking,” one of your other friends intervened with a grin. you proceed not to say anything else as your friends further conversed about their excitement and expectations when they’re at the brothel.

“i hope the guys are hot.”

“i hope i fuck someone hot.”

they all giggled and fawned over the thought of having sex with someone handsome, or whatever. you just disassociated at that moment, not necessarily listening to the rest of the conversation.

later, your friends settled a saturday night to go to this brothel, which was in two days. you found yourself anticipating the consequences of your decisions for the remaining two days, and contemplated whether or not to actually go. well, you didn’t want to disappoint your friends after already claiming you’d go, so you decided to look forward to it.

when saturday night arrives, your friends picked you up and you all headed towards the brothel. it was a decent walk and a lot of people were attending the club. from what you could tell, most of the guests didn’t know that a brothel existed underneath the club. when you and your friends entered the loud room, you all headed towards the golden door tucked in the far back corner. it didn’t necessarily receive much attention, as there was a sign that wrote vip only.

your friends gave the clerk by the elevator an access code, in order for all of you to get in and moments later, another employee assists the group. “come this way, please,” the man gently gestures you all, and after exchanging glances he speaks again. “the golden elevator isn’t the main door that leads you where you want to be, so please come.”

you all trail after the man as he leads you down a quieter hall. large ancient paintings of animals and folklore creatures were hanged up with pure golden frames, easily giving your friends the creeps and caused them to huddle close together.

“i’m assuming this is the first time you’ve all been here?” the man inquires, still keeping his smile as he presses a button to another elevator. you all nod, and he chuckles. “i see, i hope you all have wonderful experiences. you all will be going to another floor where you can meet the men. and if you can’t select someone, then the host will attend you.”

the information seemed to enlighten your friends as they began smiling, giggling, and whispering bullshit that you didn’t necessarily hear when entering the elevator. the elevator brought you girls down two floors, and when the door opens— you all step into the premises of another floor where the tension is more intense and intimate.

there was music, neon party lights, and a limited amount of people. most men were occupied with their clients, while some were sitting and waiting for whoever to approach them. this brothel wasn’t typically like any other— it even appeared like a normal club. as you observed the area, it surprised you to see how many men were actually working in this place.

all of your friends ended up splitting from you and each other, leaving you alone to do whatever you desired. you sat by the bar, occasionally glancing at the men with their lady clients and wondered who to approach. however, you quickly became timid and ordered a drink. for all you know, it was going to be one hell of a night.

when searching for your friends, you could already see them all with someone— laughing and talking. you decided to get and walk around again- and maybe, you’ll meet someone approachable.

the area was decently large, filled with many secluded tables surrounding the large dance floor. you detected the unique decorations and designs of the interior, reminding you of those wicked businesses in those television shows. you were about to lap around the entire area again, when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

catching you off guard, you immediately whip your head around to see a man around your height. he was chubby and reeked a strong smell of alcohol and cheap cologne. you tried not express rudely, since you’re a client who didn’t want to get kicked out, and gently moved away from the man’s touch.

“sorry, can i help you?” you question with an awkward grin.

“no, no, sweetheart. i’ve just been looking at ya for a while now..” the man responds, a burp following after. “ya lonely? need someone? c’mon, we can go for a couple more drinks, yeah? get to know each other better and then we can go into one of the rooms..”

“s-sorry, sir. i’m not interested,” you hoped the decline was polite enough, and you slightly stepped away from the man. “in fact, i’m with someone..”

“aww, are you shy, my dear? i know you aren’t with anyone,” the man chuckles as he traces your steps, approaching closer to you. he grabs your forearm, tugging you towards him. “come on, it’ll be super, super fun.”

you were about to slap the man across the face when another hand presses against the man’s shoulder, earning both of your attentions. behind of the man was another— taller, muscular, and handsomer man with a scar on his mouth. his countenance was so powerful, yet intriguing and it destroyed the shorter man’s confidence.

“are you drunk again?” the taller man questions, his low and raspy tone making your knees weak as he pulls the other man away from you. he gives you a quick glance before returning to the other man. “ya know, you shouldn’t be approaching clients like that if you don’t want the business to fail. boss wouldn’t like that, would he now?”

“t-toji?! y-you shithead.. i’m not doing anything bad- and don’t meddle into other’s situations!” the short man spouts, face burning with embarrassment as he pushes toji’s hand off his shoulder.

“well it is my business since she’s my client,” toji tilts his head and crosses his arms, maintaining his cool and calm demeanor. “so, you gonna leave or what?”

“y-you..” the man is unable to say anything else, and without looking at you, he quickly walks past toji and pushes through other people walking behind, disappearing into the crowd.

you sigh out of relief, feeling your heart race faster than usual. you raise your head, meeting gazes with toji who was clearly unbothered. “thank you.. for that,” you nod your head, but toji just shrugs.

“it was nothing, princess,” toji raises an arm and gently rubs the side of his head with his palm. “you’re a client and you have the right to tell him to back off. don’t just be standing there helpless, cause no one else is gonna help ya.”

“but you did,” you reply, furrowing your brows.

“right, of course, i did. what i mean is— no one else is gonna help you but me,” a little smirk appears on toji’s lips as he steps closer to you, his build towering over yours. “you still need help, pretty girl?”

“n-no.. i’m.. fine,” you stammer, shaking your head and dart your eyes in different directions as you feel your face burn.

toji lowers his eyes to examine your flustered expression, and he chuckles, admiring how cute your face looks. he opened his mouth and was about to reply, when another girl’s voice grabbed his attention.

“tojiii!” a woman running behind of toji calls out to him and she instantly wraps her arms around his waist. you blink several times, watching the interaction and remaining silent. “i’ve been looking alll over for youu~”

toji turns his head and down at the woman, smiling and gently putting his hands over hers. “sorry, just got caught up in something. you having fun?”

“noooo. without you it’s just so, so boring. c’mon toji~ let’s go back to the table~” the girl whines and pouts, tugging toji closer to her breasts that were pushed against his back. and she finally notices you from the corner of her eyes. “oh, who’s this?”

toji gives you a look, before turning back to the woman again. “just another client. go back to the table, i’ll meet you there,” toji says, fully turning his body to face her.

her pout grows larger as she gives toji her pleading eyes. “no, toji, you gotta come with meee~ and i’ll always be your favorite right, toji? hmmmm?”

“of course, of course. now go back first, i gotta help this client, y’know it’s my job to do that,” toji pats the girl’s shoulder, trying to gently push her away from him. “then after that, i’m all yours, ‘kay?”

“it’s fine! i don’t need any help,” you blurt out, earning the attention of the two. the tension became sensitive, and you could feel the flustered emotions returning to you. toji tilts his head, gazing at you as if you just said something you shouldn’t have. “thank you for helping me though, i’ll be going now.”

without giving toji or the woman another glance, you turn around and walk straight back towards the bar. you could feel a knot form in your stomach as you push yourself up on an empty chair, waving a hand at the bartender to make you another cocktail. you press your arm against the cold feeling of the bar’s countertop, now regretting your choice of coming here.

you couldn’t approach any man at all, and even if you wanted to, they were already with a client. you were pretty much going to spend the rest of the night at the bar, drinking constantly until you couldn’t and eventually go home without informing your friends who probably didn’t even care at that moment. two of them were already heading towards one of the rooms, while the others— well, you didn’t know.

your mind endlessly thought about the imagination of toji sitting next to you and talking to you before inviting you into one of the rooms. that man had caught your attention. however, he seemed quite popular and probably had many clients tracing after him like a golden prize.

maybe i should just leave, you thought when finishing your fifth cup of alcohol. thankfully, you were a strong drinker, so you could smoothly leave without any complications. you took out your phone, turning on the device and opening the messages app to text in the group chat that you’d be leaving. to you, there was necessarily no point in staying here.

as you were about to get off the chair, you heard someone pull the seat next to you. turning your head, your eyes fall upon toji’s large figure. his dark eyes were already on you and a faint smirk appears on his lips as you bring your thighs closer together.

“leaving so soon?” toji questions.

“l-leaving? i’m not.. leaving,” the lie slips off your tongue, and you had no clue why you had done so. toji’s demeanor was so alluring and his approach made your heart flutter a bit. the man was gorgeous, even with his scar— he’s definitely someone you would have approached if you saw him sooner.

“didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but i saw you text your friends that you were leaving,” toji smiles, leaning his head to the side. “i’m guessing you haven’t approached anyone yet, huh?”

“no..” you shake your head, swallowing the nervousness you had aching in your throat. you turn your head slightly, detecting the girl toji was with earlier— it seems like she was searching for him again. “um.. what about the girl earlier?”

“oh, her?” toji hums, eyes wandering to the same direction before returning back to you. “you don’t gotta worry about her, princess. she should be the least of yours worries.”

“but she’s—“

“hey,” toji gently grabs your chin, turning your attention back onto him. “i said don’t worry about her, or anyone at all. just worry about me only, i’m keeping you company.”

your body seemed to make the decisions for you and you nodded your head, eyes never leaving toji’s as he returns his hand to his side. toji orders a drink for himself, noticing how much cups you’ve already gotten yourself.

“so, what brought you here?” toji questions, drumming his fingers against the bar’s countertop. he couldn’t help but observe your attire— the way your dress hugged your body and shifted near your hips, almost revealing your panties underneath. “i’m sure a pretty girl like you would have a boyfriend, no?”

“oh.. no. i broke up with my boyfriend a while ago,” you reply, shifting your eyes slightly away as you notice him constantly checking you out. not that you were uncomfortable, rather becoming timid. sure, you’d imagine talking to him like this— but now that it was actually happening, you didn’t necessarily know how to act. “what makes you want to work here?”

“huh, dunno. for fun, i guess,” toji shrugs as the bartender passed toji’s drink to him. he lifts the cup in his hands, gaze still on you. “you here for fun too, eh?”

“well, i’m here with my friends—“ you pause and shake your head as toji takes a long sip of his drink beverage. “well, i was with them. i’m pretty sure they’re all invited to the rooms by now.”

“that so?” toji smiles, finishing his drink before leaning closer to you. his face was nearly inches away from yours, and you couldn’t help but stare down at his lips and back up into his eyes. “what’s your name, by the way, princess?”

“[name]…”

“cute name for a cute girl. i’m toji, but i’m pretty sure you already know that,” he chuckles, still leaning close to your face. “hm.. how about i take you to one of the rooms?”

it took you a while, but now you’re in a private room with toji. as your lips moved against each other’s, his large hands groped your ass and he grinds his hips against yours. you can feel his hard aching dick underneath his pants, pressing against your lower belly and you moan against his lips because of the sensation.

“lay down, princess,” toji instructs as your leg hits the frame of the bed. you follow his directions, pushing your lips away from his and laid down on the mattress. toji initially observes your expression, seeing how needy you’ve already become for him. just imagining how wet you were was making his dick even harder. “wanna spread your legs for me, pretty?”

you didn’t hesitate to follow his request, spreading your wobbling legs apart which pushes your dress upwards to reveal your soaked panties. toji smiles and kneels in front of you, eyes staring at the drenched area. he presses a finger against your clothed pussy, getting a small whine out of your mouth.

“t-toji..”

“you know, ever since you came in here, i’ve been wanting to approach ya,” toji starts, hoisting both of your legs over his shoulder and he grips the fat of your thighs, pushing your hips closer to his face. he presses a soft kiss on your inner thigh, eyes looking into yours. “i wondered why such a pretty girl like you was here.”

toji continues to press kisses on your inner thigh, swirling his tongue around certain areas before gently biting on the skin. quiet moans fall from your lips as your hands grip the sheets of the mattress and your pussy quivered each moment his lips neared your wet area. toji leaves several marks on your thighs before pressing the tip of his tongue against your clothed clit.

“mm- fuck…” your head falls back as his tongue rubs against your sensitive clit, and toji chuckles before kissing your thighs again. “that already made you moan like that? shit, can’t wait to hear how you sound like when i use my tongue.”

toji lifts his head, opening his mouth to bite against the fabric of your panties and you watch as he lowers them down and off of you. he tosses the garment somewhere on the floor, eyes locked on your glistening cunt. “such a pretty pussy i have here, eh?” he compliments, thumbing your clit.

“fuck… i-i need your tongue in me now, toji..” you squirm as toji makes slow, sensual circles against your clit with his thumb.

“i hear you, princess," toji grins as he lowers his face to your pelvic area. he glides his wet tongue up and down your folds, before slightly pushing it into your needy hole. you gasp, feeling his tongue beginning to passionately fuck your pussy.

"t-that feels s'good, toji-" you moan, a hand going to grasp his hair. toji's smile became wider as he moves to pleasure your clit, swirling his tongue around and gently sucking on your sensitive sweet spot.

you had never felt such satisfaction before, even when you were with your previous boyfriend. hearing your soft moans made toji eager to fuck you at that moment, he was so desperate to know how your cunt would feel around him. but he's patient, wanting to create a more erotic atmosphere. toji's never met someone who could make him feel like this, after all, he's just working.

toji rolls his tongue against your wet folds, licking and savoring your arousal dripping out. then he returns to gently suck and kitten lick on your clit, grunting lowly at the feeling of your hand roaming and softly gripping his hair.

you start grinding your hips a little to match the sync of his tongue eating you out, making toji smirk. "so needy, aren't ya, princess?" toji chuckles, spitting his saliva on your pussy before returning his tongue back to spread the liquid over the area.

"mhm- needy- just for you, toji-" you moan as your body trembles, head nearly falling back against the mattress. toji flicks his tongue faster against your pussy, noticing that you were gradually reaching your orgasm and he circles his thumb on your clit to assist you closer to your climax.

your heart and breathing rate increases as your hips jerk slightly forward, your pussy ejaculating more of your arousal fluids that toji just couldn't get enough of. your body receives a great sensation of satisfaction and toji pulls his face away, his smug grin returning to his lips.

“you ready for my cock, princess?” toji questions as he stands up, unzipping his pants and lowering his boxers to free his throbbing hard cock leaking with pre-cum. your cute, soft eyes seemed to shine upon seeing his dick, causing toji to snicker. you nod your head indicating your approval and toji grabs out a condom packet from his pocket.

toji opens the condom pack with his teeth, slipping the thin protection on his cock after pumping it several times with his other hand. he wets the condom with your arousal before positioning himself properly between your thighs. you watch the entire thing, lips slightly trembling at the sight of his thick cock pressing against the entrance of your swollen pussy.

he starts by teasing your pussy with his tip and pushing your legs farther apart. you squirm, eyes begging for him to push his cock in. “p-please, toji~” you whine, making the man’s smile curve wider. toji quickly slips off his shirt, exposing his scarred but well-built body. “this pussy really wants it, huh?” he replies, figuring he’d take off your other clothes later and instantly shoves his cock past your folds and into your aching hole.

“n-ngh! fuck!” you cry out, eyes nearly rolling back as toji starts thrusting his hips. you swore you just came, but you couldn’t even tell as you were lust struck by toji’s cock. “shittt, princess— you’re clenching me so fucking tight,” toji groans, his cock twitching at the feeling of your sensitive walls sucking him in.

toji pushes your legs towards you with his hands, lowering his body over yours to quicken his thrusts. he grunts, fingers nudging into the skin of your thighs. your pussy felt so damn good around him, he was loving it and making him imagine how it’d feel like to fuck you without the condom. toji’s slept with other women before, several of the same ones a couple times, but they never gave him the same feeling you did. for some reason, it’s different with you and toji was certain that if you kept coming here, he’d fuck you and only you.

“you’re adjusting so well to me already.. agh, shit,” toji moans, pumping his cock deep into your pussy— like he was craving so much more of it. “mm- toji! p-please kiss me~” you moan out, squeezing your walls tightly around him as toji guides your legs to wrap around his waist.

toji lowers his face, pressing his lips against yours and forcefully pushes his tongue into your mouth. you both share a sloppy kiss, your tongues moving in a lustful desire as your hands travel to claw the skin of toji’s back as he pounds into you from the position.

“toji- ngh- yes, fuck me harder!” you beg when pulling away from the kiss, tugging his body close to yours. toji groans, feeling his balls become more sensitive from your indecent demand and thrusts quicker, rougher like you wanted. “s-shit. your pussy treats me so well, baby— like it’s just f’me,” toji grunts, realizing he was reaching his climax next.

“i’m about to cum- shit-“ toji huffs, smiling from the feeling of your pussy pulsating around him when he claimed he was about to cum. he pushes his body away, throwing your legs over his shoulders and gripping his arms around your thighs before roughly plunging his cock into your pussy. “fuckfuckfuck, i’m gonna cum too- toji-“ you cry out, eyes shutting as small tears stream down the side of your face.

“rub your clit, princess. show me how you touch your clit when i'm fucking you like this," toji demands as you push your hips up. you whine and without hesitating to his request, you lower a hand down to rub circles against like your clit, allowing you to reach your second orgasm. "that's good. such a good girl," he praises next with a groan following.

as you came over his cock, you could feel toji's warm cum through the condom when he stops thrusting. his large body hovers over yours and you both gasp heavily for air. your eyes seemed to stare at the ceiling for a very long time, but your attention is drawn away when toji slips his cock out your pussy and takes off the condom. he tosses the used condom to the trash can nearby and cleans himself up, and you notice that he was still quite hard.

"toji.." you call out, earning his gaze. you had pushed your dress off of you, leaving you in your laced bra. his eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't make a move as you unclipped your bra and threw it somewhere, revealing your breasts. "let's go for another round.. please.." you implore, getting on all fours in front of him.

toji's dick pulsates at the sight of your actions, and he couldn't reject you at all, not when you're looking and pleading for him like this. he nods, about to grab another condom when you stop him. initially, he's confused by your gesture and watches as you turn your entire body around, your ass facing his hard cock. "n-no condom.." you utter, exposing your still wet cunt to him.

"are you on the pill?" toji questions first, but you shake your head. he sighs, "you know that-"

"i-i know.. and it's okay.. so pleasee, toji," you beg again with a small whimper. toji reminds himself that you're still his client and apart of his job was to follow client's request no matter the circumstances. however, even if you weren’t his client… toji grabs the side of your hips with his hands, pushing your ass against his hips before aligning his cock at your entrance.

without warning, toji shoves his bare cock entirely into your pussy and you both moan at this different sensation. “o-oh fuck..” you mewl, your sticky walls already clenching tight around him. “s-shit.. [name], your pussy feels so damn good,” toji grunts, hips moving at a quicker pace.

toji didn’t mention to you, but you’re the first person here that he’s fucking without a condom and damn it felt way better than ever. with the position, it allowed him to penetrate deeper into your pussy and rub perfectly against your g-spot. your moans became louder and constant as his thrusts became stronger, and you began pushing your hips back to match the sync of his thrusts.

“fuckkk, yeah. fuck my cock, princess,” toji groans at your hip’s movements, head falling back as he starts heavily pounding you from the back. “feels s’damn good, yeah,” he’d add next, eyes lowering to the area in which you two connected.

toji’s dick quivers at the sight of your pussy spreading so well to his cock, since he was a much bigger man that you. he’d never imagine a small and cute girl sucking in his cock like this, begging for him until she couldn’t anymore. “tojiii, i love your cock sososo much!” you cry, your pussy squeezing him as if you’re trying to milk his cum out.

his cock is thrusted deep into you, kissing your womb and stroking against your sensitive g-spot. in that moment, you were so glad that you came to the brothel with your friends— and that you didn’t leave before toji approached you. your friends would probably be confused on your actions once they see you again, but who’d care what they would think? if they saw toji, you bet they would be wanting to pursue him too.

"ngh- fuckkk- i want keep coming here! i want to feel your raw cock fill up my pussy just like this!" you scream, eyes rolling back as your tears stream down your messy face.

"haaahh, princess. if you keep coming here wanting that then..." toji begins through his grunts and pants, hips slamming harshly against your ass that it'd leave marks. "you might.. actually end up getting.. pregnant. fuck-" he moans, feeling you squeeze his cock at his words.

"'ts okay, toji- i'll deal with- the consequences! pleaseee, i want your cum!" you reply through your heavy moans, head turning around to face him. your expression was so erotic and filthy, you practically had heart eyes just for him. it made toji wonder if he should just cum in you like you wanted. oh how it made his dick twitch from imagining knocking you up with his babies. "we're both going to deal with the consequence, princess. shitt fine, i'm gonna give you my cum since you've been so good to me," toji replies as his grip on your hips tighten.

"yesyesyes! oh god- pleaseplease give me your cum!" you plead over and over, and how can toji reject such a proposal like that? especially when it's coming from you? "fuck, fuck," toji chants, fingertips dipping into your skin as he feels his climax forming quick. "take all of my cum like the good girl you are, 'kay? don't you dare fucking waste it or else i'll fuck more into you."

maybe toji shouldn't have said that, but either way, you both were certain that there was no stopping even after this. at this point, he was going to work past his shift, but he didn’t care one bit. if you both were kicked out, he’d invite you to his place and you’d both continue fucking from there. constant sex with you was one of his desires, but first, he wanted to know more about you.

when toji pumps his warm cum into you, your thoughts seemed to have fade from your head. you’ve never experienced such erotic, explicit, and dirty sex like this before, and it’s something you’ll be craving for once you and toji go separate ways. well, that is if you do.

toji remains his cock in your pussy, wanting to keep warm. as you’re catching for air, you can feel him press kisses against your shoulder and down your back. his lips travel back to your neck and towards your ear, and you could feel his hot breath gently brushing against your skin.

“wanna ride me next, princess?”

LOAFGETO. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

a/n: GOODNESS THIS WAS AGONIZING TO WRITE.. i didnt know when i’d finish this but thankfully it didn’t take more than two days.. LOL. have a good day/night guys. likes + reblogs is appreciated!!!! <3

#loafgeto #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x reader #toji x female reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk toji smut #toji fushigro x reader #anime smut #jjk oneshot

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starlightshadowsworld · 2 months ago

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Concept: Beast Kunikida and Beast Akutagawa have a close mentor and mentee bond. What if that translated into the Bsd universe?

It starts with Atsushi.

Obviously.

They’re both in a bit of a pickle (not a literal one dw) and Atsushi’s like I’m gonna call someone. Akutagawa immediately is like don’t tell Dazai.

No explanation needed and Atsushi reassures him he wasn’t going too anyway. On the first ring Kunikida picks up and he’s quiet for a while listening to Atsushi explain the situation.

Before sighing loudly, going on a rant about the client giving them incorrect instructions. Pausing mid way through said rant to direct them on how to proceed.

Akutagawa is sceptical but with no other option he concedes. He and Atsushi follow along, only stopping to update him on the situation.

They are finished with the task and faster then they thought they would.

Atsushi’s relieved and Akutagawa is impressed. He scoffs at Atsushi’s surprised look, saying that he expected no less from Dazai’s partner.

But it doesn’t stop after there.

Sometimes it’s when they end up in similar situations but mostly it’s because any mission they take together is overseen by Kunikida.

He and Akutagawa get to meet in person (without fighting) and their conversation is short but not unpleasant.

Akutagawa remarks in a tone that could almost be amusement to himself that he didn’t realise the Agency had a Chuuya too.

And maybe it’s that similarity that brings them closer. Kunikida doesn’t treat Akutagawa like the enemy though there’s always a healthy caution in their interactions.

Which Akutagawa begins to copy him as they are allies after all. Their conduct is always professional but there’s a warmth that grows in it.

And then the Agency and the Port Mafia head out together and when Kunikida requests aid it’s Akutagawa who heads to his location immediately.

He admonishes himself for it, for wanting to appease this detective. But there’s a desire to prove himself in a way that he can’t deny.

Kunikida is relieved at the sight at of him, listens to his instruction and while he tweaks it ever so slightly they head off with a shared goal.

He regards Akutagawa as an alley and though they are very different on the surface, Kunikida he can see many of Atsushi’s qualities in him.

There’s that same sense of pride when he notices Akutagawa take caution to not kill his foe. Kunikida doesn’t critique his methods, knowing that the enemy is still alive and mostly well.

Though he does drop a few tidbits here and there. And though Akutagawa seems unbothered it does seem that he’s taking heed of the advice.

Part of him is curious as to how a man that reminds him so much of his superior. But is also so different to him could have such an unbreakable moral code.

It should sound ridiculous and naive to live by such ideals. And yet it comes off as admirable because it’s clear Kunikida knows the darkness of this world.

Of an easier path that would spare him pain.

And yet walks the difficult one with his head held high.

The day is saved and Kunikida hangs back to thank him for his assistance. Perhaps absentmindky he pats his shoulder as he leaves for home.

Akutagawa stands there and slowly reaches a hand to where Kunikida’s hand once was.

It felt nice.

#if Atsushi and Mori can have a mentor moment #I don’t see why these two can’t #bsd #bsd beast #bungou stray dogs #bsd kunikida #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #kunikida doppo

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diluckissrr · 3 months ago

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Hey guys welcome back to my channel

Halbarry spy au based on a fic my friend wrote for me 🫶

I havent uh...done hals character sheet yet but ill add it later

Okay lore time:

This is sort of a combination between the cw flash show and the comics because my friend only knows the cw show

Iris, Barry and Hal all work under the same spy agency (i guess its a version of the justice league but i think i need a diff name for it).

Barry "flash" allen is an agent well known for his agility and efficiency, and yk he loves a plan!

Specialty is cryptography and tracking people down (forensics background)

Picked up some code and info gathering from iris. B + I work really well together because they understand each other's fields and also are BFFs (yay!)

I like to think hed be interested by new technologies and gadgets because hes a nerd

Not a very good liar, Iris has tried to teach him her tricks and he has. sort of improved?

Iris "dutch" west is like the woman in the chair. (I named her dutch becuz of the dutch iris flower, its very pretty you should look it up).

She's known for digging up information and learns a lot abt the clients/targets/whatever so that her agents are best prepared (barry loves this). S

Works behind the scenes during operations to make sure everything goes smoothly

Very good at manipulation and getting things out of people.

Wanted to be a field operative but Joe wouldn't let her (its apparently dangerous or something...🙄). She does occasionally go on little unofficial missions that only barry knows about because a girls gotta have her fun!!!

Joe is some sort of supervisor for the agency btw. 👍

Hal "highball" jordan!!! Hal is overall a very skilled agent. He's a creative and unpredictable fighter, plus he's able to think quickly on his feet.

He really enjoys the risk of the job and sometimes gets a bit too into it which can cause some erm. predicaments. But hey! quick thinking!

His impulsiveness has put many of his partners in danger due to their inability to keep up with him.

Charismatic (rizz!!), helps him on missions that require a little people shmoozing.

Many people underestimate his actual ability and think he has gotten to where he is by nepotism/sleeping his way up but hes a very hard and ambitious worker

side note: Carol ferris is a higher up and after she and Hal broke up she sent him on really dangerous jobs out of spite. "haha yup almost died. shes so funny <3"

Barry sort of gets paired with hal as damage control and is NOT very happy about it because he thinks hal is incredibly annoying and impulsive. Hal is also not very happy about it because he thinks Barry is uptight and a goody-two-shoes. They are both not wrong!!

Because of Joe and Barry propaganda, Iris doesn't really like Hal at first but likes teasing Barry about working with him. Eventually hal wins her over

Barry can be a bit of a control freak in terms of sticking to the plan so working with hal forces him to loosen up and become more adaptable. I think Hal learns to appreciate Barry for his skill and respects his work ethic. He really trusts Barry and eventually goes along with his plans (even if he knows they won't go perfectly, but thats what improv is for). I think as they work together they build a really strong trust between them like 'Ik u wont let me die! thanks a lot xoxo'. imagine them gayly and clichely driving away from a mission in a cool convertible with the radio on. yeahhh!

#my art #dc comics #barry allen #hal jordan #halbarry #iris west #spy au #i love thinking!!#if you actually read all of that thank you i appreciate it #but yeah. i like thinking about halbarry #i will def draw more for this au #hb are so bisexual...#barry and iris also have like #me playing with my hb barbies in my head #thanks guys #buh bye!1

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ms-demeanor · 2 months ago

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I had a straight up delightful moment at work yesterday when a new member of the management team asked me how we were tracking warranties and I explained that we kind of aren't and he asked why we aren't and that meant he got a 30-minute rundown of how top-to-bottom fucked the procurement process is here.

First I explained the process for sending a quote (i am assigned a ticket in system A1, I create an opportunity in system A2, from the opportunity i can generate a quote in system B - if I start with the quote I can't associate it back to the opportunity or the ticket, if we need to change the quote after it was approved we need to generate a new quote from the opportunity to overwrite the old one - and send the quote from system B.)

Then I explained the process of getting approval (system B sends the quote and receives the approvals but does not communicate that to system A, so until it is manually updated system A sends a daily reminder about the quote to the client and after three days with no response will close the ticket even if the client approved the quote in system B. System B will send an email if a quote is approved but it comes from our generic support email so to make sure that I don't miss approvals I have filtering rules set up and a folder I check twice a day. Because there are 4 people who use this system I also check twice daily in system B to see if anyone else's quotes were approved).

Then I explained how I place the orders (easy! I'm a pro! We have a standardized PO pattern that tracks date, vendor and client, it's handy)

Then I explained how I document the orders (neither system A nor B has a way of storing information about orders in progress, only orders that are complete; as such I have created a PO Documentation spreadsheet that lists the PO number, vendor, line of business, client, items ordered, order total, order date, ETA, tracking numbers, serial numbers, delivery confirmation, ticket number for install, ticket title for install, shippong cost, and close confirmation, which all have to be entered individually and which require a minimum of three visits to the spreadsheet per order: entering initial info, entering tracking and SN info, then once more to get that info to close the opportunity)

Then I explained how we close an order (confirm hardware delivery or activate software, use system A2 to code hardware/software/non-taxable products appropriately, run wizard to add charges from A2 to ticket in A1; because the A2 charges were locked by approval in system B, use system A3 to add shipping or other fees or to remove any parts that were approved but not actually needed or ordered - THIS WEEK I got permission to do this bit on my initial A1 procurement ticket instead of generating an A1 post-procurement ticket for fees and shipping. Once all of that is done it's moved into system A4 and is no longer my problem).

If there is a warranty involved it *should* automatically have the expiration tracked in system C, but system C doesn't have any way to pull order info so there's no way it can track warranty *start* dates without somebody manually entering it or without using API data from the manufacturer, which some manufacturers don't provide (fuck you, Apple).

But me and my trainee are happy to add the start date to the configuration once a tech tells us that the device is enrolled in system C. If the techs will tell us that we can add that info no problem.

Until then, I have unfortunately been forced to start a spreadsheet.

The manager was appalled, it was great. I got to say the words "part of the reason things sometimes fall through the cracks is because we have so many cracks" and his response was "no shit." I'm talking to vendors about a procurement system now :) :) :) :)

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eldritch-spouse · 6 months ago

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Fucking robot. Why does he always bother me during breaks? He doesn't even need breaks.

“Hi Xavier. Was there something that you needed?”

You know he likes you because he bothers to address you by your name. As opposed to a serialized string of numbers and letters.

The numbers before your shift code and initials make you wonder just how many of them there were before you. How many he tossed away after an unfortunate workplace accident. That tag on your uniform is more of a death sentence than anything.

'Like'... As if this tin can is actually able of feeling.

It's more realistic to say he sees value in you, for some reason, and employs some kind of social algorithm to fabricate a twisted sort of relationship.

" You have been consistently distracted lately. "

Is that a warning?

Two red abyss-like orbs cast a crimson filter upon your face. It always feels like Xavier is watching you a little too closely, monitoring more than just your verbal responses.

" Ah, my bad! " You force a wobbly smile. " I promise it doesn't get in the way of my wo- "

" It does. " He silences you immediately, imposing and unforgiving in his cold corrections. " Clients notice when you zone out. Your movement speed is drastically reduced and the chances of committing errors -which you have by now- is considerably increased. Spacing out this much is in no way acceptable behavior for a multitude of... "

Only the very real notion that he's noting your facial expressions stops you from rolling your eyes at the robot's tireless monolog regarding the dangers and consequences of being distracted at work. One of your eyes still manages to twitch, as if in defiance.

" Yes sir, I understand. " You try to cut in, try to abort that speech before it turns into a whole lecture.

One camera cranes down slightly. " Your reputation as the exemplary employee is being damaged. "

Xavier says this like it should make you anxious. You hate that he thinks of you as an example, that he emphasizes it constantly. Not only is it putting unnecessary pressure on you for no compensation, it's also costing you the few mild friendships you have worked to maintain in this hostile minefield of an environment.

The more he speaks of you as some ideal of professionalism, the more others give you judgemental side-eyes. Sneers. Avoid you. Spread snide comments that then find their way to you through gossip.

Maybe if Xavier stopped exalting your mediocre performance, your asshole coworkers would stop murmuring that you've been orally pleasing the glorified microwave.

Xavier doesn't even have a dick! Why would he?! He's an artifical stand in for a manager that only cares about the dehumanizing process of maximizing profit.

He doesn't have a penis. You think.

You only realize a long silence has installed itself this whole time when the robot breaks it.

" ... Are you ill? "

" Huh- No. No, I just have a lot on my mind. I'll work on it boss. "

There's another pause. This time, you presume Xavier is waiting for you to cave under pressure, or counting the pores on your complexion. You bet he'd know the exact number.

" You have not allowed access to more in-depth medical records. If I had such a permission, I would be able to rework your current shift into something more suitable for any preexisting conditions such as- "

" Uh no sir, no. I don't think that's relevant, it's probably just my sleep schedule. " The thought of Xavier knowing about your health beyond what is strictly necessary for employment is chilling to the core.

He takes the rejection silently, lenses refreshing.

" I know who is bothering you. "

Xavier says, so naturally and spontaneously that you gawk for a moment, forever surprised by his eery bursts of casual remarks.

" ... Pardon? "

These moments make it seem as if there's more than mere cold calculations running through his processor components.

Xavier drifts that much closer to you, now suffocating your personal space. Only the crimson of his camera lenses light the dingy alley you've chosen as your break spot.

" Incubus, Babesley. Masseur. He has self-inflicted carvings on his body consisting of infatuated statements and your name. "

You rattle for a second, the memory of the demon's mutilated chest surfacing, his wild and desperate eyes searching yours for a hint of approval that wasn't there, only disgust and fear.

" Wrathfolk, Mozgrag. Trapper. Teamed up with the incubus upon being confronted, effective in forcing his way to you at any cost. "

Another memory flashes by, burly hands carelessly tearing the horns out of someone's head, he'd look at you when the screams rang, attempting to prove something you only saw as terrifying murderous intent.

Shaken, irritated, afraid, you openly glare at Xavier.

" Why haven't you done anything... " It was too quiet to sound as confrontational as you wished.

There's a split second where his stiff arms twitch, like the machine was trying to roll its shoulders. Cameras tilt and reposition, erroneously assuming the light from his lenses is what's causing you to tear up.

" The customer is always right. " Faintly, or perhaps just in your head, his words sounded dragged out.

" Then what's the problem?! "

You can't help the childish irritation, the desire to pluck your hairs out of your scalp in a pull that might just tear your skin asunder. You want to scream and kick this stupid fucking machine until it shuts off. Why does he bother you during your breaks to ask things that make no sense, to unnerve you, to create contradictions. You've never had a positive interaction with this robot. Why would he mention those two if he seemingly has no problem with their attitudes?

You know he doesn't care, because your coworkers are also living through their own cases of harassment at the hands of the denizens of Hell. You've had to pretend you didn't hear the sound of a cashier's arm being twisted in all the wrong directions before. Reminded that quitting is not an option, that you can only pray such doesn't happen to you.

" Your performance- "

No. Shut up.

" Okay, let's do some math, Xavier. " You growl. " My precious work performance is being impacted by a lot of things, but mainly those two. Those two are customers, and the customer is always right, aren't they? So there's nothing to be done, yeah?! Stop- "

Your confidence begins to falter when you realize you've stepped out of line, that you snapped at your own superior. The fear of consequences flashes very briefly across your eyes. That's enough, you need to calm down. You need to leave.

Xavier's silence doesn't help.

" I'll... I'll be heading back to work now. "

Head hanging low, you attempt to swiftly retreat into work, halted quickly by cold metal wrapping around your arm.

His grip is as frighteningly solid as it is sudden.

You don't remember Xavier having ever touched you before.

When you squirm around to glance at him, ask what he thinks he's doing, those two cameras pin you into silent obedience. You could never hope to free yourself of his grasp, only if you wished to tear a limb out of its socket.

" Do you think I enjoy these limitations? "

There's a mute gasp. Then the pain of his grip tightening, restricting your blood flow into a tingling soreness. Your teeth bare themselves.

" I don't think you enjoy anything at all, machine. "

It was ruthless, yet, deep down, you almost believed it.

Xavier stares at you for another prolonged period of time, unaware that the pain in your arm is only worsening. You have no idea what occurs behind those lenses, what those words might mean to him.

Metallic fingers unclasp with the slowness of a decompressing blood pressure monitor, allowing you to yank your own limb back and hold it to your chest like an animal licking its wounds.

" ... This issue will be resolved. "

He doesn't make a move to follow after you. In fact, Xavier remains staring forward, at the empty space where you once stood.

Maybe you broke him. Who cares, he might give you peace for the rest of your shift.

#Retail Hell boys #tce rp ask

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salt-clangen · 2 months ago

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Moon 18 interlude

Greenleaf/Leaffall

Welcome to law and order cat edition!

I didn’t want to make this into multiple parts so it’s pretty long.

It only took half a moon for the trial to begin.

Wolfstar attended with Lynxdawn and Dropletpaw, ready to provide evidence. Stoatfang represented all accused parties—except for Thornstrike, who was assigned separate counsel under Greyclaw. Stagtrail, a large muscular tom with short brown fur and piercing yellow eyes, served as inquisitor.

Though the two trials ran concurrently, it was clear Greyclaw held no love for his client; the look of disgust on his face told Wolfstar all she needed to know about his stance. The trial lasted a single day, from sunrise until midnight. Shadowdive arrived after sunset, staying until the end. His sudden presence put the entire camp on edge—the brutal state of Thornstrike’s injuries had already spoken volumes.

Wolfstar gave her account first, repeating her story multiple times under the scrutiny of each code keeper. Lynxdawn followed, detailing the medicines used and injuries sustained. Though it embarrassed her, Wolfstar used the opportunity to press for reparations—SaltClan’s stores had suffered.

Each member of the ambush patrol gave testimony in turn, explaining why they had followed Thornstrike’s lead—even after the truth had come out.

Clearstorm went first. He was forthright, though unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Thornstrike had approached him and Sparkclaw together. He admitted to feeling eager for action against SaltClan and didn’t question the authority of the command. After the ambush failed, he lied about rogue attackers to protect his friend.

Heavybadger spoke next. As Stoatfang’s kit and a caretaker, they had asked to bring their mother on the patrol. Thornstrike denied their request and subtly suggested that Stoatfang had fallen out of favor with leadership. Heavybadger reluctantly accepted that and didn’t press further. They’d wanted to believe in their deputy. Young—just a few moons younger than Wolfstar—this had been their first mission. They looked horrified at their own actions. They had agreed to the rogue lie out of fear.

Blackhowl followed, a large, older tom with shaggy black fur and a stub tail. His stoic demeanor made him harder to sympathize with. He was the oldest on the patrol—even older than Thornstrike—and should have known better, as Stagtrail reminded everyone. He admitted Thornstrike had organized the patrol with him days in advance and held leverage over him. At first, he refused to say what it was, but eventually Stoatfang called his mate, Cinderfur, to the stand.

Cinderfur, a dark grey elder and former camp keeper, hadn’t been at the ambush. Stoatfang and Stagtrail handled her gently. Finally, she revealed that their daughter, Nighthowl, had faked her death to live as a kittypet. Now called Mimi, she had since been abandoned by her twolegs—while pregnant. Cinderfur had been sneaking her food. Thornstrike had caught her and used it as blackmail. Blackhowl accepted full blame and asked that any punishment aimed at his mate be directed at him instead. Jaggedstar stated she would address that after the trial.

Following a brief meal break—most of the morning having been spent on Blackhowl’s testimony—the clan avoided discussing the trial. The accused were kept separate. Wolfstar used the break to introduce Dropletpaw to Ashenstep and the other historians.

Afterward, Scorchvein was called. An arrogant older molly, she had once been briefly mated to Thornstrike. Their son, Grackletail, was the result. Wolfstar had only seen her at gatherings. Scorchvein’s testimony was short—she had joined the patrol because Thornstrike asked her to. Though he had ended their relationship, she remained loyal to him. Still, the pressure of the trial pushed her to turn on him easily. She claimed she’d gone along with the rogue lie to protect her kits.

Grackletail testified next. Recently made a warrior, he admitted to wanting recognition and favor from his father. He was twitchy, anxious, with patchy fur from overgrooming. Despite his strangeness and the general disdain he received from the crowd, Wolfstar felt bad for him. He was unwell, and she hoped the clan would step in.

Gorsejump, older than Wolfstar, was more honest. They admitted to being blackmailed as well—caught exploring the twolegplace, even making friends with kittypets. Though they had no intent to leave the clan or break its rules, Thornstrike had threatened them with exile. They had assisted in planning the ambush, staking out SaltClan patrol routes in advance. When they stepped down from the stand, they gave Wolfstar a tearful, silent apology before returning to their place.

At sunset, the final two apprentices were called: Sablepaw and Shadepaw—Scorchvein’s youngest kits. Likely sired outside the clan, they stood small and nervous before the gathered cats. Stagtrail argued to separate them, but Jaggedstar allowed them to testify together.

Sablepaw was steadier, confident. She explained that their mother and Thornstrike had described the patrol as a simple border marking. When they arrived and were told to wait, she grew suspicious and questioned her mother. Shadepaw agreed, noting that Scorchvein was both his mentor and parent. During the fighting, he had wanted to run—but seeing his siblings in danger, he stayed. He had believed SaltClan had ambushed them. When the truth came out, he was the one who dragged Sablepaw away.

The two were treated gently. Shadepaw apologized repeatedly. Sablepaw defended her brothers, saying they only acted to protect her. They hadn’t known about the rogue lie—only that Scorchvein had told them to stay silent. Once dismissed, they ran to Grackletail, pressing themselves against him. Wolfstar saw Jaggedstar’s gaze soften at the sight, just as hers had.

Finally, Stagtrail called Thornstrike as his last witness. But as Wolfstar rose to her paws, she demanded to know why Sparkclaw wasn’t testifying. Jaggedstar explained she wasn’t required to—but that didn’t satisfy SaltClan’s leader.

As the argument escalated, Sparkclaw burst forward, shouting she wasn’t afraid to speak. Shadowdive stood instantly beside Wolfstar, snarling. The camp took time to calm, but eventually Jaggedstar allowed it—warning Sparkclaw to behave.

She walked with a limp. Wolfstar flinched—recognizing the paw she had bitten. Lynxdawn pressed against her; Dropletpaw tucked herself beneath her mother, trembling.

Sparkclaw’s story mirrored Clearstorm’s: she had been approached, eager to prove herself, eager to stake claim on the contested nest. She admitted she knew the attack was wrong, but fought anyway—driven by her hatred for Wolfstar. When Stagtrail asked why she ran, she hesitated.

Then came the silence. Sparkclaw lowered her gaze and spoke of a presence, a dark figure that stood at Wolfstar’s shoulder when she’d delivered her final threat. The crowd stirred with unease until Jaggedstar silenced them.

The code keepers quickly changed topics, asking why she agreed to lie about rogues. Sparkclaw hissed that she didn’t know. Wolfstar suspected it was pride—but said nothing. The crowd glanced her way, unsettled, as if she’d brought something unnatural into their midst.

At last, Sparkclaw was dismissed.

Finally, Thornstrike was called forward. He had remained in the clerics’ den for the entirety of the trial, though well within earshot. As he was led forward by Frostwhisper, Wolfstar noted with quiet unease that his wound dressings had been removed. The full extent of his injuries—raw, misshapen, and violent—were now on display. Whether this exposure was his own decision or someone else’s remained unclear.

Greyclaw stepped forward to deliver the first round of questions. His focus, as expected, was on motive. Why had Thornstrike organized an ambush without Jaggedstar’s knowledge or approval?

Thornstrike answered with a snarl. He did not temper his words, declaring Jaggedstar a coward who had gone soft on SaltClan. He accused her of abandoning DuskClan’s claim to the nest and allowing the enemy clan to take hold of it without resistance.

When asked if he had brought these concerns to Jaggedstar directly, Thornstrike admitted he had. He claimed she dismissed him, saying the clan had bigger matters to tend to than “some crummy, out-of-the-way nest.” None of this improved his position. His answers only reinforced the picture of a warrior acting alone, unsanctioned, driven by personal grievance.

Greyclaw seemed to sense the futility and shifted his line of questioning. He pivoted toward the physical cost Thornstrike had paid. It was an unspoken appeal to mercy: exile for a cat in Thornstrike’s condition might well be a death sentence.

Stagtrail had fewer questions. He asked only whether the other warriors’ testimonies had been accurate. Thornstrike, after a moment’s hesitation, confirmed that to his knowledge, they had told the truth.

The closing arguments from each codekeeper were more substantial than Thornstrike’s own testimony. Stagtrail argued that, despite the blackmail and coercion, each cat should bear some responsibility for acting without Jaggedstar’s approval. Their silence had granted SaltClan the upper paw in both conflict and diplomacy.

Stoatfang, in contrast, urged Jaggedstar to judge each cat individually. She emphasized the role of fear, inexperience, and manipulation in their decisions. The fact that so many warriors had felt unable to come forward, she argued, reflected a broader failure in the clan’s culture—not a personal failing of each accused.

Greyclaw’s remarks were brief. He commended Thornstrike for answering truthfully—if bitterly—and reminded the clan of the severity of his wounds. There was little else to add.

At last, Jaggedstar rose to address the clan. She thanked the assembled cats for their patience and for treating the trial with the gravity it deserved. She announced her intention to deliberate through the night, asking Wolfstar to remain in DuskClan until morning. She would consult with her before rendering a final decision.

A murmur of dissent passed through the crowd—some objected that this broke tradition, that judgment should be handed down before the moon fell. Jaggedstar responded calmly. She had no deputy to counsel her, and all her most trusted cats had served as codekeepers during the trial. Besides, the matter of repayment to SaltClan was yet unresolved.

Wolfstar turned to her own warriors and dismissed them with a low word. Shadowdive hesitated, casting a glance over his shoulder, but Wolfstar was firm. He was to escort Lynxdawn and Dropletpaw back to SaltClan safely and inform the clan of what had transpired. After a final nod, the trio departed into the darkness.

Wolfstar remained, stepping into the leader’s den as the crowd dispersed and the trial came to a close—for now.

Jaggedstar’s den was small and dark—just how she liked it. The gloom wrapped around her like an old friend, mirroring her shadowy pelt and offering a comfort no sunlight ever could. Her body felt leaden as she stepped inside, her paws dragging slightly with the weight of the day. She didn’t bother with dignity. The moment she crossed the threshold, she let herself collapse into her nest, her spine curving with exhaustion. No codekeepers to impress now. No clanmates to reassure. Just her and the daughter she’d once mentored.

Wolfstar followed without a word, settling into a neat loaf near the edge of the nest. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and for a moment Jaggedstar thought about asking to wait until morning.

Instead, Wolfstar stretched one paw and murmured, “This is a mess.”

Jaggedstar let out a dry chuckle. “Let’s start with the easy ones.”

“The apprentices,” Wolfstar confirmed.

“Yes.” She shifted, her bones aching. “I think the scars from that battle—and from this trial—are punishment enough.”

“That’s two down,” Jaggedstar said, lips curling into something close to a smile. “Grackletail’s next. He’s a warrior. It’s expected that he’d face a more serious consequence.”

“He doesn’t seem well,” Wolfstar said carefully. “How long has he been pulling his fur out?”

Jaggedstar blinked, letting the question roll through her thoughts. “A long time. Since before he earned his warrior name.”

“Have the clerics offered him help?”

“I don’t think he’s asked,” she admitted, wincing inwardly at how hollow that sounded. “Why? What does this have to do with the ambush?”

“I think we both know,” Wolfstar said softly, “that between his mental state and his inexperience, he doesn’t deserve punishment.”

Jaggedstar’s ears twitched. “The clan won’t see it that way.”

“Then don’t frame it as leniency.”

Jaggedstar pondered her next words. “I’ll assign him to assist the clerics. I’ll speak with Frostwhisper—see if they can start Grackletail on something for the fur-pulling. A calming herb, maybe.”

Wolfstar hummed in approval, already shifting focus. “Clearstorm showed integrity during the battle. And Heavybadger showed remorse afterwards. That should count.”

“I’d already planned to let him and Heavybadger mentor some of Mistytail’s kits,” Jaggedstar replied, flicking her tail. “They knew that. I’ll revoke it. Confine them to camp. Have them help the keepers and tend to the elders.”

“That sounds fair.”

“Gorsejump,” Jaggedstar muttered, lying back onto her side, “I’m conflicted. They should’ve come to me when Thornstrike threatened them. But how do I punish a cat for not trusting their leader?”

Silence.

Then Wolfstar offered gently, “Maybe a re-apprenticeship? Or something close. A chance to rebuild trust.”

“Hmmm.” She considered it. “Too humiliating might backfire. But nursery duty, elder care, that would be enough and they can accompany me on patrols. A chance to see leadership in a newer light. Bridge the gap.”

Wolfstar nodded, stifling a yawn. “Now as for Blackhowl. Does his story check out?”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Jaggedstar said. “Have him take me to his daughter.”

“If he’s telling the truth,” Wolfstar murmured, “she’ll need care. Shelter.”

“She won’t come back to DuskClan. I can feel it in my bones.” Jaggedstar glanced over. “Would SaltClan take her? Quietly, outside this trial, of course.”

“If she asks for sanctuary, she’ll have it,” Wolfstar purred, curling onto her side.

A long silence stretched between them, easy and familiar. Jaggedstar let it settle in her chest like warm tea.

“I’ll have Blackhowl serve with Gorsejump in the nursery,” she said at last. “Cinderfur’s an elder, but she can still assist the keepers. Stars above—half my warriors are going to be camp-bound.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the hard ones,” Wolfstar teased.

“Scorchvein,” Jaggedstar growled. “She’s more involved than she lets on. Whatever punishment I give Thornstrike, she’ll take it personally. I can’t have that.”

“She may be the only cat in your clan who’d stand beside him,” Wolfstar said. “And I can’t imagine why. Their fling was brief, or so I’ve heard.”

“Thornstrike can be charming when it suits him,” Jaggedstar said with a scornful smile. “Plus she’s not the type to let go so easily. I already know what I want to do. I’m going to exile her. Just half a moon.”

Wolfstar’s ears twitched. “That seems harsh, given the others.”

“I don’t care,” Jaggedstar snapped. “Stagtrail didn’t press her enough. He was too focused on Thornstrike. I can say it’s because she’s older and risked the lives of two young apprentices. That way I can get her out of the clan for a few days.”

“So when she returns, his punishment will be behind us.”

“Exactly. I’ll reassign Shadepaw to a new mentor. Bluetail would be a good fit, she’s been without an apprentice for a couple moons now im sure she’ll be good with him.”

“What about Sparkclaw? And the repayment for the herbs we had to use?” Wolfstar asked.

“We could repay them,” Jaggedstar said with a sly grin, “or we could say SaltClan demanded full claim to the abandoned nest.”

A beat passed, Wolfstar unsure she heard her right. The guileful look on her mother’s face told her enough.

“You’re devious,” Wolfstar said, eyes gleaming. “And how did that conversation go?”

“Sparkclaw will be exiled for one moon. Scorchvein for half,” Jaggedstar said plainly. “You asked for both to be exiled permanently.”

“I did?”

Jaggedstar chuckled. “Mhmm. And the execution of Thornstrike. Plus repayment for the herbs.”

“Well,” Wolfstar said dryly, “I am demanding aren’t I.”

“You’re within your rights to demand it,” Jaggedstar murmured. “But I can’t afford to lose three warriors. So I offer you this: temporary exile for Sparkclaw and Scorchvein, in exchange for the nest.”

“And Thornstrike?” Wolfstar prompted.

“Execution is too far. Instead, exile him. Leave him in the twoleg place.”

“That’s just execution with extra steps.”

“Maybe,” Jaggedstar said softly, “but it’s also mercy. If a twoleg helps him, so be it. If not, it’s no longer our burden. It sends a message: we’re merciful, but firm.”

Wolfstar’s gaze sharpened. “You’re thinking about appearances.”

“Of course I am,” she said, sitting upright. “I need to walk the line between two extremes—what my dissenters did and what the clan expects. If I kill my deputy, some will think I can’t be trusted to help a warrior who feels threatened. Some may think I only did it because SaltClan was the target. Because you were.”

“But a measured mercy,” Wolfstar said, nodding slowly, “makes you look fair.”

“Exactly. If I gave up the nest without a fight, I’d seem weak. But if I gave it up in return for three lives and a spared herb store…” She paused. “Then I’m a leader who saved her clan.”

Wolfstar smiled, warmth in her eyes now. “Clever.”

“I think we’ve covered everything,” Jaggedstar said with a sigh.

“Agreed.” Wolfstar yawned, her limbs finally slack. “Tomorrow, the verdict. Then we visit Blackhowl’s daughter.”

“You’ll stay?” Jaggedstar asked, already shifting to make space. “It’s too late to head back to SaltClan.”

Wolfstar didn’t argue. She purred as Jaggedstar curled around her, the moss warm between them.

Wolfstar remained in Jaggedstar’s den as the dusk-colored leader delivered her ruling on the trial. She peered out through the hanging lichen, watching the clan’s reactions below.

Jaggedstar began gently, excusing the apprentices and reassigning Shadepaw to Bluetail. A few cats broke the tension with murmured congratulations to the newly named mentor.

Gorsejump and Grackletail accepted their punishments with bowed heads. Wolfstar could practically smell the fear wafting off them — sharp with anxiety, bitter with shame.

Clearstorm and Heavybadger remained out of sight, but the murmurs in the clearing told Wolfstar everything. Disappointment clung to the crowd like brambles. This would have been their first time mentoring — now they’d have to wait, and wait in disgrace.

Scorchvein, by contrast, exploded.

She refused her sentence with fury, demanding to know why her eldest had received a lighter punishment. Wolfstar’s hackles rose. She clenched her jaw to hold back a growl.

A mother throwing her kit — no matter how grown — into the mud to keep her own paws clean…

It sickened her.

The clan agreed. Hisses broke out, sharp as thorns, calling for her silence.

Jaggedstar remained calm, watching the crowd settle with the patience of a mother enduring a kit’s tantrum.

She explained Scorchvein’s exile in even tones: she was older than the others, with more experience. And despite that, she’d risked the lives of her young, untrained kits — a choice that had nearly ended in tragedy.

Shadepaw had nearly lost his eye for starclan’s sake.

Scorchvein balked as Stoatfang and Rainfoot flanked her. She tried to protest, asking to stay at least to hear the details of the others’ sentences. Her voice faded into the distance, growing more shrill as she was led away.

In stark contrast, Sparkclaw said nothing when her punishment was announced — a full moon as a loner.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t speak.

Wolfstar couldn’t even see who escorted her out.

When Jaggedstar called Blackhowl forward, he stepped into the clearing with hesitant paws, his gaze flicking to Cinderfur at the back of the crowd. Jaggedstar addressed the warrior plainly: she would need proof that his daughter was alive and in need of help before she passed judgment.

Blackhowl looked taken aback. “And when I do?” he asked.

Jaggedstar answered without pause.

“Then you will spend the next two moons in the nursery with Gorsejump, assisting the queens. Cinderfur will work with the camp keepers — preparing meals, within reason, given her injuries and age.”

Blackhowl nodded slowly. It was a fair sentence, and one the clan seemed to approve of.

Finally, Jaggedstar called forth Thornstrike.

“You will not be executed,” she said. “I understand that you acted out of pride for your clan. And I cannot fault you for that. But for your lies and your failure, for the pain you helped cause… you are to be exiled.”

Not a single voice rose to protest.

Thornstrike, still scarred and blind, asked bitterly, “How am I supposed to survive like this?”

Jaggedstar turned to Addertail.

“Go to Capri’s post,” she said, “and ask for her granddaughter — Jade. Tell her we need help. Fetch Jade and meet us at the Moon Spring.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind over water.

Jade? Sage? Who were these cats? How did Jaggedstar know them?

Wolfstar dipped her head, hiding a purr behind her paw.

She’d told her mother everything this morning —

About Jade and her kind sister, Sage.

About how moons ago, she and Lynxdawn had found shelter there.

About Nora, Sage’s housefolk — kind, friendly, the sort who might take in a wounded warrior, even one as wretched as Thornstrike.

Jaggedstar had been surprised Wolfstar would go so far to help the tom who’d attacked her and her apprentices.

Wolfstar had only chuckled, dry and cold.

“The longer he lives, the longer he suffers. He may heal, but his eyes won’t grow back. And every day, he’ll remember who beat him — and that it was the clan he hated most.”

Of course, Jaggedstar didn’t say that to the clan.

Instead, she framed it as one final mercy: Thornstrike would be taken to a kittypet and a twoleg who might help him. The murmuring grew louder. Shock, disbelief.

Jaggedstar didn’t wait for silence

She raised her voice and continued, announcing that the abandoned twoleg nest would now be undisputed SaltClan territory.

Some cats argued immediately, but Jaggedstar stood firm.

Given the severity of Thornstrike’s patrol’s crimes, SaltClan held the advantage. If DuskClan pushed too hard, SaltClan could call on OakClan or HoneyClan — and few would blame them for it. A full-scale war was possible.

Jaggedstar wouldn’t allow that.

“SaltClan demanded Scorchvein and Sparkclaw be exiled permanently,” she told them, “and Thornstrike executed.”

Gasps broke out across the clearing.

Wolfstar nearly laughed.

Jaggedstar pressed on, explaining that she would not lose three warriors — not with leaf-bare approaching. And despite Thornstrike’s betrayal, she refused to sentence him to death.

Some cats nodded in agreement, their faces stony and worn.

Then Jaggedstar addressed the clan’s dwindling herb stores, a problem worsened by the injuries from the rogue patrol and a poor harvest.

Wolfstar frowned at that — she hadn’t realized things were so bad.

The compromise, Jaggedstar said, was simple: in exchange for the nest, SaltClan would drop demands regarding the herb use and the full exiles. Jaggedstar mourned the loss of the territory, but she would not risk war — not when the nest was barely fruitful, not when DuskClan was strained.

The dishonor burned, she said, but with the remaining herbs and two strong warriors returning before the end of leaf-fall, they would endure.

By the time she was finished, the clan had shifted. Heads lifted. Spines straightened. A slow ripple of cheers spread across the camp.

DuskClan was hers again.

And Wolfstar, from her place in the den, watched the tide turn.

While Jaggedstar spoke with Blackhowl and Cinderfur, Wolfstar slipped away quietly to return to SaltClan. A few DuskClan cats eyed her, but Bluetail and Shadepaw nodded politely as she passed. Bluetail lifted her tail, motioning for her to pause.

“Wolfstar, Jaggedstar asked me to take you to the border,” Bluetail said.

“Thank you.” Wolfstar nodded, glancing at Shadepaw. “Congratulations on your new apprentice. Jaggedstar mentioned you had one graduate recently.”

Bluetail puffed up with pride, her earlier hostility forgotten. “Yes, I trained Inktail. They’re a fine code keeper.”

Wolfstar smiled, letting the blue molly lead the way.

“Do you mind if Shadepaw joins us?” Bluetail asked, watching her closely.

“Of course not,” Wolfstar replied, nodding to the nervous apprentice. “It’s not a very exciting walk.”

Shadepaw chuckled awkwardly as he followed, head low. “I think I’ve had enough excitement to last a season.”

“Don’t jinx it, kit,” Bluetail huffed, though it was half-hearted. She walked ahead, tail flicking. “When escorting a cat, someone leads and someone follows. That way if anything strange happens, a DuskClan cat will notice first and act.”

Wolfstar didn’t respond, but the lesson made her smile. Bluetail was a few seasons older, a code keeper trained by Jaggedstar. She could recognize a passed-down teaching.

The walk was brief. Bluetail spoke mostly to her apprentice, pointing out landmarks so even if he was half-blind he could find his way. When they reached the border, the trio bowed politely. Shadepaw hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Go on, spit it out before she’s gone,” Bluetail huffed. His tail puffed at her words. “No one else is listening.”

Wolfstar waited patiently as the apprentice scuffed his paws in the dirt. Neither adult rushed him.

“I’m sorry for the ambush,” he mumbled. “If I’d known… I wouldn’t have gone.”

Wolfstar purred gently and glanced at Bluetail, who gave a small nod. She stepped forward and touched her nose to Shadepaw’s forehead.

“It must’ve been scary—your first battle, protecting your sister and kin,” she said softly. “You did your best. Don’t let it weigh you down.”

Shadepaw didn’t cry, but he looked like he wanted to. Bluetail said nothing, though her silence wasn’t judgmental. He turned away to face her instead, and with a final nod, the warriors separated.

Back in camp, Wolfstar gave a brief update before calling Lynxdawn and asking her to prepare a basket and come along.

Of course, half the camp tried to follow, but Wolfstar firmly told them she was visiting a former DuskClan queen who might need help. Shadowdive and Mallowstripe caught her just before she left, pressing close and grooming her.

“You smell like a pine tree,” Shadowdive muttered under his breath.

She laughed and almost dunked herself in a tide pool before setting off.

Lynxdawn instructed Ripplepaw and Otterpaw to help Mallowstripe prepare hot water for a bath. She told Snowspeckle to make a nets in the nursery. Then, basket in tow, she and Wolfstar returned to the abandoned nest, pausing along the way to refresh the border.

“Wolfstar,” came Jaggedstar’s voice before the patrol was even in view. “We’re ready.”

Flanking her were Blackhowl and Cinderfur. The older molly hobbled stiffly but kept pace.

“Lead the way,” Wolfstar said with a nod to Blackhowl.

The group set off in silence, crossing into Twolegplace. The outer edges of the neighborhood were overgrown and crumbling, the fences sagging. The scent of prey lingered alongside that of other cats—likely a favored hunting spot.

They approached a peculiar structure that looked half-monster, its body fused to large black wheels. It hadn’t moved in moons; grass grew thick around its base. From beneath a brush pile, a pair of wide eyes blinked.

“Mom? Dad?” Nighthowl’s voice was hoarse, startled.

She bolted—but barely made it a few fox-lengths before Wolfstar stepped in front of her. Face to face now, the younger molly dropped to the ground, belly pressed to the dirt.

Once, she might’ve been the mirror of her father. Now, Nighthowl was a wraith. Her black coat hung like loose leather over sharp ribs, her belly swollen—was it pregnancy, or worms?

“Nighthowl, it’s alright.” Cinderfur limped forward, draping her tail over her daughter.

“I’m Lynxdawn,” the cleric said gently, placing the basket down. “This is Wolfstar, SaltClan’s leader.”

Wolfstar offered a warm smile, though Nighthowl’s eyes darted frantically.

“We brought supplies,” she said softly. “Cinderfur told us your Twolegs left you.”

Nighthowl trembled, glancing to her mother. Blackhowl stepped in to nuzzle her cheek.

“They left last moon,” Nighthowl whispered. “I found out I was pregnant a few days after.”

“Here, have some minnows,” Lynxdawn offered, pulling a pawful from the basket. “I brought chamomile, burnet, and raspberry leaves too. Are you feeling sick?”

Nighthowl looked to Jaggedstar. “What’s going on? I’ve never heard of this clan.”

“They’re new,” Cinderfur explained. “Wolfstar is Jaggedstar’s kit. They want to help.”

The queen fluffed up, anxiety thick in her scent. Wolfstar leaned close, touching noses. From here, she could see bald patches, dull fur, a faint stink of infection.

“We have a place for you, if you want it,” Wolfstar said. “SaltClan would welcome you.”

“No, no—I can’t hunt, I can’t fight.” Nighthowl’s eyes misted. “I’m useless!”

Her parents pressed close.

“You’re not useless!”

“There’s plenty you can do!”

Wolfstar snorted, startling the group. Her ear flicked.

“I don’t care,” she said simply.

The others froze.

“I don’t care if you can’t contribute a single thing to the clan,” she continued. “You’re pregnant. You’re starving. You need help, and we can help you. That’s what matters.”

After a long moment, Nighthowl nodded.

Lynxdawn gave her strengthening herbs and more minnows. On the walk back, it became clear how weak she was. She stumbled often, bumping into everything. Her nerves were obvious, but eventually, they reached the SaltClan border.

Jaggedstar and the Saltclan pair sat on opposite ends of the crumbling nest, waiting as the family spoke privately. Once goodbyes were said, the trio set off.

SaltClan’s camp overwhelmed her. She trembled, watching each cat approach with curious stares. One by one, they came to greet her. Lynxdawn never left her side as Wolfstar introduced her and gave orders for the day.

“Oh, you must be exhausted! I’m Snowspeckle, deputy and artisan. This is my apprentice, Kelppaw,” she said warmly. “And this is Coralpaw, our mediator apprentice. We’ve made you a nest in the nursery.”

“Th-thank you.” Nighthowl ducked her head.

“We’ve prepared a bath,” Lynxdawn added. “We’ll need to treat you for fleas and worms.”

She gestured to Mallowstripe and Otterpaw. “Bring the large tub we got from Capri’s,” she told Otterpaw. “And we’ll start filling it.”

“To feed her,” she added to Mallowstripe, “offer small, frequent meals. Soup and stews, nothing too heavy or chunky. No mash yet—we’ll ease her back into eating.”

Nighthowl stayed silent, taking in the camp. She didn’t recognize anyone from her past, though she noticed a few suspicious stares. The black molly near the deputy looked wary, as did a large brown tabby. But Wolfstar’s warm gaze and gentle touch were enough for now.

The tub was large—too large for clan-made tools. Wolfstar explained it came from the trading post. Jade had called the material “plastic.”

Several cats worked to fill it with hot water, mixing in sea water from the tide pools. Lynxdawn stirred it with her paw, ensuring it was the right temperature.

A smaller black molly approached with a basket. “Here’s what you prepared earlier.”

“Thanks, Thistle,” Lynxdawn chirped.

She poured in lavender oil first. “Good for fleas,” she explained. Then yarrow oil. “It helps clean and loosen mats.”

Thistle nodded along to the explanation, taking the empty jars and bowls as the cleric worked.

The bath wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the warm water soothed Nighthowl after the long journey. Wolfstar stayed close, helping work the oils into her tangled coat.

Otterpaw returned again, a bundle of herbs clenched in his jaws. He dropped them by the bath with a soft thump, then quickly sat back as if unsure whether to stay. Lynxdawn nodded gratefully, already sorting through the bundle with her paws.

Nighthowl sat hunched in the water, her body rigid. Her tail had uncoiled, hanging limp in the bath, and the mats of her fur sagged now that they were wet. Her eyes stared ahead, fixed on nothing. She didn’t flinch when Mallowstripe padded into view with a bowl of thin broth, or when Ripplepaw brought over a pale, sand-smoothed shell.

The younger apprentice dipped the shell in and carefully let water run over Nighthowl’s shoulders. She didn’t react. She breathed. That was all.

“We’re going to start trimming, alright?” Lynxdawn’s voice was low, calm. “This will help with the mats. You’re safe.”

She didn’t wait for a response—none came—but instead nodded to Mallowstripe. The cook stepped forward and offered her the soup first. “It’s just broth, fish bone stock,” he said. “Soft. Easy.”

Nighthowl blinked. Her head twitched toward the bowl like she had just noticed it. She took one lap. Then another.

The sharpened shell in Lynxdawn’s grip glinted faintly as she worked. Her paws were precise, steady, tracing along the worst of the matting. The wet clumps came away slowly, sliding into the water or landing in little heaps beside the bath.

Mallowstripe crouched by Nighthowl’s other side, ready with a pawful of moss to wipe away each trimmed section.

Still, Nighthowl didn’t move. Her breath was steady but shallow. Her ears were slightly tilted back, her posture frozen between collapse and withdrawal. When Ripplepaw brushed her shoulder with his tail, she flinched so hard the water rippled.

“Easy,” Lynxdawn murmured. “You’re doing fine. We’ve got you.”

A heavy silence fell over the grooming. Only the soft splashes of water and the wet scrape of shell against fur filled the air. A few times, Mallowstripe whispered something reassuring, but Nighthowl didn’t seem to hear.

Finally, when most of the thickest mats had been removed and her fur lay wet but flat, Lynxdawn stepped back. “That’s enough for now. Let’s get you dried and warm.”

She didn’t speak.

Otterpaw helped her step out of the tub, leading her to the oven fire. She kept her eyes downcast as several cats began sharing tongues with her, another small bowl given to her. Raspberry leaf tea, she tried to focus on drinking. She dried quickly, less fur to worry about, Lynxdawn encouraged her to stand again.

They wrapped her in the leathers, guiding her toward the nursery. She walked like a ghost, as if her body was still deciding whether or not it belonged here.

Wolfstar stood aside as she passed. She didn’t say anything either. She just watched.

Snowspeckle and Mallowstripe had already prepared a nest. Briarkit peeked from the far side of the den but didn’t approach. The air was hushed, reverent.

Nighthowl collapsed into the nest without protest. For a moment, she simply lay there, eyes wide, curled up like she was bracing for claws.

Instead, Snowspeckle crouched near the entrance, her voice low as she glanced toward Wolfstar. “She’s quiet, but resting.”

Wolfstar nodded. Her jaw was tight. “Good. Let her sleep.”

Together they left the nursery.

Outside, Lynxdawn leaned close to Mallowstripe. “Can you stay with her tonight? See if she has any meaningful dreams.”

He nodded, tail low. “I’ll make a stew of mushrooms and hare for her in the morning.”

Mallowstripe entered the den quietly, lying by the entrance, Nighthowl didn’t seem to hear him. Or if she did, she gave no sign.

Cat allegiances:

Wolfstar- 24 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Natural intuition. Apprentice- Ripplepaw & Dropletpaw.

Lynxdawn- 19 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 35 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Good singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw

Nighthowl- 75 moons. Former kittypet. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans. Condition: pregnant. Torn pelt.

Nightleap- 39 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw.

Thistle-29 moons. Warrior. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye. Condition: Broken back & recovering from birth.

Mallowstripe- 25 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer.

Shadowdive- 23 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Good swimmer. Apprentice- Otterpaw & Sandpaw.

Ripplepaw - 11 moons. Warrior apprentice. Troublesome. Adventurous. Fast runner. Mentor- Wolfstar.

Otterpaw - 11 moons. Warrior apprentice. Insecure. Childish. Good swimmer. Mentor- Shadowdive.

Dropletpaw- 6 moons. Historian apprentice. Skittish. Shy. Interested in clan history.

Kelppaw- 6 moons. Artisan apprentice. Charming. Quiet. Plays in mud.

Coralpaw- 6 moons. Mediator apprentice. Noisy. Bossy. Never sits still.

Sandpaw- 6 moons. Warrior apprentice. Impulsive. Noisy. Moss ball hunter

Briarkit- 1/2 moon. Inquisitive. Shy. Picky nest builder.

Moon 0

#clangen #warrior cats #wc #saltclan #saltclan moon update #moon 18.5 #moon 18 #moon 19

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 days ago

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I’m writing a therapist character and one of the main things I’m having trouble with is their relationships outside of work. What are the boundaries I should be aware of?

Writing Notes: Therapist-Client Boundary

Boundary - (in psychotherapy) an important limit that is usually set by the therapist as part of the ground rules in treatment.

Boundaries may involve areas of discussion (e.g., the therapist’s personal life is off limits)

or physical limits (e.g., rules about touching), which are

guided by ethical codes and standards.

Respect for boundaries by both the therapist and client is an important concept in the therapeutic relationship.

Ways to Establish Healthy Boundaries With Clients

Boundaries of Competence. According to the APA’s (2017) code of ethics, therapists should only provide services with populations and in areas of expertise that are within the boundaries of their competence. This competence can stem from the therapist’s education, training, supervised experience, consultation, study, or professional experience. Likewise, when a professional understanding of an individual’s demographic factors, such as gender identity, language, sexual orientation, or culture, are deemed necessary to provide effective therapy, and the therapist does not possess this, clients should be referred to a professional with the relevant expertise.

Multiple Relationships. The APA ethics code (2017) defines multiple relationships taking place when a psychologist is in a professional role with a person and simultaneously engages in or promises to take part in another role with that person or another person closely associated. Examples of such roles include sexual, social, familial, and business relationships.

The above are just 2 examples of boundaries you should aim to maintain as a therapist. Other boundaries may be more malleable or differ between different therapists who use different therapy styles.

Other types of boundaries to consider include the following (Gutheil & Gabbard, 1993):

Therapist self-disclosure

Physical touch

Exchange of gifts

Fees and modes of payment

Communication channels

Length and location of sessions

Contact outside the therapy room

The thoughtful communication of boundaries can also convey the therapist’s commitment to act in the client’s best interest and assurance that they will not intentionally harm the client (Barnett, 2017).

Let’s consider 6 strategies to establish and communicate healthy boundaries with your therapy clients.

Use contracts and informed consent. It is important to get informed consent from therapy clients before commencing therapy. This initial step in the therapy process can serve as a useful opportunity to outline rules and guidelines for appropriate behavior and communication. One of the benefits of providing digital informed consent and agreement documents is that it can facilitate better documentation and record keeping for practitioners. It also allows clients to absorb important information at their own pace, which is preferable to feeling rushed at the beginning of their first therapy session. However, therapists should always take care to provide consent forms and contracts such as these in conjunction with a face-to-face discussion and opportunities to ask questions about expectations and boundaries.

Keep track of time. Be mindful about deviating from session time limits defined in therapy–client contracts or during the informed consent process. Likewise, explicitly establish expectations about punctuality and the consequences if a client repeatedly arrives late to sessions. If you find yourself responding to client emails or phone calls during time dedicated to other tasks or violating other agreements put in place, pause and reevaluate. Consider politely reminding your client of the boundaries you set around your time at the beginning of the therapy relationship and letting them know when it is reasonably acceptable to contact you and expect a response. Should you regularly exceed your time limit with certain clients during face-to-face sessions, place a clock in a visible but non-intrusive location. Remember that it is acceptable and even helpful to glance at the clock occasionally to keep you and your client on track.

Be mindful of self-disclosure. The American Counseling Association notes that when used sparingly, professionally, and appropriately, counselor self-disclosure can cultivate trust and empathy and strengthen the therapeutic alliance. However, when used too liberally or inappropriately, it can remove the focus from the client and derail progress (Bray, 2019). Before self-disclosing, therapists should take care to explore any possible underlying motives for doing so, such as personal validation, and consider whether the information risks undermining the client’s perception of the therapist’s competence or professionalism (Sadighim, 2014).

Remain conscious of personal feelings. If you find yourself excited about spending time with a particular client, explore this feeling in a supervision or consultation session. Discussing social or romantic feelings about a client with your colleague or supervisor may feel anxiety provoking, but this is a perfect use of consultation. Explore with your colleague or supervisor the emotions you’re experiencing and devise a plan to manage or problem solve them. In the end, this may involve referring the client to another therapist or coach.

Consider the implications of physical touch. Therapists’ attitudes toward physical touch may stem somewhat from their training and therapeutic approach. For instance, analytically trained therapists may be less likely to hug their clients, while humanistically trained therapists might be more likely to do so. While physical, nonsexual touch does not intrinsically violate ethical standards, it is important to consider your boundaries, the client’s boundaries, and the implications of touch. Likewise, it is important to ensure that the client feels in control. When in doubt, take your cues from the client. For instance, if your client is upset and you’re considering offering consolation as a hug, ask for their consent first.

Practice judicious gift giving. Different therapists will have different philosophies on exchanging gifts with clients. Some have been taught that receiving or giving gifts is never acceptable, while others think these practices are acceptable under certain circumstances. Again, this will often depend on a therapist’s training. Presently, none of the ethics codes for major therapy organizations prohibit gifts (Zur, n.d.b). Still, it is recommended that any exchange of gifts and related conversation is clearly documented in your client notes. Interestingly, in some cultures, small gifts are a token of respect and gratitude. Therefore, besides considering a gift’s monetary value, therapists should consider the motivations and symbolism underlying the exchange of gifts, taking culture, ethnicity, therapeutic style, client history, and diagnosis into account.

Multiple Relationships

The code of ethics warns that multiple relationships might impair a psychologist’s objectivity, competence, or effectiveness in performing their functions and might risk exploitation or harm to a client (APA, 2017).

However, best practice guidelines for therapists and coaches do not explicitly rule out all multiple relationships.

Indeed, Zur (n.d.a) notes that multiple relationships are unavoidable in many small and interdependent communities, such as in the military, marginalized communities (e.g., LGBTQ+ and deaf communities), church groups, rural communities, and university campuses.

For example, in an isolated rural community, a therapist may provide psychological services to the family doctor and also seek medical services from that doctor if there is no reasonable alternative.

It is generally advised that therapists should avoid situations involving multiple relationships. However, when such a situation cannot be avoided, they should contemplate their actions in consultation with colleagues and the relevant code of ethics (Barnett & Hynes, 2015).

Signs that Boundaries are Being Properly Maintained

It should show that your therapist takes professional boundaries seriously if they:

make clear, professional arrangements regarding fees and appointments

readily provide information on their training and experience

focus on you and your concerns

show that they will maintain your confidentiality appropriately

demonstrate how feelings can be safely discussed and understood rather than acted upon

support and encourage your self-confidence and autonomy

treat you with respect, care and dignity

Crossing Boundaries

Boundaries should always serve the client’s interests, but it’s not always clear what these are.

For example, if you arrive 15 minutes late for a session in a distressed state, should your therapist extend the session or finish at the usual time?

Extending the session undermines the consistent and predictable nature of the therapy, but a lack of flexibility seems uncaring.

The therapist must also balance needs – for example they may have another client waiting to start a session.

Too much flexibility can lead to confusion while too little can make them appear unhelpful and cold.

If a therapist deliberately crosses a boundary, this should be based on:

your needs

their professional judgement about whether it’s appropriate in the context of your therapy

confidence that they could justify their decision to professional colleagues, if challenged

anticipating the likely effect that the boundary crossing, and their intention to do it, may have on you

Sometimes therapists may unintentionally ignore or cross a boundary.

If you feel uncomfortable with anything that happens in a session, it’s important that you talk to your therapist about it.

For example, if your therapist makes negative comments about where you’re going on holiday, you should be able to tell them how you feel about it. If they acknowledge their error, this may be uncomfortable but not necessarily harmful.

Signs that Boundaries are Not Being Properly Maintained

It can show that boundaries are at risk if your therapist:

seeks praise, reassurance or constantly wants you to show gratitude for their work

gradually changes from their usual practice or drifts away from the contract originally agreed with you

focuses on their own needs rather than yours – for example talking about themselves or unexpectedly ending sessions early

tells you their problems and expects you to ‘care’ for them

suggests they are the only practitioner or person who can meet your needs

offers additional sessions, not agreed at the outset, without there being a clinical justification

is insincere or flatters you

seems to judge or blame you

flirts with you - no therapist should ever make sexual advances towards you

takes sides with you, no matter what the situation, or argues with you

lends or borrows money from you

continues to work with you despite any issues which seem beyond their competence or experience

seems furtive or secretive

suggests you have a special relationship, which may seem exciting or flattering but implies something secretive or unprofessional

makes you feel uneasy, tense or unsafe

often allows sessions to overrun the agreed time

Sometimes a therapist can cross a boundary without it causing a major problem, but it should not be ignored. If your therapist does not raise the issue, you should – if you can.

Sometimes breaking boundaries can be a legal matter as well as grounds for complaint. For example, a therapist making sexual advances to a client may be a criminal offence.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more information in the sources. Hope this helps with your writing!

#anonymous #boundaries #psychology #writeblr #writers on tumblr #character development #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #literature #writing advice #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #lit #writing resources

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